To Follow a Fox
Cassandra sat at her desk in the midst of piles of papers and books. She had cleared a small space where a piece of paper and a few colored pencils were cramped together. A picture...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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Cassandra sat at her desk in the midst of piles of papers and books. She had cleared a small space where a piece of paper and a few colored pencils were cramped together. A picture of a waterfall flooded into her mind. She hurriedly picked out the blue pencil and drew it.
As always, the picture didn’t come out just how she imagined it.
Madison shivered in the biting wind. She swayed precariously as the cable car lurched along the cables. It probably wasn’t safe to be hanging on with only one arm, but the other was cradling The Wish Horse to her chest. A quick glance confirmed that her parents were nowhere nearby. Flexing her wind-chilled fingers with anticipation, Madison pulled the pencil out from behind her ear.
We sat there, under the tree, our tree. The tree with the leaves that spread to the sun like helping hands. The tree with the tall trunk and cool shade.
“It’s hot,” I complained, fanning myself with the back of my hand, the mid-August sun beating down from the unforgiving sun.
Mimi stood up. Her long dark hair draped down her back and her rosy face was pink.
Thousands of twinkling and glittering stars lit up the black night sky. It’s so beautiful, I thought as I gazed up at the sky. I wish I could stay here forever, but I couldn’t. Heather and I were slowly walking up the street towards my cottage. It was like we did every summer night after we said goodbye to our other friends, but tonight was different.
The small, ragged fox trotted along in the dry brush near the train track, head low and ears flattened. His scruffy, dirty, brown coat ruffled slightly in the cold mid-October wind. His alert, dark eyes were half-closed, giving the fox a sharp, hooded gaze. Though barely a foot-and-a-half high, everything about him was tough and quick.
He was hungry.
Waves pounded on the sides of the boat like relentless punches, throwing the large craft off course. My uncle regained his footing on the drenched deck and forcefully guided the boat through the tormented sea. His black hair whipped around his face and his lips were set in a hard, thin line. All around me crates of life vests slid around the ship.
Crunch. Crack. The pavement gurgles under our car. My excitement turns the corners of my mouth up. We are going miniature golfing for the first time. I push the button to open the window. The crisp fall air lifts the pieces of hair that rest on my forehead. The light is like liquid, shimmering down from the sky. Everything is palpable.
I stood outside the little store, waiting for my mother to come out. The golden sun had sunk behind the whispering branches of the pine trees. The moody sky had been dyed dark orange and gray, dotted with thin, wispy clouds. All the birds of the forest were silent and had hidden themselves, except for a single great-horned owl dozing in a tree.
Alyn Walker took in a shaky, excited breath. She had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Her mother and father had described the “perfect house” and living in it would be like “walking around in a storybook.” Finally, Mr. and Mrs. Walker had brought their daughter along with them to see their new home.
I sit at our dining room table playing Monopoly with my brother. It is my turn to go so I pick up the dice and cup them in my hands. As I shake them around in the bowl that I made with my hands, I think about how my life is like those two dice. Bouncing around, never slowing down, never stopping. My life is exactly like those dice, it is different in only one way.