Greyhound Park
I can hear the crowd around me, talking amongst themselves, just waiting for the race to begin. I can hear people betting, "I'll take ten on Lightning! Twenty on Bullet!" I'm what you can...
Stories
Original fiction by young writers ages 8-13
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I can hear the crowd around me, talking amongst themselves, just waiting for the race to begin. I can hear people betting, "I'll take ten on Lightning! Twenty on Bullet!" I'm what you can consider an underdog. Lightning and Bullet, they are the true racers. I don't necessarily come in last, but I've never won.
I love the feel of racing, watching the rabbit bounding about in front of me.
Juan (pronounced Ju-an) walked into our living room where my parents were sitting at the table. My mom and dad knew right away that she would be the one. She was wearing jeans and a Barbados T-shirt. She had brown hair, brown eyes, and brown skin. My sister, Emily, was two at the time and I was not yet born. Emily walked up to Juan and shook her box of Tic Tacs.
"You want one?
It was a warm, sunny, day. The wind chased the clouds playfully across the sky Mejandro rocked contentedly in his chair, but he knew something was not right. However, he was content to sit on his porch and wait for the trouble to find him. It always did in the end.
The sun was just sinking below the horizon when a panicked-looking Henry raced up the worn rabbit trail to Alejandro's house.
Haunted houses don't exist, right? Well, one night when I was about nine, I wasn't so sure. I was coming home from my friend's house as the sun was setting, hurrying since I was late for dinner. I was on the east side of the hill, and darkness blanketed me. The last rays of the sun highlighted the tops of the tallest trees. It was a little spooky, so I tried to walk faster.
The wind whistled against his head as the leaves blew in a cyclone and rain threatened with a distant rumble of thunder. The man turned, his black overcoat flapping. Walking slowly away, he hoped his memories would not be blown away as the dry brittle grass. His hand felt empty and cold without her small hand gripping his. The streets were empty as he boarded the bus.
A low growl vibrated out of his snarling jaws. Drool trickled over the cruelly glinting teeth and onto the cracked concrete sidewalk where he stood in a threatening stance. His brown eyes, which portrayed nothing but pure hatred, pierced the small toddler's who stood stiff with fear in front of him.
A fresh, warm, yeasty smell drifts through the screen door of the panadería and out onto the sidewalk. As if under some magic spell, we find that we must follow the command of the sweet fragrance and allow ourselves to be pulled inside the small brick building. As we enter the bakery we stand, staring in amazement at all the beautiful pastries behind the glass display case doors that surround us.
The first time I ever met Erica Stevens was in Miss Moore's first-grade class at Thomas Grant Elementary. Erica had had a big first-grade crush on Tyler Applebaum, who sat across from Erica at their table. Of course, Erica, being the excessive talker that she was and still is today, chatted non-stop to poor Tyler every chance she got, whether it was during Miss Moore's addition lesson or during D.
STORIES OF THE UNICORNS
BOOK ONE
When God created the earth, he asked Adam in the Garden of Eden to name the animals. When Adam picked the unicorn to name first, God reached down and touched the unicorn's horn. This is a sign that unicorns are blessed above all other creatures.
It was a bright and clear Monday morning on the Flying T ranch in Texas. Almost everyone at the ranch was still asleep, except a little Blue Heeler named Patches. She was a small dog with short brown legs and a stumpy tail. Her ears were black and she had a black patch on one eye. The rest of her strong little body was a silver-gray. She was an intelligent and spunky dog who loved to run and play.