short stories – Page 6 – First Everything, Now This

The Clubhouse and the Meteor – Part 1 of 2

April 25th, 2018

Six hundred and forty-seven years.

That was how long it took Jack and his brother, Henry, to finish building their new clubhouse with their grandfather. At least, that’s how long it felt to Jack, anyway. His first mistake was presuming they would be finished the day the wood and nails arrived. In Jack’s five-year-old mind, there wasn’t that much to do: hammer some wood, cut out some windows, add some decorations, and that would be that. He quickly learned, however, that there was a great deal of measuring, sawing and lunch breaks involved in building the perfect clubhouse. Then there were the days off due to the terrible weather and the early starts so that they could make the most of the refreshing mornings.

The sun was setting as Jack’s grandfather lifted Henry up to hammer the final nail into a piece of pine at the back of the clubhouse and they took a moment to admire the fruits of their labour, agreeing that every cup of sweat was worth it. Just as they were about to call it a night and head back inside, an elderly man wearing a suit and carrying a walking cane stepped out of the clubhouse as if he had lived there forever. The old man lifted his cane, pointing it towards the bewildered trio. “Your clubhouse is in grave danger,” the old man announced. “And I’m here to give the three of you a choice.”

Jack’s grandad was the first to speak.
“Wait just a cotton-picking second. You can’t come walking out of our clubhouse the very moment we finish it and start telling us that it’s in grave danger.”
“Yes, I can,” replied the old man. “I just did.”
“These boys haven’t even had a chance to play in there yet!” Jack’s grandad said, frustrated by the suggestion that all of their hard work might have been for nothing.
“Unfortunately, the meteor that’s flying through space right now on its way to destroy your clubhouse doesn’t care about that,” the old man replied matter-of-factly.
“A meteor? A meteor is not coming here to destroy our clubhouse anytime soon. Not when these hands have spent the past eight days building one of the sturdiest structures known to man.”
“I know about those hands,” said the old man, a slight grin forming on his face as he placed his cane beside the door to the clubhouse and lifted up his own hands. “Because they are my hands, too.”
Jack’s grandfather stared at the old man and realised he was speaking the truth.
“That’s right, Grandpa Joe, you and I are the same person! Except, I’m from the future, and I’m here to help.”

RECENT FEATURE – GUEST AUTHOR, OPEN HOUSE BY SALLY CRONIN – PART 3 OF 4

April 25th, 2018

Hi everyone! Very privileged to be asked to take part in Sally Cronin’s weekly interview series, Open House. Sally’s four unique questions deserved some well-thought-out answers, so I opted to treat each response as its own piece of writing. This took a fair chunk of time to complete (on top of writing a new story every day!), so I hope you won’t mind me presenting my responses in four distinct parts. I’ll post half of the response here and, if you would like to keep reading, then you can click the link below and pay a visit to Sally’s incredibly active blog, Smorgasbord. Sally’s blog was recently nominated for Best Overall Blog by the good folk over at The Blogger’s Bash to be in held in London on May 19. I hope you enjoy this four-part series and best of luck to Sally!

PART 3

Do you have a favourite quote? What does it mean to you as an individual?

A young monk asks his master what life’s purpose is both before and after enlightenment. His master responded:

“Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.
After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.”

Like most people, I find that I get the most satisfaction out of an activity when I know how it aligns with one of my life’s priorities. At the moment, my priorities are my relationships, my health, my job and my creativity. I am a thirty-six-year-old man in a long-term relationship with my partner, Rachel, and I am a step-father to her three amazing children. I hold a leadership position in a career I am genuinely passionate about, and I enjoy running and riding as a way to stay healthy and to clear my mind. Rachel and I love travelling and hiking whenever we can and, just because I don’t believe the decorations on your cake need to stop at the icing, I have also committed to writing a children’s story every day for a year.

It wouldn’t be possible for me to enjoy as much success in any of these areas without having my priorities in order, so this quote resonated with me from the moment I heard it. Although I’m not 100% sure I am interpreting the quote correctly, I find myself drawing on it for energy whenever my priorities demand it. At first, I used it as inspiration to make sure I was always willing to put in the hard yards, interpreting the quote as saying that ‘no matter how many projects you finish or goals you reach, the hard work is never done’. However, after enduring some trials and tribulations over the past five months while attempting to stay true to my goals and commitments (including a particularly tragic week where Rachel was admitted to hospital),

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING OVER AT SALLY CRONIN’S BLOG, SMORGASBORD!

