Story...Don't Have A Title, Help Me Out Everyone!!

BANG! One of the British soldiers dropped dead on the ground. Lucas Jackson ran behind a tree and almost peed on himself when he saw another one belonging to the British, pointing his pistol at one of his fellow Boer soldiers. BANG! BANG! Lucas shot him dead and put his gun back in his pant pocket. Lucas then winked at John Coleman and quickly ran off.

He ran across the dead grassy field, hiding behind broken tree trunks and long weeds. He ran past dead soldiers, who were bloody and broken. They reminded Lucas of the toy soldiers he had when he was a young boy. Lucas was a good child, kept to himself and played in his room all day. Never did he yell or raise his voice at his mother. They only had one another and Lucas was not going to lose her.

Finally, Lucas had reached his destination. Lucas walked into the old pigpen, without pigs, and he lay down on the ground. Lucas reached into his dingy brown pocket and pulled out the deep gray gun, he looked at it. This gun had killed numerous people. It was now going to kill one more. Does it have to come to this? Lucas reflected back some years…

Lucas was a normal teenage boy. He was quiet, calm and collected, until he had to war.

It was a bright sunny morning of the year 1884 and Lucas had run to get his mother milk from the pasture where their two cows remained. The pasture was about half a mile down the road from their small cottage they named home.
Lucas wasn’t a small teenager; he was good for his size, about 5’11 standing straight. Lucas weighed one hundred and forty pounds, under-average weight. He could barely hold the pail full of milk, whenever he came walking back from milking the cows. Lucas continued down the road in his blue jean overalls, his reddish brown hair pulled into a small ponytail at the back of his head. Lucas whistled his favorite song along the narrow path with trees along the sides.

Bam Bam Bam.
Someone was banging loudly on the door. As if that person was angry. “Coooooming! Hold on a minute!” Lucas’ mother yelled. She wiped her flour covered hands on her apron as she hurried towards the door. Mrs. Jackson looked out the peephole and her brown eyes became big with apprehension.

“Ummm…may I help you?” Mrs. Jackson asked the three, crusty looking soldiers who stood under the doorframe. They were wearing their uniforms, green army colors with hints of brown mud on them. They responded to Mrs. Jackson’s question.

“Is there a man by the name of Lucas Jackson here?” One soldier asked as he tried to peek his head inside their home. Mrs. Jackson got rid of that problem and immediately stepped in front of his chary view.

“Noooooooooo. I think you have the wrong home Mr.” Linda Jackson lied. She slammed the door in their face quickly. She was not going to let the officers get to her only pride and joy.

“Ma’am open the door.” Another one of the soldiers yelled to her sternly from one side of the door. He tried to push the door back open, but it wouldn’t budge. Luckily for them, in was an oak wood door.

“We are coming in. You can either open the door or we’ll have to knock it down!”

“You can just try to knock the damn door down, cause my son is not coming with you!” Mrs. Jackson ran to her room and rummaged under the flowery covered bed cover. She found what she was looking for.
The three soldiers kicked in the door, six times before the black wooded door came off the rusty hinges. They stared at the crazed woman before them, their eyes wide with horror.

One of the soldiers quickly realized the situation and he pulled out his shotgun, used only for emergencies. Mrs. Jackson was standing about two feet behind the dusty colored purple couch. She held a .45 caliber gun in her hand pointing it at one officer at a time, going back and forth between the confused soldiers. Never did they imagine this little lady could have such hatred in her voice. She had heard about the war. The British were going to war with the Boer and her son, Lucas was neither apart of the Boer nor the British.
Brent Jackson, her husband, had moved the family to Kenya, Africa long before the war and long before he was killed in the line of duty. The Jackson family had move to Africa long before ten percent of it was ran by Western Nations. After the explorers settled into Africa, industrialization, caused better communication and transportation systems. Along with these systems were telegraphs, railroads and steam navigation to help people communicate with others still in the country they left behind. Not only did better communication help these settlers, but also better medical medicines, for many forms of tropical diseases such as malaria treatment—quinine. Mrs. Jackson was here before all the dang transportation and medicines. She was here when the Native Kenyan’s ran their own area.

“I am going to tell you dumb soldiers one more time, before I shoot. My son is not-“

Boom! Boom! Bam!

