Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2015 20:23:59 GMT
This is another short story I wrote a bit after The Saint. It takes place in Bosnia, Austria-Hungary (I'm not going to tell you any more 
).
Again, if the italicized thoughts didn't' copy over, I apologize
I tried to catch most of them as before, but if I didn't, then feel free to point them out!
Personally, I think this one still needs a lot more work, but I can't see how to fix it, because I'm running, unfortunately, out of interest for this work. I'm actually glad that I managed to finish it. Pages-wise, it's about as long as The Saint; they're both five pages on Google Docs. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
----------------------------------------
The Tour
The twenty-eighth of June wasn’t anything unusual, at least not to Europe. The city was alive and moving, and the people cheerful and sociable. Nobody suspected a thing. It was just another bustling, busy, and patriotic day. The streets were unusually empty, and the flow of people was directed towards the train station.
Julian practically leaped down the stairs, skipping steps, and threw open the door. He pushed through the mass of excitable Nationalist youths, and elbowed his way through the packed crowd of Visegrad, Bosnia. The temperatures in July had skyrocketed to over the tolerable point, and tensions were high. Checking his watch, Julian shouted above the noise in the street. I’m going to be late! His best friend!
“Coming through, make way, please!”
“Can’t say an excuse me, can you?” said an irritable man, diving aside as Julian leapt through, slamming his luggage against peoples’ legs.
“I exist, you know!”
“Rude!”
“Do you know how hot it is? Do you want to make us all more sweaty?”
Julian ignored the protests of his unmannerly ways, and stepped into the train station. “Please,” he said to the ticket master, “one for Sarajevo. Earliest one, I’ve got to do something for the royals.”
The ticket master scoffed and smirked, as if he was used to people telling him that they were government officials just to get a front spot in the line. “Get in line, buster. Earliest is two forty.”
“No earlier?” said Julian impatiently. It was an hour forty-six minutes to Sarajevo- how was he supposed to witness his friend’s tour at four if the train arrived at four? Grinding his teeth, he waited in the back of the line. Snatching up the printed ticket, he claimed a musty-blue plastic chair on the end of the row. The air smelled of smoke and drugs, and Julian coughed loudly.
The train station was packed compared to its usual business. Julian wondered if everyone was going to Sarajevo. It also happened to be the couples’ anniversary; Julian had bought Franny and Soph a present, which he checked, while trying to keep a low profile among the curious crowd, that it was there every so often.
“To Sarajevo, two-forty, arriving in ten minutes!”
Julian leapt from his seat as if it had maggots; grabbing his briefcase, he made a lunge for the entrance, which was already swarmed by the excited crowd. They were all indeed going to Sarajevo.
He shouldered his way to the front, and boarded the train, where, once again, there was a line. I should’ve gone yesterday. Tapping his foot impatiently, Julian made a habit of ripping back his tuxedo sleeve and checking his watch. The line inched along; some people were so excited in witnessing the tour everyone was looking forward to that they held up the line talking to each other, and forgot to sit down.
The man in front of Julian was dressed heavily in an overcoat and smelled badly of sweat and body odour. He was quiet, and didn’t join in the chatter. A smaller man next to him was also just as poorly dressed and silent. Julian wished he could back up; the line, however, was already cramped.
Finally, Julian sat down, and the train soon pulled into a slow chug, and accelerated slowly. The landscape flew by, and Julian looked out the window.
People were all over the place. Most were rushing, and others were walking and talking in groups. Was the tour really this big? Couldn’t they wait until Franny had gotten to their city? Julian began to worry. How was he supposed to monitor and control such a big group? There could be thousands of enemies in that crowd- and Franny had told him not to worry. I’m going to be late, and everyone’s hot and angry- anything could happen.
“I’m not going to die,” his friend had chuckled.
Julian had forced himself to laugh along. “Don’t jinx yourself,” he warned in a light tone.
“Who believes in jinxes but the young?” winked Franny. Then, Julian had left without staying for tea.
The train slowed to a stop, and the all-too-familiar station appeared in front of his eyes. Julian pushed his way through the aisles, lunging to the entrance before anyone could try to make another line. The two men in overcoats had gotten off before he had, and were headed to the exact place he was.
“Excuse me,” he snapped, already passing them as he addressed the two. Marching past the building crowd, he walked to the street where the tour was to happen. Much to his dismay, it already had.
Julian’s stomach did a flip, and he frowned into the sun. The archduke and his wife were in full view, in an open car, which was crawling down the street. Julian elbowed his way to the front, and rushed to his friends.
“What are you thinking Franny?” he said in an urgent whisper as Franz leaned down to greet him. Soph smiled down and then returned to wave. The roar of the crowd on the pavement was thundering in Julian’s ears. She seemed especially popular; no-one had thought of having a lower-class representative in the royalty. “No guards? No security?”
“Relax,” Franz smiled. “This is my city, you know.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Julian said urgently, frustrated that Franny was not getting his point at all. “Don’t you know about the nationalists?”
“Ah, they’re all youngsters,” said Franz dismissively. “Go suppress the crowd, will you? They’re getting a bit daunting.”
