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"The Flight" (the eightieth ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "The Flight" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EDT), April 15, 2008 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| The Flight By Michael Pelc michaelpelc@yahoo.com (Entry #4) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| Good afternoon, ladies and
gentlemen. On behalf of Captain Leibniz and myself, I would like to welcome you
aboard McTaggart Timelines, the world's first commercial time travel service. I
see that the control tower has just given us clearance for departure, so at
this time please return your seatbacks and trays to their full, upright and
present tense position. "Your first time?" The elderly gentleman in the tailored suit and the imported Italian shoes leaned across the aisle and spoke to Donovan. "Yeah, it is. So what?" Kevin Donovan didn't care to engage in meaningless small talk with some old man he didn't know. He had more important things on his mind. "Just that you're looking nervous, that's all. What is it? A death?" "Huh?" "Are you going to try to stop a death? 'Cause it can't be done, you know. They don't tell you that in the brochures, of course. Bad for business, I suppose." "You know that for a fact, do you?" "You mean about the business part?" "No, the other part." "Ahh, the death part. Yes, young man, I know that for a fact. You see these people sitting all around you here? Five'll get you ten, more than half of them are trying to go back and undo a death." "And the rest? The others?" "Ah, that'd be the get-rich-quick crowd. Got up this morning and saw that two long-shots figured into the trifecta at Aqueduct yesterday. I'd say they're looking to place a rather substantial bet on a certain three digit combination." "After the race is over?" "Ah, but it won't be over; not by the time we get back to yesterday. 'Tis the beauty of time travel with McTaggart Timelines, young man. Don't you pay attention to their ads? The ones that say 'What would you do if you had the chance to live yesterday all over again?'" "So, it really works, huh?" "The time travel? Oh, I suppose it does. Up to a point, anyway. Like I said, you can't undo a death. Leastwise, I haven't been able to." "So that's why you're here. Who was it?" "My wife." "I'm sorry. Really, I am. That must have been very difficult for you, to lose your wife. Were you married long?" "Forty-seven years, but I'm working my way through it. Sort of one-day-at-a-time, I guess you might say. What about you? Who did you lose?" "Truth is, I don't know. I mean, it wasn't a wife or a girlfriend or anything like that. It was – it was just a person, that's all. Not anyone I knew. Just someone crossing the street in the rain. Someone I didn't see until it was too late. Damn, this is hard to talk about, you know." "That's all right, son. Take your time." "I mean, I know I should have stopped. But I panicked, you know. I got scared and I drove off. I mean, I've got my whole life in front of me. It just didn't seem fair to jeopardize all that because of one stupid little mistake." "So, it was a car accident, was it?" "Yeah. Listen, have you ever heard the sound a body makes when it gets hit by a car? It's like this dull, hollow thud. But you don't really hear it exactly. It's more like you feel it, you know. In your stomach. And you can't shake it, you can't get rid of it." "Mm-hmm. And you thought that by time traveling back to yesterday, you would …" The old man paused, waiting for Donovan to complete the rest of the sentence. "Well, I think rather obviously, if I had it to do all over again, I'd simply go a different way. Drive down a different street. Avoid the accident all together." "That wouldn't do it, you know." "What do you mean?" "The same accident would just happen somewhere else." "Well, what if the time were different? What if I were driving down the same street, but at a different time?" "Same thing. Only this time the time would be different, that's all. So, instead of someone dying at, say three forty-five, they would die at five fifteen." "Are you sure? I mean have you yourself ever tried to change something like that? I mean, like in terms of your wife and her death. Have you ever tried to change that?" "Every day, young man, every day. Every day I get on this same trip and travel back to yesterday. And every day she dies all over again." "So it doesn't work, this time travel thing, is that what you're telling me? I mean, it sounds like nothing changes. Your wife still dies, right?" "Yes. Yes, she does." "Well, then – if you don't mind my asking – what the hell do you keep coming back for?" "To wait for you." "Me?" "Yes. I knew sooner or later you'd come back. That the guilt would get to you. It has a way of doing that, you know, of eating away at your insides until you can't live with yourself any more." "All right. Well, now you've got me here. So, what are you gonna do? You've already said you can't undo a death, so what's the point, old man? Do you just want to torture me, to make my life more miserable than it already is? Is that it? Is that what this is all about?" "Well, there is one other thing, one strategy I guess you'd call it, that I haven't tried yet." "What's that?" The old man reached inside his jacket and withdrew a pistol. He checked his watch to be sure they'd gone back far enough in time so that the accident hadn't happened yet, and then he pulled the trigger. |
| The Flight By glenlee10@sky.com (Entry #2) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| Cinderella was sitting knitting by
the fire. Her toes were toasting nicely and a hot drink steamed by her side.
Buttons had left a scuttle full of coal next to the fireplace. She could use as
much as she liked. At this time of night, the Others were too busy with
their own affairs to check up on her. And if her sisters should come
downstairs to the kitchen to do a surprise coal-inventory, Cinderella would
hear them coming and could hide the coalscuttle. They were such heavy, thumping
lumps they made the stairs groan. Cinderella had collected odds and ends of wool and by knitting them into squares and sewing the squares together, she’d soon have a blanket for when the cold weather came. In a way, she thought, that itinerant who stole my old, thin blanket did me a favour. I’ll be snug as a bug this coming winter. She stopped knitting and cast off. “There, that’s another done.” She surveyed the square critically. It was pink. She put it onto the pile at her side, on top of a blue one. “It’ll be a very colourful blanket,” she mused and hummed quietly to herself. It was nearly ten o’clock, cool for a September evening and Cinderella decided to finish her drink before it cooled, but first, she dunked a ginger nut biscuit into it. Nibbling the soggy end she sighed with contentment. She loved the peace of the late evening kitchen when cook was in bed, the maids had all gone courting and Buttons was out in the woods poaching. She giggled. He was a macho man and didn’t suit the red leggings her father made him wear during the day. Cinderella cast on another row of stitches, green this time, for the next woolly square. The old clock over the door began to strike ten. She heard coach wheels crunch in the yard and the grumbling of the coachmen who hated being dragged out after dark. The coach rolled round the house, past the kitchen and out to the front of the mansion. Good, Cinderella thought. They are off to the Ball so they won’t be bothering me this evening. The clock struck for the third, then the fourth time and… “Oh, no!” Cinderella said. “Not tonight! Please!” …Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother appeared. “Good evening, sweet child.” She waved a rather limp wand in the air. “Tonight, Cinderella, you shall go to the Ball!” “But Fairy Godmother, I don’t want to go to the Ball!” “Nonsense, child. You’re only saying that because you have nothing but those appalling rags to wear.” She waved her sorry wand in an anti-clockwise circle over her goddaughter’s head. “I really don’t know what your father is thinking of, allowing those two hussies to treat you so badly. Your poor mother would turn in her grave if she knew ….There!” Cinderella shot out of her chair, propelled by the voluminous skirts she was suddenly wearing. “Mind the fire, dear,” her Fairy Godmother grabbed her arm and snatched her away from the flames. Cinderella smoothed down the skirts, as far as she could reach, that is. Her Fairy Godmother had surpassed herself this time. She found she was wearing a white, silk bodice, embroidered with gold and silver stitches and tiny, pearl beads. Her shoulders were bare and she shivered. Her Godmother flicked the tip of the wand in Cinderella’s direction and a shimmering shawl covered her shoulders. The material was warm but so thin it was almost invisible. The dress’s white, calf-length skirt was made of net. “Four hundred layers,” Fairy Godmother said proudly, “and the top one is satin.” “Have I got any knickers on?” Cinderella demanded, remembering the last time her Fairy Godmother had interfered with her social life. “Ah!” The wand flicked again. “Not silk ones, thank you very much. I prefer something a little more substantial on cold nights.” Cinderella knew it was pointless arguing about the gown or about going to the Ball but at least she could have some say over the detail. “Your mother only ever wore silk next to her skin,” Fairy Godmother insisted. What her mother would or would not have done was all Cinderella ever heard from her Fairy Godmother; since her mother had died and her father had married for a second time, to the Dragon Lady, who’d brought her two ugly daughters to the marriage. At least the new bride had had the good grace to die before she’d had time to become a wicked stepmother; the two ugly sisters were bad enough! Cinderella glared at her Fairy Godmother. “I could always stay here and get on with my knitting!” The wand flicked and she felt warmer down below. “Thank you,” she said and waited while her Fairy Godmother went through the usual rigmarole of finding white mice to turn into horses. Cinderella had considered asking cook if she could keep a cat. That would have foiled her Godmother’s plans but the fairy woman would have used some other creature if mice were in short supply. Probably cockroaches. Cinderella shuddered at the thought. Soon six white mice were harnessed to a pumpkin with two more mice standing by. Fairy Godmother muttered an incantation. The flick of the wand at the end of the spell sent the whole entourage through the door before it could grow too big to leave the kitchen. Cinderella arrived at the Ball in a golden coach pulled by six white horses with nodding, red plumes on their heads. Two coachmen, with rather sharp features and fine whiskers helped her alight. Her wispy hairstyle tickled her bare neck and the glass shoes her Godmother had insisted she wear were crippling her feet. “I don’t think I’ll be doing much dancing this evening,” she groaned, as she made her way up the steps and into the castle. Across the ballroom, she saw her two simpering stepsisters, flirting with a couple of the neighbourhood’s eligible bachelors. The only reason they weren’t wallflowers was because Cinderella’s father had a mansion and plenty of money. Cinderella would have preferred to blend in with the wallpaper herself, but in this dress, she thought, there’s no chance of that. Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother had told her the Prince would be at the Ball, “and you, the prettiest girl in town, should catch his eye.” So when the Prince, a stereotypical tall, dark, handsome, smiling, young man asked her to dance she was not surprised. She did think that magic might have played a part in it but as she daintily took the hand the Prince was holding out to her, she caught a glimpse of herself in a sparkling mirror and blushed. Fairy Godmother had been quite right. For the next two hours Cinderella almost forgot her sore feet and despite herself, began to enjoy this Prince’s company. She found that just because a man was a prince, he was not necessarily boring and arrogant Oh, he was not overburdened with intelligence but at least he didn’t drone on about the latest hunt or the weekend’s chariot racing as most of them had done in the past. Instead, he whirled her round the floor, waltzing until she could barely dance another step. Eventually they stopped for a rest. He escorted Cinderella to a bench where there was room for her and her skirts. “Let me find you a drink,” he smiled. Turning away, he clicked his fingers to bring a flunkey running, just as the clock began to strike twelve. Cinderella, who’d taken off her shoes and was massaging her toes, gasped and jumped up. She knew if she didn’t flee at once, her ball gown would turn back into her usual rags. She could not bear that indignity; not in front of the Prince, and certainly not in front of the ugly sisters. She gathered up her skirts and ran for the door, bumping into dancers. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologised over and over as she fled. The Prince heard the commotion and turned back to see her the ballroom. He took a step forward to race after her and fell over a glass slipper. He stumbled and she was gone. “Quick! Quick!” she screamed at her coachmen. “Get me out of here!” “But Ma’am,” one of them said. “You know your Fairy Godmother would give you an extension. You only have to ask. You could dance till dawn if you wanted.” “But I don’t want,” Cinderella snapped. “You can have enough of a good thing and I’d had enough. And, my feet are sore.” Climbing into the coach, she threw the remaining glass slipper into the shrubbery. “Good riddance,” she said. “Get a move on, do,” she exhorted the coachmen. The clock must still be striking, she reasoned, as she was still in her ball gown and the coach hadn’t turned back into a pumpkin. She was a long way from home and didn’t face doing the journey on foot, with bare, sore feet. The coachmen cracked their whips and the coach rumbled down the long drive, away from the castle. By the time it had reached the gates, it was nearly flying and sparks were coming from the wheels where they ran over sharp, granite flints. The gates were open and….the clock struck twelve. Cinderella found herself rolling along the road surrounded by squeaking mice and clutching a pumpkin. The night was dark and she was exceedingly angry. “Just wait until I get my hands on that woman,” she muttered over and over again. “Where is she when I really need her? Like now!” She stumbled along the road, chuntering. A wind rustled the leaves of the overhanging trees and dancing shadows surrounded her, but she wasn’t afraid. The mood she was in she’d tear any attacking monster limb from limb. The moon came out. The shadows became blacker than ever but at least she could see where she was walking. Crack! The sound of a gunshot! Cinderella stopped grumbling and edged towards the nearest bushes but was bowled over by a very large, particularly smelly and very angry wild boar. Fortunately, it didn’t see her and dashed over the road, its tail held high and its tiny trotters tip-tapping. It disappeared through the trees, squealing its displeasure. Cinderella crouched under the bushes. Someone was out there with a gun. She tried to summon up her Fairy Godmother but there was no answer. She decided to make a run for it when something crashed through the bush and landed on top of her. It was warm. It was heavy and by the stickiness she felt, it was probably bleeding. “Ugh!” She tried to move but was pinned down. Whoever was on top of her was breathing heavily. “Shut up! Keep quiet!” he ordered. They heard someone else moving in the woods but eventually, all sounds except those of normal night disappeared and the man rolled off her with a groan. He staggered onto the road. “Buttons!” Cinderella exclaimed and jumped up. She flung her arms around him. Buttons stifled a scream. “No!” he grimaced. “Please! Not now!” Cinderella backed off. “You’re hurt!” she said unnecessarily and gently touched his arm. He grunted. “The damned game-keeper caught me just as I was about to bag a pig,” he admitted. “Oh, Buttons. Dear Buttons. I must get you back home where I can look after you.” Buttons raised an eyebrow and took full advantage of the situation and started to slump to the ground. Cinderella leapt forward and pulled his good arm around her shoulders. “Just lean on me and guide me,” she said. “Do we have far to go to get to your house?” He was heavier than she wanted to admit. It was a long way; all the way to the village on the other side of her father’s mansion and then some. By the time they arrived at Button’s cottage, his wound had stopped bleeding but her feet were badly cut. And by the time they had patched up each other’s wounds, they had fallen in love. Cinderella sat in an old, easy chair by the fire. Buttons bathed her toes and a hot drink steamed on a small table by her side. “Oh, Buttons,” was all she could say. Suffice it to say, after her flight, Cinderella never returned to her old life and the two lived happy ever after. Buttons continued to work at the mansion where there was a hue and cry about Cinderella’s disappearance but this stopped when her father died. He’d been the only one who’d ever really cared. A year later, while Buttons was at work, there was a knock on the cottage door. Cinderella opened it to find the Prince standing in front of her, holding a glass slipper. A manservant stood impassively at his side. The Prince smiled at the young wench. She might even be pretty, he thought, if she combed her hair. “May I enter?” he asked. Cinderella stood aside, her heart in her mouth. She’d been sick and had gone back to bed after Buttons had left. She knew she looked untidy and was embarrassed. The Prince entered her home. “Please,” he gestured to the chair by the fire. “Please sit down.” “For over a year, I have been seeking the beautiful young woman whom I love with all my heart,” the Prince told her. “And when I find her, this slipper will fit. Then we will be married.” Cinderella’s heart was in her mouth. Charming and good-looking as he was, she didn’t want the Prince. She had her Buttons. He was all she needed. “Please hold out your foot,” the Prince ordered gently. Cinderella did so. The Prince prised off her tight-fitting shoe and attempted to slide the glass slipper onto her foot in its place. He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It doesn’t fit.” He turned away and left, with a tear in his eye. The manservant watched him go. “You were his last hope of finding his true love,” he told Cinderella. “Every other woman in the Kingdom has tried the shoe on and failed the test.” The glass slipper still dangled from Cinderella’s foot where the Prince had left it. “May I?” Cinderella handed the slipper to the manservant who followed his master back to their horses. Once the pair had galloped away, Cinderella made herself a cup of very weak tea and thanked her lucky stars that her pregnancy had made her feet swell. She was thankful too that her Fairy Godmother hadn’t interfered. She laughed. She was probably too busy knitting bootees. |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #2 Second place: #4 Third place: #6 Fourth place: #7 Fifth place: #8 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| The Flight karen ollaluv2000@yahoo.com |
#1 of 10 |
| 161 words | |
| Let's run away... Let us just run away and play. We'll be silly and loud, stand out in a crowd, and not care what all of them say. We can find a pink house at the shore. Or a quaint little villa...no more. We'll sit in the sand and I'll hold your warm hand, or we'll ride round our villa on a mare named Sarsaparilla... who cares if there is sunshine or rain. Let's just pretend we are invincible. We'll boldly go naked on principle. We'll devour all pleasures, make them our treasures and stay silly and in love every day. Let's go as soon as we can. Let us leave and the world be damned. We'll take only one trunk with all of our junk, and the rest we'll just find on the way. Let us not wake up from these dreams, this is even better than it seems. We can be what we want, fat or gaunt, laugh or cry, never say good-bye. So let's go, let's just leave, there will be no reprieve. We'll be damned...we'll be doomed there will be no road back... Alack!!! |
|
| The Flight glenlee10@sky.com |
#2 of 10 Runner-up |
| 2388 words | |
| Cinderella was sitting knitting by the fire. Her toes
were toasting nicely and a hot drink steamed by her side. Buttons had left a
scuttle full of coal next to the fireplace. She could use as much as she liked.