The soldier with the gun shot Linda Jackson, age forty-five, three times. She looked at the officers and smiled as she fell slowly to the already bloody reddish-brown puddle that lay under her. Once again, the soldier with the gun walked up to the lady and shot her in the middle of her forehead once more. He looked at her frayed head and then spit in her head. “That’s for being stupid.” All three of the soldiers walked on the broken door, the one with a huge footprint towards the bottom of it. The three of them continued to walk outside. This would be a death threat to all those who tried to come between them and motherless Lucas Jackson.

Lucas finished milking the two fat cows, Betsy and Brownie. He lifted himself off of the ground, leaving the milk-filled metal bucket on the greenish brown field. Lucas stretched his arms up towards the blue sky, filled with fluffy white clouds. I hope miss mother isn’t worried, I have taken a little longer than usual but these slow cows wouldn’t do anything. He picked up the pail and headed back towards home.

When Lucas arrived home, he noticed the door laying some feet inside his home. Lucas ran into the kitchen and noticed the flour still waiting for him to bring the milk, sitting patiently on the counter. Lucas face was twisted with confusion as he walked back into the room. He noticed some red stuff near the couch and on the once opaque white walls. Lucas walked towards to couch.
He fell to his knees and gasped at the sight before him. His late mother lay sprawled on the carpet, her blood soaked beneath her. Lucas stared at his mother and he began to cry. “WHYYYYYYY?”

“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!” Lucas was now wailing.
His cry’s echoed throughout the cottage. He cradled his mother in his arms and buried his face in her blood soaked apron.
Lucas welled for days after his mother’s funeral and days before it too. Mrs. Jackson was buried alongside her husband. It was a well prepared funeral, although Lucas was too heartbroken to arrange her proper burial necessities himself.

As Lucas laid there in the pig pen, he thought about the drama his life had endured. At first moving to Kenya had been the highlight of his young life. Looking back today, Lucas believed it to be the biggest mistakes of his parents, God rest their soul. He closed his eyes and began to dream a common dream he had been having many times.

Soldier, you will be coming with us after they (as the strange men pointed to the group burying his mother) bury the lady who resisted us. The three men, wearing bloody covered clothes, laughed with beers in their hands. One took a swig and replied to Lucas “Boy we got ‘em, we got her good didn’t we?”

Lucas was confused. He knew his mother’s killers hadn’t been caught…yet. Lucas was confused. He wanted to take the law into his own hands, but didn’t have any type of leads. Something told him that the demons themselves were staring Lucas in the eyes, calling him towards the British side. Lucas knew that if he were to fight he’d prefer to fight for his land, like the Boers. Instead of the overpowering British who wanted and needed every bit of land.

The three soldiers began the chuckle, and then their snickering became full blown historical laughter. Lucas was confused. He asked the soldiers what was so funny.
“The way your mother tried to protect you when we killed her!” The tallest of the three dirty soldiers cried.
“What do you mean when you killed her?” Lucas was in disbelief. “Did you people kill my mother?!”
All of a sudden a gun covered in red fluid, resembling blood, appeared in Lucas’ hand. He glanced at the gun and brought it up a few inches. The soldiers hadn’t noticed. He undid the safety and pulled the trigger twice. BAM BAM!

Lucas opened his eyes and gasped. He sat directly up and looked at his surroundings. Lucas had forgotten that he had laid himself in the pig pen. Lucas quickly lay down all the while with gunshots ringing in his ears everywhere. Lucas thought about the terrible decision he had made.
I had to do what I had to do. Lucas thought. Man, I wish I could go back to that day…

It had been a terrible day for Lucas, the day at the funeral. He really didn’t know where he got the gun and he didn’t really know what prompted him to only shoot the two soldiers and not the last one. He wasn’t thinking when he didn’t kill the other middle aged soldier.

That was the person who made Lucas come to war in the first place. As his punishment, he received something worse than death. He saw families, women and children dying each day in the hands of the British people. Lucas didn’t come to join the British, if anything he felt as if he were forced, but he knew that many people looked at him as a heartless-stone-cold-killer who wanted land, prisoners and wealth.
Lucas rose off his feet. He knew that the time had come for him to go door to door killing off those who didn’t abide by the soldiers law. Lucas looked left, right and behind himself before he felt it was safe enough to run. Lucas ran straight out of the pig pen, he ran past the dead soldier which reminded him of his toys when he was younger and he ran past John Coleman, who he had saved only hours before.

