First Shot By: Walter Sorrells

First Shot
By: Walter Sorrells
By: Ryan Duncan
“My name is David Crandall. I go to this private school called The Arsenal. It’s in Maine,
right on this rocky spit of land sticking out in the Atlantic Ocean. There are paintings of like
eight of my ancestors hanging in the halls of the school. They are gloomy, tough-looking
characters who all have some important title attached to their name. Senator, Captain,
Bishop, Doctor, blah-blah-blah. I don’t think I’ll ever have some big title like that. I’ll just be
David Crandall, the appendix. The last useless pointless trivial vestige of the Great Crandalls
In the first part of the story, I find out that my character is separated from the life of a
normal kid due to his enrollment in a private school called The Arsenal. The character feels
that he doesn't have a place there because of the big titles that his forefathers held at the
school before him. On top of all of this, David’s father runs the school and expects nothing
less than outstanding from his son.
“In fact the only thing I can do well is shoot. Like, with a gun. Seriously, I’m not joking. I can
totally shoot like mad. In fact, up until this year I was the best shooter in the school. Not by a
little. By a long shot. (No pun intended) Which, at most schools, would be lie being captain of
the chess club. You know, like so what? But at The Arsenal, it’s kind of a big deal. For reasons
I’ll explain. But now even that’s about to change for the worse. I heard rumors there’s a new
kid at school this year who shoots like crazy. But I’m not worried. I’m the best. 4. I think my
dad murdered my mom. But more on that later (5-6).”
Now more and more details start to unravel. David not only battles the fact that
his dad thinks everything he does is unsatisfactory, but now there could possibly be
someone attending The Arsenal who would make David look like even more of a
failure. To top it all off, David suspects that his father murdered his mother, which
would make me think that David has some hostility towards his dad. The only thing
keeping this hostility under control is the fact that David’s father decides his every
move as if he were a prisoner at The Arsenal.
• “’No, Mr. Crandall, that’s competition,’ Dad said.
‘She won. You didn’t. At The Arsenal, winning is
rewarded. Our motto is…’ ‘Jesus! Dad! I know
what the goddamn motto is!’ Dad sat silently, his
hands folded across his chest, just looking at me,
judging me. ‘You can’t take this away from me.’ I
felt my eyes narrowing to slits.

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