Brotherhood
It was a warm, brisk Saturday afternoon, and Jack and I couldn't wait to get to the river. Crisp, dry auburn leaves were settling to the ground like fairies relishing their last ballet before...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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It was a warm, brisk Saturday afternoon, and Jack and I couldn't wait to get to the river. Crisp, dry auburn leaves were settling to the ground like fairies relishing their last ballet before reaching the forest floor. We knew they would soon be buried under mounds of snow, obscuring the path to the forest.
Sixty surfers sat like giant black spiders, fangs bared, waiting to strike out and take one wave. Only one surfer could ride a wave at a time, which poisoned the air with the tense gas of ruthless competition. This was Trestles, a place where waves rolled like moonbeams into eternity Because of this phenomenon, Trestles attracted crowds of people like termites to a rotting log.
A low growl vibrated out of his snarling jaws. Drool trickled over the cruelly glinting teeth and onto the cracked concrete sidewalk where he stood in a threatening stance. His brown eyes, which portrayed nothing but pure hatred, pierced the small toddler's who stood stiff with fear in front of him.
A fresh, warm, yeasty smell drifts through the screen door of the panadería and out onto the sidewalk. As if under some magic spell, we find that we must follow the command of the sweet fragrance and allow ourselves to be pulled inside the small brick building. As we enter the bakery we stand, staring in amazement at all the beautiful pastries behind the glass display case doors that surround us.
The first time I ever met Erica Stevens was in Miss Moore's first-grade class at Thomas Grant Elementary. Erica had had a big first-grade crush on Tyler Applebaum, who sat across from Erica at their table. Of course, Erica, being the excessive talker that she was and still is today, chatted non-stop to poor Tyler every chance she got, whether it was during Miss Moore's addition lesson or during D.
STORIES OF THE UNICORNS
BOOK ONE
When God created the earth, he asked Adam in the Garden of Eden to name the animals. When Adam picked the unicorn to name first, God reached down and touched the unicorn's horn. This is a sign that unicorns are blessed above all other creatures.
It was a bright and clear Monday morning on the Flying T ranch in Texas. Almost everyone at the ranch was still asleep, except a little Blue Heeler named Patches. She was a small dog with short brown legs and a stumpy tail. Her ears were black and she had a black patch on one eye. The rest of her strong little body was a silver-gray. She was an intelligent and spunky dog who loved to run and play.
Harsh, cold wind rippled across the snow that blanketed the farm's fields. Sighing, Sam led the shivering sheep across the wide plain. Cauliflower, the farm's sheepdog, ran with Sam, keeping the milk-white sheep in line as best as she could.
"Snow Sheep," muttered Sam, kicking at a withered plant poking its way through the snow. "How stupid can you get?
The floor creaked as Simon crept through his grandparents' attic towards a large chest in the corner of the room that had caught his eye. In the dusty attic, cobwebs hung from the shelves and bookcases and a thick layer of dust blanketed the mildew-covered furniture.
I twirl around and around in front of my mirror. I quickly smooth out the crinkles beginning to form on the beautiful silk dress. Glancing at my face I notice a stray hair and quickly pin it back into place. Reapplying a coat of lipstick, I nervously look at my dress one last time. It is beautiful.
I am filled with pride I cannot explain.