Forget Me Not
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....
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
View:
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.
Mikon smoothed on the creamy white paint. It was cool to the touch, and felt like powder on his cheeks when it dried. Giving a smile in the mirror, he squirted red paint onto his palette. Ever so carefully he picked up his brush and began to paint a thin line around his mouth, nose and eyes. Gently he pulled a yellow lipstick out of his pocket and smoothed it onto his lips.
It was early in the morning with a nip in the air when my dad and I went canoeing. We were on Boot Lake at Half Moon Trail Resort, going canoeing to see the beaver and any other morning animals.
When we were walking down to the canoe everything was calm. I felt peaceful. Fog was rising off the lake, some birds chirped, and everything was still. It was very pretty out.
Winter is the grain of sand in an hourglass falling from one end into the other, but not at either. Winter is the dark god dressed in black coming to clasp his tight, choking hands on a blade of grass or a maple leaf. Winter, in Michigan, is snow.
And thus it snowed.
Blinding whiteness stretched as far as the eye could see.
In the blue goat-hair tent, Shaimaa heard the music and laughter of the wedding, the shrill ululation of women's voices and heavy swirl of woolen skirts. She pulled the scratchy blanket that smelled of camels up over her nose to avoid inhaling the mouth-watering flavors of prickly pear cactus, sweet and juicy, of plump golden raisins and date wine, of lentil bread soaked in sticky wild honey.
In school, kids are always hearing horror stories about teachers, principals, custodians, and lunch ladies, but what about bus drivers? Back in 1999 Edd Phoenix lived three days he would never forget.
School had only been in session two months when Edd's regular bus driver, Mr. Huffler, announced one Monday afternoon that he would be out of town the next three days.
"Who is the sub?
I was lying in my bunk, listening to the waves rocking the sides of the Yorktown when I heard the sound. It wasn't much, just a slight splash in the water, but when you have been living on an aircraft carrier for six months in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, you know the sound of a Catalina when you hear one.
I leaned back in the cushioned seat of the gondola. I looked over at my close friend and mountain bike riding partner Daniel Vest. Dirt smudges ran across his face, and his clothes had a tint of brown on them. Both of our shirts were drenched with sweat.
I drummed my fingers on the seat. Outside, the wind howled at us as the gondola took us to the top of Mammoth Mountain.
"Grace!!! Wake up!" I awoke that morning to the sound of my mother's prickly voice in my ear. I grunted and put the pillow over my head.
"Grace!"
"All right!" I cried, "I'm up!!!" My mother tutted and looked me in the eye.
"I wish you wouldn't sleep so late, there's chores to be done." She sat down on my creaky old bed and took hold of my shoulders. "Listen to me," she said.
Maddy leaps from stone to stone, clutching a limp tiger in her left hand, and laughs. She is so happy with her first Beanie Baby. She doesn't think of Stripes as a stuffed animal, but as a wild tiger, her best friend. She swings Stripes around and around, and he is a blur of gold and black to everyone but her. She sees his beady gold eyes staring right into her hazel ones.