This is a one-shot fic, something I wrote for my sophomore English class in high school.  We were assigned to write a story where the title contained the words “a” or “an,” “America” or “American,” and “story.”  This is the result.  While it may be a bit morbid, I’m excessively fond of this particular piece of work.  I’m not sure why, since it’s not even written very well.  If you have any suggestions on how I can improve it, I’d love to hear them.

Story of an American Boy

            James heard light footsteps falling on the dirt road as he crouched behind a heavy cask.  If he were found now, all would be lost.  He held his breath, letting it out slowly as the footsteps went on past his hiding place.  Then they came back.

            “Gotcha!”  Jesse was grinning triumphantly.  “Come one out, Jamie-boy.”

            James put on the fiercest scowl he could muster while he clambered out from among the various boxes, carts, and other things.  “You always win,” he grumbled, trying to sound angry and utterly failing.  “Couldn’t you try losing for a change?”

            “Hey, I can’t help it if you don’t know how to hide.  That flaming hair of yours was sticking up a mile.”  Jesse shrugged expansively.  “Besides, it’s good practice.  What if the Indians were searching for you?”  He paused, and then added, “That’s another week’s allowance you owe me, Jamie.”

            It was a daily game.  One of the fourteen-year-old twins would hide, and the other would try to find him.  If the searcher could not discover the hiding place within ten minutes, he lost.  The loser had to pay a forfeit:  whatever the winner chose.  At that particular moment, James owed his twin two months of allowance and six days of doing Jesse’s chores for him, and three times of taking the blame if they were caught doing anything they shouldn’t be.  James never won.  Jesse never lost.

            While on their way to the gates of the fort they called “home,” they were stopped by Colonel Arnold J. Hitzner, or “Colonel Arnie,” as everyone called him.  He had been the one to take the orphaned twins in when their parents had died of yellow fever, six years before.  He often complained good-naturedly that the headstrong boys were more trouble than they were worth, but he would have been devastated if anything happened to either one.

            “James, Jesse, you’re just the people I wanted to see.”  Colonel Arnie beamed at them.  “For Jessup has been kinda dull these past few weeks, wouldn’t you say?  Some of the men are organizing a hunting party, and I thought you might like to come along.”

            James and Jesse stared at each other in shock, then back at the smiling colonel.  They had never been allowed to go on hunting trips before.  Colonel Arnie always said it was a man’s sport, not for little children just learning how to pull the trigger.  “That’d be great, Colonel Arnie,” Jesse managed to say at last.  “When is it?”

            “Meet by the gates at 6:30 Saturday morning,” the colonel replied.  “We’ll make an all-day thing of it.  Now scamper on home and see what you can rustle up for supper.  I’ll be there as soon as I talk to General Trenton.”  He waved goodbye as he set off toward a small blue house in the center of the compound.  The twins started for home.

            Saturday morning dawned bright and clear over Fort Jessup, the early morning rays striking a small group of men standing around talking and laughing.  Jesse and James were both present, their eyes shining with excitement.  When the last man arrived, with his rifle strapped to his back, the eager hunters set off.

            Not many animals were seen by the men, and there were about ready to call it a day, when a man named Sergeant Beaufort heard a slight rustling sound in the bushes.  Cautiously, he began to sneak in that direction.  A moment later, he fell back with an arrow in his chest.

            The startled hunting party stood there in shock as, in a heartbeat, swarms of painted Indians burst into the clearing.  Two more hunters fell before the crack of a gun sent an Indian down.  Pandemonium was everywhere.

            In the midst of all this confusion, Colonel Arnie desperately herded James and Jesse away from the battle.  “Run!” he gasped.  He was breathing heavily, and blood streamed from his left shoulder.  “Get away from here!  I’ll join you as soon as I can.  Now go!”

            Terrified, the two boys took off in separate directions, running for their very lives.  James had just dropped into a thicket to hide when he heard a voice he knew as well as his own, raised in a shriek of pain and terror.  “Jesse!” he screamed, scrambling out and sprinting in the direction the voice had come from.  Bursting into an open space, he saw his brother lying on the ground, an arrow in his side.  James ran to him.  “Jesse, are you okay?  Jesse!”

            Slowly, Jesse’s eyes flickered open and focused on his distraught brother.  “I tried to hide, Jamie,” he said painfully, his speech slurred with the effort.  “I tried to hide, but he found me and shot me.”  For the first time, James noticed the other figure lying still in the clearing, a dagger through his heart.  “He tried to kill me, but I got him with my knife.”

            Jesse coughed, the pain racking his body.  “Why, Jamie?  Why do we have to fight?”  Then he seemed to wake up a little, and asked, “Where’s Colonel Arnie?”

            As if on cue, the colonel stepped into the clearing and came to the dying boy’s side.  “I’m here, Jesse,” he said.

            “Good……”  Jesse’s eyes wandered back to his brother.  “Looks like you won that game, Jamie-boy…..”  His voice trailed off as his eyelids slid shut.  James and Colonel Arnie stood silently, their heads bowed in grief.  They were still there when the sun set and the rain began to fall.