And The Winners Are...
Hi everyone! How are you? Today I am announcing the winners for my short story contest! I truly loved all of your stories, it was so hard to choose the winners!
3rd place..... Bailey!!!
2nd place.... Jemima!!!
1st place...... Abigail!!!
Now here are their stories!
The Fernsby’s by Bailey K.
The Fernsby’s were up to their normal stuff today. The smell of fresh honey bread baking in the oven, Toby playing with his pet guinea pig Mr. Buttons, which he had gotten for his birthday last year, Ted playing his keyboard, and Livie singing along to the songs he played.
A Cardboard Heart by Jemima O.
The day I got closest to death was strangely also one of my best. Jesus said “whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it” - and I guess that’s how it goes; except I wasn’t trying to lose my life for His sake at all. I’m ashamed to say, but it was quite the opposite. My comfortable existence was snatched from me in a way that was so... Amazing? Life-changing? Furious? Maddening? Wrench- your-eyelids-open kind of eye opening? I have no way to describe it; but I must tell someone. The entire world, perhaps.
It happened late on a hot Chennai summer afternoon. I was leaning my head up against the jeep window, staring up into the cloudless sky and watching the light posts roll by. I tried to ignore the blazing heat, the incessant beep of car horns, and the giant fly buzzing around my ears, by counting the various objects strung up on the passing light poles. A child’s red sneakers... a faded scrap of sari that fluttered with every car that whizzed by... a filthy pair of what could once have been fluffy dice, and an ironic piece of black and yellow “DANGER” tape. Ironic, because who, living in Chennai, (or in all of India perhaps), does not know that danger is the complete reality of the slums. A little strip of warning plastic has as much meaning for slum dwellers as the ragged street kids playing gully cricket on the train tracks.
Although, I thought listlessly, it must have been serious for anyone in possession of barricade tape to take notice. A murder, perhaps. Or some shanties in the way of plans for a high-rise apartment block. Ordinary stuff, like a brutal drunken beating, or a 6-year-old deliberately crippled for better begging, goes unnoticed by the police. Stop being morbid, I thought, tossing my head as if to shut out the memories from intruding into my world. There’s enough badness on the planet without you worrying about it. I returned to my window and continued tracing squiggles and shapes on the dusty pane. Yeah, that’s right!, went on my inner self, inviting me to a pity party where we would bemoan the wild idea that lead my parents on a short term mission trip to serve in the poorest parts of India. I mean, they could have chosen some place a little more... civilised. How do they feel ok about dragging us all into one of the most dangerous places in the world?, I grumped. This town is so dirty, dust even gets on the inside of a closed car!
Well, it’s not—A thundering chorus of honking horns and yelling Hindus startled me, and I jerked up quickly and covered my ears. Peering out the window, a sea of jammed-up cars stretched far into the distance. Far ahead, three skinny cows were ambling right through the traffic, seemingly unworried by the deafening racket directed at them. If cows could speak, I’m sure these ones would have a smirk on their faces. I could just imagine them saying “We will take our time crossing the road, thank you very much!”. Cows in India are sacred, and thus they have the right of way wherever they roam (which is almost everywhere).
Ten minutes later, we were pulling up at the bustling street market. Hundreds of shop doors lined the packed streets, selling saris, imitation Nike shoes, little jewelled elephants, bags of limes, papadams, spiced chai, and posters of American pop singers. If there was ever a place to justify the cliché “we have everything”, it would be here. And ordinarily I loved the alleys brimming with trinkets and wafting spicy smells; but today, with my morose mood, I sulked out of the car and barely noticed it all.
“Jillian!”, my mother called, trying to be heard over the clamour of the hagglers, “Amilai wanted us to get baby formula; we can get some - ah, what do you call it? Chaat! We can get some chaat after. Just stay close to me, all of you. Molly, no wandering away this time!”
We squeezed through the crowds, often stopping to inspect a tiny shop or stall. Molly couldn't resist when she saw a curious knickknack or a glitzy necklace, and our search was interrupted by numerous of “Mummy, I just saw something amazing!” or “Mummy! Look, look! It's one of those cute thingys that we saw at Mrs Roscoe's house!” I just rolled my eyes. Come on. Do we have to stop for every little thing she sees... again?
A while later, Mum pulled us into a shop with a colourful display of “Darling Luvly” onesies and baby bibs. “They should have some formula in here...”, she speculated, and started looking over the wares as the owner showed her things in broken English. I turned, and a medieval looking leather bound journal caught my attention. Nice, I thought, picking it up. I happen to have a mania for collecting notebooks, whether I need them or not, and so I was absorbed in my corner of the shop for a while.
Just then, something pink skipped past me and onto the street, knocking over a wicker giraffe on the floor. I jumped, and whirled around – a fluffy jacket was swiftly disappearing into the thick crowd of moving shoppers. Molly! Good grief, I yelped, and sprinted after her, yelling “Molly, come BACK!” She was running fast, and I swerved quickly, surging with anger and fear. “Scuse me”, I gasped, nearly running into a young woman on her phone. “MOLLY!”, I screamed again. No answer. I didn't know she could run this fast. Oh, God, please help me get her back! I slowed to a jog, panting, and then sped up again crazily as a patch of bright magenta appeared ahead of me in the crowd. “MoLEEEE!”, I shouted, calling her name again and again while trying to peer over the shoulders of the jostling shoppers surrounding me.
Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid. I didn't know if I was berating myself, Molly, the situation, or the adults around me who ignored my panic as if I wasn't there. I gritted my teeth and desperately scanned the crowd. Curse that journal! Why wasn't Mum watching her, anyway?
The summer sun was beginning to set, a shimmering red globe above me. I was sweaty and scared, and the babble of voices, speaking in language I couldn't understand, was getting louder as dusk approached. “Come on, missus, try velly good chai, eh?”, a vendor called, beckoning. I shook my head and gulped, feeling helpless and terrified. I should turn back, now. Like, NOW. But Molly! She's still lost and I'll lose her even more! Thoughts surrounded me like a pack of hyenas, challenging me to make a decision. Whatcha gonna do now, huh? Huh?
Then she was there. The crowds parted briefly, and I saw the pink jacketed girl. Molly! I felt wobbly with sheer relief, and staggered forwards. Wait. She was holding someone's hand; an Indian woman? And, last time I checked, Molly didn't have dark brown hair! Oops. What a smartie,
Jillian. You got the wrong Molly. The wrong Molly! She wasn't lost after all! I had run away from my family, chasing a runaway sister when in fact she was still back at the shops, probably still looking at baby clothes. Or looking for me. I clicked back in to panic mode. Now I was the one lost!
I could use someone's phone and call Mum – but I don't even know her number, or Dad's either!
When we moved to India, both of my parents got new local phone numbers; and I hadn't bothered to drill them into my memory. Think, think! 44... 44, 8? 44 823...? It was no use. I could remember nothing more.
Or the mission agency; they'll know Mum and Dad's number! I could call the orphanage we are helping at! Yes! A tangible relief flowed over me. It would all be alright. I almost skipped up to a motherly looking Indian woman, and addressed her as clearly and politely as I could; “Excuse me...”
“Hmm?”, she responded, peering down at me with a frown on her face. I hadn't realised (or hadn't looked to see) that she was sampling sari material; she held a yellow and gold cloth to her chest, like a barrier between us. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I've accidentally gotten lost, and my sister is too, actually, she's not, and I can't find my parents, (they were in the market) and they work for an orphanage, and I should call and notify them where I am, so can I please, um, borrow your phone if you would be so kind to let me?”, I rattled on hopefully.
“What?” She clearly hadn't heard a word of my hurried speel. Frustrated and weary, I managed to calm down and take a deep breath. “Could I borrow your phone?”, I said slowly. “I need to call someone.” Biting my lip expectantly, I tried to stop myself from charging through a wall, kicking the nearest stand of six-limbed Hindu gods into deep space, or bursting into hysterical tears. The lady's expression changed quickly. She glared at me, disdain written plainly on her face. “Oh, I see what you want, aieee! You want to be stealing my phone, huh? I know your tricks, pretending if you need to call some person. Get away, street beggar! Off! Off!”, she scolded, waving the sari like I was an obnoxious fly to be shooed away.
I stared at her, dismayed. What on earth? Backing away, I turned and ran back into the crowd, a wild sob bursting out of my throat. I ran, not caring where my aching feet took me or who I startled, trying to get away from the sari lady, the clamouring crowds, and the fact that I was lost. Completely lost.
Running, the wind finally on my face and sweeping away the sweat and oppressive heat of the day, I felt strangely calm. Maybe I would just keep on going until morning. I would keep jogging until night fell, until the smoggy midnight sky was swept away and the streets of India were bright again. Until at home I found Molly, the real Molly, picked her up in giant hug, and together we would keep running all the way to the river's edge and swim and wash and drink in the falling rain and-
Splash. I looked down, my fantasies and my foot soaked in something muddy, wet and slimy. I lifted my leg carefully, wincing in disgust. Eghhhh. By the reddened sunset's light, I could see a brown piece of rotten debris clinging to my sneakers. I was in a narrow filthy, street, standing in a decomposing pile of trash.
