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Dual Narrative Short Story

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Introduction

Dual Narrative Short Story A beam of dazzling light glanced off the majestic buildings, dancing lightly across the paved surface of the square. Michael stared. So many colours! So many people! He didn't know where to turn, where to look next. Eager eyes roved restlessly across the crowds, drinking in the colourful chaos like a cat lapping up cream. "C'mon love, we can't stand here staring forever. There's plenty more things to see in Venice." Michael reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the floods of tourists streaming continuously across St. Mark's square, and turned to face his mother. Mrs Kay stood, hands on hips, face crumpled in to a motherly frown, just a few meters away. Michael hurried to catch up with his mum, and she dutifully lectured her son as they crossed the square. Then they entered the backstreets. "Now remember, stick by me and try not to wander off. Venice is like a huge maze. It's easy to get lost here..." * * * It was dark and cold in the shadow of the church. A pile of rags and newspaper and human flesh lay slumped against the wall. The distant hum of the tourists flooding St. ...read more.

Middle

He felt his stomach rumble impatiently, and wondered to himself how long ago it had been since he had eaten. Two days? Three? Four? He desperately needed money, money to buy the meal that he craved so badly. Picking what was left of the ice-cream cone off the floor and devouring it, the man set off to find himself another target. Michael drew to a halt. His legs felt wobbly and weak- and it wasn't just because of the fact that he had been running aimlessly for the past fifteen minutes. He took in his surroundings as he caught his breath, desperately searching for a landmark. Something, anything, that looked familiar. He was stood on the edge of a tiny square, lined with old houses, and, directly opposite, a church. Michael struggled to halt the hot tears that begun to stream down his cheeks. Why had he got so distracted? Why hadn't he just stuck by his mum? And why had he just run off like that, without stopping to think? He wandered miserably over to the other side of the square to sit in the shade of the church. Wrinkling his nose as he passed a pile of stinking rags and newspaper, Michael sat down on the hot pavement. ...read more.

Conclusion

Deciding the time to strike was near, the tramp once again followed close behind. Still reeling from shock, Michael staggered into the next street. He slowed to a walk and tried to get his brain into gear. Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. Michael swung around, terrified that it was the Italian lady back to lecture him some more. So it was with frightened eyes that he returned the menacing glare of an unshaven man wearing ripped and tattered clothing. The tramp smiled almost tenderly, before raising his fist and slamming it into the side of Michael's head. Hard. Michael felt the pain explode deep inside as he hit the floor with a thud. The tramp stood over him victoriously, smirking. "Don't hurt me... please... mum... no..." Michael tried to protest weakly, but his vision was blurring over, his thoughts cloudy... Michael's eyes lolled back into his head as he sank into unconsciousness. Quickly, quietly, the tramp reached down and pulled Michael's wallet out of his pocket, grinning all the while. Then, quickly, quietly, he turned and slipped into the shadows. Michael was left lying cold and forgotten, unaware of the rats scurrying over his legs and arms, as the dim darkness of the night slowly rolled in; lost, and very much alone... ...read more.

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