Taking a deep breath, Julian closed his eyes. “All right. Be careful.” The crowd was pushing forward now, and some of the other security guards were pushing people back; to Julian, that was about as safe as continuously poking a bee’s nest, then having it explode.
He disappeared into the crowd, looking for any rough-housing or violence. A stench overwhelmed his nostrils, and he recoiled. It was the two men.
Julian was about to chastise about the odour until he heard the ticking. His head spun around, and the two men melted into the crowd. His heart dropped, and he stumbled out of the crowd, racing towards his friend.
“Drive!” he shouted at the driver; the man, startled, accelerated down the road; Franz and Sophie barely had time to hang on. The crowd shouted its disapproval, but it turned into a scream of terror.
Julian turned, barely seeing the looks of the horrified citizens before the bomb exploded.
He heard two distant gunshots, and keeled onto the ground.
“Julian?”
“What happened?” His mind hazy, Julian awoke to see his colleague standing over him, frowning in a manner that made Julian worry. “What’s going on?” he pressed. “What happened on the tour? Where’s Franny? And Soph?”
“Julian-”
“Did the bomb get them?”
“No.”
“Well, then, that’s fine, right-”
“Julian! The bomb didn’t get them. But someone shot them. They were Serbian nationalists, from what we’ve figured out.”
“Then… they’re dead?”
“We tried to rush them to the hospital near by, but they both died within the hour.”
Julian said nothing. The world seemed to spin, and he rose from his cheap hospital bed, throwing off the white sheets. His colleague murmured, then stopped. Julian felt empty, as if something inside him had ripped away.
He walked to the window. The streets of Sarajevo was filled with chaos; the security was trying to retrain the panicked crowd once more, but people had already begun to think for themselves. He gritted his teeth. See, Franny, I told you. You have jinxed yourself. Those men came and you died- you said you wouldn’t.
And they had sat on the same train as me. Julian wanted to be shot by that man. He very well could’ve prevented the assassination.
“I wonder what’s going to happen now,” said his colleague.
“This’ll cause an issue with Serbia,” Julian replied, his voice devoid of emotion, finally finding the moment to speak. He was lightheaded; it had all happened so suddenly. He kept peering out the window, half expecting to see the archduke and his wife driving down the road below him.
“The least you can do is carry on his work,” his colleague urged. “I know you were his close friend. Hold him close to you.”
Nodding, Julian went down the stairs one by one, and turned the door cautiously, as if the murderer was right on the other side. Stepping into the hot July day, he took a deep breath. I can do this. I’ll keep doing everything I did before.. I’ll keep living life. It’s just going to be a little different.
And the world sprang into war.
). Again, if the italicized thoughts didn't' copy over, I apologize
I tried to catch most of them as before, but if I didn't, then feel free to point them out!Personally, I think this one still needs a lot more work, but I can't see how to fix it, because I'm running, unfortunately, out of interest for this work. I'm actually glad that I managed to finish it. Pages-wise, it's about as long as The Saint; they're both five pages on Google Docs. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
----------------------------------------
The Tour
The twenty-eighth of June wasn’t anything unusual, at least not to Europe. The city was alive and moving, and the people cheerful and sociable. Nobody suspected a thing. It was just another bustling, busy, and patriotic day. The streets were unusually empty, and the flow of people was directed towards the train station.
Julian practically leaped down the stairs, skipping steps, and threw open the door. He pushed through the mass of excitable Nationalist youths, and elbowed his way through the packed crowd of Visegrad, Bosnia. The temperatures in July had skyrocketed to over the tolerable point, and tensions were high. Checking his watch, Julian shouted above the noise in the street. I’m going to be late! His best friend!
“Coming through, make way, please!”
“Can’t say an excuse me, can you?” said an irritable man, diving aside as Julian leapt through, slamming his luggage against peoples’ legs.
“I exist, you know!”
“Rude!”
“Do you know how hot it is? Do you want to make us all more sweaty?”
Julian ignored the protests of his unmannerly ways, and stepped into the train station. “Please,” he said to the ticket master, “one for Sarajevo. Earliest one, I’ve got to do something for the royals.”
The ticket master scoffed and smirked, as if he was used to people telling him that they were government officials just to get a front spot in the line. “Get in line, buster. Earliest is two forty.”
“No earlier?” said Julian impatiently. It was an hour forty-six minutes to Sarajevo- how was he supposed to witness his friend’s tour at four if the train arrived at four? Grinding his teeth, he waited in the back of the line. Snatching up the printed ticket, he claimed a musty-blue plastic chair on the end of the row. The air smelled of smoke and drugs, and Julian coughed loudly.
The train station was packed compared to its usual business. Julian wondered if everyone was going to Sarajevo. It also happened to be the couples’ anniversary; Julian had bought Franny and Soph a present, which he checked, while trying to keep a low profile among the curious crowd, that it was there every so often.
“To Sarajevo, two-forty, arriving in ten minutes!”
Julian leapt from his seat as if it had maggots; grabbing his briefcase, he made a lunge for the entrance, which was already swarmed by the excited crowd. They were all indeed going to Sarajevo.