That was as much as one could take. I flicked my foot as hard as I could and then sank down with a wail on a crate by the wall. I lifted by head up at the sky and began to sob, the street lights blurring and swimming in my tears. Terrible fear, frustration and despair overwhelmed me like the monsoon rain, and I wept and shivered in the cold. Another drip from a leaky pipe landed on my shoulder and trickled down my back, but I didn't care. The wall is crying too, I thought, and that made me laugh hysterically till I hiccuped and then cried some more.
A hand touched me on the shoulder. Frightened, I turned my bleary eyes and saw a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, crouching in the shadows by my side. “Why you crying?”, she asked haltingly. I stared at her wearily. “I'm lost.” We looked at each other for a moment, two children homeless in an ocean of gutters and shanties. Then she smiled, a tiny crinkle of her dark eyes; a cautious but friendly expression that made me feel a little better.
“Come.” The girl beckoned to me, and if I hadn't been alone and too weary to think otherwise, I might have run back the way I came. But I was; and so I followed, stumbling down the alley after her. She was skinny but lithe; and her watchful, darting steps reminded me of an ever wary wild cat. The only clothes she had on were a pair of tattered bike shorts, and a striped jersey with one sleeve half torn off, which fluttered behind her like a flag. My heart ached for her poor bare feet – the cement paving was cold and rough. And strangely, in spite of my misery, I found myself marvelling at how blessed I was.
The girl lead me to a dead end out the back of a shop with bars over it's broken windows. There was a large structure made from cardboard boxes and upturned crates there, and she darted in under it and paused, motioning to me. Again, I followed, and crawled in after her, nearly bringing down the whole flimsy structure in the process. It was so dark inside that I could see nothing, but after a moment my eyes adjusted to a tiny “room” with rags and a sack on the floor.
It was like something Molly, Lila, and I would have made with couch cushions and blankets at home. How many times we had begged our parents to sleep or eat lunch in our cubby house– and now, what would I give for my own soft bed instead of this real life cubby.
A stream of Hindi came from the corner, and then a head, which gazed at me curiously with large eyes. My friend and this other child seemed to be having a quiet conversation about me, for they kept shooting glances in my direction. Finally they stopped and silence seeped into the tiny room. Two pairs of eyes met mine, and their wordless acceptance brought us together. I was one of them – just another slum child in a world where one's skin colour meant nothing if you were all alone. “What are your names?”, I asked, wanting to learn more about my new friends.
The first girl smiled shyly, and pointed first to herself and then to her friend. “Adya, me. Sanita, her.” I smiled back, and then laid my hand on my chest. “Jillian.”
That night, though their English was broken, I learnt much more about the life of a slum orphan. How Adya wept when her mother died at the hands of a drunken father. How she slipped into the night with nothing but a memory of the past, and a hope for the future which seemed to slip away with every slum sunrise. How they both survived with hardly anything, often giving their meagre finds away to Sanita's blind sister who later died alone on the cold streets, though they did their best to help her. They told me tales of the dangerous and heart wrenching life of an unwanted slum child, but not with pity for themselves or their thin bodies. There was, and always would be, a child worse off than them, and so they were lucky, and even cheerful. I wept quietly, humbled.
And so it was, that when I called the orphanage the next day, and the echoes of my father's footsteps finally found me, I was changed. My self-pity was melted away, and was replaced with a deep love and yearning for these beautiful children. The resentment of the previous day was transformed into a fierce and fiery desire to lift broken bodies out of the slums for good. A lion's roar filled my heart, welling up until I burst into tears in my Dad's arms as he carried me to the Jeep. He soothed me, held my hand and said quietly “It's been a hard time for you, hasn't it? You're home now. I have you.”I sobbed harder. “No, I was so stupid. So foolish.” “Honey!”, he said, squeezing my hand,“It's not your fault that you got lost!”
It's not that. I struggled for a way to say how I felt, but failed. I knew what I meant.
A part of my heart was left behind in that dingy cardboard shack, and I was better for it. I would always be one of them.
Sharperant by Abigail O.
Introduction
A long time ago, there was a kingdom, with walls as tall as the sky. None in this kingdom knew about the world outside, save the evil king, who controlled the city and all in it. In that city there were dragons, dwarfs, warriors, and young girls - one in particular, whose name was Missy.
Chapter 1
The Riot.
A pigeon landed gently onto the cold cobbled stones, a feather floating from it's speckled wing, and towards the dark river. The wind snatched it up, along with a dry leaf, which had been discarded by a nearby tree, and they swirled high above the deserted winter streets. A young child, straying from the warm folds of her mother's dress, reached up as the feather floated down, but, cruelly, the wind once again grabbed it, and placed the crumpled leaf into the outstretched hand. Three young street children raced along after the feather, until it finally swirled into the dark, waiting waters below. Beside the river, a young woman stood, singing into the swirling waters beneath. A worried wrinkle spread across her creamy brow, and her usually erect figure slouched over the rail that held the river back from the mall. Missy could sense the tension in the wind that whipped her long hair over her face. Her sweet voice stopped caroling, as the last shopkeeper locked himself inside his musty shop, and sat down to watch from his grimy window. He brushed away a spider that was trying to obscure the small hole in the curtain of webs, and leant against his elbow as a carriage rushed past, a young child peering out, nose pressed against the window. Suddenly, the tension burst, and a thousand people came running from alleys, shops, houses, and over fences, all charging towards the mall.
The people were mainly known as “the barefoot beggars”, who consisted of men without jobs, street children, careworn mothers, young widows, women and men, who's hearts had been broken time and again. They were a community that would steal, and then barter things for each other, such as food, clothes, and whatever else they needed. They had formed an underground network of people who, when alone, were unsure of themselves, but together were deadly. They would search the streets for people who were easy prey, and many times they had gathered in the streets, killing and stabbing the rich, ruining shops, markets, stalls, and homes. Today they swarmed in, rioting about a new law, that raised the taxes to the wealthy king, and though many had grumbled, and even complained, not much thought had been put to the new law. But now, the beggars were brutal, screaming as they crashed through the still air.
Missy ran for cover, praying.
“Oh Lord, don't let this happen, don't let our homes be destroyed!” she whispered through clenched teeth, as she slipped into a dark alley, where, for now, she would be safe. She watched, hopelessly, as the first shop was broken into, and the owner killed. She turned her face away, still praying.
“God, help the armies of the King to come, help him to see our plight!”
The King was cruel, but his armies were strong, full of strange men. The men were taken from rich homes. The king would disfigure them, ripping open their hands and placing daggers into the still raw wounds, then bandaging them up. When they healed over, the daggers would still be there. The king would also make his men look like animals, and many had the legs of a dragon, or the paws of a tiger. Only the strongest survived.
Missy continued to pray, her voice quiet against the roar of the beggars. As suddenly as their enemies, men in silver armor, their legs covered in leather strips, came in. First came a man, swords healed into his hands and legs, screaming the battle cry.
“It is the armies, we are saved!” Missy laughed.
The Men charged in, the beggars fighting furiously. For hours Missy stayed high in the alley, waiting for the armies to win. But they didn't, and slowly, the number died down, and only a few were left standing. Missy had to do something, and now she knew what.
A beggar grabbed a stick, parried a sword, and then hit hard, knocking a soldier to the ground. He then ripped the sword out of his enemies mutilated hand, charging on.
But suddenly, a sweet voice was heard, and both beggars and soldiers looked up to the roof of a run down shack. There, above it all, was a woman, untamed dragons silhouetted in the sun behind her. She was clothed in a grey dress, the wind whipping back her hair, the sunlight streaming onto her face. She sung with untold clarity.
When my eyes stop seeing the wonders of you, let them open again to your works.
When my ears cease hearing the birds in the tree, let them hear the angels chorus to thee,
When my heart stops beating within my chest, let it throb anew to a different tune, and rest.
In your unchanging love I find grace, and I will not fear when I finish this race, and awaken again, to thee.
It was Missy. The beggar dropped his sword, and slowly sank to his knees. The battle was over, but no one had won.
Missy scrambled down, her legs trembling as she gingerly picked her way past a discarded sword, and knelt down to care for a wounded soldier. Slowly, the number of untreated people decreased, as Missy made makeshift bandages out of shredded cloth, and splints out of branches. She came to the next man, a soldier - she knew that much from the swords embedded in his hands and feet, and the bright shield on his chest. Even though he was weak from loss of blood, he was different, his chin was still set a little higher, and he sat a little stronger.
“Ah” he said, smiling ruefully over his shoulder, “so you're the angel that stopped me from getting stabbed!”
Missy smiled with him, and then, without a word, began to tend to his wounds. He winced as she quietly whispered that she would need to take him home, where he could get proper medical attention, and then watched as she prepared a stretcher, and wandered off to find someone who would help carry him back.
