Kylie couldn’t breathe. The air crowded her lungs and her body clenched inside of her. The shouting of the people around her shook her nerves and she trembled, her body craving to collapse inwards into a ball.
Was this really happening? Was she really on stage right now with the parents staring up at her. Her parents were staring up at her, light in their eyes as they waited for their fifth grade daughter to say the words she had been practicing for so long. She couldn’t see them. She couldn’t see anybody. Tears flickered in her eyes, making everything around her appear blurry. A drum seemed to pound in her ears and she couldn’t hear anything except her own breath. Her breath. She was breathing. Kylie was breathing, but words could not come out. They settled inside of her stomach and rolled under her tongue. Her mouth felt sticky and the stickiness clamped it shut. Her legs vibrated and her hands grasped onto the fabric of her blue dress. What had her poem been about again? “Kylie,” a voice breathed into her ear. She shuddered. Who was this person? Why was she standing beside her? Kylie’s head tilted to the left, toward the voice. It sounded so gentle, so warm. Maybe it could take her away from this horrible place where she stood, but no words came out. “Kylie, it’s Mrs. Richardson,” the voice fluttered into her ears, breaking through the pounding of the drums. “The first word of your poem is ‘imagine.’” Right. Imagine. But Kylie couldn’t imagine. She couldn't imagine herself out of this auditorium, out of this school, out of this world. Her mind stayed planted in this moment with all the stares, the parents, the trembling. What had she wanted to imagine earlier when she wrote that poem? She could faintly remember writing down those words onto fresh lined paper, her eyes bright with excitement and her heart thrumming with words, with hope. Hope. Maybe that was what she had been writing about. But what was there to be hopeful about? She blinked and her tears cleared up just for a moment so she could see...her mother. Her mother sat in the second row, her light brown face brimming with hope. Hope for Kylie to start, to speak. But then that image was gone and the tears had fallen into view again. Her mother believed in her, but why did she? Kylie always felt she disappointed her mother. She could never remember to take out the trash and sometimes she complained when they went to visit her mother’s family who were Mashpee Wampanoag instead of staying at home and watching Kylie’s favorite TV shows. Why was Kylie so selfish? Didn’t she value her family? They cared about her and gave so much to her every time they saw her. Kylie blinked again and this time her eyes landed on her father. He sat on her mother’s left and his dark brown eyes seemed to bore into her, begging her to share her words, her strength. Right. He had taught her so much. She remembered all the moments of them sitting side-by-side on the front steps. Him speaking Shanghainese so softly, Kylie wondered if he was embarrassed by the fact he spoke a language other than English. But why? Why would he be ashamed? Kylie would reply to him in his mother tongue and he would smile, but look sad as well. Kylie turned toward Mrs. Richardson now. The woman’s dark brown face peered down at Kylie with encouragement. She beamed and brushed back a strand of her gray hair. There was no anger in her gaze at Kylie for taking so long to remember the right words. She believed in Kylie. She had been in this moment so many times before with so many other students and had supported them through it. Kylie let out a breath. She would begin. She would say her poem. The words were beginning to flow into her mind now, like trickling water from a hose that only grew as the knob turned. Kylie spoke, “Imagine…”
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Last night, I saw a woman standing in the woods outside my window. She had light brown skin and long black hair. I frowned. We were supposed to be social distancing. Why would she be there? Yet, she swayed in the wind with her loose silver dress billowing around her slim body. Even when I blinked, I could still see her. Kylie, I told myself. You’re going crazy. Just go back to bed. And that’s what I did. The next morning, I woke up to see the April sun shimmering through my window. The green canopy of trees was barely visible from my vantage point. The woman. My heart pounding, I slipped out of my bed more quickly than any other seventeen-year-old would do on a no-school day. I pressed my face against the cool glass. No woman was there. I sighed. I must have imagined everything. “Kylie,” I heard my mother’s voice come from downstairs. “It’s your turn to take out the trash!” Groaning, I headed out of my bedroom. ~~~ That night, I waited by my window. I craved to see the woman again. There was something so eerie, but entrancing about her. All this COVID-19 stuff is going to my brain, I thought. Lately, I’d been anxious for my mother’s side of the family who were Mashpee Wampanoag. The tribe’s reservation was struggling with lack of government support and resources. My parents had been sending as much virtual aid as possible, but it still hurt being physically isolated from one side of my family. Then, of course, my dad’s side of the family were all in Shanghai and we hadn’t had much contact with them either. I just need a distraction from all this stress. The moon glistened in the sky above me. It was so round and golden. A super full moon, my dad had said earlier. I closed my eyes just for a moment to allow the yellow light to bathe me with its invisible warmth. I could almost imagine myself dancing on the moon’s dusty surface with my feet bounding through the air. Stars glinted around me and the Earth bobbed