Poetry & Creative Writing

White Fang - Creative Writing

“They’re after us Bill,” said the man at the front…

 “I know,” said Bill in a gruff voice. “That’s why we ‘ave to deliver this rotting body to that village, then we can get out of here.” “Now, let’s move!”

The men trudged forward in the snow with a bit more of a spring in their step now that they knew they were being pursued. There was a howling and growling din just to left of them, in the frozen shrubbery. “Can’t we just dump this body, then scram?” quivered the first man.

“NO!” insisted Bill. “Do you want the money or not,” Bill gritted his teeth.

“Yes, yes I do.”

 The growling continued, as if the owner of the growl was waiting for the perfect moment to ambush its prey. The men could see the village lights in the distance. “I can feel the money,” said the first man, “I can almost reach out and touch it.”

“Now don’t get too cocky, we still have to cross that rickety old wooden bridge,” said Bill

“Oh yeah,” said the first man, feeling depressed. “If we’re going to do that we’ll have to ditch the sled, we’ll have to carry the coffin over it.”

“Let’s go then,” said Bill. The bridge was very old with numerous gaps and holes, they balanced on the edge with the coffin precariously perched on their arms…

 

SMASH!!!!!!!! Bill's legs shot through a rotten old piece of wood, and he fell down, right down into the crevasse below. “Aaaaaahhhh!” he shrieked. Then silence.

The remaining man limped with the coffin dragging  behind him to the other side safely. He had made it to the village. He collected his money and walked off into the woods.

Raaaaah!!!! Out it came, right at the man’s face……..

 

White Fang dragged the man back into the shrubbery, never to be seen again. And the money that was scattered out on the snow, was sucked under the surface, gone for all eternity…