Chapter 2
The Letter Missy chewed her pencil, and then began to write.
Dear Mother,
I am writing to you from our little shack, where our
first baby has just been born, we named him Theiry! He looks exactly like his father; there isn't a difference between them!
Issac is well, and we are blessed beyond measure.
I am looking from my window out to the pasture, where our first cow is grazing, next to the field where Issac is working.....
Missy gazed out the window, wondering how to tell her mother about the cloud of mystery that still hung over Issac's old home and status. She continued to write...
I still haven't found out where he comes from, he doesn't seem too open about it...
Okay, that was an understatement; when she had last asked, he had just stormed out the door...
How have you all been going over there?..
Tears clouded over Missy's light blue eyes as she thought of her mother. Her usually straight, sturdy figure had slouched onto Father's shoulder when Missy and her husband had left for a new home...
We hope you are all well, and that the Lord is blessing you as much as he is us!..
Missy paused, and remembered, back to when they were first married, the simple church and wedding, and the days when she and Issac had planned for their trip to their new house....
Theiry cried, disrupting her thoughts with his screams. She smiled, and went over to nurse him.
Your loving daughter, Missy.
Chapter 3
The Children
Thiery stood, head held high, as he watched his younger sister race after her brother. Then he turned away, and mounted his dragon. Now he was thirteen, he was allowed to ride the forest trail to town, alone. His stomach grumbled as he turned his dragon toward the town, and then, on second thought, flew toward the house.
Enna giggled, and then pulled Eddie up onto her back, and raced towards the dragon. Even though she knew that her little brother had learned to walk three years ago, she still, since she turned eight, liked to be the elder sister.
Thiery tried to ignore his little brother and sister, who were stumbling towards him at an alarming rate. Missy looked out the window to the three children on Thiery's dragon, which was slowly trotting towards the shack.
“What are they up to now?” Missy wondered, “I thought Thiery was supposed to be going to town!”
Missy turned back to the dishes, as she watched her eldest son help the others down from the dragon. Although Thiery often complained about his younger siblings, she knew that he loved them just as much as she did. Violet, twelve years old, looked up in surprise, as Thiery, Enna, and Eddie raced in the door, demanding some “Pancakes for the ride!”.
Her elder brother announced that, since he was allowed to go to town on his own, he should be allowed to take all of his brothers and sisters along. Violet looked up eagerly, but her mother frowned.
“But Violet was to help me with the washing!”
Violet often helped her mother with dishes, washing and anything else, though she knew that her mother never really needed her help. She was just worried about her graceful daughter. She had only just survived birth, and was looked upon as a miracle, a blessing from God.
Thiery looked down, and wolfed his first pancake, then slipped his second into his leather bag. The others followed suit. Soon they were gone, and Violet stayed home with her mother, washing dishes and folding clothes. As she wiped up the last bowl she hummed a song that her mother had taught her.
When my eyes stop seeing the wonders of you, let them open again to your works.
When my ears cease hearing the birds in the tree, let them hear the angels chorus to thee.
When my heart stops beating within my chest, let it throb again to a different tune, and rest
in your unchanging love I find grace
and I will not fear when I finish this race, and awaken again, to thee.
Her mother smiled as she continued singing, a verse that she had never heard before.
To thee will I look when the mountains fall, to thee will I look when for help I call,
to the rock that I know is higher than I,
I'll awaken again, to thee.
Chapter 4
Town
Thiery smiled, glad to have the younger children along. He felt the vacant seat on the old dragon's back, and wished for Violet's cheery smile. Enna noticed his silence, and asked for a song. He sung.
I slip out the door, candle in hand,
and grab my coat, from off the stand,
It's cold tonight, but I'm going out.
Right now I've plenty to complain about, for now the door is about to close,
and I don't have the time to blow my nose, and I have no socks to cover my toes,
and I'm so troubled with all my woes,
and the cats are yowling like buffaloes. But I'm going out.
To see the stars is what I desire,
but I must leave my lovely warm fire, but I'm going out.
Now I'm walking past the horse,
The wind is howling with great force, and now I trip, of course.
Not into the grass I fall with a thud,
But into a pile of sticky wet mud,
I hurt my head, but there's no blood though many tears fall, just like a flood, and I sit, and squish a daisy bud.
Now I'm going in.
Past the frogs that croak and laugh, past the cow and her baby calf,
not looking up at the starry sky,
nor at the moth or butterfly.
Now I'm going in.
With a mud caked hand I open the door, and feed the cats a little more,
I take the time to blow my nose,
and sort out all my troubles and woes, and take a rug, to cover my toes, Tonight I'm staying in.
Enna and Eddie were fast asleep by the time Thiery finished the song, and they were almost at the town. He squeezed the slow dragon's flanks a little harder. He almost felt like pushing his dragon even more, but, for the sake of the children, he slowed down. When they arrived in town, it was lunch time, and he woke Enna and Eddie up to eat Violet's pancakes.
They walked into town, and wandered into an old bookstore, where there were signs everywhere; mainly mottoes.
“You need to lose your way to find yourself” Thiery read.
He wrote that down in his notebook; maybe Violet would understand it. He pulled two books out of the shelves, one for him, and one for his sister. As he checked out them out, he received the open stares of the librarians and townsfolk. The Fletchers were different, maybe it was because his father used to be a soldier, and Thiery looked exactly like him. As they walked out of the shop, a thin, wiry man slipped out, and followed them toward the dragon.
Violet looked out the window for her brother. The ride to the town took a while, but she had expected him to be back sooner, as she wanted to show him a new drawing that she had done. She sat down to her harp, and began to play.....
Oe'r the sea then sings a voice,
of ancient dragon's song,
of a new kingdom with one choice, then calls a new, new song.
Thiery spun around, and stood face to face with an elder man, who was twitching nervously. The children were elsewhere.
“Are you Issac Sharperant?” he asked, his voice teeming with emotion.
“No,” Thiery replied, confused. “Who is Issac Sharp-rate, or whatever you call it? My dad is called Issac though!”
The old man gasped, swallowed his breath, and rasped, “Will you come with me?” Violet kept singing,
Awake, O dwarven brothers now, and call the new song then,
with joyful hearts we'll sing of how we'll raid the dragon's den.
Thiery had no idea why he was following the old man. But he was, and, with Enna and Eddie behind him, he followed him into the forest below. The man was riding a beautiful horse, with Thiery on his dragon above. They swooped down, below the tallest trees, dodging protruding branches and sticks, until they came to the hut.
Chapter 5
The Battle
Hidden in the heart of the forest, around an old run down shack, crept a thousand warriors, all with swords embedded in their hands and feet. Inside that hut was Thiery, learning of the old life of his father. Outside, unaware of the danger, his younger siblings sat, playing in the dappled evening sun. “So, where was Dad from?” Thiery asked.
Suddenly, outside, his little sister screamed. Thiery scrambled to his feet, and ran out the door, then stopped. Where were his younger siblings?
Violet sat at the harp, the last strains of the tune circling around the room, and sighed; Thiery was supposed to be home a long time ago! Father and Mother were both out searching for him, and she was to wait for them at home. She lit a candle, and walked to the door of the house.
With harps and flutes we'll sing,
anew the song of old,
and polish off our swords and shields, from rust, and dust, and mould.
Suddenly, from out of the dark skies above, came the sound of the whirring of wings. It was Thiery!
“Violet!” Thiery screamed from the sky, “Where's Dad?” “Looking for you” she yelled.
Panic gripped her every fibre as Thiery spoke. “They've been taken.... Eddie... Enna.!”
Soon Violet was saddling her own dragon, reassuring him, despite her own pounding heart that “all was fine”. Breathless, she mounted, and flew to join Thiery.
They raced above the forest, screaming out the children's names. They flew for hours, as low as they dared. After a despairing but fruitless search, they decided to split up, and parted ways. Thiery flew low over the trees, sometimes daring to dive between them. His every sense was straining as he remembered the old man's parting words;
“I'm going to get help, go..... and God help you find your sister and brother!” How he wished for that help now, as he flew above the darkening forest!
Flying too near a tree, Violet cried out as a sharp branch gouged her ankle. She winced, eyes shut tight, and turned her scream into a prayer, a prayer for the safety of her three siblings. Opening her eyes again, she spotted a light. Turning sharply, she swooped silently below the forest canopy.
The old man had gathered the beggars' army. But he was spent. He was at the end of the line......stooped and tired. Exhausted from the journey, he had not long commanded the army to go on, and to leave him behind. So lighting a small fire, he had settled in for the night. Out of the darkening skies came the dragon, swooping like a bullet. Violet's prayer, and a flickering campfire, had led her directly to the old man. Seeing his fear, she alighted, identified herself and asked him if he knew where her two sisters
were.
It was not long before they were both astride the beast, and together, with a thousand furious beggars behind them, they charged into the darkness.
