Stripes
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...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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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.
"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.
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.
She stood on the dock, squinting into the early morning sun. The wooden planks creaked softly as she ran over it. A dog trotted behind her, a small scruffy brown dog. They stopped near the end of the dock, leaped off the edge and into a small boat.
"The ferry's not here yet," she said to the dog, who didn't respond, merely scrambled onto one of the seats and put his paws on the edge of the boat f...
Buck felt the wind blow through his shaggy hair as he pounded his way across the frozen forest, his whole pack following half a minute behind. The chase had lasted three days, three long days of running at top pace, his nose continually dipping toward the ground, sniffing for any twist or turn his prey might make. He had been on many hunts but never one this lengthy and tedious.
Tendrils of clinging fog rose up off the ice, curling into claws, sinking into my skin, freezing my blood as it pumped through my body. Shaking, I looked around, seeking a friendly face, a familiar face, anything, something that wouldn't leave me feeling so alienated and alone. There was none. The judges' faces were blank, their mouths set in hard lines. The audience was no better.
Eve set her bags down with a sigh, and looked around. The room's white walls stood out in stark contrast to the wood floors, the bed, with its antique-looking iron headboard and footboard and the patchwork quilt, and the bare walnut bookshelf. The only ornament in the room was an old-fashioned fishing net hanging on the wall, with seashells and sea creatures attached to it.
I gaze from the gray wooden bench in my neighbor's backyard as the water from the hose quietly flows out onto the budding tomato plants. I watch the plants and rest easy, knowing the hose is taking care of the plants, and there is nothing more I can do. The roots and soil soak up the water almost as fast as I can make it flow.
“Strike three!''
The quarterfinal game was over. Jesús Castillo had tossed his fourth perfect game in a row, earning the Little Leaguers of Miami a bid to the semifinals of the Little League World Series. His face was all over the newspapers. Headlines of Jesús becoming the next Koufax streaked across the tops of the pages.
Buck felt the wind blow through his shaggy hair as he pounded his way across the frozen forest, his whole pack following half a minute behind. The chase had lasted three days, three long days of running at top pace, his nose continually dipping toward the ground, sniffing for any twist or turn his prey might make. He had been on many hunts but never one this lengthy and tedious.