Creative Writing: The Search
I used to work for the F.B.I., in the Portland office. It was my
childhood dream to be the one who gets the bad guy.
My fiftieth birthday was in just three months. I had a wife and three
children, still do, and the same job I'd had since my graduation from Quantico.
We were living just outside Portland. My oldest son, John jr., was in his third
year at Washington. The twins were high school seniors at this time and my
pride and joy, daddy's little girls. Carolyn and I had celebrated our twenty-
fifth anniversary, that's the silver one I think, the previous Thursday night.
That warm July morning, I dressed for work as I had every other. Black
socks and slacks, a pin striped white ...
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whitening hair, and left for the office.
The early morning sun shone in through the broken blinds that I noticed
hadn't been replaced as I asked. I looked over the pile of paperwork awaiting
me. “Why the hell do I gotta do all these damn reports?”
"Actually, you don't, not today." I turned to see a man much like myself,
but older and with his piece on. He was a little taller, but with the same
sagging features and large belly of my body. “I've come here to give you
something new.” With that, I was handed a thick manila folder. It felt like it
contained a video cassette. “All you need is in there, including my card. This
is top priority, Agent Caulsworth. You will report to me on the hour with your
progress. The paperwork here will wait.” The man turned and left. Outside, I
heard a jet-copter quietly lift off. Funny I hadn't heard it land.
I poured out the contents of the folder, the federal statement, a case
history, vid cassette, and a dossier. The ...
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kerchief. His hair was slicked
back, still wet and he was unshaven. He wore no expression, as if he were dead.
The judge spoke slowly, pausing for breath as she read the sentence. After the
announcement, the defendant simply rose and extended his hands so he could be
detained. Still the face of the small figure on the screen did not change. He
was hand-cuffed and led away. The scene abruptly shifted to the penitentiary
grounds. A line of orange clad men, heads low, lurched forward into the penn.
Another group of like dressed men filed out, toward a waiting bus. In a flash,
a man jumped from one line to the other and boarded the bus. Then the screen
went blank.
I played ...
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Creative Writing: The Search. (2005, September 8). Retrieved November 23, 2024, from http://www.essayworld.com/essays/Creative-Writing-The-Search/32949
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"Creative Writing: The Search." Essayworld.com. September 8, 2005. Accessed November 23, 2024. http://www.essayworld.com/essays/Creative-Writing-The-Search/32949.
"Creative Writing: The Search." Essayworld.com. September 8, 2005. Accessed November 23, 2024. http://www.essayworld.com/essays/Creative-Writing-The-Search/32949.
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