At this time of night, the Others were too busy with their own affairs
to check up on her. And if her sisters should come downstairs to the
kitchen to do a surprise coal-inventory, Cinderella would hear them coming and
could hide the coalscuttle. They were such heavy, thumping lumps they made the
stairs groan. Cinderella had collected odds and ends of wool and by knitting them into squares and sewing the squares together, she’d soon have a blanket for when the cold weather came. In a way, she thought, that itinerant who stole my old, thin blanket did me a favour. I’ll be snug as a bug this coming winter. She stopped knitting and cast off. “There, that’s another done.” She surveyed the square critically. It was pink. She put it onto the pile at her side, on top of a blue one. “It’ll be a very colourful blanket,” she mused and hummed quietly to herself. It was nearly ten o’clock, cool for a September evening and Cinderella decided to finish her drink before it cooled, but first, she dunked a ginger nut biscuit into it. Nibbling the soggy end she sighed with contentment. She loved the peace of the late evening kitchen when cook was in bed, the maids had all gone courting and Buttons was out in the woods poaching. She giggled. He was a macho man and didn’t suit the red leggings her father made him wear during the day. Cinderella cast on another row of stitches, green this time, for the next woolly square. The old clock over the door began to strike ten. She heard coach wheels crunch in the yard and the grumbling of the coachmen who hated being dragged out after dark. The coach rolled round the house, past the kitchen and out to the front of the mansion. Good, Cinderella thought. They are off to the Ball so they won’t be bothering me this evening. The clock struck for the third, then the fourth time and… “Oh, no!” Cinderella said. “Not tonight! Please!” …Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother appeared. “Good evening, sweet child.” She waved a rather limp wand in the air. “Tonight, Cinderella, you shall go to the Ball!” “But Fairy Godmother, I don’t want to go to the Ball!” “Nonsense, child. You’re only saying that because you have nothing but those appalling rags to wear.” She waved her sorry wand in an anti-clockwise circle over her goddaughter’s head. “I really don’t know what your father is thinking of, allowing those two hussies to treat you so badly. Your poor mother would turn in her grave if she knew ….There!” Cinderella shot out of her chair, propelled by the voluminous skirts she was suddenly wearing. “Mind the fire, dear,” her Fairy Godmother grabbed her arm and snatched her away from the flames. Cinderella smoothed down the skirts, as far as she could reach, that is. Her Fairy Godmother had surpassed herself this time. She found she was wearing a white, silk bodice, embroidered with gold and silver stitches and tiny, pearl beads. Her shoulders were bare and she shivered. Her Godmother flicked the tip of the wand in Cinderella’s direction and a shimmering shawl covered her shoulders. The material was warm but so thin it was almost invisible. The dress’s white, calf-length skirt was made of net. “Four hundred layers,” Fairy Godmother said proudly, “and the top one is satin.” “Have I got any knickers on?” Cinderella demanded, remembering the last time her Fairy Godmother had interfered with her social life. “Ah!” The wand flicked again. “Not silk ones, thank you very much. I prefer something a little more substantial on cold nights.” Cinderella knew it was pointless arguing about the gown or about going to the Ball but at least she could have some say over the detail. “Your mother only ever wore silk next to her skin,” Fairy Godmother insisted. What her mother would or would not have done was all Cinderella ever heard from her Fairy Godmother; since her mother had died and her father had married for a second time, to the Dragon Lady, who’d brought her two ugly daughters to the marriage. At least the new bride had had the good grace to die before she’d had time to become a wicked stepmother; the two ugly sisters were bad enough! Cinderella glared at her Fairy Godmother. “I could always stay here and get on with my knitting!” The wand flicked and she felt warmer down below. “Thank you,” she said and waited while her Fairy Godmother went through the usual rigmarole of finding white mice to turn into horses. Cinderella had considered asking cook if she could keep a cat. That would have foiled her Godmother’s plans but the fairy woman would have used some other creature if mice were in short supply. Probably cockroaches. Cinderella shuddered at the thought. Soon six white mice were harnessed to a pumpkin with two more mice standing by. Fairy Godmother muttered an incantation. The flick of the wand at the end of the spell sent the whole entourage through the door before it could grow too big to leave the kitchen. Cinderella arrived at the Ball in a golden coach pulled by six white horses with nodding, red plumes on their heads. Two coachmen, with rather sharp features and fine whiskers helped her alight. Her wispy hairstyle tickled her bare neck and the glass shoes her Godmother had insisted she wear were crippling her feet. “I don’t think I’ll be doing much dancing this evening,” she groaned, as she made her way up the steps and into the castle. Across the ballroom, she saw her two simpering stepsisters, flirting with a couple of the neighbourhood’s eligible bachelors. The only reason they weren’t wallflowers was because Cinderella’s father had a mansion and plenty of money. Cinderella would have preferred to blend in with the wallpaper herself, but in this dress, she thought, there’s no chance of that. Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother had told her the Prince would be at the Ball, “and you, the prettiest girl in town, should catch his eye.” So when the Prince, a stereotypical tall, dark, handsome, smiling, young man asked her to dance she was not surprised. She did think that magic might have played a part in it but as she daintily took the hand the Prince was holding out to her, she caught a glimpse of herself in a sparkling mirror and blushed. Fairy Godmother had been quite right. For the next two hours Cinderella almost forgot her sore feet and despite herself, began to enjoy this Prince’s company. She found that just because a man was a prince, he was not necessarily boring and arrogant Oh, he was not overburdened with intelligence but at least he didn’t drone on about the latest hunt or the weekend’s chariot racing as most of them had done in the past. Instead, he whirled her round the floor, waltzing until she could barely dance another step. Eventually they stopped for a rest. He escorted Cinderella to a bench where there was room for her and her skirts. “Let me find you a drink,” he smiled. Turning away, he clicked his fingers to bring a flunkey running, just as the clock began to strike twelve. Cinderella, who’d taken off her shoes and was massaging her toes, gasped and jumped up. She knew if she didn’t flee at once, her ball gown would turn back into her usual rags. She could not bear that indignity; not in front of the Prince, and certainly not in front of the ugly sisters. She gathered up her skirts and ran for the door, bumping into dancers. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologised over and over as she fled. The Prince heard the commotion and turned back to see her the ballroom. He took a step forward to race after her and fell over a glass slipper. He stumbled and she was gone. “Quick! Quick!” she screamed at her coachmen. “Get me out of here!” “But Ma’am,” one of them said. “You know your Fairy Godmother would give you an extension. You only have to ask. You could dance till dawn if you wanted.” “But I don’t want,” Cinderella snapped. “You can have enough of a good thing and I’d had enough. And, my feet are sore.” Climbing into the coach, she threw the remaining glass slipper into the shrubbery. “Good riddance,” she said. “Get a move on, do,” she exhorted the coachmen. The clock must still be striking, she reasoned, as she was still in her ball gown and the coach hadn’t turned back into a pumpkin. She was a long way from home and didn’t face doing the journey on foot, with bare, sore feet. The coachmen cracked their whips and the coach rumbled down the long drive, away from the castle. By the time it had reached the gates, it was nearly flying and sparks were coming from the wheels where they ran over sharp, granite flints. The gates were open and….the clock struck twelve. Cinderella found herself rolling along the road surrounded by squeaking mice and clutching a pumpkin. The night was dark