Knock knock knock knock knock…Lucas knocked on the door softly before a fellow British soldier from behind yelled towards him “You need to let those poor pheasants know that we are the boss. Let them know we have come to take over!” Britt Blackerson was annoying and always wanted to have the upper hand. He continuously bossed Lucas around, accusing him of not doing anything the “correct British way”.

“Huh!” Britt grunted as he kicked in the door unexpectedly.
In less than a half second later, all the fourteen British soldiers waiting behind Lucas rushed for the door before it could fully fall to the ground.
A woman inside the home lay on the couch sound asleep. She had to have heard the loud noise.
“Get off your lazy butt.” Britt yelled at the woman as he snatched her off the couch by her collar. She opened her eyes surprisingly and looked towards the stairs. Her eyes began to water. “Go check the rest of the home for any men, babies, children, and pets, whatever. We don’t want any witnesses. Before you decide to get trigger happy, bring them down here so this lazy woman can see how strong and tuff we really are.”

Less than two minutes later, we all heard a baby cry. Two soldiers, one carrying the baby by his arms and the other soldier by his legs were swinging him a little too much in Lucas’ taste. They hurried down the stairs, and the soldier with the baby’s legs in his hands replied, “It was all we could find.” Lucas flinched when the soldier called the baby an it. Babies are human beings too.

“Please don’t hurt MY baby! He’s only some months old and I want him to LIVE!! Oh, God don’t let them hurt my baby! Somebody help!” The woman was now kicking and screaming. It took five soldiers to hold her to the ground and still she was screaming and thrashing both her arms and legs. “He’s my only son! Don’t hurt him! Oh, God Oh God Oh God! My Baby! My only son!” The five soldiers carried the woman out of the broken door as Lucas stood with his feet glued to the floor. Lucas soon came to his senses and saw Britt staring at him with an ice cold glare. Lucas followed everyone else outside to the war affected town.

As the soldiers brought the crazed woman outside, along with her young son wailing next to her, a different soldier pulled out a shotgun from the back of its holster. He walked up to the woman and spit in her face. The yellowish-white colored spit landed on her right cheek and made its way down her tanned, now red, face. She cried even harder. Her young baby cried even harder along with his mother. The soldier with the shotgun smacked the mother with the butt of the gun and said “Will you SHUT-UP,” he continued on a rampage “why do women have to be so sentimental?” He leaned over her and put the gun on his shoulder. He fired one shot, which landed in the middle of her knee, shattering it immediately.

“AUUUUUUUGH!!!!!!!! OH HELP! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!” The woman yelled from the pit of her soul. The soldier with the shotgun then said “I told you to shut up. Now you’ll have to suffer the consequences for not listening to the BRITISH BABY!” he walked over to the two soldiers who were holding the baby by his arms and small feet. Once again, the soldier with the shotgun placed the end of the gun on his shoulder and he fired. This time, the bullet landed in the baby’s heart, killing a young life instantly.
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she became limp immediately. Her baby was dead, and she mine as well be too. The woman with no children had passed out.
Each of the soldiers placed her on the ground carelessly, as if she were a rag doll. The soldier shot her in the head and assumed “She should be happy that I put her out of her misery. I should bring her back and make her apologize for being so stupid.” He shook his head and laughed. All the soldiers walked off casually, as nothing had ever happened.

Back to the pig pen Lucas figured. Well at least for now…

By the time Lucas made it back to the pen, more than eight tenths of the Boer soldiers were dead. He didn’t worry about getting shot, it was late and still an eerie quiet lingered throughout the air. Lucas decided to lie back down before he collapsed from the shooting that had occurred earlier. As he lie on the dirty, concrete patched ground Lucas began to cry silently. He knew in his heart that his mother had fought for his life, he was fortunate enough to have made it safely past his teens. But, the small baby boy didn’t even get to see his first birthday, or his first steps.

Lucas laughed at himself for crying over someone he didn’t even know personally. He knew tears weren’t allowed during war. People were dying around him and he hadn’t even shed a tear over the Boer and British soldiers. Lucas once again pulled out his gun, the gun that had killed so many people and was now going to kill one more.

“Lucas Jackson.” He knew who the voice belonged to. “Lucas Lucas Lucas. My newest son Lucas.” Lucas looked up and faced the devil himself. Standing above him was Britt again.