Thiery, flying above the forest, hovered, wondering where to go. He looked down, scanning the surrounding trees. He thought he saw the glint of armour, reflecting off a lamp of some sort. He flew even lower, and realized that he was flying above a massive army, that were marching at a quick pace. He paused, what do I do? He thought, his mind reeling. He then prayed, surveying his situation. Here
is a large army, that have probably kidnapped my brother and sister, and what do I do, follow them? Oh well, here goes! Thiery waited until he reached a large clearing and then, with a bloodcurdling scream, he dived, squeezing the old dragons flanks hard, flying faster than ever before. He aimed at the back of the army, startling them into a run, as he swooped so low that he had to pull his legs up to avoid the soldiers heads!
As he flew, the army a blur under his feet, he noticed a horse, closely guarded by soldiers, standing apart from the rest of the men. The perfect place to put my brother and sister, he thought. He then swooped even lower, unwittingly startling the horse into a gallop! Thiery watched as it bucked, and then charged, tearing free from the grasp of a soldier. He paused a moment, watching something cling helplessly onto the horses mane, something that looked strangely like his little siblings! He tore on, conscious of the curses of the enraged soldiers as he flew towards the horse. When he reached it, he heard Eddie's unmistakable scream, and saw his sister valiantly trying to quiet him. “Thiery, help!” Enna's exhausted cry rose up to him, a last effort to get comfort, and, unaware of the tear that was trickling down his cheek, Thiery swooped down, the desperate scream ringing in his ears. Enna looked up at the dragon flying towards them, and sighed, her little voice choked with tears, as she murmured, “It's you, we are saved, God did not forget!” then she crumpled up, a little heap on the dark forest floor.
Thiery reached Enna and Eddie, still conscious that there was a whole army behind him. He tried to pull the crying Eddie onto his dragon, who refused, and then turned to Enna, who still lay on the damp grass. She's gonna catch a cold.... Thiery almost laughed at the situation, here he was, all but captured by these soldiers, and then he was more worried about his sister lying down in the grass!
It's hopeless, I can't get away, all I can do is wait for them, and defend the kids the best I can.
He didn't even need to wait, and the first soldier burst into the clearing just as Thiery finished collecting his siblings into a little heap, and then wrenched himself from them, remounted his dragon, and prepared for the worst.
The soldier charged forward, and Thiery prepared for him, beads of sweat forming on his furrowed brow. The soldier lunged, and, instinctively, Thiery pulled away, then reigned himself in,
Oh, c'mon, you're supposed to go at him, not away from him! He then spun the dragon around, it's tail knocking the first soldier over, and startling the second.
“Great job,” Thiery whispered, as his dragon got the hang of it, and flung himself here and there, excited at the destruction he was making with his giant tail. Soon a clearing was formed around the huddling children, but for every soldier that was knocked down, another two stood in his place. Thiery relaxed too soon, and, at the first opportunity, a soldier lunged at the flying tail. Another two men grabbed his head, and pinned it down, and after a swarm of men covered the whimpering dragon, Thiery finally offered a silent prayer for help, and then flopped, as the soldiers pulled at his legs. He fell, hitting the ground. All was lost, and he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he saw a spear, raised high above him by a menacing soldier, who stood glowering above him. “Prepare to die, young Sharperant!”
A surge of anger filled Thiery's breast, I already have, about fifteen minutes ago..... and I'm not dead yet! He kicked at the stomach of the soldier with all of his might, doubling him over. At the same time, Thiery looked up, expecting to see some sort of angel welcoming him into heaven, but instead he saw the dark form of a dragon, in full descent. On its back were Violet and her elder companion.
With a scream, the dragon swooped. Under its shadow, the soldier looked up, only to be grabbed with a strong dragon's claw, and thrown into the nearby bush. The other soldiers ran in panic. As the dragon raced to free its companion, a shout erupted from the forest as the long awaited army of beggars burst into the clearing. Violet helped her brother to his feet, and together they ran to the children, praying that they were not yet harmed. A band of soldiers had just reached them, but a call from Thiery brought the dragons to their aid, who promptly dumped them into the bush to join their companion.
Thiery swung Enna onto his shoulders, and Violet led Eddie by the hand, and they ran through the battle, and to the old man, who stayed huddled to one side, sitting on an uneven rock. He told them that he was leaving the forest, and advised them to follow suit, as the battle would last for many hours yet. As they strapped the children to the dragons, Thiery thought of his sudden strength in the face of death; what if he had not found that last courage, and had not fought when the soldier was even about to stab him? Thank you, Lord! He whispered.
When they got home, their parents had returned from their fruitless search, and there was a welcoming light in the window of their home. After Enna and Eddie were asleep, Thiery and Violet poured out their questions, to their parents and to their new friend.
“Once, a long time ago,” their father started, “I was the nephew of a rich king in a land far away, until the king of your land attacked, and took me away, with my faithful servant.” Here he nodded towards the old man, who sat, eyes brimming with tears.
“We were separated, and neither knew where the other was. I became a soldier. Then I met your mother, who knew me as Issac Fletcher. I changed my name to avoid being known as a prince of a sort. After many years, I was hunted down. Being a soldier for life, when I left the army I was sentenced to be killed. The armies were told to find me, and after thirteen years, they have succeeded. But, thanks to my servant, I am not yet dead.” He then nodded to his friend to speak.
The old man croaked, “After your father was taken away from me, I joined up with the barefoot beggars, whom I thought would be the most likely to find my master. After many years, we tracked him down to this small town, where I met Thiery. He looked so much the same as his father, that I thought it was him. I took him to my shack, where the children were taken. I had led the armies to my master.”
When his voice trailed off, Thiery took up the story. “I came home to find Father, but, thank the Almighty, did not. It was a trap, and the children were the bait... Violet came with me instead. We searched the forest, and she found our friend with the beggars, and I the soldiers. You know what happened from then.”
Violet finally spoke, “So we are royalty, and our name is not Fletcher, it's....” “Sharperant”, finished their father, smiling down on his disbelieving daughter.
Far away, in the forest, the battle that had been going on for thirteen years was won, and the last soldier ran from the forest, and the beggars rejoiced, and praised the Lord.
Thank you everyone for entering my contest! Should I do another contest again? Have any suggestions for next time? I would love to hear for you!
~Annika
3rd place..... Bailey!!!
2nd place.... Jemima!!!
1st place...... Abigail!!!
Now here are their stories!
The Fernsby’s by Bailey K.
The Fernsby’s were up to their normal stuff today. The smell of fresh honey bread baking in the oven, Toby playing with his pet guinea pig Mr. Buttons, which he had gotten for his birthday last year, Ted playing his keyboard, and Livie singing along to the songs he played.
Twinkle twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Mrs. Fersnby was in the kitchen baking, while Mr. Fernsby worked Mondays thru Fridays. The family lived in a two story house in a neighborhood right outside of town, with a back and a front yard.
“Mommy?” Livie asked
“What sweetie?” Mrs. Fernsby answered back.
“Why do I have two eyes when I only see one thing?” She wondered.
“That’s a good question,” Mrs. Fernsby replied. “look at page 254 in your science book”
“Never mind!” Livie said, and ran off.
Meanwhile Toby had made a maze out of Duplo blocks for Mr. Buttons and was timing how fast he could make it through, by smearing peanut butter on the blocks so Mr. Buttons would go all the way through.
“You can do it! You can do it!” Toby chanted at the little guinea pig, who was taking his time licking up every last drop of peanut butter on the way through the maze. Ted had just finished his keyboard practice time, and then went straight to the family room to see what Toby was chanting about.
“What are you doing Toby?” Ted asked.
“I’m timing how fast Mr. Buttons can get through this made I made out of Duplo. See!” Ted looked at the Duplo contraption Toby had made, and found that there was more peanut butter showing than Duplo.
“How is Mr. Buttons gonna get through the maze if you’ve smeared peanut butter everywhere! It’s going to take Mr. Buttons hours before he will make it out of that maze. He loves peanut butter! He is going to be a fat guinea pig by the time he gets out” Ted told Toby
“Oh right” Toby responded. “Well I guess that’s enough peanut butter for one day” and he grabbed Mr. Buttons out of the maze, and put him back into the cage.
“Let’s go get some honey bread!” Ted exclaimed.
“Mmmm” Toby said, and the brothers ran off toward the kitchen.
***
“Hi Toby! Hi Ted!” Livie said. “Honey bread is ready!”
“That’s why we came into the kitchen,” Ted told her. “We could smell it,” Toby finished.
“I’m gonna walk over to Mrs. Clay’s house and bring her a loaf of honey bread. She’s been sick and I thought it would be nice to bring her a loaf over. Livie, do you want to come with me?” Mrs. Fernsby asked.
“Of course I do Mommy!, I love going over to Mrs. Clay’s house, she always lets me feed her cat” Livie replied.
“That cat is as big as an elephant, I wouldn’t think he would be able to hold anymore food” Mrs. Fernsby laughed.