and she was exceedingly angry. “Just wait until I get my hands on that woman,” she muttered over and over again. “Where is she when I really need her? Like now!” She stumbled along the road, chuntering. A wind rustled the leaves of the overhanging trees and dancing shadows surrounded her, but she wasn’t afraid. The mood she was in she’d tear any attacking monster limb from limb. The moon came out. The shadows became blacker than ever but at least she could see where she was walking. Crack! The sound of a gunshot! Cinderella stopped grumbling and edged towards the nearest bushes but was bowled over by a very large, particularly smelly and very angry wild boar. Fortunately, it didn’t see her and dashed over the road, its tail held high and its tiny trotters tip-tapping. It disappeared through the trees, squealing its displeasure. Cinderella crouched under the bushes. Someone was out there with a gun. She tried to summon up her Fairy Godmother but there was no answer. She decided to make a run for it when something crashed through the bush and landed on top of her. It was warm. It was heavy and by the stickiness she felt, it was probably bleeding. “Ugh!” She tried to move but was pinned down. Whoever was on top of her was breathing heavily. “Shut up! Keep quiet!” he ordered. They heard someone else moving in the woods but eventually, all sounds except those of normal night disappeared and the man rolled off her with a groan. He staggered onto the road. “Buttons!” Cinderella exclaimed and jumped up. She flung her arms around him. Buttons stifled a scream. “No!” he grimaced. “Please! Not now!” Cinderella backed off. “You’re hurt!” she said unnecessarily and gently touched his arm. He grunted. “The damned game-keeper caught me just as I was about to bag a pig,” he admitted. “Oh, Buttons. Dear Buttons. I must get you back home where I can look after you.” Buttons raised an eyebrow and took full advantage of the situation and started to slump to the ground. Cinderella leapt forward and pulled his good arm around her shoulders. “Just lean on me and guide me,” she said. “Do we have far to go to get to your house?” He was heavier than she wanted to admit. It was a long way; all the way to the village on the other side of her father’s mansion and then some. By the time they arrived at Button’s cottage, his wound had stopped bleeding but her feet were badly cut. And by the time they had patched up each other’s wounds, they had fallen in love. Cinderella sat in an old, easy chair by the fire. Buttons bathed her toes and a hot drink steamed on a small table by her side. “Oh, Buttons,” was all she could say. Suffice it to say, after her flight, Cinderella never returned to her old life and the two lived happy ever after. Buttons continued to work at the mansion where there was a hue and cry about Cinderella’s disappearance but this stopped when her father died. He’d been the only one who’d ever really cared. A year later, while Buttons was at work, there was a knock on the cottage door. Cinderella opened it to find the Prince standing in front of her, holding a glass slipper. A manservant stood impassively at his side. The Prince smiled at the young wench. She might even be pretty, he thought, if she combed her hair. “May I enter?” he asked. Cinderella stood aside, her heart in her mouth. She’d been sick and had gone back to bed after Buttons had left. She knew she looked untidy and was embarrassed. The Prince entered her home. “Please,” he gestured to the chair by the fire. “Please sit down.” “For over a year, I have been seeking the beautiful young woman whom I love with all my heart,” the Prince told her. “And when I find her, this slipper will fit. Then we will be married.” Cinderella’s heart was in her mouth. Charming and good-looking as he was, she didn’t want the Prince. She had her Buttons. He was all she needed. “Please hold out your foot,” the Prince ordered gently. Cinderella did so. The Prince prised off her tight-fitting shoe and attempted to slide the glass slipper onto her foot in its place. He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It doesn’t fit.” He turned away and left, with a tear in his eye. The manservant watched him go. “You were his last hope of finding his true love,” he told Cinderella. “Every other woman in the Kingdom has tried the shoe on and failed the test.” The glass slipper still dangled from Cinderella’s foot where the Prince had left it. “May I?” Cinderella handed the slipper to the manservant who followed his master back to their horses. Once the pair had galloped away, Cinderella made herself a cup of very weak tea and thanked her lucky stars that her pregnancy had made her feet swell. She was thankful too that her Fairy Godmother hadn’t interfered. She laughed. She was probably too busy knitting bootees. |
|
| The Flight ecdericd@comcast.net |
#3 of 10 |
| 209 words | |
| One day my mom got on a plain and never came back some say the plain crashed others say she didn’t want to come back but I’m going to find her. The day she left she said she would be back soon but the day came and she wasn’t home I waited and waited but she was know where to be found. my mother is lost and I’m going to find her some say the plain disappeared some say she’s gone. But I still have a little spark of hope that she’s write where she belongs. My mother is missing and I will find her what ever it take she will be home. She use to tell me to follow my dreams this is my new dream and I will make it come true. My mom is missing and I’m going to find her some say she drowned some say she jump out of the plain but I have my own idea and a wont complain I know she’s out their hiding from the dark and she know I have a spark to light the flame for the fire burning in her heart she is hiding somewhere far a way but trust me she is one her way home. | |
| The Flight Michael Pelc michaelpelc@yahoo.com |
#4 of 10 Winner |
| 912 words | |
| Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. On behalf of
Captain Leibniz and myself, I would like to welcome you aboard McTaggart
Timelines, the world's first commercial time travel service. I see that the
control tower has just given us clearance for departure, so at this time please
return your seatbacks and trays to their full, upright and present tense
position. "Your first time?" The elderly gentleman in the tailored suit and the imported Italian shoes leaned across the aisle and spoke to Donovan. "Yeah, it is. So what?" Kevin Donovan didn't care to engage in meaningless small talk with some old man he didn't know. He had more important things on his mind. "Just that you're looking nervous, that's all. What is it? A death?" "Huh?" "Are you going to try to stop a death? 'Cause it can't be done, you know. They don't tell you that in the brochures, of course. Bad for business, I suppose." "You know that for a fact, do you?" "You mean about the business part?" "No, the other part." "Ahh, the death part. Yes, young man, I know that for a fact. You see these people sitting all around you here? Five'll get you ten, more than half of them are trying to go back and undo a death." "And the rest? The others?" "Ah, that'd be the get-rich-quick crowd. Got up this morning and saw that two long-shots figured into the trifecta at Aqueduct yesterday. I'd say they're looking to place a rather substantial bet on a certain three digit combination." "After the race is over?" "Ah, but it won't be over; not by the time we get back to yesterday. 