in the distance. Beside me was the woman, her red lips parted in a smile and her dark brown eyes were alight with euphoria. I blinked. She was still there and I was still on the moon. My heart soared in my chest and I, feeling like I could catch the stars, sprung through the air. “The moon is beautiful,” the woman said. It took me a moment to recognize she was speaking Shanghainese, my father’s first language. “Yeah,” I replied in the same tongue. I paused beside her. “Who are you?” “Someone who is alone.” “I get that.” I fiddled with the sleeve of my pink pajama top. It had been weeks since I had last seen my friends in person. I missed how Isla would doodle on my arm and how Christie talked so much at lunch that she always forgot to eat. I longed to meet up at the beach again with Amber and have vibrant discussions about the books we were reading. The woman nodded at me and held out her right hand. “Let me show you.” Normally, I would never take a stranger’s hand, but things were weird enough tonight. I was on the moon and exceptions could be made. I clenched her cool grasp. A light sparked between us and the ground swiveled underneath my feet. My stomach lurched in my body and I squeezed my eyes shut. “Take a look,” the woman’s voice filtered through my ears. I gazed at the scene before me. I was back in my town of Buchtton, Massachusetts, I realized. The night air tangled around my legs and I could feel the concrete driveway underneath my feet. Before me sat the colonial of my friend Isla Yue. Through the front window, I could see Isla with her back to us and her head bowed. I smiled. I knew that pose anywhere. She was drawing. Even with quarantine, my friend was still finding the strength to do the activity that made her happy. “Why are you showing me this?” I asked in Shanghainese. The woman did not answer. She held out her right hand again and I clasped it. This time, I was prepared for my stomach to feel like it was being tossed around. When I regained my composure, I noticed we were in front of a different colonial in Buchtton. “This is Christie’s house.” I spotted my friend’s red hair and pale skin through the window. She was in her kitchen with her sisters and mothers. I gazed as the family ate and laughed together. A pang of sadness shot though me as I remembered how isolated I was from my extended family and how they did not have the financial privileges of my friends. Then again, I knew things were complicated for Christie, too, because she was adopted and had no idea how her birth family was doing. I turned away from the sight. A cold breeze dragged across my arms and I shivered. The woman offered her hand. I embraced it and the ground shuddered under my feet. When the shaking stopped, I was not surprised to be standing in front of Amber’s house. He lived right across from the beach. Salty air flew through my nostrils and the thrumming of the waves soothed me. I grinned. My anxiety for my family lifting, I closed my eyes. I could almost picture myself with Amber on the beach with books gripped in our hands and smiles plastered on our cheeks. I opened my eyes. Through the window of Amber’s home, I could make out my friend reading on his bunk bed. The light of the lamp beside him made his curly black hair glimmer and illuminated his deep brown skin. His sister Ayana entered the room and he looked up and beamed at her. For a final time, the woman held out her right hand. Sighing, I obliged and grasped her palm. The world once more swirled around me and my stomach tumbled inside of me. We landed in front of my small cape house. The downstairs light was on and I could see my parents talking to each other in our little living room. My younger siblings, Stacey and Dan, were nowhere to be seen. My parents’ heads were bent together and they seemed to be looking at something. I turned to the woman. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Who are you?” The woman smiled. In a flash of golden light, she was gone. I went up the stone steps to my house and creaked open the door. My parents, sitting on the couch by the window, gaped at me. The warm air of my home enveloped me and it struck me how chilly the weather had been outside. “Where were you?” my mother asked. Her dark brown eyes were wide. My father just stared at me. “Oh, taking a walk.” I meandered over to my parents. A book lay on the coffee table in front of them. “What’re you looking at?” “Just an old scrapbook from when you kids were younger.” My mother was still frowning at me, but both of my parents seemed to have accepted I wasn’t going to tell them any more information. I slid onto the sofa beside my mother and leaned on her shoulder. I peered down at the scrapbook before us. A picture from when I was in elementary school gleamed back up at me. It was an image from Winter Break of second grade, the one time relatives from both my Chinese and Mashpee Wampanoag sides of my family had visited Buchtton. Swaddled in thick jackets and scarves, we all huddled in front of the house for a photo. Everyone was smiling, even my younger brother Dan who had been five at the time and obsessed with scowling. “Mom,” I murmured. “Are we going to be okay?” “I don’t know, Kylie, but your father and I are here for you.” She massaged my back. I twisted my head around to look out the window at the glittering full moon. My mother was right. There was no way to be certain of the future, but I understood, thanks to the moon, that my friends and family would be there for me. And I will be there for them, too. Even if we’re apart. Thank you for reading! If you like my story, please don’t be afraid to give it a share. Comments are always welcome and I love hearing your thoughts. Question: How do you stay connected to your friends across distance?
