Discovering Opportunities
Where I live, the seasons come and go as they please, along with the day and night. Everything has been the same for as long as I can remember. The daily routine of waking up,...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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Where I live, the seasons come and go as they please, along with the day and night. Everything has been the same for as long as I can remember. The daily routine of waking up, brushing my teeth, and getting on the bus only to be disturbed by teenagers seemed like a part of my life now. After getting off of the bus to go in to my school, no matter what grade I was in, it never seemed to change.
The bam of the gun and the final wail of his mother—his entire world had fallen apart. The frail windows nearly shattered from the heat of his burning tears streaming down his face, loosening the tight grip of the dust and sand that clotted his eyelashes. The young boy ran through the torn but precious shelter that for years had guarded them from any danger.
Reina took a step back, aimed carefully, and fired the basketball. It was the middle of winter. Her thermometer informed her that it was only forty-five degrees outside, so she had on sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She was alone, for it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
Jay pedaled his bike around and around the block. There was nothing else to do. Everyone from school was either not available or was taking a trip. Jay was thinking very hard about one particular thing. Not a thing, actually, it was a person. He was thinking about his mother.
His mother had died only one year ago, when Jay was twelve. Now he was thirteen.
It was finally spring in the woods of Montana. The bitter coldness had ended at last, and not only was the temperature warmer, but also the hearts of those who lived there. Bozeman, a chocolate-brown horse, was about to have a baby. Her life as a rodeo horse was over, for she had retired months ago.
One day, her beautiful foal arrived. Here’s how the day went… “Mama, Mama, is Bozeman OK?
I heard a loud bang! Followed by a “No, darn it!” I rolled my eyes, knowing Max was in the kitchen again. Clumsy, fumbling, so not-a-chef-and-never-will-be, Max. I peeked around the corner of the door frame, only to see him and his cat, Rufus, covered in flour. Rufus was not happy and bounded away, shaking flour on the floor. Gabby, Mati, and Arian stood nearby.
It was a drizzly, rainy day. There were hardly any people walking on the street. My sister was in her room, singing a pre-school song. My mom huddled in her bed, reading a book. My cat Baboo was, of course, sleeping. My dad was on the couch, doing something with his iPad. And I was on the dining room chair, feeling bored.
I wondered where my other fat cat Mango was. I looked everywhere.
I wake up to the sound of my little brother, Carson, screaming. I plug my ears with my pillow, trying to block out the noise, but it doesn’t help.
“No, Daddy, no!” Carson laughs. Laughs. That’s something I’d sure like to do.
You see, ever since Carson was born, my parents really haven’t paid attention to me.
We always loved going to that old house on the hill. Everyone said it was haunted, but we never listened. Michael, Emma, and me, Summer.
Why did we always go there? I guess we were interested. We didn’t believe in ghosts. Not then. Now we know better. But even more than that, we were attracted to the house. That old wreck of a building, with shutters hanging loose and boards half ripped off.
My name is Jake. I have brown hair and green eyes, and I’m eleven years old, but most importantly, I’ve always wanted to go to summer camp. Every year I beg my parents to let me go, but they always insist that it’s too expensive. It was the end of the year and I was about to confront my parents about summer camp, when they walked into my room with huge smiles glued to their faces.