“I am not your son.” Lucas replied sure of himself.
Britt ignored Lucas statement and continued. “I saw your face today, while we were torturing that bitch with the baby. You were scared, with the same look you have on your face now.” His face had a frown on it and his eyes wide with horror. Britt continued, getting angrier by each word. “You see Lucas; I knew you could be a top soldier of mine if you just committed yourself. You worry too much about others feelings. In war there is no feeling or reassuring someone. Only the biggest and the best win war. Not the skinny losers who don’t commit themselves. And you don’t commit yourself at all.” Lucas stared at him in disbelief. Britt had always treated him nicely, depending on his mood the day. Lucas had trusted Britt; although he got on his nerves they understood each other.
“You see, once again Lucas, I loved you almost like a son. You didn’t take advantage of that opportunity and I started to hate you. After all these months you took revenge on your mothers so called killers and didn’t even kill the last man standing. You didn’t even figure it out as you suspected.”

“So, what are you trying to say to me?” Lucas was waiting for the catch. He made sure his gun was hidden by his waist. Lucas clicked the safety as he said “please continue, I’m a little lost”. He was anything but lost; Lucas knew who had killed his mother the entire time, after the funeral, he put two and two together. When he met Britt, there was something in his eyes that told Lucas to never trust your friends. Lucas made sure that he was in the correct position.

Britt looked out into the distance with his brown eyes filled with hatred. “You obviously can’t be that stupid Lucas. What I am trying to say is that I killed your mother Lucas.” With that Britt pulled out a gun, Lucas didn’t expect that at all.

“I know you killed her. I could feel it. She spoke to me sometimes and she told me what you had ordered the soldiers to do to her. I saw you at the funeral.” Lucas smiled slowly, he showed his gun.

“Britt, you told me to never underestimate my enemy and I never doubted you. You taught me to feel no remorse after killing, no murdering so many lives. So, after I kill you, I will feel not one drop of pain, forgiveness or remorse. Remember that as I lay you down to rest.”

Before Lucas could get off his first shot, Britt pulled his trigger three times to the chest of Lucas Jackson. As he fell towards the ground, Lucas tried his hardest to pull his gun above his head and aim at his target. He let off four shots, before he completely blacked out.


The End.

I CHANGED MY STORY

BANG! One of the British soldiers dropped dead on the ground. Lucas Jackson ran behind a tree and almost peed on himself when he saw another one belonging to the British, pointing his pistol at one of his fellow Boer soldiers. BANG! BANG! Lucas shot him dead and put his gun back in his pant pocket. Lucas then winked at John Coleman and quickly ran off.

He ran across the dead grassy field, hiding behind broken tree trunks and long weeds. He ran past dead soldiers, who were bloody and broken. They reminded Lucas of the toy soldiers he had when he was a young boy. Lucas was a good child, kept to himself and played in his room all day. Never did he yell or raise his voice at his mother. They only had one another and Lucas was not going to loose her.

Finally, Lucas had reached his destination. Lucas walked into the old pigpen, without pigs, and he lay down on the ground. Lucas reached into his dingy brown pocket and pulled out the deep gray gun, he looked at it. This gun had killed numerous people. It was now going to kill one more. Does it have to come to this?

Lucas was a normal teenage boy. He was quiet, calm and collected, until he had to war.

It was a bright sunny morning of the year 1884 and Lucas had ran to get his mother milk from the pasture where their two cows remained. The pasture was about half a mile down the road from their small cottage they named home.
Lucas wasn’t a small teenager; he was good for his size, about 5’11 standing straight. Lucas weighed one hundred and forty pounds, under-average weight. He could barely hold the pail full of milk, whenever he came walking back from milking the cows. Lucas continued down the road in his blue jean overalls, his reddish brown hair pulled into a small ponytail at the back of his head. Lucas whistled his favorite song along the narrow path with trees along the sides.

Bam Bam Bam. Someone was banging loudly on the door. As if that person was angry. “Coooooming! Hold on a minute!” Lucas’ mother yelled. She wiped her flour covered hands on her apron as she hurried towards the door. Mrs. Jackson looked out the peephole and her brown eyes became big with apprehension.

“Ummm…may I help you?” Mrs. Jackson asked the three, crusty looking soldiers who stood under the doorframe. They were wearing their uniforms, green army colors with hints of brown mud on them. They responded to Mrs. Jackson’s question.

“Is there a man by the name of Lucas Jackson here?” One soldier asked as he tried to peek his head inside their home. Mrs. Jackson got rid of that problem and immediately stepped in front of his chary view.

“Noooooooooo. I think you have the wrong home Mr.” Linda Jackson lied. She slammed the door in their face quickly. She was not going to let the officers get to her only pride and joy.