Finally, to learn more about the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe and how to support them, I highly recommend checking out their official website: https://mashpeewampanoagtribe-nsn.gov/. Magdhina gripped the Post-It note in her hand. Its smooth white surface overlaid with silvery pencil marks promised her of adventure. It proclaimed that, in the woods, her life could change. That there, tucked in the trees, was something in need of her aid. But for now, the thirteen-year-old girl stood at her locker clutching the note. There were other thoughts in her mind, too. She read the message over again. Magdhina, please meet me out in the woods. There's something I need your help with. -EG Who could have gotten into her locker? Someone who knew her name and locker combination. There were very few people who knew the latter piece of information and those who did were her most trusted friends. But what if this was all a trick? The Buchtton public school system had its fair share of pranksters and bullies. Still, something about the note's scrawling handwriting struck her as familiar and she trusted its words. Also, Magdhina rarely ever turned down an adventure. So, foolishly, Magdhina slipped the note into her jean pocket and closed her locker door. She had decided to leave. ~~~ The afternoon sun glowed in the January sky and the bare trees of the woods waved their rich brown arms at her. Grateful for her thick red coat, Magdhina continued her way down the street. She was near the forest and she could make out a boy in a black jacket standing at the edge. It was her close friend Ezra Gold. Relief shot through Magdhina's body and she scampered over to the boy. Ezra's naturally tan face broke into a grin. "Thank you for coming, Magdhina. Sorry about being so cryptic, but I just wanted to be safe." Magdhina frowned at him. "What's going on?" Ezra's gaze shifted to the frosty ground. "It's hard to explain and I understand if you don't trust me... it's just that my parents were doing this experimental testing on these animals, and, uh, my sister and I released the animals and have been aiding them ever since. My family is going away for February Break and we need your help." Magdhina's heart thudded inside of her body and her muscles tightened. "What type of animals?" Just then movement stirred from behind the trees. Bushy red tails, black paws, and white underbellies popped into Magdhina's view. The pack of creatures slinked toward her, their feet barely making a sound against the silt and snow. Their dark eyes peered at her with an intensity that made her want to flee. Even though they were only slightly larger than a small dog, Magdhina knew that she would never mess around with these animals. "They're foxes," Magdhina murmured. "You want me to take care of foxes." Ezra nodded at her. "They're special though. You should talk to Crystal." "Crystal?" One of the foxes stepped forward. Her fur was slightly more orange than the others and her eyes were a deep brown. Magdhina shivered. Foxes? Ezra's parents had been experimenting on them? None of this was making any sense. For a moment, Magdhina yearned to be back at her locker with only anticipation accompanying her. Not this confusing mess. The fox opened its mouth and words, English words, streamed from its lips. "We need your assistance, Miss..." "Magdhina," Ezra finished for the creature. "Her name is Magdhina." Magdhina gaped at Ezra. She leaned forward and gripped his hand, which was cold from the wind. "You need to do some talking." Ezra grinned at her. "Crystal can do the explaining. Trust her." With that, her friend yanked his hand from her grasp and scurried off down the sidewalk edging the woods. Magdhina watched as his black jacket disappeared from her vision. "I'm not going to help foxes," Magdhina said, still keeping her head turned away from the animals. "You are wild creatures. You can take care of yourselves." Crystal, the fox, did not speak. Only a low rumble came from her mouth. Magdhina realized that the fox was mocking her. Laughing. She glared at the fox. The creature smirked at her and sat down on her haunches. Meanwhile, the other foxes slipped back into the forest as quietly as they had arrived. The only evidence they left behind of their existence were small white footprints in the snow. "We don't need help with food or shelter. We are clever and know how to stay away from humans who wish to harm us. No, we need something more important." Magdhina was surprised by how articulate the fox was. If Magdhina was one of Ezra's parents, she would be distraught to lose such a valuable specimen. But another part of Magdhina felt some sympathy for the foxes. What surgeries and tests would Ezra's parents have had to perform in order to give these animals the ability to speak? "What's more important than food and shelter?" Magdhina said at last. She crossed her arms. Maybe she did feel a little bad for these foxes, but that didn't mean she had to help them. They already had their basic needs