Furious Fire
Scars are a part of you; they never go away. All scars have a story. Whether it’s funny, sad, or scary—the story’s always there. My scar’s story is one of pain and despair; a story...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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Scars are a part of you; they never go away. All scars have a story. Whether it’s funny, sad, or scary—the story’s always there. My scar’s story is one of pain and despair; a story in which fears are faced and lessons are learned, all from one little spark.
Our summer stays at my family’s beautiful country home were always my favorite part of the year.
You wouldn’t think that two girls who were so different could become friends, but somehow, Litzy and I did.
I rubbed my eyes with sleepy fingers as I stared into the mirror. An eleven-year-old girl with dark eyes and wild, unkempt dark hair stared dauntlessly back.
The first day of summer vacation, I made a beeline for the library. I checked out as many books as I could and trudged home with a bulging book bag. Swinging open the front door, I dove for the couch. I slung my book bag off my aching shoulder and rummaged inside it, retrieving the first book I touched. With barely a glance at the cover, I curled up on the couch and launched into the story.
Running to the market, my father clutched the bagful of coins to his chest. On the leather bag was sewn “,” horse, in Chinese, the only gift that his father had given him before the war. He hurried across town, walking under the wood sign with the words “Tai City” etched on it and following the path, which he knew by heart.
The doorbell’s ring still echoed in my head. I stood on the third step of the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and leaned my body all the way out. That way I could see the mirror that hung in the foyer next to the front door. I heard Mom wheel the rolling chair back from the computer and walk to the door. My older sister, Alexa Kate, ran from the den to join her, her sandy hair flying.
Gary Evans stared down at the tiny world below as the plane soared over the lush Californian Redwood Forest. The trees had climbed upward noticeably more since the last time Gary had been in a plane on the same journey before, only three months ago. Only last time, he hadn’t found the courage to jump.
Kelsey crouched lower in the grass. A beautiful quail (coturnix octumix japonica) strutted pompously around her pond. Kelsey raised her binoculars and magnified the kingly bird. She could see all its tail feathers, from the soft browns to the deep whites. She carefully crept closer. The bird was like a mini-peacock. She pictured it in the store.
Peacock—now travel size!
Mom and Dad were asleep. I had to wait a whole three hours after I went to my bedroom to sneak downstairs. Who knew that after kids fall asleep, parents stay up until midnight?
Sprinting down the path, my mind wandered to Jack. He would be upset that I was late but happy I had brought him the meat he requested. I got to the edge of a grove of trees and slowed my pace.
The summer cabin was wonderful. We all thought so. It was white with blue trim around the windows and doors. The roof was gray like mist. I had been waiting all summer to visit this cabin, but it was the beach I was most eager to see.
My name is Jasmine, and I love the beach. I love the sound of the waves, finding empty shells on the sand, swimming.
The musty, damp smell of earth engulfs me, blocking the sharp, acute smells of night from outside my den. My bushy tail, tipped with white, flicks, causing the leaves and moss that make up my nest to rustle and scatter. It does not matter. I shall see to it come daylight, for now it is my time to prowl. The moon is full and the time is right, I must emerge.