My name is Gregg Savage and, every night when the house is quiet, I write and publish a free children’s story at dailytales.com.au for you to share and enjoy.

FREE EMAIL SUBSCRIPTION | TWITTER | FACEBOOK | WEBSITE

Illustrations by Alisha Towers: FACEBOOK

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Shivani and the Flight of the Butterfly

April 24th, 2018

The butterflies told her secrets. They spoke in whispers about how they had learned to fly and where their wings came from. They talked softly about the importance of flowers and how honoured they felt that it was their jobs to help keep them alive. Shivani never had to ask them questions, they volunteered the information without fuss. She spent every spare minute she had in the garden with the butterflies, and for that reason, they had learned to trust each other. “You have proven yourself trustworthy, Shivani,” their leader told her. “One day soon, you will be able to use what you have learned about the butterflies in your own world.”

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

The wooden chair had to be dragged from the kitchen table to the front door in short bursts. Once she was satisfied with its position, Shivani climbed onto it and adjusted herself so that she could sit upright. She placed her stuffed kitten, Nigh Nigh, in her lap and faced the front door, swinging her legs under the chair while waiting for it to open. The plan was to greet her daddy with hugs and kisses the very second he opened the door. She replayed the moment over and over again: her father opening the door and pretending not to be able to see her while she playfully bounded up to him, tugging on his uniform, pleading for him to look down so that he would finally have to acknowledge that she was there. After picking her up and swinging her around one or two times, he would hug her so tightly and make her feel so loved that she would never want him to let go.

“Delayed flight.” They were the only words Shivani’s mother repeated while on the phone and, each time she said them, she grew increasingly upset. After ending the call, her mother told Shivani that her daddy couldn’t come home tonight. Instead of getting upset, Shivani sat in her chair, staring at the door while singing and patting Nigh Nigh. Her big brother, Tyson, tried annoying her on several occasions in an attempt to get her to come and swim in the pool or ride their bikes down the street, but Shivani would not budge.

While the sun was setting, Shivani sang one of her favourite lullabies.

Butterfly, close your eyes,
Butterfly, fold your wings,
Dream sweet dreams, butterfly.
When you feel the sun warm on your face again,
You will fly.
Spread your wings, butterfly.

The instant Shivani saw shadows moving on the other side of the glass panes in the door, she turned and climbed down from her chair, accidentally knocking it over. Her mother walked over, shaking her head and trying to tell Shivani that there was no one there. Shivani wouldn’t listen, however, so her mother unlocked the door and opened it to prove her point, letting the orange glow of the sunset flood into the house. The two of them stood in the doorway, staring out across the garden, unable to move. In their front yard sat a butterfly as big as their house.

Shivani felt the breeze of the butterfly’s wings as they slowly stopped flapping, gradually coming to rest, their edges as thin as paper against the thick grass. She took a step outside and could hear its breath as it let out a soothing, deep rumble with every exhale. Between its majestic head and splendidly round body sat her father, gripping tightly onto handfuls of hair on the back of the butterfly’s neck. The butterfly’s eyes followed Shivani as she ran out to the incredible sight before her. “You came home, Daddy!” Shivani yelled. Her daddy looked around, confused, as if he had lost something before sliding down the wing and onto solid ground.
“Now, where could little Shivani be?” he asked, his face creased while he scratched his head. “If only she were here so that I could tell her about my most incredible journey!”
Shivani ran over to her father and tugged on his uniform. “Down here, Daddy! I’m down here!”

RECENT FEATURE – GUEST AUTHOR, OPEN HOUSE BY SALLY CRONIN – PART 2 OF 4

April 24th, 2018

Hi everyone! Very privileged to be asked to take part in Sally Cronin’s weekly interview series, Open House. Sally’s four unique questions deserved some well-thought-out answers, so I opted to treat each response as its own piece of writing. This took a fair chunk of time to complete (on top of writing a new story every day!), so I hope you won’t mind me presenting my responses in four distinct parts. I’ll post half of the response here and, if you would like to keep reading, then you can click the link below and pay a visit to Sally’s incredibly active blog, Smorgasbord. Sally’s blog was recently nominated for Best Overall Blog by the good folk over at The Blogger’s Bash to be in held in London on May 19. I hope you enjoy this four-part series and best of luck to Sally!

YOU CAN READ PART ONE BY CLICKING HERE!