met. Crystal's eyes glimmered in the light of the sun. "Something that encourages us to keep going. It is lonely out here, Magdhina. We have one another, but at times we need something... less tangible. Something universal that is built by experience and patience." Magdhina groaned. "Please speak more directly." "We need stories." "Stories?" Magdhina raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I don't think I'll be much help with that. I'm not the bedtime story type of person. That's more my mom. She claims telling stories is part of her Cuban genes. Can't say I'm really into storytelling though." Crystal bowed her head. "No one can exist without a story. I trust you will return once you find one." The fox stood and lumbered back into the woods. Her tail bent low to the ground and the trees' shadows caressed her orange fur. Soon, her small figure was gone from Magdhina's sight. ~~~ Throughout the next day, Magdhina could barely concentrate. From class to class, she fumbled to remember specifics about her normal routine. She walked into her math class when she needed to be in history. She took her English book out in science. At lunch, she almost forgot to pay for her pizza. She knew she wanted to talk to Ezra, but there never seemed to be a good enough time. Too many of their other friends were around. Finally, after her last class, French, she headed to her locker to retrieve her red jacket. Sighing she tucked the cool lock in her hand and spun the dial. With a little clink, the lock opened and she reached inside her cubby. As her hand brushed against her sleek coat, she noticed a white Post-it note attached to the door. Yet, no matter how much she squinted at it, she could not see any words written on the sticky note's surface. That's helpful, Ezra, she thought. A blank note is totally going to help me tell a story. Then a realization struck Magdhina and she pulled on her jacket. Her heart twirled in her body and her feet pattered against the ground. She raced down the hallway to the main lobby, barely noticing any of the other students milling around her. As she scampered outside, the wind blasted her face, but Magdhina's thoughts centered only on her story. Once there was a girl who found a Post-it note in her locker. It promised her a great journey, but she had to go through a secret door in her French classroom's closet... Words jumped in her mind and Magdhina almost laughed at how simple this all had become. Crystal had been right. Stories were all around her. She had just needed to be patient enough to find one. Soon, she was at the edge of the forest. Her shoes buried into the icy snow and she shivered. "Crystal," she called. "I have a story." And so, Magdhina waited to begin her adventure. The sun shone down at her through the clouds and if she was quiet enough, Magdhina could just hear the soft tip-toeing of foxes. Thank you for reading! If you like my story, please don't be afraid to give it a share. Comments are always welcome and I love hearing your thoughts. Question: What story would you tell the foxes?
I see fish flying in the night. As I tiptoe out from under my covers and into the cool evening air, I can see starry fish dancing in the sky outside my window. The way the lights flicker emboldens me and soon I'm not fifteen-year-old Isabelle Huff stuck at home with a mom who doesn't understand and two little sisters who incessantly argue. No, I am an explorer in a dazzling spacesuit, ready to leap from star to star. I can stare up at space and float. Although I can feel my eyelids sink and my mouth yawn, I am free. Inside my house, only little taps resound from the fridge and the radiator. No yelling can be heard. No disappointments, mess-ups, conflicts. In the sky, there are only the fish. They glow purple and bronze and blue. Their sleek bodies twirl among the stars. The moon guides them with its luminescence and Earth's green hills roll like distant oceans underneath them. As I lean against my window and my slow breath fogs the glass, I am suddenly struck by how distant these magnificent creatures are from my house and me. Do they even know that Buchtton, the small town I inhabit, exists? For them, none of us really matter. My struggles with my mother are nothing to them. Sibling squabbles slip by their attention. They journey the whole universe to the point that little things that alarm me are pointless to them. My heart yanks at my chest and loneliness sinks in. Maybe they don't care, I think to myself. I sigh. The fish look so beautiful among the twinkling stars. Their scales appear sturdy and thick. Their eyes, large as houses, radiate with warmth and sadness. They've seen too much of the world, I realize. Maybe the point is that I care about them. With that, I grin and continue gazing at fish flying in the night. Thank you for reading! If you like my story, please don't be afraid to give it a share. Comments are always welcome and I love hearing your thoughts. Question: If you saw giant fish flying in the night, what would you think?
