A Gated Memory
Swish, Swish . . . The repetitive motion of the windshield wipers flicks the tapping droplets to the side. The fog flushes out everything as if someone poured the foam from a soda over San...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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Swish, Swish . . . The repetitive motion of the windshield wipers flicks the tapping droplets to the side. The fog flushes out everything as if someone poured the foam from a soda over San Francisco. Only the tops of the Golden Gate's 746-foot towers protrude out of the milky sky. Going over the bridge, I see a man.
Emily and I were the best of friends.
I remember those times when we were four, licking melted ice cream off our fingers in the burning sun. I remember fifth-grade days spent frolicking in the pool in hot and freezing water alike. I remember the seventh-grade blues, where the sorrow of both of our failed romantic endeavors were shared equally and sympathized upon by the other.
"Carmen!" Dad's voice rang, crisp with excitement. "Come look what came in today!" Half-heartedly, I swung off the couch and walked heavily to the door. I groaned as I stepped out of the air-conditioning into the stifling summer heat. I jogged to the corral where Dad stood and leaned on the fence next to him. I followed to where his finger pointed and saw what all the commotion was about.
It snowed last night, first it came down softly, then hard. My father was watching the news this morning, and told me that my school was cancelled because of the slick ice on the roads. My mother said that Jack Frost had done a good job last night. I could tell he did too. The windows had enough frost on them that I could write my name with my warm pink finger, melting the frost.
Walking into my father's mud-brick palace, I saw my brother standing in the middle of a plaza. Not stopping to think why he was surrounded by guards, I ran toward him.
"Rudiju!" I said. Rudiju was my favorite person in the palace because he always used to play games with me when we were little. He and I would spend hours playing hide-and-seek, or we would play Senet together.
In many ways Aubin Tupper was a lonely child, with no children nearby he thought of as friends. Living out in the country with his parents and little brother, he had homeschooled since grade two—it hadn't taken him long to find out that the public school nearest wasn't for him.
“He's back again?!” exclaimed Kaitlin, dropping her backpack on the floor. "What did the owners complain of this time?"
Steve, the thirty-year-old manager of the animal shelter, replied, "Oh, the usual. He barks too much, bites, growls, and they simply can't put up with him."
"Poor little Bullet," she sympathized, going over to the sign-in desk. "This is the fifth time he's been here.
It was a sultry day in August. Sofia lay on her bed, her eyes closed. She heard Isabela, her sister, playing with her cousins downstairs. Cousin Diego's radio drowned out baby Ana's wailing.
Quietly, Sofia tiptoed out of the room. She darted down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door, unnoticed. Out on the lawn, Sofia ran as fast as she could.
I found the box today. It was on the dust-covered shelf in the new room. While I was searching for one of my many misplaced books, I picked up this plain-looking plastic box to set it out of the way. To my astonishment I discovered it was quite heavy.
Placing it on my knee, I tugged the lid off and peeked curiously inside. What could it have contained? There they were.
I look back on that night and wonder why I was so scared. Was it the noises—or the fact I was alone, surrounded by water, with nothing overhead but the glittering stars and the Cheshire moon?
That day began just like any other Thursday. At school I almost fell asleep in math class, and by the time I got home, I was ready to go outside. Unfortunately, my mom made me finish my homework first.