PART 2

Which author would you have to dinner, why and what questions would you ask them?

the-red-tree Without question, Australian children’s author and illustrator, Shaun Tan. Shaun’s unorthodox storytelling is what initially got me hooked on wanting to write children’s stories. I am in awe of his ability to craft narratives that border on poetry while telling an alternative, yet parallel story with the accompanying pictures. Although hope is a recurring theme in his stories, I also admire the courage Shaun has to explore some darker topics such as grief (Tales from Outer Suburbia), depression (The Red Tree) and displaced people (The Rabbits (illustrator) & Eric), subjects not usually associated with your typical children’s picture books. As a teacher, it’s refreshing to delve into these relatable and often ignored themes through Shaun’s compelling storytelling. Shaun’s style involves using words and phrases that can be taken both literally and metaphorically, so it’s a great feeling watching the students have a lightbulb moment when they figure out the “actual” plot to the story.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING OVER AT SALLY CRONIN’S BLOG, SMORGASBORD!

My name is Gregg Savage and, every night when the house is quiet, I write and publish a free children’s story at dailytales.com.au for you to share and enjoy.

FREE EMAIL SUBSCRIPTION | TWITTER | FACEBOOK | WEBSITE

Illustrations by Alisha Towers: FACEBOOK

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Izzy and the Bucket-O-Slime

April 23rd, 2018

Izzy attracted a small crowd while catching fake fish at the annual Greenvale fair. The fish were made of plastic and, instead of using a hook to catch them, the line threaded into the rod had magnets dangling from the bottom. Her parents had paid enough money for her to catch three fish and, underneath the third fish, the word PRIZE was written in gold felt pen. After the crowd had finished applauding, the man who ran the fishing stall informed Izzy that this meant she could select a prize from the third shelf behind where he stood. Being six years old, this was an important decision and one not to be taken lightly, so it took Izzy a few moments longer to choose than her parents would have liked. After thinking for a good length of time, Izzy was happy to take home the clear plastic container with a thick, green, sticky ooze inside labelled Bucket-O-Slime.

By the time they arrived home, it was too late to play with the slime, so Izzy placed the bucket on the dresser in her bedroom and admired its green texture through the clear plastic. After organising herself for bed, Izzy thought that she couldn’t do any harm by taking the lid off the bucket and giving the slime a slight poke. She opened her bedroom door and looked both ways down the hallway before heading back to her dresser, picking up the bucket and holding it under one arm while her other hand peeled back the well-sealed lid. Izzy lifted her index finger and poked the slime, causing it to move like jelly. She looked understandably concerned when the slime did not stop wobbling and even more concerned when it began growing. She tried to grab the lid to contain the slime, but she fumbled and dropped it on the floor. In the few seconds it took Izzy to pick the lid up and get herself ready to force the slime back down, the slime had grown so significantly that it could no longer fit inside the container.

While the slime oozed its way across her dresser, Izzy tried to think of how she was going to stop it from spreading. She took four of the heaviest books she could lift from her bookshelf and placed them around the edges of the dresser. It was no good, however, and the ooze pushed itself up and over the books, uncaring as to their sentimental value. Izzy took a few steps backwards, watching as the slime used the books she had put down as a fence, forming itself around them as it took up more and more space. Every time she snuck towards the door, the slime would flick a blob out to prevent her from touching the doorknob. In a matter of minutes, Izzy’s life had changed dramatically for the worse.

She was about to resign herself to a life of slime when her bedroom door swung open and her father stood there, wearing a necklace made from six bars of soap. In his hands were two spray bottles: one labelled “Detergent 1”, the other labelled “Detergent 2”. Izzy had never loved her father so much. He yelled at the slime, demanding it stop what it was doing and go back to the container from which it had first come. The slime did not budge, and there was a moment of silence before Izzy’s father started marching towards the slime, spraying the liquid from both bottles towards its surface.

It was retreating. Right out of Izzy’s bedroom window, but it was retreating. “I must warn you!” Izzy’s father yelled. “I’m using my special triple-action mix tonight!” Izzy wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it certainly made an impact on the slime, as it was now obvious that it was escaping through her bedroom window. Once the last of its green, gooey body slipped out of view, Izzy and her father walked over to the window and watched the slime making its way down their street. They were both too tired to chase after it or to battle with it even if they were to catch it.

For now, Izzy’s room was slime-free and that was the best thing a six-year-old girl could wish for.

Elliot and The Trainman

April 22nd, 2018

Elliot Asher sat on the back seat of the train’s only carriage, wondering where the Trainman was taking him for their final stop. Not that he was in any hurry to get off. He could comfortably sit for hours listening to the soothing sound of a train’s wheels powering along the tracks and was equally as fascinated by every cog, wheel and lever as he was by watching the mountains, lakes and rivers through the windows surrounding him. As the two of them hopped back onto the train at their previous stop, the Trainman informed Elliot that they were now heading towards the third and final stop on their journey.