I don't know what to do, Summer thought as she sat at her usual lunch table. She stared at the grimy surface that was only ever present at a high school. Summer knew that she should take out her lunch box, but she found she couldn't get her body to cooperate. It was one of those days where, for no apparent reason, nothing seemed right. Too many thoughts whirled around in her mind. Everything could go wrong. "Hey, Summer!" She looked up to see her friend Sol striding towards her with a tray of food in their hands. Summer plastered a smile on her face. "Oh, hi Sol." The enby nodded at Summer. "Our first day of actual play practice is tomorrow!" If Summer was her normal self, she would have felt overjoyed. She and Sol were the play managers and had been working hard since the summer figuring out all the logistics. Now, it was December and their efforts were finally starting to pay off. But instead of leaping out of her seat, Summer simply twirled some of her long blonde hair around her finger. "There's just so much we have to take care of though." Sol thumped into the seat beside her and their short black hair swayed against their light brown forehead. A frown etched their face "Hey," they said, "Meet me after school." ~~~ Summer waited in the lobby for Sol. Her blue backpack weighed down on her shoulders and even with her silver coat on, she still felt cold as the main doors thudded open and closed. People from all grades who recognized her as a play manager waved to her as they passed. Summer somehow returned their greetings with smiles, but she could not prevent hopelessness from creeping in. These people were depending on her. Maybe they shouldn't, she thought to herself. "Summer!" She twisted around to face her friend. She gave them a small grin. "Hi, Sol." Sol grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the doors. "Let's go," they exclaimed. The early winter wind eased itself around her cheeks and Summer trembled. She gripped her hand tighter around Sol's and felt glad for their warmth. The sun glared down at them from off into the distance and pockets of snow decked the grass lawn that surrounded the school. "Where are we going, Sol?" Her friend didn't answer and so they continued on their way past apartments and parking lots, past little shops and restaurants. The air seemed to warm around them and Summer felt her body tensing less. Soon they were in a neighborhood that Summer recognized as being on the opposite side of town to her own. She could see a glint of the blue lake behind rows of capes and colonials. "Isn't today a bit too cold for the lake?" Summer whispered. Sol paused and beamed at her. "It'll be quiet and plus, I brought something to keep us busy." Summer frowned at her friend, but still clutched their hand. Sol led her down to a little stone pathway between two houses. Summer, nervous that the property owners would spot them and tell them to run, kept her attention on the side windows of the homes. To her relief, no movement stirred. Finally, they made it to a wooden picnic table that sat toward the edge of the lake. The surface was damp from melting snow and little splinters were scattered around the top. "This is even worse than our school's tables," Summer groaned. Sol shrugged. They let go of her hand and sat on the bench. "It's not too unpleasant and the people living here have always allowed me to hang out here." The enby shook off their backpack and unzippered it so they could begin scrounging through the piles of items tucked inside. "Come sit," they called to Summer with their body still bent over their backpack. Sighing, Summer obliged and took a seat across from Sol. The table creaked and the wetness seeped into her jeans. Summer shivered. "Got it!" Sol blurted. They plopped a silver box of dominoes onto the uneven table. "You carry that all day with you?" Summer asked. A smile dipped onto her face. "Yeah, you never know when you're going to need it." Sol began opening the tin container. Summer peered at the lake rippling behind her. Brown leaves left over from Autumn clung to the deep blue liquid and Summer could almost taste the apple cider that made her love that season. She turned back to her friend. "You know, Sol, this table is too jagged to easily play dominoes on." Sol raised an eyebrow at her. "Who made the rule saying the surface has to be smooth?" Summer laughed. Hope spiraled into her body for the first time that day. Thank you for reading! If you like my story, please don't be afraid to give it a share. Comments are always welcome and I love hearing your thoughts. Question: When was a time a friend cheered you up?
