The Old Shed (Show, don't tell)

     As Michael walked through the dark musky alleyways of the broken city he currently resided in, he began to reminisce about the times he'd spent back at the farm house on the country side with his uncle. There was a time when he enjoyed these summers very much, and he'd spend all his free moments thinking about how happy he'd be once he returned. But now, just like this city, those memories had become dark... eclipsed by the new image his uncle burned into his mind so recently ago.
     He had returned to the farmhouse in search of his uncle so that he could begin the joyous summer he'd been looking forward to all year. As he walked, he enjoyed the sounding and feel of the gravel and dirt crunching and shifting beneath his weight. He also enjoyed the way the smells of the nearby forest mixed with the scent of tractor exhaust and gasoline. It was the perfect combination of nature and man, Michael had always been fascinated with the way man's creations seems to coexist beautifully with nature, but at the same time looks foreign and unwelcome.
     Michael neared the old shed that his uncle was found working on his old Model-T cars in, Michael always hoped that his uncle would someday let him drive one. As Michael stepped through the threshold of the old shed he immediately felt that something was different. Drastically different. The air was cold, musty, and damp with a strangely sweet metallic scent. It was a smell that Michael knew he had never smelled before but felt somehow familiar with it. A little too familiar.
     With crippling confusion paralyzing his brain he continued on into the old shed and set his eyes on a horrifying sight. A strange puddle of something he knew the name of but was too scared to admit was pooling around a motionless lump of something soft of the floor. Michael stared at the scene for what seemed like hours as thoughts raced through his mind. What was this on the ground? Where was his uncle? Why is the ground covered in red?
      Michael stepped closer to the puddle that he finally admitted to himself was blood, and got a closer look at the soft lump that was lying motionless in the middle of it all. The soft lump was his dog he'd grown up with and shared so many hardships with. His dog's name had been Bogey, and Bogey was the only living thing on earth Michael could admit to loving. Farther back in the old shed Michael could make out a hunched figure in the darkness who's shoulders appeared to be heaving and relaxing. Heaving, and then again relaxing. It was his uncle.
      "Why is Bogey dead?" Michael asked slowly and quietly.
      "Bogey? Your dog? Bogey is bad. Bad dog." Michael's uncle replied. Michael had never heard his uncle talk like this. Like a scared child.
      "Yes... Bogey. Why is he dead? Did you do this?" Michael was determined to get the story from his uncle.
      "That dog. Bogey. Bad. Bad bad Bogey..."
      "What did Bogey do?!" Michael's eyes began to fill with tears as the realization of his life long friend being dead set further and stronger into his mind.
      "He was in the way... That Bogey. Bad." He uncle continued.
      "In the way of what?"
      Michael had been stepping closer and closer to his uncle during their frustrating conversation and finally got a good look at his uncle. His uncle's eyes were void of any emotion. His face was drained of color and his teeth were chattering from his vicious shaking. Michael had never thought he'd see his uncle like this. His uncle had always been loving and kind. With a kind jolly face and wise eyes. All of that was gone.
      "In the way of what?!" Michael repeated with anger tainting the words he was trying to keep calm.
      "In the way of that..." His uncle pointed across the shed to another corner of the old shed where there was a larger, darker shape hunched over on the floor. Michael's legs began to grow weak as he made his way to the newly discovered shape. An awful stench filled his nose, a stench that filled his mind with the worst of thoughts about his uncle. And as Michael stepped over the shape and saw the twisted face of death that stared back at him, he suddenly knew the truth about his uncle.

Welcome?

I'm not sure exactly what we're supposed to be filling this space of our first blog with, but I remember Mr. Fox asking us to make a welcoming note or something. So, welcome to my blogger page, here you will read the things that I write from my mind. Some things will be happy and sunny, and sometimes my writing will go into a dark stage. This happens a lot. I tend to write poetry more often than anything else,  but I really want to learn to write a well written short story. Thanks for reading this first blog.