The train had arrived at Greenvale Station at 8.32 am last Saturday and Elliot carried his luggage, including some of his toy blocks, his drawing pack and some clothes, into the carriage. He was expecting to see a train filled with people, just like the ones he had seen in the pictures. However, once the train signalled it was ready for departure by making all of the relevant noises, the Trainman opened the glass door separating the two of them, briefly introduced himself and told Elliot that, at this stage, he would be the only passenger on the train. When Elliot thanked the Trainman for the information, the Trainman took a step back and responded by saying, “If only I were half as polite as you when I was your age, young Elliot!”

They had been on their way for only a few moments when the Trainman playfully shooed Elliot towards the back of the carriage, encouraging him to take the back seat. “You kids are never happy anywhere else, trust me,” he commented. Although he liked to think that he was more grown-up than most other kids, Elliot chose to follow the Trainman’s advice, as the back seat looked more comfortable than any of the others. He wasn’t there for long before the train started pulling up to the first station. Once the train had come to a complete halt, the Trainman flicked four switches on the console in front of him before opening the door and waving for Elliot to follow him off the train. Elliot was surprised when he walked onto the platform to find his grandfather waiting for him. He didn’t get to see his grandfather very often these days, so the two of them took advantage of the short time they had. The Trainman waited by the front of the train while Elliot and his grandfather sat on the wooden seat on the platform, talking and laughing. After some time, the Trainman looked at his watch and blew his whistle. Elliot’s grandfather nodded at the Trainman and held Elliot’s hand as they walked back towards the carriage. Before hopping back onto the train, Elliot’s grandfather knelt down and whispered something into Elliot’s ear. Elliot smiled, kissed his grandfather on the cheek and walked back into the carriage.

The mountains in the background appeared to move much slower than the trees and grass lining the tracks. Watching this phenomenon through the windows of the train kept Elliot occupied until their next stop. This time, Elliot was standing and waiting when the Trainman walked over to open the doors and the two of them stepped out onto the platform together. Elliot squinted when he saw a baseball team wearing blue and white uniforms waiting for him. “We’d heard you were practising your bat-and-ball skills, young Elliot, so we thought we’d give you a decent chance to show us your skills!” the Trainman announced before laughing and heading back to his post by the train. The baseball team took Elliot outside the station and onto a grass field, where they played numerous games for longer than Elliot had ever played before. Elliot was sweating and puffing by the time the Trainman’s whistle blew, but he found the energy to shake each player’s hand before speaking with the Trainman and finding his seat.

There was a greater distance between their second and final stops, so Elliot caught up on some sleep, the gentle rocking of the train helping him drift off with ease. When he woke up, they were inside a tunnel. It wasn’t dark, though. At least, it didn’t feel dark. There were fairy lights strewn across the ceiling, making it look as though they were travelling through time. The Trainman turned and smiled at Elliot. “Rise and shine, young Elliot!” the Trainman said. “Here we are at your final destination!” He pulled the lever to his left and the train started to slow. Elliot was less eager to leave the train this time and the Trainman had to prompt him to gather his luggage even though the door to the platform was open. Elliot paused before stepping over the gap between the train and the platform and stared at the Trainman. After a moment, the Trainman held out his hand and Elliot shook it. “The pleasure was all mine, young Elliot!” Elliot walked off the train and onto the platform, where he looked up and smiled at all of his friends and family waiting there, just for him.

RECENT FEATURE – Guest Author, Open House by Sally Cronin – Part 1 of 4

April 22nd, 2018

Hi everyone! Very privileged to be asked to take part in Sally Cronin’s weekly interview series, Open House. Sally’s four unique questions deserved some well-thought-out answers, so I opted to treat each response as its own piece of writing. This took a fair chunk of time to complete (on top of writing a new story every day!), so I hope you won’t mind me presenting my responses in four distinct parts. I’ll post half of the response here and, if you would like to keep reading, then you can click the link below and pay a visit to Sally’s incredibly active blog, Smorgasbord. Sally’s blog was recently nominated for Best Overall Blog by the good folk over at The Blogger’s Bash to be in held in London on May 19. I hope you enjoy this four-part series and best of luck to Sally!

PART 1

Tell us about your chosen genre of books and why you chose to write in that genre.