'Tis the beauty of time travel with McTaggart Timelines, young man. Don't you pay attention to their ads? The ones that say 'What would you do if you had the chance to live yesterday all over again?'" "So, it really works, huh?" "The time travel? Oh, I suppose it does. Up to a point, anyway. Like I said, you can't undo a death. Leastwise, I haven't been able to." "So that's why you're here. Who was it?" "My wife." "I'm sorry. Really, I am. That must have been very difficult for you, to lose your wife. Were you married long?" "Forty-seven years, but I'm working my way through it. Sort of one-day-at-a-time, I guess you might say. What about you? Who did you lose?" "Truth is, I don't know. I mean, it wasn't a wife or a girlfriend or anything like that. It was – it was just a person, that's all. Not anyone I knew. Just someone crossing the street in the rain. Someone I didn't see until it was too late. Damn, this is hard to talk about, you know." "That's all right, son. Take your time." "I mean, I know I should have stopped. But I panicked, you know. I got scared and I drove off. I mean, I've got my whole life in front of me. It just didn't seem fair to jeopardize all that because of one stupid little mistake." "So, it was a car accident, was it?" "Yeah. Listen, have you ever heard the sound a body makes when it gets hit by a car? It's like this dull, hollow thud. But you don't really hear it exactly. It's more like you feel it, you know. In your stomach. And you can't shake it, you can't get rid of it." "Mm-hmm. And you thought that by time traveling back to yesterday, you would …" The old man paused, waiting for Donovan to complete the rest of the sentence. "Well, I think rather obviously, if I had it to do all over again, I'd simply go a different way. Drive down a different street. Avoid the accident all together." "That wouldn't do it, you know." "What do you mean?" "The same accident would just happen somewhere else." "Well, what if the time were different? What if I were driving down the same street, but at a different time?" "Same thing. Only this time the time would be different, that's all. So, instead of someone dying at, say three forty-five, they would die at five fifteen." "Are you sure? I mean have you yourself ever tried to change something like that? I mean, like in terms of your wife and her death. Have you ever tried to change that?" "Every day, young man, every day. Every day I get on this same trip and travel back to yesterday. And every day she dies all over again." "So it doesn't work, this time travel thing, is that what you're telling me? I mean, it sounds like nothing changes. Your wife still dies, right?" "Yes. Yes, she does." "Well, then – if you don't mind my asking – what the hell do you keep coming back for?" "To wait for you." "Me?" "Yes. I knew sooner or later you'd come back. That the guilt would get to you. It has a way of doing that, you know, of eating away at your insides until you can't live with yourself any more." "All right. Well, now you've got me here. So, what are you gonna do? You've already said you can't undo a death, so what's the point, old man? Do you just want to torture me, to make my life more miserable than it already is? Is that it? Is that what this is all about?" "Well, there is one other thing, one strategy I guess you'd call it, that I haven't tried yet." "What's that?" The old man reached inside his jacket and withdrew a pistol. He checked his watch to be sure they'd gone back far enough in time so that the accident hadn't happened yet, and then he pulled the trigger. |
|
| The Flight kstaley@gmail.com |
#5 of 10 |
| 2442 words | |
| Panic bit Bobby Ray right in the middle of the aisle at
Safeway, half way between the frozen peas and Bryers Ice Cream. The flight or
fight response kicked in, but at 6:25 pm, there weren't any people in his aisle
to attack. That left only one option. Flight. Bobby Ray ran as best he could on one good leg, his right, and the artificial apparatus that the Veterans Administration gave him. With a sort of stride, hop, drag, stride, he dashed across the junction of highway 42 and state route 359, up the access road, tossing glances over his shoulder now and then, sure that whoever had triggered the panic was certain to be catching up. He didn't notice the blue tick hound until it was far too late. The pickup truck hit the poor hound so hard it threw him half way up the embankment. Bobby Ray scrambled to catch up as fast as his artificial leg would allow. With a howling yip, the dog disappeared. When Bobby finally caught up, he saw blue tick hound didn't have long to live. Ribs stuck through his pelt in a couple of places. Blood mixed freely with his drool and dripped from a split lip. "Boy you just a mess," Bobby said as he bent near the dog while trying to catch his breath. The sun was setting quickly and the dog rested and licked at his wounds, not touching them with his tongue. He growled every time Bobby got closer than arm's length. The dog rose and staggered away, heading deeper into the woods. The wounded animal sought only a place to lie down in comfort, lick his wounds, and die. Bobby was completely torn as he followed. He wanted desperately to go fetch help, but he was unwilling to face people again so soon after his panic attack. School stories spread by kids said that an old witch lived back in the hills. The thought plagued Bobby and he saw threatening shadows behind every tree in the darkening woods that surrounded the glen. Silly campfire stories to scare kids he knew. Still, he felt the onset of another flight or fight when he almost tripped over the hound. In a small clearing of grass, the hound made its final nest. Bobby Ray fell to his knees beside the dog. Whimpering with every labored breath, the wounded animal growled weakly when Bobby came too close. Bobby Ray threw himself down and reached out for the good front paw, seeing himself in the wounded and dying mess before him. Convinced that the animal, and he, would both be dead soon, Bobby Ray cried himself to sleep. "Come to see the old broad dance, did ya?" Aunt Fenny had a voice that could carve fresh ice. "Take some of this!" She cackled and hurled a hand full of dust into Bobby's eyes. Suddenly, millions of bugs crawled on his skin. Nearby flames petrified him so badly he didn't recognize it as a small camp fire. Her voice made his skin crawl and when he looked down, horrible looking bugs covered his arms and legs. He began swatting them away, with no results. For a moment, Bobby Ray forgot where he was, and why, and knew only that the witch of Fenny's Glen was advancing on him, full sail, and cursed him by having every bug in creation to dine on his skin. "What mess is this?" Aunt Fenny demanded, long bony fingers pointing at dog. Bobby crabbed backwards, moving away from her as quickly as possible. He froze when he saw her stop over the dog. "Why, this animal's in a bad way, boy." Her voice grew softer as she bent over the hound. "So are you, I see." She said as she fixed him with a sharp eye. With a wave, the bugs vanished. "You bring him here? No, I can see he brought you. Well, don't you worry. Aunt Fenny'll fix this hound, and you if you wanna be fixed, that is." As Bobby watched, she carefully picked up the dog and carried him towards her small fire. Bobby rose and stood shaking in the middle of the dark glen, trying to keep hold of his bladder. He glanced towards the highway as a truck roared past. He felt the flight defense kick in now that the dog had someone else. He didn't want to stay and see what this old witch would do with the remains. The thought that she might violate the poor suffering dog galvanized him into motion, well, voice anyway. "Don't," he whimpered. "He's hurt real bad." Aunt Fenny looked up, "You better come see that I don't do nothin' bad then." "He ain't mine," Bobby Ray tried to explain, but deep inside he knew differently. As he watched, she placed the dog near the fire and rummaged in a bag resting near the fire. He could hear her soft crooning and smell mint and other herbs as she crushed them. He lowered himself to the grass and tried to watch her, but other events, other fires mixed with the strange reality in front of her and different visions danced in his head. Captain John Lowery, who led the pack, swung from his turret and tried to yell a warning just as the IED exploded. Bobby Ray felt needles like broken glass explode across the left side of his face and hands. His own inner warning system caused him to duck his head down and to the right and throw one arm across his groin. Blasted off his feet and out of his boots, he came to rest in the gutter against what was left of his best friend, Benji Jacobs, a young married kid from South Carolina. A shower of shards decapitated Benji. Fiery pain raced across Bobby's body and he could feel the gush of his blood. He was sure he would never hear again. He moaned against the pain and the memories washing over him. "Just as I thought," someone whispered beside him. He felt someone at his side and knew that Aunt Fenny was there, the scent of her herbs breaking apart his dream. Her magic music lulled him, hypnotic tunes recalling friendlier times in Red Boiling Springs. Bobby felt the heat from her fire as she led him near and he was helpless to prevent whatever she wanted to do to him. She laid him out next to the dog and smoothed his forehead with both hands. "You two both best come with me," she said. "This healin' goin' take some time." He remembered little of the short trek back to her cabin. "Come over to the fire and set," Aunt Fenny crooned as she led him to an over stuffed chair, pushing him gently so he had no other alternative. "You sleep now and heal," Fenny she ordered as she patted Bobby on the head like a child, toying with his hair. It took little effort for him to doze away. When he woke the next