‘Twas the Shot Heard ‘Round theWorld

By Michael Metzler Jr.Jan/30/2014

#3, #2 & #6 The British had been seen. They were gravitationally steadily, stubbornly marching towrads Concord, under the hazy cloudy, placid atmoshpere, to hwere all their enemies' ammunition waited for them.

Groups of the enemies, (the Americans) were now trying to stop them. There was only one way.

Between Concord and the British, there lay a peaceful, quiet town, named Lexington, a field of flowers in the midst of a raging wildfire.

It was there the minutemen went.

All this confusion, taken place in Massachusetts in 1775, came about through a certain action taken by King George of England, who now at the moment was sitting on the English throne.

George had taken rights and rules into his own doings, and now was attacking the Americans with his own force, because he believed they should and would obey him. One way to defeat the Americans, as well as provoke them, he knew, would be to seize their powdery ammunition that was in Concord.

That was what he was doing now.

The Long March from Concord was a Cloudy One, filled with bits of rain, and snatches of distant thunder, like the growling of a hungry lion.

But other than that, it was an easy trudge, and the militiamen of America made it with little effort. They set up camp, and huddled 'round a campfire, shivering.

A flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the sound of galloping and whinnying, and a black horse rode sraight into their camp, and then instantly reared as it heard the thunder.

On its back sat a rider, struggling to keep on the saddle.

"Everyone!" he cried, "Please listen to Me!"

Everyone listened.

"To Lexington! The British are coming!" And then he vanished, he alongwith his horse.

Frightened, of course, the minutemen wondered waveringly what to do.

To an American Captain, named John Smith, apparently named after some figure of celebrity, it became crystal clear what to do.

"We march to Lexington NOW!" he thundered vehemently, and from then on wondered how much more thudering he was going to have to do. Andthen he wished he had phone. But then, he thought, a loudspeaker, too, would be nice. And then he couldn't stop thinking about what would be nice to have.

Compelled deliberately with some wary form of compliance, or obligation, they were off, scrambling with guns and powder, knives, swords, and whatnot, a rather small colony of army ants.

The minutemen halted abruptly just behind the edge of a valley, overlooking a vast landscape.

They could hear distant sounds.

The sound of marching.

Captain John Smith stood in the front ranks; He drew his sword and waited. The grey clouds boiled overhead.

He turned grimly to his group of 70 soldiers.

"Do not fire," he yelled bitterly at them, "until ye see the whites of theireyes!"

The soldiers pawed the ground nervously.

Early in the morning, the minutemen could see through a crack in the valley. A narrow band of red appeared, which then grew and grew in size and capacity, until it became an obstinate wave of scarlet, threatening to drown them all.

The minutemen lowered their guns, looking into the sightings, bravely

confronting the potential death to them all.

A British officer on a horse approached, with his large band of British soldiers.

"Go away!" he yodeled, lifting his sword. He spoke in an aggressive manner, though it was a fact that he was as calm as could be.

The minutemen refused.

So the officer and his troops gathered closer, and closer...thunder boomed overhead.

Then a faint glimmer of white appeared from outer edges of the troops.No...! But it was: The whites of the eyes of the British.

"FIRE!" John Smith roared. His eyes were bulging. He lifted his sword. Itglittered in the lightning.

Pop! Pop! Pop! popping resounded thoughout the valley. And then they all knew that they all had wet powder, wet as rain.

Apparently the same incident had happened to the British. They were all drawing their sword and knives and bayonets, grinning malevolently.

The minutemen did the same.

Suddenly, a loud BANG cracked through the valley, and in a spark spit out of the cloud in a furious light, the British officer fell smoking to the ground.

The minutemen cheered for the lucky person who had fired that shot heard 'round the world.

And then with a hoarse yell of inevitable victory, they fell upon the British ranks, clashing incessantly with swords and the impotent wet powder. Though it was a battle of wet powder, most of them could distinctly hear the booms and bangs of electricity, powered by a different source of ammunition.

"Lightning!" John Smith murmured, "my oh my. It was only lightning."

You must not forget, however, that it was the shot heard 'round the world.

THE END