182 days ago, I decided to write a unique story every day and, once complete, upload it to my webpage, dailytales.com.au. Aside from simultaneously being rewarding and challenging, I also viewed this project as an opportunity to share the process of a writer trying to find his voice in a meaningful and engaging way. One of the lessons I’ve learned over the past three months is that I enjoy writing stories that emulate the styles and themes of the authors I learned about while studying to be a teacher at the Queensland University of Technology in Brisbane, Australia. One author’s work I passionately share with my students is Margaret Wild.

I was introduced to the mesmerising stories of children’s picture book author, Margaret Wild, by my English lecturer in my first year at university. As a group of students in our late teens and early twenties, we thought we weren’t too unreasonable when we let out a collective groan after the lecturer informed us she was going to read a children’s storybook before each of her presentations. Without hesitation, the lecturer projected a copy Margaret Wild’s, Woolves in the Sitee, on the screen at the front of the auditorium and proceeded to read an illustrated children’s storybook focussing on the struggles a young boy attempting to survive in a post-apocalyptic world…

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING OVER AT SALLY CRONIN’S BLOG, SMORGASBORD!

My name is Gregg Savage and, every night when the house is quiet, I write and publish a free children’s story at dailytales.com.au for you to share and enjoy.

FREE EMAIL SUBSCRIPTION | TWITTER | FACEBOOK | WEBSITE

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

A Leap Into the Shadows

April 21st, 2018

Despite the fact that the three of them were watching me, I squinted.

I inched my feet towards the edge and some of the looser rocks fell away from the cliff face, shattering onto the boulders below. That was a decent enough reason to shut my eyes. I kept them closed, not because I wanted to shut out the fear, but because I wanted to pay attention to its source. My feet were sending signals to my legs, telling them that standing on the edge of the cliff was a terrible idea. My stomach was sending similar signals to my brain and my arms refused to unhinge themselves from being wrapped around my stomach. It was obvious that my body was against the act of jumping into Stanton River. For these reasons, I started thinking about how I had found myself in this situation.

The four of us had drawn straws to decide the order for the leap into the river and I was the third to jump. Michael was first. His father regularly brought him down to this area of Greenvale, so it wasn’t too surprising that, within seconds of Charlie plucking the final stick out of Billy’s hands, Michael had pulled his white T-shirt over his head, thrown it on the ground and run towards the cliff’s edge. Without the slightest hesitation, he leapt, and we could feel the silence as he drifted through the air, his arms moving in tiny circles to help him maintain his posture. He fell for long enough that the three of us had time to make our way to one of the boulders and see him land in the water with as much confidence as he had jumped. The split second before he reappeared lasted an eternity, but the reward of seeing his grinning face break the surface of the water was worth it. He’d set a benchmark that the rest of us were going to find difficult to reach.

If anyone could reach it, however, it was Billy Coates. He was notorious for discovering the daring activity in an otherwise calm environment and he had a reputation for never backing down from a challenge. Charlie and I were still congratulating Michael through a series of war cries that echoed from one bank to the other as Billy cracked his knuckles and headed to the edge of the cliff. Charlie walked over to one of the boulders to help Michael climb his way back up the cliff face. Billy was looking down into the water without smiling while strands of his hair started flicking backwards and forwards in the breeze. He was scared. I’d never seen Billy be concerned about anything before, so I instantly started to feel my own fear building. I almost felt privileged to be one of the only people to see Billy Coates consider his actions so thoughtfully. By the time Michael joined us at the top, Billy was preparing for his run-up. He found his way to the edge in three giant steps and launched himself out from the cliff face. Just to show off, Billy completed a mid-air spin as he fell towards the water and, after landing safely, he resurfaced, laughing and mocking the next jumper.

There was no way I was going to run up like the other boys, so I stood close enough to the edge that my toes could still feel the ground and squinted. I only opened my eyes because Michael was mocking me, saying he was going to tell Amy Sandal that I was too chicken to jump. I responded that I had a much bigger chance of jumping off this cliff than he did talking to someone like her. He had a point, though. I didn’t want to jump. And, as I looked down into the water, a part of me thought that maybe Amy thinking I was chicken was the lesser of two evils. My heart jumped up into my throat when I saw a shadow move under the water. The water was crystal clear, so there was no doubt in my mind that something was there. It reminded me of a whale. A whale with wings instead of fins. I looked over at Billy, silently asking him if he had seen the same thing. He grinned knowingly and told me to stop being such a chicken.