morning, he struggled to sit. A moment passed before he remembered where he was. He relaxed some and found Aunt Fenny on the far side of the room, bent over, working and worrying his government-issued prosthetic. He felt a flush of embarrassment because she'd had to remove his pants to get to the appliance. "Are you a witch?" Bobby asked softly from his chair, dragging an old rag quilt around him. When he realized his question, he blushed deeply and froze. "That's what the kids used to say in school." "I suppose they do," she cackled with glee. "Well, suppose I am a witch? What do you say?" "Must be a good witch," Bobby Ray replied with a grin. "Like from the wizard of Oz, maybe." "Most days I suppose you're righter than you'd care to know." She sighed and pushed herself up from the stool, a bit painfully, shaking Bobby's artificial limb. "I don't know how they think this is supposed to help you! Why just look. It's an inch too long, easy, like havin to learn to walk all over again. And this," she indicated the padded cup where his stump attached. "Why they might just has well have used burlap, all bleeding and scrubbin'. Ain't no wonder your stump is angry red." She laid the prosthetic down and crossed to the stove, pouring two cups of steaming brew. "Herb tea," she said as she sat across from him. "My own blend, no store bought stuff." She made herself comfortable as she sipped and smacked her lips. "I wouldn't mind growin old if it just didn't hurt so much." She said with a smile. Bobby Ray carefully sipped at his cup of steaming brew. October washed over him. Fall, the colors, the smell of dry leaves on the fire, fresh pressed apple cider, a hint of walnuts and hazel nuts. He relaxed and gave in to the soothing mixture. "Now, you tell Aunt Fenny everything," she said. "And don't you leave nothing out!" Her interrogation took most of the morning. She stopped him in places and had him repeat or clarify things that were unclear. About noon, a song like that played on tiny silver bells interrupted their exchange. "Who are you?" Demanded a stunning little girl from Fenny's doorway. Her long honey blonde pig tails hung to her waist, but it was her golden eyes that transfixed Bobby Ray. "Emma!" Came a reprimand from somewhere behind her. An older version of Emma stepped through the door and paused. "Sorry, Auntie, I didn't know you had company. We can come back." "Nonsense," Aunt Fenny rose slowly and moved back to allow her new visitors a view of her guest. "This is Bobby Ray. He needs fixin'. You're just in time." Emma showed no hesitation after that, crossing over to the bed and plunking down her bag. Bobby noticed that all three ladies carried bags of similar make and design. Fenny and her new guest huddled around the kitchen table, examining the herbs withdrawn from the bag. Emma stared at Bobby Ray for some time. "Bobby Ray what?" She asked. He guessed she was 4, perhaps a bit older. She stood in front of him in a slightly stained smock and Capri pants. "Pardon?" Bobby Ray asked. "Bobby Ray what?" Emma asked as she crawled onto the bed to sit next to him, dragging her bag behind her. "I'm Emmaline Amada Ellen Wight. What else are you…?" "Oh," Bobby Ray smiled. "No, sorry, just Bobby Ray. Guess you could say I got two first names and no last name." Emma nodded, evidently satisfied with the explanation. "We need to look at your wound," Fenny and her assistant said "Ok," Bobby Ray hesitated, unsure what they wanted. "Them pants gotta go," Fenny said with a slight smile. "Don't worry, I'll keep Junie here in line." Bobby wanted to object, but he nodded and smiled as he worked his belt. So many people had poked and prodded and handled and mauled him over the last year, two ladies might be just the thing he needed. He pulled the sheet across his groin as the ladies pulled his legs free and immediately got to work with an examination of his stump. "You're supposed to read this to me," Emma demanded, poking him gently with her book. "My daddy just started when they sent him away. You gotta finish it now." She handed him the book. To think what I saw on Mulberry Street. Bobby Ray smiled and nodded. It had been his favorite book as well when he was Emma's age. The inspection of his leg and the story ended about the same time. "Right," Aunt Fenny said with a smile. "Best thing right now is a poultice. Junie Wight will whip that up for ya. You'll need to wear it for two days. Two days, mind, and then give Junie a call. She'll come and change it." Junie brought over a steaming bowl and set it on the floor. Aunt Fenny mixed a small bag of herbs in the water, stirring the mixture with her hands. "I always like to use my hands," she told Junie. "That way you can feel the texture. Sometimes it looks ok when it still needs some mixin'." A spicy aroma filled the space as they wrapped his stump tightly. A pleasant numbing sensation ran through his leg. As they replaced his artificial leg, he could feel a difference. "I worked that cup on the end there. It'll be a bit more comfortable and won't rub as much against your stump," Aunt Fenny explained. Bobby Ray stood up and the leg felt different. He felt a bit unsteady at first. "I lengthened that leg half an inch," Fenny said. "Fools, don't even know how to measure right. You gonna' have a few cramps until your muscles readjust. Let Junie help you now." She just fit, Bobby Ray noticed. Her hair was the color of her daughter's, golden weaved with brighter streaks. Her braid hung down below her waist. A splash of freckles splattered across her nose and she frowned a bit, concentrating on her task. Compact, Bobby Ray decided. No extra flesh anywhere. He noticed a wedding ring on a tiny gold chain around her neck. "Afghanistan," she said without looking up, aware of his gaze. "My husband, Danny. He was killed two weeks before Emma's birth. Sometimes I swear she's his reincarnation." "Alright, you three scoot on out of here," Aunt Fenny said. "I got too much work to do to listen to idle gossip. You just drop him off at Ed's store." "You don't mind?" Bobby Ray asked. "I don't mind," Junie Wight said with a slight smile. "I got to get some information so I can come and change that poultice. It'll give us a chance to talk." She left him to gather her things at the table. Bobby Ray went to where the dog lay in the corner. It opened its eyes and thumped its tail, once. "You gunna have to come back and get that dog in three weeks, mind," Fenny said. Emma climbed down from the bed and came to stand beside him. She stared at the dog for a moment or two, nodded, and took his hand. "You just fit," she told Bobby Ray as she drug him out the door towards a car parked down the hill a bit. "I do?" Bobby Ray smiled at her. His large hand swallowed her hand whole. "Yep, you'll just fine for a daddy." "Emma!" |
|
| The Flight Nancy Schneider njswritingnook@yahoo.com |
#6 of 10 |
| 1968 words | |
| “Good morning, children.” “Good morning, Miss Nancy,” they chorused. “We are so blessed to have such beautiful weather. All the sunshine and the snow make it look picture perfect outside. It’s a beautiful day and we thank God for it. Let’s see, I think it’s Anita’s turn to mark attendance.” Anita went to the cupboard and got out the gold stars. “One for Ben … one for Aaron … one for Tiffani … one for Rachel … one for Tiara … we’re all here today,” she said. “Don’t forget to put one for Anita,” said the teacher. “I did mine first,” Anita replied as she sat down. “Well now, did you all have a good Christmas? We haven‘t been together for a while due to the Christmas break, so did you have a good time?” Heads bobbed up and down. “My Gramma and Grampa came to visit on Christmas,” said Tiffani. “So did mine,” Ben said. “I’m sure lots of us had family get-togethers over the holiday. That helps make it special. But even if you didn’t have company, Christmas is still special. Can anyone tell me why? And no, the answer is not because you had time off from school. Aaron, you were the first to raise your hand. So what makes Christmas so special?” “Because Christmas is when Jesus was born.” “And we get presents,” added Ben. “That’s right. We’ve been studying all about how Jesus came to earth to be our Savior. He came as a tiny newborn baby. He was the best present ever given. Let’s do a quick review before we start today’s story. Let’s look at the storyboard and go over what we already learned. Remember our class manners and please raise your hand if you know the answer. Who’s in this picture and what happened?” Tiffani’s hand shot up. “That’s Mary and an angel. The angel told her she was going to have a baby.” “That’s right. This is Mary and the angel just told her she was going to