Emily’s Mustang
Emily shaded her green eyes from the hot Nevada sun. A tiny breeze blew a loose strand of her dusty brown hair and relieved the humidity that made the air hang thick and heavy. Her...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
View:
Emily shaded her green eyes from the hot Nevada sun. A tiny breeze blew a loose strand of her dusty brown hair and relieved the humidity that made the air hang thick and heavy. Her mother's horse, Sweetie, shifted impatiently beneath her.
Emily reassured her with a pat, but her mind was in the craggy mountains that loomed high and forbidding above horse and girl.
John McCarty was warming up his arm. "Whip it in there!" yelled his friend, Stuart Johnson. He and Stuart played for the Rockets. The Rockets were the best baseball team in the league, all because of John, their pitcher. Or at least that's what Stuart thought!
John was great at baseball, but he also loved school and got A's in almost every subject. He loved history the most.
Julia arose at the early hour of four o'clock AM, fighting already bubbling nerves, and being careful not to wake her parents in the next room or her two younger siblings. She didn't want anyone to know about her endeavors, should they fail. And she didn't want to hurt her parents by going behind their backs.
Mon, when is Bubbe coming?" I asked impatiently.
"Soon," she replied for the seventeenth time.
It was a family tradition for my grandma to come over every Saturday to light the havdalah candle, a symbol that the Jewish Sabbath has ended, with our family.
I was sitting on the steps of the porch when I heard the steady tap . . . tap . . . tap of her cane. "Bubbe!!!" I exclaimed.
"Hello, sweetheart!
Amy sat on the cold concrete steps resting her chin on her fist, while the other hand clutched an ink-blotted letter. She stared at the sign three doors down that had a big red line crossing out the words "For Sale." Under it in small letters it said "Sold!" Slowly a tear rolled down her cheek and plopped down onto the letter, smudging the words "Dear Amy.
The whiteout was incredible, one of the most amazing things Jack Graham had ever seen. Unfortunately, one thing he hadn't seen lately was the rest of his team. He knew he had to keep going . . . otherwise he would freeze in this stark, hostile, white world. The shrieking wind bit his face and blew ice crystals into his beard and goggles, giving him the appearance of a snowman.
Dong-suk followed his uncle, carefully keeping his pace slow enough for his haal-mu-hee, his grandma. His mother was close behind. The group moved along with hurried steps, adding to the bustle of the sidewalks of Seoul. His hand was gripped tightly around his grandmother's and he shouldered a backpack. Although his feet were quick to stay in line behind his uncle, his thoughts were slow.
For most of my life, I have not had any pets. My brother and I are allergic to anything with fur. Then one spring, we found our first praying mantis, which changed our lives forever.
For several more summers, we enjoyed playing with these unique creatures. One particular summer, a new batch of baby praying mantises was expected. Soon we found they had hatched. One praying mantis caught my eye.
The full moon shone lazily through the drifting night clouds, casting barely any light on the boarded warehouses slumping along the empty streets. Through the dank alleys, an ebony shadow slipped unperturbed, defining the true meaning of discreet.
For the skinny, jet-black cat, this was high hunting time.
PART ONE: A SOUR NOTE
The air was hot and still, like a warm fuzzy blanket that dulled the senses, making everyone pleasantly sleepy. Even bees veered off their straight course and hummed in lazy loops. The air was thick with pollen; but that was not why Sandy sniffled. She ran up her apartment steps by twos up to the fourth floor.