“Oh, he can fit a lot more food in there. You’ll see!” And Livie ran off towards her room, for her shoes.
***
After Mrs. Fernsby and Livie left, Toby and Ted went towards the backyard to play baseball.
“Batter up!” Ted yelled to Toby as he stepped up to home plate. Ted wound up his arm and pitched as hard as he could. Toby swung at the ball, and hit it hard. The ball went racing over the fence and into the neighbors yard.
“Home run!” Toby yelled, as he ran across the bases back towards home.
“Nice hit Toby! But how are we gonna get the ball? The Leonard’s are on vacation, and the only way into their backyard is their house, which is obviously locked.
“Easy! Just jump over the fence from the trampoline ” Toby exclaimed. He pulled their trampoline over next to the fence, climbed on top of it, and then got ready to jump on top of the fence. He started jumping, and then after a few jumps, flung himself as high as he could. But didn’t quite make it on top of the fence. Instead he bonked his head on it, and then fell of the trampoline.
“Oof!” Toby said, as he fell to the ground. He got up rubbed his head, and then stepped back onto the trampoline. Ted just stood there giggling.
“Okay… this time I am gonna make it… I can feel it!” Toby said, out of breath. He took a few good bounces, and then launched himself up and over the fence. He didn’t quite land on the fence, but instead landed all the way over on the other side, where he went flying into the neighbors pool.
“Splash!” Ted hurried and climbed on the trampoline to try and see over the fence, but then he saw Toby glaring at him, all soaked with water and head hurting. Ted started laughing hysterically, while Toby just kept glaring even harder. After Ted had almost laughed his head off, Toby began looking for
A Cardboard Heart by Jemima O.
The day I got closest to death was strangely also one of my best. Jesus said “whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it” - and I guess that’s how it goes; except I wasn’t trying to lose my life for His sake at all. I’m ashamed to say, but it was quite the opposite. My comfortable existence was snatched from me in a way that was so... Amazing? Life-changing? Furious? Maddening? Wrench- your-eyelids-open kind of eye opening? I have no way to describe it; but I must tell someone. The entire world, perhaps.
It happened late on a hot Chennai summer afternoon. I was leaning my head up against the jeep window, staring up into the cloudless sky and watching the light posts roll by. I tried to ignore the blazing heat, the incessant beep of car horns, and the giant fly buzzing around my ears, by counting the various objects strung up on the passing light poles. A child’s red sneakers... a faded scrap of sari that fluttered with every car that whizzed by... a filthy pair of what could once have been fluffy dice, and an ironic piece of black and yellow “DANGER” tape. Ironic, because who, living in Chennai, (or in all of India perhaps), does not know that danger is the complete reality of the slums. A little strip of warning plastic has as much meaning for slum dwellers as the ragged street kids playing gully cricket on the train tracks.
Although, I thought listlessly, it must have been serious for anyone in possession of barricade tape to take notice. A murder, perhaps. Or some shanties in the way of plans for a high-rise apartment block. Ordinary stuff, like a brutal drunken beating, or a 6-year-old deliberately crippled for better begging, goes unnoticed by the police. Stop being morbid, I thought, tossing my head as if to shut out the memories from intruding into my world. There’s enough badness on the planet without you worrying about it. I returned to my window and continued tracing squiggles and shapes on the dusty pane. Yeah, that’s right!, went on my inner self, inviting me to a pity party where we would bemoan the wild idea that lead my parents on a short term mission trip to serve in the poorest parts of India. I mean, they could have chosen some place a little more... civilised. How do they feel ok about dragging us all into one of the most dangerous places in the world?, I grumped. This town is so dirty, dust even gets on the inside of a closed car!
Well, it’s not—A thundering chorus of honking horns and yelling Hindus startled me, and I jerked up quickly and covered my ears. Peering out the window, a sea of jammed-up cars stretched far into the distance. Far ahead, three skinny cows were ambling right through the traffic, seemingly unworried by the deafening racket directed at them. If cows could speak, I’m sure these ones would have a smirk on their faces. I could just imagine them saying “We will take our time crossing the road, thank you very much!”. Cows in India are sacred, and thus they have the right of way wherever they roam (which is almost everywhere).
Ten minutes later, we were pulling up at the bustling street market. Hundreds of shop doors lined the packed streets, selling saris, imitation Nike shoes, little jewelled elephants, bags of limes, papadams, spiced chai, and posters of American pop singers. If there was ever a place to justify the cliché “we have everything”, it would be here. And ordinarily I loved the alleys brimming with trinkets and wafting spicy smells; but today, with my morose mood, I sulked out of the car and barely noticed it all.
“Jillian!”, my mother called, trying to be heard over the clamour of the hagglers, “Amilai wanted us to get baby formula; we can get some - ah, what do you call it? Chaat! We can get some chaat after. Just stay close to me, all of you. Molly, no wandering away this time!”
We squeezed through the crowds, often stopping to inspect a tiny shop or stall. Molly couldn't resist when she saw a curious knickknack or a glitzy necklace, and our search was interrupted by numerous of “Mummy, I just saw something amazing!” or “Mummy! Look, look! It's one of those cute thingys that we saw at Mrs Roscoe's house!” I just rolled my eyes. Come on. Do we have to stop for every little thing she sees... again?
A while later, Mum pulled us into a shop with a colourful display of “Darling Luvly” onesies and baby bibs. “They should have some formula in here...”, she speculated, and started looking over the wares as the owner showed her things in broken English. I turned, and a medieval looking leather bound journal caught my attention. Nice, I thought, picking it up. I happen to have a mania for collecting notebooks, whether I need them or not, and so I was absorbed in my corner of the shop for a while.
Just then, something pink skipped past me and onto the street, knocking over a wicker giraffe on the floor. I jumped, and whirled around – a fluffy jacket was swiftly disappearing into the thick crowd of moving shoppers. Molly! Good grief, I yelped, and sprinted after her, yelling “Molly, come BACK!” She was running fast, and I swerved quickly, surging with anger and fear. “Scuse me”, I gasped, nearly running into a young woman on her phone. “MOLLY!”, I screamed again. No answer. I didn't know she could run this fast. Oh, God, please help me get her back! I slowed to a jog, panting, and then sped up again crazily as a patch of bright magenta appeared ahead of me in the crowd. “MoLEEEE!”, I shouted, calling her name again and again while trying to peer over the shoulders of the jostling shoppers surrounding me.
Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid. I didn't know if I was berating myself, Molly, the situation, or the adults around me who ignored my panic as if I wasn't there. I gritted my teeth and desperately scanned the crowd. Curse that journal! Why wasn't Mum watching her, anyway?
The summer sun was beginning to set, a shimmering red globe above me. I was sweaty and scared, and the babble of voices, speaking in language I couldn't understand, was getting louder as dusk approached. “Come on, missus, try velly good chai, eh?”, a vendor called, beckoning. I shook my head and gulped, feeling helpless and terrified. I should turn back, now. Like, NOW. But Molly! She's still lost and I'll lose her even more! Thoughts surrounded me like a pack of hyenas, challenging me to make a decision. Whatcha gonna do now, huh? Huh?
Then she was there. The crowds parted briefly, and I saw the pink jacketed girl. Molly! I felt wobbly with sheer relief, and staggered forwards. Wait. She was holding someone's hand; an Indian woman? And, last time I checked, Molly didn't have dark brown hair! Oops. What a smartie,
Jillian. You got the wrong Molly. The wrong Molly! She wasn't lost after all! I had run away from my family, chasing a runaway sister when in fact she was still back at the shops, probably still looking at baby clothes. Or looking for me. I clicked back in to panic mode. Now I was the one lost!
I could use someone's phone and call Mum – but I don't even know her number, or Dad's either!
When we moved to India, both of my parents got new local phone numbers; and I hadn't bothered to drill them into my memory. Think, think! 44... 44, 8? 44 823...? It was no use. I could remember nothing more.
Or the mission agency; they'll know Mum and Dad's number! I could call the orphanage we are helping at! Yes! A tangible relief flowed over me. It would all be alright. I almost skipped up to a motherly looking Indian woman, and addressed her as clearly and politely as I could; “Excuse me...”
“Hmm?”, she responded, peering down at me with a frown on her face. I hadn't realised (or hadn't looked to see) that she was sampling sari material; she held a yellow and gold cloth to her chest, like a barrier between us. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I've accidentally gotten lost, and my sister is too, actually, she's not, and I can't find my parents, (they were in the market) and they work for an orphanage, and I should call and notify them where I am, so can I please, um, borrow your phone if you would be so kind to let me?”, I rattled on hopefully.