Imagine this: you are on the school lawn and everything is paused around you-- the cars on the road, the people on the sidewalk, and even the leaves on the trees. Not a horn is honked, a whisper uttered, or a branch shifted. The only two things moving are me and an amber cat and I am chasing said amber cat across the grounds. This is what will happen in, say, ten minutes after my math class. Anyways, my day had been going well. I had totally led my team to victory in my history class' Vietnam War debate. I had managed to get to twenty-five push-ups in my 9th grade PE class. I even won a lollipop in my Spanish class for using proper grammar. My life had only started to get weird as I was leaving my math class, my last lesson of the day, and I observed an orange glow coming from my locker. My eyebrows raised, I paused in the middle of the hallway. "Evelyn!" a classmate hissed behind me as they nearly crashed into my backpack. Other students glared at me as they wove around me. "Sorry," I muttered and stalked over to my locker. The orange light was still there, but no one seemed to notice it except me. All the other teenagers continued lumbering down the hallway talking to their friends or staring at their phones. No one even glanced in my direction. I grasped the cool lock in my hand and slowly attempted to twist in my combination. It had been a while since I last used my locker. Finally, after a few minutes of struggle, the lock slid open. My heart soaring and my fingers thrumming, I opened the door. There on the metal floor of my locker sat a small orange orb. Its glow entranced me and I reached out to hold the object. The orb blossomed with a warmth that tickled my palm and just for a moment, I squatted on the tiles clutching this unnatural, but beautiful item. Throughout the school day, I had been so busy trying to impress my friends and teachers that this tiny chance to simply relax by myself was rejuvenating. I had no idea what the orb was or what it could do, but only that it wanted to belong to me. Then I heard screaming. The few students left in the math hallway were shouting and pointing at an amber shape hurtling in my path. I tried to stand up quickly, but my heavy backpack slowed me down. Before I could comprehend what was happening, the amber creature had snatched my orange orb from my hand and had dashed off toward the staircase at the end of the hall. Without pausing to think, I scrambled to my feet and pursued the thief. I could see the creature, a cat, I realized, racing down the stairs. I followed after it, skipping two steps at a time. I could feel my veins pulsing and my hands tightening into fists. That cat had no right to take my orb. I took a corner on the stairs. The robber with the orb still gripped in its mouth stayed in my view. In front of me, classmates and teachers on the staircase screeched and leaped out of my way. I didn't care what they thought of me. My long black hair swung in my face and my backpack thumped against my body. I jerked to the right and followed the burglar across the bustling main lobby. I shoved past fellow students who were already jumping and yelling because of the cat. The doors were propped open with wooden blocks, making the creature's escape easy. The cat paused on the front steps and I scampered over to try to yank the orb from its mouth. Before my fingers could make contact with my possession, the cat bit down hard on the orb and with a pop, the object burst into a dozen rays of light. I squeezed my eyes shut. I expected to hear more hollering from my classmates, but instead, I heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. I couldn't even feel any late Spring wind tangling around my arms. Cautiously, I opened my eyes to see the cat standing innocently in front of me and peering at me with deep brown eyes. The orb was nowhere to be seen. "You stupid cat!" I yowled. The cat bounded down the rest of the steps and toward the lawn of the school. Disregarding all the silent people standing around me, I sprinted after the devil. I'm going to get that cat, I thought to myself. It's going to regret destroying my orb. Speed dug its way into my legs and my strides lengthened. I could almost reach out to grab the animal. A stone wobbled underneath my sneaker and I collapsed onto the grass. Silt burrowed into my mouth and pain charged through my knees. Tears stung my eyes and through my watery gaze, I could see the amber shape of the cat moving farther and farther into the distance. Panting, I wiped away my tears. Everything was so still around me. There was no wind. The cars on the road did not stir. The people on the sidewalk and on the steps of the school were sedentary. The trees on the lawn were serene. Then noises trickled into my ears and the cars, people, and leaves began to move again. Meanwhile, I lay on the grass shivering. Imagine this: the world had given a girl the gift of pausing and she ruined it over a cat. Thank you for reading! If you like my story, please don't be afraid to give it a share. Comments are always welcome and I love hearing your thoughts. Question: When was a time you forgot to be mindful?
