Bria
9 mar. 07
gr. 10
BUILDING SUSPENSE: Will the bomb explode?
I dash down the brightly lit hall of the deserted school; some sick terrorist agency obviously thought it would be fun to set off a bomb in a building full of children. Luckily, the janitor had discovered it in the downstairs boiler room, and the school had been evacuated. Then they called me to disable the thing, which is why I'm now sprinting for all I'm worth down the shining hallway. [NOTE: The writer has already placed a question in the reader's mind: Will the protagonist successfully disable the bomb? Now the reader proceeds so to find an answer to this question]
[From here on, the writer delays { through description} the solution while attempting to build anxiety and suspense {through complications and revealing the character's fear} A quick glance at my watch shows me that about two minutes remain. In front of me a stair case stretches down to the basement. As I pound down them, I repeat the instructions I was given: Down the stairs; head right, then take the first left, and it’s three doors down. Right, the faceless walls and doors speed by. My footsteps are the only sound in a building that should be filled with children’s voices. Left, my legs are burning, and I hope it’s not too much farther. The programmed bell that marks the start of lunch break rings, making me jump. Count the doors; one, two, three. I’m panting as I fumble with the stubbornly unyielding door handle. My breath rushes out as the door finally swings open. With time slipping away, I make my way to the back of the room where the flashing red numbers signal the location of the bomb. Now my training kicks in; as if they had a life of their own, my hands grasp the panel and remove it. Thank god the school was evacuated; I only have thirty seconds to stop this thing. My fingers slide through the tangle of wires to grab the one that will disconnect the timer. Such a fragile thing it is. That this slender piece of metal encased in plastic threatens the school and its environs seems ridiculous, but there it is. My other hand yanks out the pair of wire cutters in my pocket. An eternity seems to pass before I can get them around the slippery plastic and another before I can squeeze the handles together. With a soft click, the wire parts and I’m left with a disabled bomb. Thank god.