“What?” She clearly hadn't heard a word of my hurried speel. Frustrated and weary, I managed to calm down and take a deep breath. “Could I borrow your phone?”, I said slowly. “I need to call someone.” Biting my lip expectantly, I tried to stop myself from charging through a wall, kicking the nearest stand of six-limbed Hindu gods into deep space, or bursting into hysterical tears. The lady's expression changed quickly. She glared at me, disdain written plainly on her face. “Oh, I see what you want, aieee! You want to be stealing my phone, huh? I know your tricks, pretending if you need to call some person. Get away, street beggar! Off! Off!”, she scolded, waving the sari like I was an obnoxious fly to be shooed away.
I stared at her, dismayed. What on earth? Backing away, I turned and ran back into the crowd, a wild sob bursting out of my throat. I ran, not caring where my aching feet took me or who I startled, trying to get away from the sari lady, the clamouring crowds, and the fact that I was lost. Completely lost.
Running, the wind finally on my face and sweeping away the sweat and oppressive heat of the day, I felt strangely calm. Maybe I would just keep on going until morning. I would keep jogging until night fell, until the smoggy midnight sky was swept away and the streets of India were bright again. Until at home I found Molly, the real Molly, picked her up in giant hug, and together we would keep running all the way to the river's edge and swim and wash and drink in the falling rain and-
Splash. I looked down, my fantasies and my foot soaked in something muddy, wet and slimy. I lifted my leg carefully, wincing in disgust. Eghhhh. By the reddened sunset's light, I could see a brown piece of rotten debris clinging to my sneakers. I was in a narrow filthy, street, standing in a decomposing pile of trash.
That was as much as one could take. I flicked my foot as hard as I could and then sank down with a wail on a crate by the wall. I lifted by head up at the sky and began to sob, the street lights blurring and swimming in my tears. Terrible fear, frustration and despair overwhelmed me like the monsoon rain, and I wept and shivered in the cold. Another drip from a leaky pipe landed on my shoulder and trickled down my back, but I didn't care. The wall is crying too, I thought, and that made me laugh hysterically till I hiccuped and then cried some more.
A hand touched me on the shoulder. Frightened, I turned my bleary eyes and saw a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, crouching in the shadows by my side. “Why you crying?”, she asked haltingly. I stared at her wearily. “I'm lost.” We looked at each other for a moment, two children homeless in an ocean of gutters and shanties. Then she smiled, a tiny crinkle of her dark eyes; a cautious but friendly expression that made me feel a little better.
“Come.” The girl beckoned to me, and if I hadn't been alone and too weary to think otherwise, I might have run back the way I came. But I was; and so I followed, stumbling down the alley after her. She was skinny but lithe; and her watchful, darting steps reminded me of an ever wary wild cat. The only clothes she had on were a pair of tattered bike shorts, and a striped jersey with one sleeve half torn off, which fluttered behind her like a flag. My heart ached for her poor bare feet – the cement paving was cold and rough. And strangely, in spite of my misery, I found myself marvelling at how blessed I was.
The girl lead me to a dead end out the back of a shop with bars over it's broken windows. There was a large structure made from cardboard boxes and upturned crates there, and she darted in under it and paused, motioning to me. Again, I followed, and crawled in after her, nearly bringing down the whole flimsy structure in the process. It was so dark inside that I could see nothing, but after a moment my eyes adjusted to a tiny “room” with rags and a sack on the floor.
It was like something Molly, Lila, and I would have made with couch cushions and blankets at home. How many times we had begged our parents to sleep or eat lunch in our cubby house– and now, what would I give for my own soft bed instead of this real life cubby.
A stream of Hindi came from the corner, and then a head, which gazed at me curiously with large eyes. My friend and this other child seemed to be having a quiet conversation about me, for they kept shooting glances in my direction. Finally they stopped and silence seeped into the tiny room. Two pairs of eyes met mine, and their wordless acceptance brought us together. I was one of them – just another slum child in a world where one's skin colour meant nothing if you were all alone. “What are your names?”, I asked, wanting to learn more about my new friends.
The first girl smiled shyly, and pointed first to herself and then to her friend. “Adya, me. Sanita, her.” I smiled back, and then laid my hand on my chest. “Jillian.”
That night, though their English was broken, I learnt much more about the life of a slum orphan. How Adya wept when her mother died at the hands of a drunken father. How she slipped into the night with nothing but a memory of the past, and a hope for the future which seemed to slip away with every slum sunrise. How they both survived with hardly anything, often giving their meagre finds away to Sanita's blind sister who later died alone on the cold streets, though they did their best to help her. They told me tales of the dangerous and heart wrenching life of an unwanted slum child, but not with pity for themselves or their thin bodies. There was, and always would be, a child worse off than them, and so they were lucky, and even cheerful. I wept quietly, humbled.
And so it was, that when I called the orphanage the next day, and the echoes of my father's footsteps finally found me, I was changed. My self-pity was melted away, and was replaced with a deep love and yearning for these beautiful children. The resentment of the previous day was transformed into a fierce and fiery desire to lift broken bodies out of the slums for good. A lion's roar filled my heart, welling up until I burst into tears in my Dad's arms as he carried me to the Jeep. He soothed me, held my hand and said quietly “It's been a hard time for you, hasn't it? You're home now. I have you.”I sobbed harder. “No, I was so stupid. So foolish.” “Honey!”, he said, squeezing my hand,“It's not your fault that you got lost!”
It's not that. I struggled for a way to say how I felt, but failed. I knew what I meant.
A part of my heart was left behind in that dingy cardboard shack, and I was better for it. I would always be one of them.
Sharperant by Abigail O.
Introduction
A long time ago, there was a kingdom, with walls as tall as the sky. None in this kingdom knew about the world outside, save the evil king, who controlled the city and all in it. In that city there were dragons, dwarfs, warriors, and young girls - one in particular, whose name was Missy.
Chapter 1
The Riot.
A pigeon landed gently onto the cold cobbled stones, a feather floating from it's speckled wing, and towards the dark river. The wind snatched it up, along with a dry leaf, which had been discarded by a nearby tree, and they swirled high above the deserted winter streets. A young child, straying from the warm folds of her mother's dress, reached up as the feather floated down, but, cruelly, the wind once again grabbed it, and placed the crumpled leaf into the outstretched hand. Three young street children raced along after the feather, until it finally swirled into the dark, waiting waters below. Beside the river, a young woman stood, singing into the swirling waters beneath. A worried wrinkle spread across her creamy brow, and her usually erect figure slouched over the rail that held the river back from the mall. Missy could sense the tension in the wind that whipped her long hair over her face. Her sweet voice stopped caroling, as the last shopkeeper locked himself inside his musty shop, and sat down to watch from his grimy window. He brushed away a spider that was trying to obscure the small hole in the curtain of webs, and leant against his elbow as a carriage rushed past, a young child peering out, nose pressed against the window. Suddenly, the tension burst, and a thousand people came running from alleys, shops, houses, and over fences, all charging towards the mall.
The people were mainly known as “the barefoot beggars”, who consisted of men without jobs, street children, careworn mothers, young widows, women and men, who's hearts had been broken time and again. They were a community that would steal, and then barter things for each other, such as food, clothes, and whatever else they needed. They had formed an underground network of people who, when alone, were unsure of themselves, but together were deadly. They would search the streets for people who were easy prey, and many times they had gathered in the streets, killing and stabbing the rich, ruining shops, markets, stalls, and homes. Today they swarmed in, rioting about a new law, that raised the taxes to the wealthy king, and though many had grumbled, and even complained, not much thought had been put to the new law. But now, the beggars were brutal, screaming as they crashed through the still air.
Missy ran for cover, praying.
“Oh Lord, don't let this happen, don't let our homes be destroyed!” she whispered through clenched teeth, as she slipped into a dark alley, where, for now, she would be safe. She watched, hopelessly, as the first shop was broken into, and the owner killed. She turned her face away, still praying.
“God, help the armies of the King to come, help him to see our plight!”
The King was cruel, but his armies were strong, full of strange men. The men were taken from rich homes. The king would disfigure them, ripping open their hands and placing daggers into the still raw wounds, then bandaging them up. When they healed over, the daggers would still be there. The king would also make his men look like animals, and many had the legs of a dragon, or the paws of a tiger. Only the strongest survived.
Missy continued to pray, her voice quiet against the roar of the beggars. As suddenly as their enemies, men in silver armor, their legs covered in leather strips, came in. First came a man, swords healed into his hands and legs, screaming the battle cry.
“It is the armies, we are saved!” Missy laughed.
The Men charged in, the beggars fighting furiously. For hours Missy stayed high in the alley, waiting for the armies to win. But they didn't, and slowly, the number died down, and only a few were left standing. Missy had to do something, and now she knew what.
A beggar grabbed a stick, parried a sword, and then hit hard, knocking a soldier to the ground. He then ripped the sword out of his enemies mutilated hand, charging on.
But suddenly, a sweet voice was heard, and both beggars and soldiers looked up to the roof of a run down shack. There, above it all, was a woman, untamed dragons silhouetted in the sun behind her. She was clothed in a grey dress, the wind whipping back her hair, the sunlight streaming onto her face. She sung with untold clarity.