“Ma’am open the door.” Another one of the soldiers yelled to her sternly from one side of the door. He tried to push the door back open, but it wouldn’t budge. Luckily for them, in was an oak wood door.

“We are coming in. You can either open the door or we’ll have to knock it down!”

“You can just try to knock the damn door down, cause my son is not coming with you!” Mrs. Jackson ran to her room and rummaged under the flowery covered bed cover. She found what she was looking for.

The three soldiers kicked in the door, six times before the black wooded door came off the rusty hinges. They stared at the crazed woman before them, their eyes wide with horror. One of the soldiers quickly realized the situation and he pulled out his shotgun, used only for emergencies. Mrs. Jackson was standing about two feet behind the dusty colored purple couch. She held a .45 caliber gun in her hand pointing it at one officer at a time, going back and forth between the confused soldiers. Never did they imagine this little lady could have such hatred in her voice.

She had heard about the war. The British were going to war with the Boer and her son, Lucas was neither apart of the Boer nor the British. Brent Jackson, her husband, had moved the family to Kenya, Africa long before the war and long before he was killed in the line of duty. The Jackson family had move to Africa long before ten percent of it was ran by Western Nations. After the explorers settled into Africa, industrialization, caused better communication and transportation systems. Along with these systems were telegraphs, railroads and steam navigation to help people communicate with others still in the country they left behind. Not only did better communication help these settlers, but also better medical medicines, for many forms of tropical diseases such as malaria treatment—quinine. Mrs. Jackson was here before all the dang transportation and medicines. She was here when the Native Kenyan’s ran their own area.


“I am going to tell you dumb soldiers one more time, before I shoot. My son is not-“

Boom! Boom! Bam!

The soldier with the gun shot Linda Jackson, age forty-five, three times. She looked at the officers and smiled as she fell slowly to the already bloody reddish-brown puddle that lay under her. Once again, the soldier with the gun walked up to the lady and shot her in the middle of her forehead once more. He looked at her frayed head and then spit in her head. “That’s for being stupid.” All three of the soldiers walked on the broken door, the one with a huge footprint towards the bottom of it. The three of them continued to walk outside. This would be a death threat to all those who tried to come between them and motherless Lucas Jackson.

Lucas finished milking the two fat cows, Betsy and Brownie. He lifted himself off of the ground, leaving the milk-filled metal bucket on the greenish brown field. Lucas stretched his arms up towards the blue sky, filled with fluffy white clouds. I hope miss mother isn’t worried, I have taken a little longer than usual but these slow cows wouldn’t do anything. He picked up the pail and headed back towards home.

When Lucas arrived home, he noticed the door laying some feet inside his home. Lucas ran into the kitchen and noticed the flour still waiting for him to bring the milk, sitting patiently on the counter. Lucas face was twisted with confusion as he walked back into the room. He noticed some red stuff near the couch and on the once opaque white walls. Lucas walked towards to couch.
He fell to his knees and gasped at the sight before him. His late mother lay sprawled on the carpet, her blood soaked beneath her. Lucas stared at his mother and he began to cry. “WHYYYYYYY?”
“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!” Lucas was now wailing.
His cry’s echoed throughout the cottage. He cradled his mother in his arms and buried his face in her blood soaked apron.
Lucas welled for days after his mother’s funeral and days before it too. Mrs. Jackson was buried alongside her husband. It was a well prepared funeral, although Lucas was too heartbroken to arrange her proper burial necessities himself.

As Lucas laid there in the pig pen, he thought about the drama his life had endured. At first, moving to Kenya had been the highlight of his young life. Looking back today, Lucas believed it to be the biggest mistakes of his parents, God rest their soul. He closed his eyes and began to dream a common dream he had been having many times.

Soldier, you will be coming with us after they (as the strange men pointed to the group burying his mother))bury the lady who resisted us. The three men, wearing bloody covered clothes , laughed with beers in their hands. One took a swig and replied to Lucas “Boy we got ‘em, we got her good didn’t we?”

Lucas was confused. He knew his mother’s killers hadn’t been caught…yet. Lucas was confused. He wanted to take the law into his own hands, but didn’t have any type of leads. Something told him that the demons themselves were staring Lucas in the eyes, calling him towards the British side. Lucas knew that if he were to fight he’d prefer to fight for his land, like the Boers. Instead of the overpowering British who wanted and needed every bit of land.