This short story is a retelling of the Bible story from Luke 1:26-38. Readers do not need to be familiar with the Bible to understand and in no way am I trying to convince people to convert to Christianity. Direct quotes from the Easy-to-Read version of the Bible are present. Mary had never considered herself special. She was like most girls her age in Nazareth. She was a dutiful daughter. She tried her best to be faithful to God. Like many of her friends, she was about to be married to an older man. There was one thing Mary did that she thought made her unique, but she wouldn't go as far as to claim she was "special." Some days, when the sun was searing the rough, dusty earth and her parents did not need her assistance, Mary would slip off to the cool shade of the palm tree hidden behind her father's shop. Her father had paid a fortune for this little refuge and Mary was determined to make good use of the haven. She would often see the other girls in the city with sweat slipping down their foreheads and she would feel grateful, although guiltily, for her hideout. Today though, more than just the desire to escape from the sun hovered in the back of her mind. The future was finally sinking in. She was being married. She threw herself onto the gravel. Pebbles buried themselves into her belly, but Mary hardly cared. Although the familiar shadows of the palm tree embraced her small body and painted her simple brown tunic a richer shade, she felt like she was burning. This retreat was usually a place of content and coolness, a location only she and her parents knew, but on this day, this shelter could not console her. She watched an ant crawl across a stone. I'm being silly, Mary thought to herself. Most of my friends are being married, too. Some of them already are and they're fine. A pang of sadness launched into her stomach. She would be separated from her parents, from this tree. "Hey, are you okay?" Mary's heart jumped in her chest and she whirled around to see who had spoken. A glowing figure floated a few feet above her. Terror rushed into her brain and she backed up against the scaly bark of the palm tree. Trembling, she gazed up at the person. "Wh-who are you?" she stammered. The figure, which Mary now noticed had large white wings, smiled down at her and continued to glisten warmly in the air. "I am a messenger. The Lord has sent me. You are very special to him." "What?" Mary breathed. She gripped onto her tunic in hopes to calm her quivering hands. "I'm sorry. I don't understand." The messenger, still shimmering, lowered to the ground and crouched before her. They peered up at her, their dark brown eyes gentle. "It's okay that you are frightened, Mary. I am here to comfort you. God is very pleased. Listen! You will become pregnant and have a baby boy. You will name him Jesus. People will call him the Son of the Most High God, and the Lord God will make him king like his ancestor David. He will rule over the people of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end." Still shivering, Mary knelt in front of the messenger. She stared at the coarse ground. "I don't think that is possible. I've never had a baby before," she whispered. "I'm still a virgin." Plus, she thought, there's nothing fascinating about me. All I have is a palm tree. Mary expected the messenger to laugh, but instead they shook their head. "The Holy Spirit will come to you, and the power of the Most High God will cover you. The baby will be holy and will be called the Son of God." The messenger glanced around them, as if to check for eavesdroppers, before continuing. "And here's something else: Your relative Elizabeth is pregnant. She is very old, but she is going to have a son. Everyone thought she could not have a baby, but she has been pregnant now for six months. God can do anything!" Mary chuckled and the messenger grinned at her. "Really?" she asked. Her body had stopped shaking. "It's true," they said. Mary sat down on her bottom. She knew what the messenger was saying was preposterous. How could she, an average girl from Nazareth, ever become the mother of someone so great? Then again, Mary had been taught at a young age to listen to and respect God's wishes. Only God would have the ability to send a sparkling messenger to Earth. "Okay." Mary looked up and met the messenger's kind eyes. "I am the Lord's servant. Let this thing you have said happen to me." The messenger beamed at her and then faded away. With that, Mary was, once again, alone at the base of the palm tree. Thank you for reading! If you like my story, please don't be afraid to give it a share. Comments are always welcome and I love hearing your thoughts. Question: When was a time you felt scared of the future?
Rosa loved to paint fishes. Everyday after school, she would trot back to her house with ideas swirling around in her mind. She pondered the exact shade of pink she would use that day. Whether the background would be a sunset or the stars. Most importantly, she debated where her masterpiece would hang. In Rosa's bedroom-- well, the bedroom she had to share with her three-year-younger sister Tsunami-- the walls were plastered with her paintings. Her fathers teased her about it incessantly, however, they never refused when she prompted them to hang up another one. Today, Rosa knew exactly what she was going to paint and where she would place it. With her heart bouncing, she scurried down the sidewalk and away from her elementary school. The late Winter wind rustled her frizzy black hair and Rosa felt light as if she could drift off with the breeze. Before she knew it, she was at the door of her apartment house. She scampered up the stairs and threw open the door. She let her backpack thud on the welcome mat and she brushed past her father (or tatay, as she and her siblings called him) as he tried to ask her about her day. She dashed into her bedroom and slid into the smooth, wooden chair at her desk. Finally, Rosa pulled out her watercolors and paper from the drawer and began her piece. Two hours later, Rosa was finished. She smiled down at her newest fish, a bright gold one inspired by the pictures of koi her second grade teacher had shown the class earlier that day. The