He shouldered his way to the front, and boarded the train, where, once again, there was a line. I should’ve gone yesterday. Tapping his foot impatiently, Julian made a habit of ripping back his tuxedo sleeve and checking his watch. The line inched along; some people were so excited in witnessing the tour everyone was looking forward to that they held up the line talking to each other, and forgot to sit down.
The man in front of Julian was dressed heavily in an overcoat and smelled badly of sweat and body odour. He was quiet, and didn’t join in the chatter. A smaller man next to him was also just as poorly dressed and silent. Julian wished he could back up; the line, however, was already cramped.
Finally, Julian sat down, and the train soon pulled into a slow chug, and accelerated slowly. The landscape flew by, and Julian looked out the window.
People were all over the place. Most were rushing, and others were walking and talking in groups. Was the tour really this big? Couldn’t they wait until Franny had gotten to their city? Julian began to worry. How was he supposed to monitor and control such a big group? There could be thousands of enemies in that crowd- and Franny had told him not to worry. I’m going to be late, and everyone’s hot and angry- anything could happen.
“I’m not going to die,” his friend had chuckled.
Julian had forced himself to laugh along. “Don’t jinx yourself,” he warned in a light tone.
“Who believes in jinxes but the young?” winked Franny. Then, Julian had left without staying for tea.
The train slowed to a stop, and the all-too-familiar station appeared in front of his eyes. Julian pushed his way through the aisles, lunging to the entrance before anyone could try to make another line. The two men in overcoats had gotten off before he had, and were headed to the exact place he was.
“Excuse me,” he snapped, already passing them as he addressed the two. Marching past the building crowd, he walked to the street where the tour was to happen. Much to his dismay, it already had.
Julian’s stomach did a flip, and he frowned into the sun. The archduke and his wife were in full view, in an open car, which was crawling down the street. Julian elbowed his way to the front, and rushed to his friends.
“What are you thinking Franny?” he said in an urgent whisper as Franz leaned down to greet him. Soph smiled down and then returned to wave. The roar of the crowd on the pavement was thundering in Julian’s ears. She seemed especially popular; no-one had thought of having a lower-class representative in the royalty. “No guards? No security?”
“Relax,” Franz smiled. “This is my city, you know.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Julian said urgently, frustrated that Franny was not getting his point at all. “Don’t you know about the nationalists?”
“Ah, they’re all youngsters,” said Franz dismissively. “Go suppress the crowd, will you? They’re getting a bit daunting.”
Taking a deep breath, Julian closed his eyes. “All right. Be careful.” The crowd was pushing forward now, and some of the other security guards were pushing people back; to Julian, that was about as safe as continuously poking a bee’s nest, then having it explode.
He disappeared into the crowd, looking for any rough-housing or violence. A stench overwhelmed his nostrils, and he recoiled. It was the two men.
Julian was about to chastise about the odour until he heard the ticking. His head spun around, and the two men melted into the crowd. His heart dropped, and he stumbled out of the crowd, racing towards his friend.
“Drive!” he shouted at the driver; the man, startled, accelerated down the road; Franz and Sophie barely had time to hang on. The crowd shouted its disapproval, but it turned into a scream of terror.
Julian turned, barely seeing the looks of the horrified citizens before the bomb exploded.
He heard two distant gunshots, and keeled onto the ground.
“Julian?”
“What happened?” His mind hazy, Julian awoke to see his colleague standing over him, frowning in a manner that made Julian worry. “What’s going on?” he pressed. “What happened on the tour? Where’s Franny? And Soph?”
“Julian-”
“Did the bomb get them?”
“No.”
“Well, then, that’s fine, right-”
“Julian! The bomb didn’t get them. But someone shot them. They were Serbian nationalists, from what we’ve figured out.”
“Then… they’re dead?”
“We tried to rush them to the hospital near by, but they both died within the hour.”
Julian said nothing. The world seemed to spin, and he rose from his cheap hospital bed, throwing off the white sheets. His colleague murmured, then stopped. Julian felt empty, as if something inside him had ripped away.
He walked to the window. The streets of Sarajevo was filled with chaos; the security was trying to retrain the panicked crowd once more, but people had already begun to think for themselves. He gritted his teeth. See, Franny, I told you. You have jinxed yourself. Those men came and you died- you said you wouldn’t.
And they had sat on the same train as me. Julian wanted to be shot by that man. He very well could’ve prevented the assassination.
“I wonder what’s going to happen now,” said his colleague.
“This’ll cause an issue with Serbia,” Julian replied, his voice devoid of emotion, finally finding the moment to speak. He was lightheaded; it had all happened so suddenly. He kept peering out the window, half expecting to see the archduke and his wife driving down the road below him.
“The least you can do is carry on his work,” his colleague urged. “I know you were his close friend. Hold him close to you.”
Nodding, Julian went down the stairs one by one, and turned the door cautiously, as if the murderer was right on the other side. Stepping into the hot July day, he took a deep breath. I can do this. I’ll keep doing everything I did before.. I’ll keep living life. It’s just going to be a little different.
And the world sprang into war.