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Creative Writing: Big Walter

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The stones looked out of place and uneven as Edward wandered the street. He hold one hand on the wall as he walked. One time he almost slipped, but he steadied himself on a railing. It almost made him vomit. The drunkenness tore him apart every day, but he could not stop it. Joy appeared in the ale he drank, and when the glass was dry, the sadness hurt again. He had tried to forget it for years, but the memory always came back. Edward remembered himself standing in the chaos trying to help a cause he did not remember. The entire memory bore violence, blood and a death in the family. That day was a turn of events for him. He remember him holding a rifle and shooting warning shots in the air. Edward was sixteen, a man grown, with start of a beard …show more content…

Walter was three feet higher than Edward was, and could lift a man up by the neck. In the riots, he saw Walter smashing people heads in and drowning people in the horse’s water bin. Edward was pale as the moon when Big Walter noticed him and walked towards him. He backed up in fast speed, but stopped when he hit a wall. Big Walter came at him, lifted him up by the collar, and readied a fist. He close his eyes as Big Walter’s fist smashed his jaw. Blood and teeth flew out of his mouth in the impact and he fell down on his bottom. Edward believed it was dead end until he noticed his rifle beside him. He picked it up and barely managed to hold it. The muzzle of the rifle touched Big Walter’s belly and before Edward could think, a loud noise rang through his ears. Big Walter did not look so big when he sat on his knees, holding his hands over the bullet hole. A shocking face lay over Walt’s face as he took his final breath. Edward did not know how long he sat there with a rifle in his hands. After a while, he stood up and dropped the rifle. The chaos had slowed down, but there were people still fighting. That was when he saw his cousin. Edward’s eyes started to water as he stared at his cousin’s …show more content…

He will pay for all the suffering he has brought on me. William was the last family I had. After the morning ale, he followed them. He was drunk, but that did not stop him. ‘’I will avenge my cousin,’’ he said several times as the shambled his way behind them. They entered a door beside the baker, John Collinson’s house he knew. The walls were thin, so he could hear voices up there. He stood by the window to listen. When the stranger looked out, he hid in the doorway. He could hear something about Alfred Collinson’s bank debt and the disappearance of the manager. What are they up to? He thought as he listened. When the voices died out, he heard footsteps behind the door. He ran behind into an alley beside the house and hid behind some boxes. Edward heard them whispering to each other as they walked. As he were about to move backwards he fell on some cans. Did they hear that? He did not hear footsteps, nor talking, only silence. After some painfully tense seconds, the footsteps began again and faded when he looked up. Edward got back up and brushed his clothes before heading home to sleep of his

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