Granny Attacks

Assalam Alaikum

Here is a piece of free writing I did a few years ago that id like to share.


Granny Attacks

Morning:

I woke up early on the last Sunday morning of my summer holidays. I lay down on my bed, batted my eyelids and stared up at my ceiling light. Enclosed in a soft white paper frame, which was already looking as grey as a winter sky, it was gently, almost therapeutically, wavering in the air, being lightly batted around by the persuasive push of my bedside fan. I lay there listening to the soft hum of the fan, like sea air and almost mesmerised, my blue wallpaper filled me with a sense of being swept away in a halcyon sea.

Through eyes squinted, I peered through my curtains and gazed upon the sun kissed tarmac of Lavender Close. Birds were singing aloud merry tunes, flying from aerial to aerial, aloft the crumbling chimneystacks of the houses across the road. A few cawing crows would occasionally disrupt the peace, causing the speckled starlings to be startled and swiftly swoop to safer places, their backs glistening shades of purple and blue under the sun, as they flee. The odd van rumbled past, making its way through the narrow street, spewing out diesel into the otherwise fresh air and stirring the dusty deposits, accumulated during the dry summer months.


Afternoon:

It was a warm, dusty, humid afternoon and I still wore seven layers of clothes, some of which were damp and reeking of B.O. The metal toecaps in my Caterpillar shoes were giving my feet a hard time and my baseball helmet over my head was rattling insistently, not failing to give me a headache.

I now think that I would be better off without my armour, as.. no, wait! There he is! My kneecaps rattled as my legs were becoming numb, but I had to face up to the neighbourhoods most notorious O.A.P, Corporal Punishment. The sun was now blazing and I broke out in a mad sweat. My cricket bat was slipping out of my grip as I swung it over my shoulder, in full attack mode. My visor lowered over my head, and making a whirr, it displayed my combat tactics.

At the blink of an eye-lid, my galvanised, titanium, shoulder-mounted rocket-launcher, clicked into position as I stood in combat stance. It seemed like everything ceased to make a noise. Tree leaves bustled past my legs. Crisp packets flew round and round, in a temporary vortex, as the wind, mercilessly blew. His shadow crept, menacingly up the path, as the blazing sun lurked behind him, as if backing him up. I took a step backwards, my boots making an almighty clang, as their metal underneath grazed the paving stones, which lay about the streets, in a common pattern, a pattern that connected me with my sworn enemy.

I heard a hiss, as the jetpack on my back pressurised, and readied for the inevitable. A bead of sweat trickled with dexterity down my cheek, weaving in and out of the pores in my face and filling them with moist pools of fluid. My eyes became hazy and I squinted as I tried to lock on to the evil assailant. His battle worn walking stick had a lick of evil in its posture. Having survived many jousts, it was laden with scars and gashes and its handle was that of a silver lions head, roaring aloud a silent roar, and focusing its sharp beady eyes upon me, ready to pounce and rip me apart. I didnt flounder, although an icy shudder sent shivers down my spine. The cold hands of fear closed around my puny heart, although I kept my head. Psychological trauma was building inside me and was hollowing me out from the inside.

I decided, "that was it". With a deep gasp of air, I fired my first rocket. The recoil almost unbalanced me as it powered out at breakneck speed. A heavy thundering roar filled the street, as it propelled itself forward with a great thrust. Angry, howling red flames vaporised the air they burned. The missiles trajectory was homing in on the old corporal, and with a gasp, I realised, that I was in for more than I had bargained for. He raised his withered arms aloft, as if summoning an evil force, and a blade of white light cut around him, at astonishing speed, enveloping him in a shining, sturdy shield. I watched utter disbelief, as my menacing, mechanical missile was shattered into a million shards of silver steel, just like a small plastic toy, as it exploded into a flaming fireball.

With one stamp of his foot, he sent shock waves rippling through the ground. For a second I seemed to lose my balance, and I stumbled over a crack in the paving beneath my feet. I tried desperately to fling myself back into stance, but I helplessly groped at the air in front of me, trying to grasp at some intangible object. All of my weight plunged to the ground interminably, and I let out a low groan as ...THUD! A loud echo was sent up and down the street, and a group of ground pigeons flocked to the sky in a senseless, flutter, flapping and floundering, oblivious of what was going on around them. A second later, my helmet embraced the position of the rest of my body, and with a cold metal clang, left a sharp impression in the pavement. Everything went black.
Never before had virtual reality been so real.

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By Zaman Durani
Wassalam