June 11, 2004


Okay, I really, REALLY wanted to write a story about the cicadas before I forgot what they were like. So... ummm... here it is: And don't ask me why Simon. I don't have an answer for you.

Press play before you start the story!

Summer of the Cicadas

By Kit Sczudlo

     I was walking home from school on a one particularly humid summer day. It was the summer of the cicadas; you could tell from the deafening sound of high pitched screeching everywhere you went. As I continued to stroll through the suburbs of Bethesda, I listened to the cicadas. I stopped... and really, really listened. They had their own kind of beauty with low undertones and high pitched squeels. I admired their beauty. Suddenly, I reached to slap what I though was a mosquito. It was a dart, and I turned my head spastically in an attempt to see the shooter. Darkness overcame, but I saw a man emerge from the bushes as I collapsed to the ground.

     As I groggily awoke from what seemed like a dream, I realized that I was in what loked like a hedge maze. The hedges were a pale green and about a foot above my head. The sun was setting and its red rays of light were cast through the dense foliage. I watched as a few cicadas lazily flew from one side of the hedge to the other. They were surround by small halos which made it seem even more surreal. Suddenly it hit me, the reason it sounded so quite was because there was such a roar of cicadas I could hear nothing else. Idily, I thought about how even if I had screamed at the top of my lungs, no one could have heard me. This theory was quickly proved correct.

     I felt a sharp sting in my right shoulder, and the leaves on the hedges before me rustled. I looked to see what had happened. Blood profusly spilled from a small hole that was about the width of a pencil, I screamed. I lept to my feet, and looked about to see who had shot me. I couldn't see anyone, and as I slapped my left hand over my shoulder, I began to run. I turned left, then right, then left, then left again, and I thought that maybe I had lost him. I paused at the next turn thinking that perhaps I had a moment to think. I was wrong. I felt as if I had rope burn on the outside of my hand. I glanced at it and the top of my left hand had been grazed.

     I began to panic. This man had the obvious advantage. Thinking quickly, I simply burst through the hedges and cut myself. All of the places which weren't covered by clothes were bleeding. These weren't just hedges, they were brambles. As my vision became blurry from the pain, I began to run frantically, crying with the futility of it all. I rand right, left, right, right it didn't matter he would find me. The hedges began to turn to brick walls, and dead ended. I was exausted. I collapsed at the base of the wall. I looked behind me and watched the man who was to be my murderer come closer. The fury at my inability to stop it made me furious with anger. But as I thought of what was about to become of me I wept... bitter, angry tears. I listened to what I knew would be the last sound I would ever hear: the cicadas. I admired the fact that they could ignore the tradgety that was about to happen right before their eyes. I listened and closed my eyes. Just to listen. High, low, high, low... what a beautiful chorus. Finally, as I opened my eyes, the murderer was close enough for me to see his face. It was Simon... Simon Copel. I looked at him in confusion. All the sudden, he looked so much taller and mature than me. He had a pistol in one hand and he was cleaning it with a hankercheif as I looked at him. He glanced at me and, as if the words were those of god, the cicadas were suddenly silent.

     "Well Kit, you've been on quite a journey," he said with mild interest, "I'm surprised you made it a full mile before you managed to get to a dead end." As I stared at him with confusion he looked at me full on, raising one eyebrow.

     "Why?!" I yelled as he stopped polishing his gun and began to look at it.

     "Because Kit, you've been a very mean person to me over the years. I think this is simply justice." I reflected on what a horrible attitude I'd had towards Simon over the years and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he was right. I cried even more profusly.

     "Come, come now Kit! I will have none of that!" Simon lowered his gun, and I closed my eyes and looked away. I felt... a familiar sting...

Posted by Kickmyassman at June 11, 2004 11:43 PM

dood... deep stuff

Posted by: spam at June 12, 2004 12:18 PM

Wow, that was really well-written. A little wtf-inducing, but oh well.

Posted by: Rebecca at June 12, 2004 02:37 PM


Posted by: louie at June 12, 2004 04:41 PM
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