have a very special baby. People had waited a long time for this special baby and soon he would be born and she was going to be his mother. Now who can tell me what’s in this second picture?” Rachel raised her hand first. “I know. It’s Mary and Joseph and they are going to Bethalham to be counted.” “Very good. Joseph and Mary had to travel a long way to Bethlehem because Caesar Augustus made a law that all the people had to be counted. Back then they didn’t have all the modern equipment we have today to help with the counting, so people had to go back to their family’s home town. Joseph’s family was from Bethlehem so they had to go there. Now who can tell me what the next picture is about.” All the hands went up at once and everyone was jiggling and waving. “My goodness everyone seems to know the answer to this one, so let’s all say it together.” Shouts of “That’s where Jesus was born” and “Baby Jesus was born” could be heard throughout the room and probably down the hallway. “I’m so proud of all of you. You’re all correct, this picture shows us baby Jesus’ birth. After they got to Bethlehem Mary knew it was time for the baby to be born. Joseph looked and looked for a place for them, but all the rooms were full because so many people had come to be counted. There weren’t any rooms available in the whole town. Finally they went to a place where the animals were kept, and that’s where Jesus was born. This was the very first Christmas ever.” She paused, then continued, “Now what does this picture tell us?” Anita wiggled her hand and gave a pleading sound. “I know, I know. Those are the shepherds and the angels that came to tell them about baby Jesus. At first they were scared cause it was so dark outside and then the angel came and it was bright as sunshine. The angel told them, ‘Don’t be afraid’ and then said baby Jesus was born and they could go see him. Then lots of other angels came and everyone was happy and the shepherds weren‘t scared anymore.” “That’s exactly what happened. What did the shepherds do after the angels left Anita?” “They went to see for themselves. They sneaked around town looking for a baby that was all wrapped up sleeping in a manger. They didn’t have a crib or baby bed or anything, just an old feed box. They looked and looked and they found him!” “Yes they did. And after they found him, they bowed down and worshipped him and they were so excited they couldn’t keep it a secret and told everyone they saw about the baby. That’s something we should do, too. Although we don’t actually see baby Jesus in the manger, we can read about it in the Bible and then we can tell other people, too. Such good news should be shared.” Ben said, “At school I got to be one of the shepherds and I told everybody in the audience real loud that I found Jesus and they should go look and see for themselves.” “I’m sure you did a fine job, Ben, but we can also tell our friends for real about the baby Jesus. We don’t have to be in a school program, or even Sunday School. We can tell all our friends why we celebrate Christmas. That’s one of the things God wants us to do.” “All my friends know the Christmas story, so why should I tell them?” Aaron asked. “Even if they know the real meaning of Christmas, we should still tell people. That way they know we know the real story. And maybe someone you tell might not believe the real story. They may think Christmas is just about presents and getting together with family for a big meal or something. You never know, you may be able to tell someone who doesn’t know the real story. We can all be like the shepherds.” Heads were bobbing up and down in agreement. “Now who can tell me what’s in the next picture here.” Rachael raised her hand and gave a hopeful look to Miss Nancy. “I know. Those are the really smart guys who heard about a special baby and came to see him. Some say they were kings but you told us they were, umm, wise men, and they studied the stars. They brought presents, too.” “That’s correct. These men knew of the prophesies, and when they saw a special star, they figured it was the one they were waiting for. So they traveled a long way with the star guiding them. When they got to the holy city of Jerusalem, they thought if it was a king, he would be in the king’s palace. They went there and asked ‘Where is the child who is born to be the king of the Jews.’ But King Herod wasn’t happy with the news. He called a meeting with the chief priests and the men who studied the scriptures of the Jewish people and asked them if they knew about this special baby. They told him the prophesies said Jesus would be born in Bethlehem. So the King went back to the wise men and told them to go to Bethlehem.” “Yea, and he said they should come back and tell him when they found the baby. He said he wanted to honor the baby, too, but he really didn’t want to do that. He was a bad King,” said Ben. “That’s right. Herod was a bad King and he was very jealous. He was afraid if the people knew of a new King they wouldn’t want him to be King anymore. And that leads into today’s story of the Flight to Egypt,” said Miss Nancy. Tiara’s head jerked up. “Jesus took an airplane?” “Oh no, Tiara, that’s not … “I got to fly in an airplane when we went to Disney World. It was awesome,” said Aaron. “You always get to do the fun stuff. I never get to ride on an airplane,” complained Anita. “And neither did Jesus. Remember this was a long time ago and airplanes hadn’t been invented yet,” said Miss Nancy. “But he could fly if he wanted, cause Jesus can do anything,” said Tiffani. “Yes, Jesus can do anything. But he always does his father’s will and his father didn’t want him to fly,” stated Miss Nancy. “Now to answer your question Tiara, the word flight can mean something beside flying in an airplane. Flight also means running away in a hurry. And that’s what Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus did. You see, bad King Herod waited for the wise men to return to tell him where the baby was. But the wise men were warned in a dream not to return to Herod. So they went home by a different way. Well, Herod waited and waited and finally figured out they weren’t coming back. This made him even more mad. Nobody disobeyed the King. So he ordered his soldiers to go into Bethlehem and kill all the baby boys two years old or younger. He figured that way he’d be sure to get the right baby. “But God was watching over Jesus and wouldn’t let anything hurt him, not even a king. God knew what that old Herod was planning. So he made Joseph have a dream and in the dream he told Joseph to get up right away and take the baby and Mary and escape to Egypt where they would be safe. He said they should stay there until he would tell them when they could go back home. He told Joseph that King Herod was planning to search for Jesus and would hurt him. Joseph woke up, then woke Mary and told her they had to leave in a hurry right now. Mary didn’t even ask or argue, she got Jesus up and they left that very night. That’s why we call this story the Flight to Egypt because they left in a fast hurry. We can read about this story in the Bible in the book of Matthew, chapter two beginning with verse 13.” The room was very quiet and Miss Nancy looked at the children. Then Tiara asked, “Did they get there?” “Ah, I’m glad you asked. Yes they did. God always watched over Joseph and Mary and Jesus and he watches over us, too. We don’t ever have to be afraid because God will take care of us. They traveled safely to Egypt and stayed there until God told Joseph in a dream that they could go back home. And that’s what they did.” “What happened to King Herod? Did he stay mad?” asked Aaron. “I’m not sure if he stayed mad. You see, he figured his trouble was over because he thought his soldiers had killed Jesus. He didn’t know they went to Egypt. But in time King Herod died and that’s when God told Joseph he could take his family back home. Joseph obeyed God then just like he did when God told him to flee to Egypt. He didn’t argue or take his time, he did what God told him to do. The family traveled back to Nazareth and that’s where Jesus spent his childhood. “Now it’s time for us to go to Miss Ellen’s room for some singing, and then we’ll come back and review the story and work on our worksheets. Remember to go quietly because there are other classes and we don’t want to bother them. Leave your books and papers on the table. Go quietly now.” |
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| The Flight lins.writing@yahoo.com |
#7 of 10 |
| 1614 words | |
| The sun bleached the fields of clover from deep purple
to gentle heads of lavender as they bobbed in the soothing late summer breeze.
