Sequel to the Story "Almost a Man" -- David's Story

Reads: 473  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
In the movie 'Almost a Man', a young boy who wants so badly to become a man and stop getting treated like a boy buys a gun. He tries the gun out while plowing the fields on his bosses land and accidentally shoots his boss's horse. He gets yelled at by his boss and his family, and then runs away with the gun on a train. This is a sequel that i made up to it for a school assignment and people liked it a lot.

Submitted: June 13, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 13, 2008



The train barreled down the tracks, the driver unaware of the extra passenger he was carrying, whom was sleeping atop one of the freight. The sun shone so bright and warm, it basked the unknown passenger, sending him into an uncontrollable doze. The rocking and continuous noise of the train held him unconscious.
Loud and hard, the train blew its whistle, signaling the entering of a train-yard and startling the poor traveler so bad that he practically rolled off the top. He grabbed at the sides of the freight, regaining his balance but still disoriented.
The train lost speed quickly, and before he knew it, the train had stopped. He groped down to his waist band, feeling the gun to make sure it was still attached to his belt. It was still on his belt.
Slowly, he climbed down from the top of the freight. He had heard stories of whites taking blacks to the train yards, only to beat them up and leave them for dead. So he was especially careful in not being seen. In between freights he crept, trying to find the exit, or any exit for that matter.
At one cart, he leaned out to check if the passage was clear, when a hand grabbed his shoulder and whipped him around. He was staring into the face of a dirty black man, who had on a cap, casting a shadow over his eyes, which seemed to illuminate the whites of his eyes. The man glared down at him, eyeing him suspiciously. He grip on the boy’s shoulder only tightening, causing David to wince in pain. He tried his best to dissemble the pain, but his body betrayed him as he screamed out in pain.
“Boy, what are you doing in here? Didja come off one of those there trains? Boy, I could get you in some major trouble for even being in here. I have half a mind to turn you in right now! What’s your name?” He barked loudly—his voice was so deep you almost couldn’t make out anything he said.
The boy’s eyes were wide and his body was frozen with fear. Even if he had wanted to answer him, he couldn’t have. He was paralyzed with fear. Speaking at this point was futile.
“BOY! You best tell me what your name is before I beat your little black hide till it’s white!” He patronized. This threat was enough for the boy, who quickly snapped out of his daze.
“David, sir!” he coughed out. The man brought David’s face closer to his, pulling the collar of his shirt, and looked him square in the eyes.
“What are you doing in this yard, David?”
Spit flew out of his mouth and splattered on David’s face. But David dared not try to wipe it off, in case the movement would provoke the beastie black man.
“I ran away, sir,” David stuttered. He was breathing so hard and fast he began to sweat.
“What from?” The man growled, still only inches away from David’s face.
“My home, sir. My family don’t respect me, sir. They done think I killed a horse on purpose, sir. But I didn’t, sir,” the words flew out of David’s mouth so fast that even he had trouble understanding them.  The man spent another minute instilling fear into David before letter him go. David backed up immediately, keeping his distance so the man couldn’t grab him again.
The man pulled out a cigar and lit it with a match—which he tossed onto the ground. After a few puffs, he leaned against the freight, holding his cigar to his face. He stared at David with curious, intimidating eyes.
“Sounds like you’re in a predicament,” he stated obviously. A puff of smoke flew out of his mouth at every syllable, “My name is O’ Henry.”
He took a step forward, holding his hand out to shake. David automatically backed up—unsure of what to do—fearing it was a trick to grab him again. He just stared at O’ Henry’s outstretched hand. O’ Henry realized David was never going to shake it, so he dropped his hand and went back to smoking his cigar—amused that he was addling David.
“Boy, I hope you ain’t this rude to your mama,” he grumbled. He flicked the end of his cigar, sending small embers cascading to the ground.
“You says you got a gun. Lemme see it.”
He held out his hand, waiting for David to hand over the gun. David eyed him.
“Boy, if I had wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already,” O’ Henry spat. David felt O’ Henry was being elusive, yet did not want to make him mad. So he obediently handed over his gun. O’ Henry held it at eye level, looking over every inch. His hands touched the gun so delicately, as if the slightest touch would cause it to shatter in his hands. He slowly pointed the gun at David—his finger at the trigger.
“POW!” O’ Henry yelled. David shook so violently that he fell to the ground on his face. O’ Henry erupted in laughter, doubling over. David scowled at him. This made O’ Henry laugh even harder. 
“Boy, you should’ve seen your face!”
“Yea, well, if you’re done acting like a fool, I’ll take my gun back and be on my ways,” David demanded. O’ Henry stood up straight and eyed David again, still holding the gun. A hint of the smile from laughing played across his face, resembling a smirk.
“Boy, how old are you?”
“I’m fifteen,” David answered. He puffed out his chest. O’ Henry looked down at the gun. He slapped it into the palm of his hand a couple times.
“Ain’t you a little young to own a gun? No doubt this is how the horse died, am I right?”
David scowled again, kicking the dirt.
“Sir, I ain’t see how that’s any of your business. Just gimme my gun back.”
O’ Henry looked up to the sky, squinting in the sunlight, not looking at anything in particular. He took off his cap and rubbed his arm over his head—which surprisingly had no hair whatsoever—and put his cap back on, repositioning it. He looked down at the gun in his hand, then back over at David.
“No,” O’ Henry said, “A boy your age has no right owning a gun.”
David was outraged. He had been duped!He began to shout invectives at O’ Henry, who in turn, smashed the gun to pieces by throwing it against the freight he had been leaning on.
