Story in the Round

This essay contest got me thinking about the story in the round we did for creative writing class. Ms. Fournier gave me the story last, so I had to wrap everything up. She told the class to "be serious" and "don't ruin the flow of the story." This was, as I found later, impossible.

The story she gave me was ridiculous. It was the story of Josh. He woke up upset because his divorced parents were bickering again about something and his dad had a new girlfriend he didn't like or something. He went to school and had a fight with his own girlfriend Beth about where they would be going to college. She got fed up and broke up with him. So then he learns that the coach of the baseball team he's on has been fired and the principal chooses him to act as the manager. Josh is very happy because he doesn't get to play a lot and I think he was even considering skipping the game he was in such a bad mood about the whole thing. So that afternoon, he puts himself in the game and hits a home run or something like that. So now his girlfriend, who is watching the game, is impressed with him and starts liking him again, but there is also a supermodel or two at the game (what, supermodels don't come to your high school baseball games?) along with a Hooters girl thrown in for good measure and Josh is starting to think he's be better off with one of them. The story left off with the Hooters girl giving Josh a congratulatory hug and I think something suggesting that Josh was just waking up from a dream or something. So that's the story in the condition I received it.

Now anyone who knows me knows that I have integrity. As much as I wanted to bring this story to a logical conclusion and not have it degenerate into some wacky ending, I have my limits. This story deserved to be ruined. So that's what I did.

Here's the ending of the story, as written by me. Look for a blatant ripoff of "Adaptation."

………A pair of black military helicopters swarmed over the field. Four paratroopers dropped out of each helicopter. The Hooters girl kicked Josh square in the groin, grabbed his right arm, and pinned it behind him, wrestling Josh to the ground. The paratroopers ran over to Josh, with large machine guns pointed at his head. “FREEZE!” they shouted as fans rushed out of the stands panicked.

Josh squinted up at the paratroopers. “Wha…what do you want with me?” One of the armed men slapped handcuffs on Josh as he lie on the ground. “You Josh Groban?” “Wha…yeah…yeah, that’s me,” Josh struggled. “You’re under arrest,” said a familiar voice.

Josh strained to turn his head to the left to see who the voice belonged to. It was Mr. Wells. Coach Blair sauntered up next to Mr. Wells, chuckling and smoking on a cigarette. “Good work, Agent Saunders. We have it under control here,” Coach Blair said. One of the paratroopers, apparently Agent Saunders, left to the other end of the field, leaving Josh alone with Coach Blair and Mr. Wells.

“What is this? Is this a dream?” Josh asked Mr. Wells. “Ah, now, Mr. Groban. This isn’t a dream. I know you may think it is a dream. In fact, the only logical explanation for your unbelievable good luck followed by the unfortunate circumstances you find yourself in now would be that you were really dreaming! Unfortunately, that’s not how our story has worked out, Mr. Groban.”

“You mean this was all a set up?” asked Josh, obviously extremely confused. Coach Blair couldn’t help laughing. “Oh come now, Mr. Groban! Do you really think a high school student would be capable of coaching a varsity baseball team, inserting himself into the game, and winning over a supermodel in the process? Let’s be sensible, Mr. Groban,” Blair laughed. “Wait, I’m not sensible? You’re the one not being sensible! Setting up a high schooler at a baseball game with paratroopers jumping out of helicopter! This doesn’t make any sense! And what are you arresting me for, anyway?” “You know what you did,” spit Wells, his voice full of contempt. “We have connections between you and some very high-level terrorists.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” insisted Josh. “Who do I know that’s a terrorist?”

Suddenly, Josh heard several loud popping noises coming from the bleachers. He lifted his head off the ground to see what was going on. He saw his dad and her girlfriend returning fire to several paratroopers. The paratroopers shot the small pistol right out of his dad’s girlfriend’s hand, and she put her hands over her head, accepting surrender. Josh’s father was not so lucky. He was shot twice in the leg and once right in the stomach. Josh ran over to his father. The agents pursued him at first, but kept their distance as they saw Josh try and comfort his dying father.

“Dad! Dad!” Josh choked back tears as he knelt over his father. “Son…son… I’m not going to make it…” Josh’s father struggled to breathe. “Dad, please!” A tear rolled down his father’s cheek. Josh realized that he had to comfort his father in his last moments on earth. He started to whisper his father’s favorite song. “Imagine me and you, and you and me. No matter how we toss the dice, you know we’ll be so happy together.” A smile crossed Josh’s father’s cold, blue lips. He heaved his chest and quietly died.

Josh was detained for three months and then released due to a lack of evidence. Beth found a husband at Stanford and Coach Blair and Mr. Wells went undercover somewhere else, vowing to fight crime to the best of their ability.