When my eyes stop seeing the wonders of you, let them open again to your works.
When my ears cease hearing the birds in the tree, let them hear the angels chorus to thee,
When my heart stops beating within my chest, let it throb anew to a different tune, and rest.
In your unchanging love I find grace, and I will not fear when I finish this race, and awaken again, to thee.
It was Missy. The beggar dropped his sword, and slowly sank to his knees. The battle was over, but no one had won.
Missy scrambled down, her legs trembling as she gingerly picked her way past a discarded sword, and knelt down to care for a wounded soldier. Slowly, the number of untreated people decreased, as Missy made makeshift bandages out of shredded cloth, and splints out of branches. She came to the next man, a soldier - she knew that much from the swords embedded in his hands and feet, and the bright shield on his chest. Even though he was weak from loss of blood, he was different, his chin was still set a little higher, and he sat a little stronger.
“Ah” he said, smiling ruefully over his shoulder, “so you're the angel that stopped me from getting stabbed!”
Missy smiled with him, and then, without a word, began to tend to his wounds. He winced as she quietly whispered that she would need to take him home, where he could get proper medical attention, and then watched as she prepared a stretcher, and wandered off to find someone who would help carry him back.
Chapter 2
The Letter Missy chewed her pencil, and then began to write.
Dear Mother,
I am writing to you from our little shack, where our
first baby has just been born, we named him Theiry! He looks exactly like his father; there isn't a difference between them!
Issac is well, and we are blessed beyond measure.
I am looking from my window out to the pasture, where our first cow is grazing, next to the field where Issac is working.....
Missy gazed out the window, wondering how to tell her mother about the cloud of mystery that still hung over Issac's old home and status. She continued to write...
I still haven't found out where he comes from, he doesn't seem too open about it...
Okay, that was an understatement; when she had last asked, he had just stormed out the door...
How have you all been going over there?..
Tears clouded over Missy's light blue eyes as she thought of her mother. Her usually straight, sturdy figure had slouched onto Father's shoulder when Missy and her husband had left for a new home...
We hope you are all well, and that the Lord is blessing you as much as he is us!..
Missy paused, and remembered, back to when they were first married, the simple church and wedding, and the days when she and Issac had planned for their trip to their new house....
Theiry cried, disrupting her thoughts with his screams. She smiled, and went over to nurse him.
Your loving daughter, Missy.
Chapter 3
The Children
Thiery stood, head held high, as he watched his younger sister race after her brother. Then he turned away, and mounted his dragon. Now he was thirteen, he was allowed to ride the forest trail to town, alone. His stomach grumbled as he turned his dragon toward the town, and then, on second thought, flew toward the house.
Enna giggled, and then pulled Eddie up onto her back, and raced towards the dragon. Even though she knew that her little brother had learned to walk three years ago, she still, since she turned eight, liked to be the elder sister.
Thiery tried to ignore his little brother and sister, who were stumbling towards him at an alarming rate. Missy looked out the window to the three children on Thiery's dragon, which was slowly trotting towards the shack.
“What are they up to now?” Missy wondered, “I thought Thiery was supposed to be going to town!”
Missy turned back to the dishes, as she watched her eldest son help the others down from the dragon. Although Thiery often complained about his younger siblings, she knew that he loved them just as much as she did. Violet, twelve years old, looked up in surprise, as Thiery, Enna, and Eddie raced in the door, demanding some “Pancakes for the ride!”.
Her elder brother announced that, since he was allowed to go to town on his own, he should be allowed to take all of his brothers and sisters along. Violet looked up eagerly, but her mother frowned.
“But Violet was to help me with the washing!”
Violet often helped her mother with dishes, washing and anything else, though she knew that her mother never really needed her help. She was just worried about her graceful daughter. She had only just survived birth, and was looked upon as a miracle, a blessing from God.
Thiery looked down, and wolfed his first pancake, then slipped his second into his leather bag. The others followed suit. Soon they were gone, and Violet stayed home with her mother, washing dishes and folding clothes. As she wiped up the last bowl she hummed a song that her mother had taught her.
When my eyes stop seeing the wonders of you, let them open again to your works.
When my ears cease hearing the birds in the tree, let them hear the angels chorus to thee.
When my heart stops beating within my chest, let it throb again to a different tune, and rest
in your unchanging love I find grace
and I will not fear when I finish this race, and awaken again, to thee.
Her mother smiled as she continued singing, a verse that she had never heard before.
To thee will I look when the mountains fall, to thee will I look when for help I call,
to the rock that I know is higher than I,
I'll awaken again, to thee.
Chapter 4
Town
Thiery smiled, glad to have the younger children along. He felt the vacant seat on the old dragon's back, and wished for Violet's cheery smile. Enna noticed his silence, and asked for a song. He sung.
I slip out the door, candle in hand,
and grab my coat, from off the stand,
It's cold tonight, but I'm going out.
Right now I've plenty to complain about, for now the door is about to close,
and I don't have the time to blow my nose, and I have no socks to cover my toes,
and I'm so troubled with all my woes,
and the cats are yowling like buffaloes. But I'm going out.
To see the stars is what I desire,
but I must leave my lovely warm fire, but I'm going out.
Now I'm walking past the horse,
The wind is howling with great force, and now I trip, of course.
Not into the grass I fall with a thud,
But into a pile of sticky wet mud,
I hurt my head, but there's no blood though many tears fall, just like a flood, and I sit, and squish a daisy bud.
Now I'm going in.
Past the frogs that croak and laugh, past the cow and her baby calf,
not looking up at the starry sky,
nor at the moth or butterfly.
Now I'm going in.
With a mud caked hand I open the door, and feed the cats a little more,
I take the time to blow my nose,
and sort out all my troubles and woes, and take a rug, to cover my toes, Tonight I'm staying in.
Enna and Eddie were fast asleep by the time Thiery finished the song, and they were almost at the town. He squeezed the slow dragon's flanks a little harder. He almost felt like pushing his dragon even more, but, for the sake of the children, he slowed down. When they arrived in town, it was lunch time, and he woke Enna and Eddie up to eat Violet's pancakes.
They walked into town, and wandered into an old bookstore, where there were signs everywhere; mainly mottoes.
“You need to lose your way to find yourself” Thiery read.
He wrote that down in his notebook; maybe Violet would understand it. He pulled two books out of the shelves, one for him, and one for his sister. As he checked out them out, he received the open stares of the librarians and townsfolk. The Fletchers were different, maybe it was because his father used to be a soldier, and Thiery looked exactly like him. As they walked out of the shop, a thin, wiry man slipped out, and followed them toward the dragon.
Violet looked out the window for her brother. The ride to the town took a while, but she had expected him to be back sooner, as she wanted to show him a new drawing that she had done. She sat down to her harp, and began to play.....
Oe'r the sea then sings a voice,
of ancient dragon's song,
of a new kingdom with one choice, then calls a new, new song.
Thiery spun around, and stood face to face with an elder man, who was twitching nervously. The children were elsewhere.
“Are you Issac Sharperant?” he asked, his voice teeming with emotion.
“No,” Thiery replied, confused. “Who is Issac Sharp-rate, or whatever you call it? My dad is called Issac though!”
The old man gasped, swallowed his breath, and rasped, “Will you come with me?” Violet kept singing,
Awake, O dwarven brothers now, and call the new song then,
with joyful hearts we'll sing of how we'll raid the dragon's den.
Thiery had no idea why he was following the old man. But he was, and, with Enna and Eddie behind him, he followed him into the forest below. The man was riding a beautiful horse, with Thiery on his dragon above. They swooped down, below the tallest trees, dodging protruding branches and sticks, until they came to the hut.
Chapter 5
The Battle
Hidden in the heart of the forest, around an old run down shack, crept a thousand warriors, all with swords embedded in their hands and feet. Inside that hut was Thiery, learning of the old life of his father. Outside, unaware of the danger, his younger siblings sat, playing in the dappled evening sun. “So, where was Dad from?” Thiery asked.
Suddenly, outside, his little sister screamed. Thiery scrambled to his feet, and ran out the door, then stopped. Where were his younger siblings?
Violet sat at the harp, the last strains of the tune circling around the room, and sighed; Thiery was supposed to be home a long time ago! Father and Mother were both out searching for him, and she was to wait for them at home. She lit a candle, and walked to the door of the house.
With harps and flutes we'll sing,
anew the song of old,
and polish off our swords and shields, from rust, and dust, and mould.
Suddenly, from out of the dark skies above, came the sound of the whirring of wings. It was Thiery!
“Violet!” Thiery screamed from the sky, “Where's Dad?” “Looking for you” she yelled.
Panic gripped her every fibre as Thiery spoke. “They've been taken.... Eddie... Enna.!”
Soon Violet was saddling her own dragon, reassuring him, despite her own pounding heart that “all was fine”. Breathless, she mounted, and flew to join Thiery.