I looked back down into the water and whatever was there was gone. I shrugged it off as clouds moving overhead, casting a shadow on the surface of the water. I was exhausted from being so scared anyway. I took a deep breath, bent my knees and set myself free from the constraints of the cliff.

A Shattered Rock

April 20th, 2018

Rocks cannot leap. They can fall.

One moment, they are spinning through the air, so light and unbound, descending for long enough to show you every shade of their mesmerising surfaces. And the next, they shatter with the most heinous of sounds, the force of the boulders below splitting them apart, separating them into smaller pieces. Fragments, they call them. Some fragments hit the jagged walls of the cliffs in a chorus of miniature thuds while other fragments are flung out and over the water, landing with the dance of one thousand splashes. Then, they sink. The darkness of the water enveloping them and sucking them under forever.

My heart. My heart is a rock.

Haley and the Necklace – Part 2 of 2

April 19th, 2018

Lucas Hervey. That’s who was responsible for Haley’s anger. How could he think that it would be funny to place two fingers behind Haley’s grandmother’s head as someone was taking a photo while the two of them painted? Frustrated, Haley moved out of her bed and onto the floor. Since her room was dark, she had to use her fingers to find the hiding place for the photo album, placing it down gently before moving back into her bed. Some of the guests honked their car horns as they were leaving Haley’s house and, once they had all left, Haley listened to the sounds of her parents tidying up the living area for a few moments before she drifted off into a deep sleep.

The crack in the window grabbed Haley’s attention the moment she stepped out of bed. She stood on her carpeted floor, wondering how it could have happened. Her mother knocked, and Haley glanced over her shoulder to smile at her when the door opened. Haley’s mother smiled back, but her smile disappeared when she looked up at the window above Haley’s bed. She walked over, stood behind Haley and placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. The two of them took a moment to silently observe the crack. Haley’s mother kept her hands on her daughter’s shoulders as she knelt down next to her. She whispered something into Haley’s ear. Haley nodded, took her bag down from the shelf and got as ready for her day at kindergarten as she could.

Three of the teachers at Haley’s kindergarten made a fuss over the necklace before Haley even had a chance to put her bag away on the shelf in the main room. She hugged her mother goodbye before walking outside. She was pleased to see her best friend, Samantha Cronin, waiting on the wooden seats underneath the large oak tree. Samantha and Haley spoke at length about the necklace before Haley told her what she had seen in her photo album. Samantha pointed towards the sandpit, and Haley nearly scowled when she saw Lucas Hervey enjoying himself playing dragons and princesses with three other children. Haley felt the anger rise again. The two girls watched Lucas as he ran towards some of the other students with a pretend sword he had made using a thick twig. Haley imagined Lucas running slower so that the dragons would have more time to run away. To Haley’s surprise, Lucas started slowing down, moving in slow motion through the air and unable to catch the dragons. Some of the other kindergarten students noticed what was happening as well and gathered around Lucas to watch him running in the most peculiar way. Haley decided to try another experiment, this time involving sand. Lots of sand.

All of the students watched as a giant pillar of sand swirled above Lucas’s head while he was still hovering in slow motion. Then, once Haley gave a nod, the entire pillar landed right on top of him, covering his feet in sand. Lucas looked angrier than he did shocked, but he certainly did not look like he was in control. Haley took some pride in being able to control Lucas like a puppet for what he had done, so the girls spent the next several minutes toying with Lucas: sending him down the slides backwards, encouraging him to juggle things that were impossible to juggle and, perhaps most fun of all, making him place two fingers behind his head to make himself look like a goofy bunny rabbit while the other students pointed at him and laughed. Haley was so caught up in seeking her playground revenge that Samantha had to place a hand on her shoulder to remind her to stop.

The kindergarten teachers didn’t let the students outside for a long time after all the commotion, so the students played with their toys or drew pictures. The rumours had started, however, and Haley knew that she would have to take greater care to prove to her mother that the necklace would only ever add to her newfound power.

Tag: short stories

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PART 3

Do you have a favourite quote? What does it mean to you as an individual?

Tell Someone About This Tale!

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Tell Someone About This Tale!

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YOU CAN READ PART ONE BY CLICKING HERE!

PART 2

Which author would you have to dinner, why and what questions would you ask them?

Tell Someone About This Tale!

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Tell Someone About This Tale!

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Tell Someone About This Tale!

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PART 1

Tell us about your chosen genre of books and why you chose to write in that genre.

Tell Someone About This Tale!

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Tell Someone About This Tale!

Like this:

Tell Someone About This Tale!

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Tell Someone About This Tale!

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