“What the…why did you do that? I paid two dollars for that gun! You better have two dollars on you right now!” David whined. O’ Henry wiped his hands with his pocket handkerchief.
“You wasted two dollars! That gun was complete crap. One or two more shots and I would’ve backfired on you anyways! I just did you a favor, boy. Thank God I was here to save your sorry hide.”
O’ Henry was as repugnant to David as eating dirt. He was just causing him grief because he was a sadist! If only David had his gun, he would shoot him dead this instant.
“O’ Henry!” a gruff voice yelled. Both heads snapped so fast to the left, not even a bullet could’ve gone that fast. An average-sized man wearing black dress pants and a white button up shirt came stomping over to them. He had a mustache that hid his upper lip, and his hat hid his face in the shadows also. He stopped a foot away, in the middle of them, staring at O’ Henry.
“What in Sam Hue’s are you just standing around for, huh? Do I pay you to just stand around? I must be stupid if I do, and I know I ain’t stupid!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Preston.”
Mr. Preston swung his body around and glared at David. O’ Henry scared him, but the white man had a certain godliness to him that scared him more. Mr. Preston put his hands on his hips and squinted his eyes at David.
“Who are you? I don’t remember your face,” Mr. Preston grumbled. David looked at O’ Henry, whose eyes were open wide. This unnerved David greatly.
“I don’t work here, sir.”
Mr. Preston’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, “What? You’re in my yard and you don’t even work here?”
He turned to O’ Henry, “Why didn’t you turn this boy in? I been watchin you for the last five minutes and you just stood there talkin,” Mr. Preston turned back around to David, “Are you stealing from my yard boy? Is that what you was talkin to O’ Henry for? Conspiring against me are you? You little thief! You know what I do to thieves? I kill’em!”
David began to panic. He hadn’t been stealing, but he knew the white man would never believe him. O’ Henry stepped in front of Mr. Preston, blocking David from his view. Mr. Preston glared up at him with disdain.
“Sir, it’s my fault. I asked him to come meet me here so I would have someone to talk to. I get mighty lonely while I work,” he confessed. David’s eyes opened—practically sprang—wide. He had no idea why he had just lied for him.
Mr. Preston began to pull something from his back pocket, which at first looked like a long stick. But the more David looked, the more he realized this was no stick; it was a whip. O’ Henry realized it too—his muscles began to tense and David could hear his breathing quicken. Mr. Preston waved the whip in front of O’ Henry’s face, taunting him.
“I didn’t hire you so you could have a social hour, now did I? Now you’re going to have to pay for it with more than money,” Mr. Preston grunted. He looked past O’ Henry at me, menacing the whip in the air, “If you don’t want the same, I suggest you get out of my yard! And I don’t ever want to see your face again!”
David did what any fifteen year old boy would do and ran for his life. He had only weaved through three freights when he heard the screams of O’ Henry. This made him stop dead in his tracks and his hair stand up on end. Every second there was a new scream of pain. David stood there in utter horror. O’ Henry could’ve turned him in, but why didn’t he? And why had he lied to protect him? After how David had yelled and insulted him; after he had smashed David’s gun; this was all too much for David. Another cry of pain burst through the silence. David cringed, making another realization of his own: he wasn’t a man. O’ Henry was the real man. He had taken the beating that David deserved. David really was the stupid fifteen year old boy his father had yelled at, calling him just a boy in the plowing field.
When there were no more screams, David snuck back through the freights, until he found O’ Henry lying on his stomach, sweaty and bleeding. Making sure Mr. Preston—or anyone else for that matter—wasn’t around, he scurried to O’ Henry’s side.
“Boy,” wheezed O’ Henry into the dirt, gravel, and dust , “Why ain’t you gone? Do you want me to get another lashing?”
David knelt down, looking at O’ Henry’s back, which was covered in long, bleeding, fleshy wounds. Around each cut, the skin was turning black-and-blue. David wished so badly that he could do something, but all he could do was take the shirt off his back and cover the lash wounds, to protect them from the dirt and germs.
“You didn’t have to do that,” David whispered. O’ Henry coughed. David felt extremely contrite, “I’m so sorry. But I also want to say thank you—if that makes any sense.”
O’ Henry chuckled for a moment, only to go into a coughing fit. David stared at him anxiously. O’ Henry held out his hand, which David shook. O’ Henry lifted his head to look at David—dirt covered once side of his sweaty face. He smiled at David, who smiled back.
“You know, you ain’t half bad,” a low whistle blew in the distance, “Now get out of here. Go back home. This place isn’t for you. Get out before they see you. I don’t know if I could stand another beating.”
O’ Henry patted David’s hand friendly—letting go only to push him to leave. David jogged a few steps, turning back only to wave goodbye to O’ Henry, who returned the gesture. David found the same track on which he had come from. Another train was heading back that way, so he ran up to it—winded and perspiring—and climbed atop one o the freights of the train. The trains leaving the train-yard were slow. But this train seemed to speed up as fast as he willed it to go, and soon they were out of the train-yard and David was on his way back home.
The train barreled down the tracks, the driver unaware of the extra passenger he was carrying, whom was sleeping atop one of the freights. The sun shone so bright and warm, it basked the passenger, sending him into an uncontrollable doze…

© Copyright 2018 BekahBoo. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:




More Young Adult Short Stories

Booksie 2018 Poetry Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by BekahBoo

The Voice - By BekahBoo

Short Story / Young Adult

Best Friends--Forever

Short Story / Young Adult

Death Went Running

Short Story / Young Adult

Popular Tags