They raced above the forest, screaming out the children's names. They flew for hours, as low as they dared. After a despairing but fruitless search, they decided to split up, and parted ways. Thiery flew low over the trees, sometimes daring to dive between them. His every sense was straining as he remembered the old man's parting words;
“I'm going to get help, go..... and God help you find your sister and brother!” How he wished for that help now, as he flew above the darkening forest!
Flying too near a tree, Violet cried out as a sharp branch gouged her ankle. She winced, eyes shut tight, and turned her scream into a prayer, a prayer for the safety of her three siblings. Opening her eyes again, she spotted a light. Turning sharply, she swooped silently below the forest canopy.
The old man had gathered the beggars' army. But he was spent. He was at the end of the line......stooped and tired. Exhausted from the journey, he had not long commanded the army to go on, and to leave him behind. So lighting a small fire, he had settled in for the night. Out of the darkening skies came the dragon, swooping like a bullet. Violet's prayer, and a flickering campfire, had led her directly to the old man. Seeing his fear, she alighted, identified herself and asked him if he knew where her two sisters
were.
It was not long before they were both astride the beast, and together, with a thousand furious beggars behind them, they charged into the darkness.
Thiery, flying above the forest, hovered, wondering where to go. He looked down, scanning the surrounding trees. He thought he saw the glint of armour, reflecting off a lamp of some sort. He flew even lower, and realized that he was flying above a massive army, that were marching at a quick pace. He paused, what do I do? He thought, his mind reeling. He then prayed, surveying his situation. Here
is a large army, that have probably kidnapped my brother and sister, and what do I do, follow them? Oh well, here goes! Thiery waited until he reached a large clearing and then, with a bloodcurdling scream, he dived, squeezing the old dragons flanks hard, flying faster than ever before. He aimed at the back of the army, startling them into a run, as he swooped so low that he had to pull his legs up to avoid the soldiers heads!
As he flew, the army a blur under his feet, he noticed a horse, closely guarded by soldiers, standing apart from the rest of the men. The perfect place to put my brother and sister, he thought. He then swooped even lower, unwittingly startling the horse into a gallop! Thiery watched as it bucked, and then charged, tearing free from the grasp of a soldier. He paused a moment, watching something cling helplessly onto the horses mane, something that looked strangely like his little siblings! He tore on, conscious of the curses of the enraged soldiers as he flew towards the horse. When he reached it, he heard Eddie's unmistakable scream, and saw his sister valiantly trying to quiet him. “Thiery, help!” Enna's exhausted cry rose up to him, a last effort to get comfort, and, unaware of the tear that was trickling down his cheek, Thiery swooped down, the desperate scream ringing in his ears. Enna looked up at the dragon flying towards them, and sighed, her little voice choked with tears, as she murmured, “It's you, we are saved, God did not forget!” then she crumpled up, a little heap on the dark forest floor.
Thiery reached Enna and Eddie, still conscious that there was a whole army behind him. He tried to pull the crying Eddie onto his dragon, who refused, and then turned to Enna, who still lay on the damp grass. She's gonna catch a cold.... Thiery almost laughed at the situation, here he was, all but captured by these soldiers, and then he was more worried about his sister lying down in the grass!
It's hopeless, I can't get away, all I can do is wait for them, and defend the kids the best I can.
He didn't even need to wait, and the first soldier burst into the clearing just as Thiery finished collecting his siblings into a little heap, and then wrenched himself from them, remounted his dragon, and prepared for the worst.
The soldier charged forward, and Thiery prepared for him, beads of sweat forming on his furrowed brow. The soldier lunged, and, instinctively, Thiery pulled away, then reigned himself in,
Oh, c'mon, you're supposed to go at him, not away from him! He then spun the dragon around, it's tail knocking the first soldier over, and startling the second.
“Great job,” Thiery whispered, as his dragon got the hang of it, and flung himself here and there, excited at the destruction he was making with his giant tail. Soon a clearing was formed around the huddling children, but for every soldier that was knocked down, another two stood in his place. Thiery relaxed too soon, and, at the first opportunity, a soldier lunged at the flying tail. Another two men grabbed his head, and pinned it down, and after a swarm of men covered the whimpering dragon, Thiery finally offered a silent prayer for help, and then flopped, as the soldiers pulled at his legs. He fell, hitting the ground. All was lost, and he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he saw a spear, raised high above him by a menacing soldier, who stood glowering above him. “Prepare to die, young Sharperant!”
A surge of anger filled Thiery's breast, I already have, about fifteen minutes ago..... and I'm not dead yet! He kicked at the stomach of the soldier with all of his might, doubling him over. At the same time, Thiery looked up, expecting to see some sort of angel welcoming him into heaven, but instead he saw the dark form of a dragon, in full descent. On its back were Violet and her elder companion.
With a scream, the dragon swooped. Under its shadow, the soldier looked up, only to be grabbed with a strong dragon's claw, and thrown into the nearby bush. The other soldiers ran in panic. As the dragon raced to free its companion, a shout erupted from the forest as the long awaited army of beggars burst into the clearing. Violet helped her brother to his feet, and together they ran to the children, praying that they were not yet harmed. A band of soldiers had just reached them, but a call from Thiery brought the dragons to their aid, who promptly dumped them into the bush to join their companion.
Thiery swung Enna onto his shoulders, and Violet led Eddie by the hand, and they ran through the battle, and to the old man, who stayed huddled to one side, sitting on an uneven rock. He told them that he was leaving the forest, and advised them to follow suit, as the battle would last for many hours yet. As they strapped the children to the dragons, Thiery thought of his sudden strength in the face of death; what if he had not found that last courage, and had not fought when the soldier was even about to stab him? Thank you, Lord! He whispered.
When they got home, their parents had returned from their fruitless search, and there was a welcoming light in the window of their home. After Enna and Eddie were asleep, Thiery and Violet poured out their questions, to their parents and to their new friend.
“Once, a long time ago,” their father started, “I was the nephew of a rich king in a land far away, until the king of your land attacked, and took me away, with my faithful servant.” Here he nodded towards the old man, who sat, eyes brimming with tears.
“We were separated, and neither knew where the other was. I became a soldier. Then I met your mother, who knew me as Issac Fletcher. I changed my name to avoid being known as a prince of a sort. After many years, I was hunted down. Being a soldier for life, when I left the army I was sentenced to be killed. The armies were told to find me, and after thirteen years, they have succeeded. But, thanks to my servant, I am not yet dead.” He then nodded to his friend to speak.
The old man croaked, “After your father was taken away from me, I joined up with the barefoot beggars, whom I thought would be the most likely to find my master. After many years, we tracked him down to this small town, where I met Thiery. He looked so much the same as his father, that I thought it was him. I took him to my shack, where the children were taken. I had led the armies to my master.”
When his voice trailed off, Thiery took up the story. “I came home to find Father, but, thank the Almighty, did not. It was a trap, and the children were the bait... Violet came with me instead. We searched the forest, and she found our friend with the beggars, and I the soldiers. You know what happened from then.”
Violet finally spoke, “So we are royalty, and our name is not Fletcher, it's....” “Sharperant”, finished their father, smiling down on his disbelieving daughter.
Far away, in the forest, the battle that had been going on for thirteen years was won, and the last soldier ran from the forest, and the beggars rejoiced, and praised the Lord.
Thank you everyone for entering my contest! Should I do another contest again? Have any suggestions for next time? I would love to hear for you!
~Annika
Congratulations, winners!! 🤗❤
ReplyDeleteYes!
DeleteCongrats, Bailey, Jemima, and Abigail!!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteCongratulations winners! <3
ReplyDeleteThese were so fun to read! Ladies, keep writing! I especially loved Jemima's. 😊
ReplyDeleteYes! They really are!
DeleteThanks for hosting this, Annika! It was lots of fun, and I was really glad you gave me the incentive to write a story! :D
ReplyDelete~ Jemima
Yes! Should i host one again? I am so glad you liked it!
DeleteYeah, I think that would be a good idea! Maybe in a couple of months or so?
DeleteCongrats, Bailey, Jemima, and Abigail!!!!!! Annika, I don't see how you chose a winner!!! I mean, these are all so good!! And I love your new blog background! Also, I am also hosting a short story contest. It ends June 15, so if your going to enter, you should get started😊😁https://flightofthequill.blogspot.com/2020/05/short-story-contest.html
ReplyDeleteIt was really hard XD Thank you! You are! I will go check it out! I have been super busy so I hope I find the time to write one!
DeleteThanks for Putting me in 3rd place Annika!
ReplyDeletePS: I read my story, and noticed that there was a few sentences missing at the end. I was just wondering if I hadn't sent you the last like three lines. Or you acciedentely didn't copy all of it. I can send you the rest if I didn't send you it all. Just email me 😁
~Bailey | bluesagemountains.blogspot.com
Hi Bailey! Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you sooner. Hmm, I copied the whole story and the last sentences were on my draft post. I am not sure what happened.🧐🤔 I will try to fix it!
Delete