Davy plopped into the grass in the shade of the big oak tree to watch the
popcorn clouds chase each other across the sapphire dome. “God, why did you make clouds that look like turtles? Are you showing me that turtles can fly? I know if you wanted to, you could make them fly. It sure would be funny if turtles flew and birds couldn’t. No, that would be just plain silly. I know you wouldn’t do that. You could, but there wouldn’t be any reason for it.” Davy stretched and yawned. With his tummy full from lunch, and the sun high enough to create shade, Davy could watch the clouds frolicking overhead, making this his favorite time of day. Soon summer would give way to autumn and first grade, making cloud watching a thing of the past. “Davy, Bobby is here to play,” his mother called from the back door. “I’ll be right there,” he said, running down the hill towards the house. “Hi, Bobby, let’s go play on my jungle gym.” “Remember what I told you about jumping off the swings,” Davy’s mother called after them. “I like playing airplane. I want to be the pilot first,” Bobby said, racing to the swings. Davy jumped on the swing with a running swoop, then thrust his legs out in front, straightening his arms and leaning back as the swing went forward. He tipped frontward quickly, leaning on the chains in his hands and crooked his legs under the seat as he went backward. This pumping made him go higher and higher. Bobby did the same. “This is one niner three ready for takeoff,” Bobby, the pilot, shouted. “One niner three clear for takeoff,” answered Davy, pretending to be in the tower. They kept getting higher and higher when Bobby pointed. “Look, over there, I see someone waving. Maybe it’s the missing boy. I’m going to come around again for a closer look.” “Yes, I see him too. I think he’s hurt. He’s lying in the grass. I’ll call the tower and tell them we spotted him. Tower, this is one niner three, we found the boy. He’s on the hill just past the Manning place. It looks like he’s hurt. Send out the ambulance.” “I’m going to make another pass and wave my wings to let him know help is coming.” “Get as close as you can and I’m going to jump with my medical bag,” Davy said. “I’ll get him calmed down before the ambulance gets there.” Davy gave two more hard pumps and jumped off the swing. His feet barely touched the ground and he did a tuck-and-roll. Scrambling up he raced towards the ladder leading to the slide. “I’m almost there, hold on,” he said, slipping down the slide. “Woo, woo,” Bobby called, sounding like a siren. He gave one more big thrust with his legs and flew out of the swing landing hard where the sand ended and the edge of the grass began. “Yikes!” Bobby yelled. “Davy, help me. I hurt my ankle,” Bobby said, pulling down his sock, checking to see if his ankle was bleeding. Davy dashed to where Bobby landed. “It’s weird looking. Look at this lump? Do you think it’s broken?” Davy asked. “I don’t know, but probably not. At least it’s not bleeding.” Bobby replied. “Can you stand?” Davy asked trying to help him to his feet. “I think so, but it hurts so bad. No, I can’t stand on it. Help me to the bench.” “Okay, lean on me,” Davy said putting his arm around Bobby’s waist. “You sit here and I’ll go get my mom.” Davy ran to the back door and yanked it open. “Mom, Mom, Bobby hurt his ankle. Please, please come help him.” “How did he do it?” His mother asked, rushing to where Bobby sat rubbing his ankle. “I guess I was flying higher than I thought. Do you think I broke it?” Bobby asked her. “I don’t know. Let’s go in the house and I’ll call your mother,” she said, picking him up. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I carried you in if you don’t want me to,” she whispered. “I guess it doesn’t matter. It hurts really really bad,” Bobby said, sniffing. “Davy, get the icepack from the freezer, wrap it in a towel and bring it for his ankle. Then sit here with Bobby. I’m going to call Mrs. Manning.” She left the den. Davy did as she said. Both boys knew they weren’t supposed to jump off the swing. They’d been warned many times they could get hurt doing it, and now they knew for sure it was true. “My mom’s going to be real mad at me,” Bobby said. “She told me to be careful and I guess I thought I knew better.” “Yeah, my mom said the same thing. Can you move your foot?” “A little, but it’s awful painful. I don’t think we should play airplane like that anymore.” “Me neither. Let’s just run around like we did before. It looked like you were really and truly flying when you jumped, though.” “It felt like it too. I was very high, almost over the top of the swing set.” Walking back into the room with her arms folded across her chest, Davy’s mom looked troubled. “Bobby, your mother will be right over. Do you guys want to tell me exactly how this happened?” Bobby squirmed a little. “Well, maybe we should wait until my mom gets here. Then we won’t have to tell it over again.” “Mom, I’ll tell you. We were playing airplane again, and both of us jumped off the swings like you told us not to. I’m sorry, we didn’t listen to you, you were right and that’s why Bobby’s hurt.” “Thank you for confessing right away, Davy. Bobby, has the icepack helped?” “Yes, a little, thank you. Hey, I think I heard a car door slam.” Bobby said, stretching to see out the window. “Maybe it’s your mom.” Davy’s mom said, walking towards the door when the doorbell rang. “Mrs. Manning, come in, the boys are in the den. I’ll let them tell you what happened. I hope they don’t have to put Bobby in a body cast,” Mrs. Gottlieb smiled and gave a little wink. Bobby didn’t look too happy when his mother sat next to him on the couch, and lifted the icepack to see his swollen ankle. “It doesn’t look good, but I don’t think he’ll need the body cast, Mrs. Gottlieb,” she said with a smirk only Davy’s mother noticed. “Bobby, how did you hurt yourself?” His mother asked. “I’m sorry, Mom, we were swinging very high, playing airplane. I didn’t think I was that high and jumped off. I guess I landed wrong and twisted my ankle.” “It is a bit swollen. I think we should go to the doctor and maybe get it x-rayed. We’ll talk more about this later. Thank you, Mrs. Gottlieb, for calling me and taking care of Bobby.” “Please, let us know what the doctor says,” Davy’s mom said, walking them out to the car. Going back to the house, Davy asked, “Mom, do you think his foot will be okay?” “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Maybe the doctor will wrap it or put it in a cast so he doesn’t hurt it more. That would keep it stiff, allowing it to heal. You’re not going to jump from the swing again. Right?” “That’s for sure. I don’t want to get hurt, and I’m sure Bobby doesn’t either. When Mrs. Manning calls later, would it be okay to ask her if Bobby could come over tomorrow and we would play something very quiet?” “It would be a good idea to apologize for not listening first, and then ask if he could come over and play.” ** “Davy, Mrs. Manning is on the phone. Bobby’s ankle is sprained and he must keep it wrapped for a while. Did you want to speak with her?” His mother asked, holding out the phone. “Mrs. Manning, this is Davy. I’m sorry we didn’t listen to you and my mom about jumping off the swings. We won’t do it ever again. Would Bobby be able to come over tomorrow and play, please? We’ll be really quiet.” “You are forgiven, Davy. And yes, I will bring Bobby over after lunch, but he will have to sit still,” Mrs. Manning said. “Thank you. I have some fun coloring books and lots of crayons; we can do it at the table. Thanks again. Good-by.” The next afternoon Mrs. Manning brought Bobby over. She and Davy’s mother visited in the house while the boys sat at the table on the deck coloring in activity books. “Is it swollen a lot? I mean, is the bandage that thick?” Davy asked. “It’s pretty big, but the bandage is wrapped around it about a zillion times.” “Does it hurt bad?” Davy asked, scrunching up his face. “If I step on it a lot or move it too much. It feels best when I keep it up.” “I’ve got an idea. Let’s make a pact. No more flights from the swings,” Davy said. Bobby nodded. “That’s for sure. Secret handshake?” “Secret handshake,” Davy said, looking to his right, then to his left. No one was watching. First, they touched their ears, and then their eyes, slapped high five, low five, and two firm handshakes, and touched thumbs to seal The Flight Pact for good. |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club