The forest was quiet like someone had covered it with a blanket that smothered all sound. All sound except for the cracking of branches and the short ragged breath of a hunted man. Bron McShiela was wanted by the law for attempted robbery of a train and murder of his foster parents. Now the police were after him and had orders to bring him in dead or alive. Bron stopped, leaning against a tree, and breathed heavily cursing under his breath. Where had his life gone wrong, what had happened to him? He supposed it started on the day of the car crash.
He had been young just eight years old and his parents went out to eat for their tenth anniversary. They had left him home with a babysitter so that it was just the two of them. The dinner never happened. A drunk teenager had driven into the old car and it had gone right off of Newport Bridge. The bodies were never found and Bron had no one to go to. So he was shipped off to foster care and after four years of being shipped from house to house he ended up with the Wolfs. That was the day his life went downhill.
Bron was awakened from his daze by the sound of dogs barking in the distance, he had to get moving again. So he took off to what he figured was south but since it was dark he had no idea if that was the right way. His heart was beating faster the only though in his head was Run, run and do not stop. If he was caught who knew what would happen to him. Jail or maybe even death row, he didn’t know this stuff so his guess was just that, a guess. Why had he gone to live with the Wolfs, why didn’t he tell the foster care director, Mrs. Birch, they were the last people he wanted to live with?
Mrs. Wolf was one of those really fat people who didn’t think they were fat in fact she thought just the opposite. That was probably why she was always stuffing her face, more than once he had wanted to throw up. She was like a huge teddy bear with all of her fat in big rolls but that was where the resemblance ended. Then there was Mr. Wolf the skinniest greasiest man who ever walked the Earth and the biggest drinker too. He always went away from ten a.m. to five p.m. to “work” but Bron knew better, he spent all that time at the pub. How they lived like this without anyone bringing in a paycheck he didn’t know but he suspected they used the welfare check they got for keeping him. He figured that was why the Wolfs got him because they sure did hate him, everything he did was wrong. And if it was big enough and Mr. Wolf was drunk enough that meant “The Whacker” a long, sharp piece of metal that was kept for this special occasion. He hated that thing; he hated how it left his back raw and the way he could feel the blood run down his legs when his punisher was especially drunk. His life was a living hell and school was no better. The teachers didn’t like him and the local bullies always picked on him. So to get noticed he started to do anything anyone dared him to do. That was why he was running now, that was why his life was at stake because of a dare.
By now he could hear the dogs getting closer and some shouts too, the police were catching up to him. He couldn’t run any faster his lungs were already about to burst. Could he climb up a tree or maybe he would go in a stream or creek to lose them but in the end he just kept running. Why had he taken that dare couldn’t he tell it was different than the others he had done for so many years?
It had sounded simple, rob the eight o'clock train that went through town every Wednesday. So he did it, at eight exactly he was on the track waving a lantern he had found in the garage signaling the train to stop. When it did and the conductor came out he took out his foster father’s .32 and put it against the man’s head. He wouldn’t really shoot him but this was all part of the dare which in his mind was the most exciting ever. Of course he didn’t count on the police showing up due to an anonymous tip. So he had been escorted to the police station, booked, and put into a room guarded by two officers. By then it was ten p.m. and he decided he had been here long enough so Bron had just went out and asked to use the bathroom and sneaked out of the window. The station wasn’t exactly a boomer when it came to business so security measures were pretty much at the minimum. Then he went to an old shack out by the woods were he tried to spend most of his time. The shack had a cooler, an old couch, and a small radio. He figured he fell asleep at about eleven fifteen and woke up an hour later due to his ever present nightmares. He turned on the radio and his whole body froze at the report. “At ten fifty five this evening Mr. and Mrs. Wolf were shot by one Bron Wolf their foster son after escaping the local police station. The police refuse to say anything about his escape but did release the fact that he had attempted to hijack a train and was found pointing a gun to one man’s head. The police are now on his trail and there is a $200 award for any information that could lead to his capture. He is considered armed and dangerous, should you see him alert local authorities immediately. This man is wanted dead or alive,” the reporter droned on before he turned it off. So he had run off into the forest hoping that he wouldn’t be found, something that didn’t happen.
They were close he could hear them right behind him and that was when they started firing their guns. The bullets whizzed by him hitting branches, tree trunks, and any animal stupid enough to be here. Then he ran into a clearing. He instantly knew that he had made a fatal decision. The officers were aiming to kill and now he was in plain view. This was confirmed when he felt a bullet enter his body and go right to his heart. He fell to the ground no longer able to control his arms and legs. It hurt to breathe and he felt a sharp ache in his chest where he thought the bullet was. There was a strange roaring in his ears and his eyesight was getting blurry. He was done for and in a way he was glad. His life had been terrible since mom and dad died and now he would be free. No more beating from Mr. Wolf or having to do dares just so he could have a minute in the spotlight. He would see his parents and hug them again, he would smell his mom’s perfume and dad would smell like peppermint from all the candies hidden in his pocket. Then they’d live together again and he wouldn’t afraid, he would be happy blissfully happy. And that was the moment his heart stopped beating and he breathed no more. With a free soul and a smile that hadn’t been seen in years on his face Bron passed away.
We now see an old cemetery a good ten years after the killing occurred. We focus on a small gravesite set well apart from the others. There are no flowers there, no signs that anyone comes to visit the poor soul buried beneath. The ground is dry and cracked and the only plants are weeds dense and ugly. The gravestone itself is crooked; the stone is worn down until you could just barely read the inscription. This is what the inscription said;
Here lies Bron McShelia
“He has finished his final dare”
April 23, 1987 – April 23, 2004
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Submission Name: The Last Dare