background was light blue and Rosa yearned to float alongside the fish in that tranquil, shimmering water. I'm going to get a snack, she thought to herself. She left her seat and slipped past four-year-old Tsunami who was just entering Rosa's bedroom. Rosa turned left into the kitchen where her tatay was at the table typing on his laptop. He looked up as she entered. "You were in a rush today," he said, smiling. Rosa nodded. "Yeah. I had a really good idea. Ooh, can you help me hang it up later?" "Sure," her tatay said. "Where?" "Right on the window so it can get the sun's light." After Rosa had washed her hands and gotten herself a small bowl of Goldfish crackers, she returned to her bedroom. She glanced at the desk. The painting of the golden fish was gone. Immediately, Rosa jerked her head in the direction of Tsunami. The younger girl was sitting on her bed with the art piece. Rosa marched over to her little sister. "That's my painting! I'm the one who made it." Tsunami gazed up at her with wide dark brown eyes. "But it's so pretty. You left it on the desk." Rosa slammed her bowl on Tsunami's bed. A few Goldfish fell onto the sheets. "But it's mine!" Tsunami crossed her arms. "You never share your paintings." Rosa stalked over to the opposite side of the room and with a sharp tearing noise, she peeled off the wall a drawing of a green fish. "You can have this one then." "But I don't like that one, Rosa. I want this one." Rosa opened her mouth to retort, but the thumps of footsteps stopped her. She twisted around to see her tatay enter the room with his hands on his hips. "Tsunami, Rosa, please keep your voices down. There are people upstairs." He sighed. "Now, Tsunami, can you explain to me why you both are shouting?" Tsunami glared at Rosa. "She won't give me her painting." "Because I created it," Rosa hissed. "Also, she just snatched it." Their tatay took a deep breath. "Tsunami, Rosa did spend a lot of time on this drawing, so please make sure to check with her before taking it." Rosa smirked at her younger sister. "But, Rosa," their tatay continued. "You make so many beautiful things and I can see the love you put into your work. It's a shame you don't share your pieces." With that, he left the room. Rosa's heart sank lower into her body. She didn't want to give up any of her paintings. She had put so much effort into them. Why couldn't she simply share her Goldfish with Tsunami instead of her artwork? But Rosa knew her tatay was usually right about things and he had always supported her painting. It was because of him she had that desk and those watercolors and paper in the first place. Also, it wasn't like Tsunami hated her art piece. "Hey," Rosa said slowly. Her sister peered at her. "You can have my painting." Thank you for reading! If you like my story, please don't be afraid to give it a share. Comments are always welcome and I love hearing your thoughts. Question: When was a time you gave up something you loved?
Hey, all! I hope you had a great few months! I sure have. You've probably noticed all the short stories I've been adding to my Wattpad account. I've also written a few more chapters on Storywars, which is always an exciting journey. One thing I've noticed while writing, is how my style changes depending on the time of day. When I was working on "Mary's Box", a collaborative piece I wrote with my sister Hunter, I wrote certain scenes at differing times. For example, from the beginning to the first page break, I had been writing at night. The succeeding scene where Marietta finds herself at the coffee shop and she sees Lily Beas, had been written in the morning. Finally, the last section was written in the evening. If you read the story, you probably noticed a change of mood and tone between the parts I wrote during the day and those written at night. The day part is less descriptive and more direct. The night sections are slower and include more imagery. It all makes sense, too, if you think about it. I'm more awake during the day and my mind is rushing with millions of ideas. I don't have time to get stuck on one detail. At night, I'm tired and more willing to put effort into the small stuff. Fortunately, with "Mary's Box", the changes in mood and tone actually went nicely with the story, but in longer works like The Keldar Chonicles where I need a more consistent feel, it doesn't work out as well. To balance this all out, I'm definitely going to work on scheduling my time accordingly depending on what type of story I want to create. Thanks so much for reading! See you in December!
First, let me apologize. I promised I would write quarterly. I'm now changing my blog posts to every three months. You can find more details in my general big update. On the topic of writing, I have several new stories that I'll be sharing with you hopefully soon. One of my upcoming stories focuses around obsessive compulsive disorder which I was recently misdiagnosed with. I haven't written much on mental illness and now that I know I have depression and generalized anxiety disorder, I've been finding stories to be a nice place to focus on the topic. It's a nice start to discovering my own identity. I do have to admit, I am a bit cautious of calling my story #ownvoices. While most of them are, whether through adoptee identity, gender fluidity, ace/aro, etc., I don't feel that I am best person to be representing these marginalizations. I live a fairly privileged life and still struggle with accepting myself. On the other hand, I do want to know when I'm misrepresenting someone and by not identifying with #ownvoices, I believe people will have an easier time giving me constructive criticism. Well, thank you for reading. See you in four months!
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AuthorI'm Darcy Ridge, creating stories that all revolve around family and identity in a myriad of ways. In the past, I have shared multiple stories and published a novella online. You can find me on Wattpad and many other social media websites. They/them [Image Description: black background with the words "Social Justice and Mental Health Resources" in white in the center /end ID]
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