I stared at my shoes as I walked to the 6th grade door. I sighed, and pushed some of my long, dark brown hair out of my face. It was a Monday, and on Saturday, the worst thing ha happened. My parakeet Willow died. Willow was my best friend; she was always there to cheer me up when I was sad, play when I was bored, or simply make me smile. She also had the prettiest feathers that were in beautiful shades of blue. My eyes watered at the thought. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on something else, but almost everything reminded me of Willow. The black birds in the gray sky were birds, like Willow. Hearing the chirping birds in the trees didn’t help either, and a thought came to mind: How could everything be as normal as last Monday for everyone else, when everything was so different for me? I was shifting the weight of my backpack when I heard tennis shoes pounding the pavement behind me. Soon, I realized it was Ivy, who was always quiet and thoughtful. She always wore her leaf-green Nikes, and her shiny brown hair was always neatly pulled back into a braid. She caught up to me, and walked beside me, on my right. She turned and looked at me, her head cocked, and her chocolate eyes studying me. I pressed my lips together and turned away. “You’re sad, Rachel. Why?” she asked, startling me. “My bird died,” I said, voice shaking. I had surprised myself by answering. Ivy looked like she was thinking about something. I pushed away my thoughts and looked at my shoes. Soon, she came to an abrupt stop, and reached into her pocket. She cocked her head again to look at me, her right hand forming a fist around the object from her pocket. Then, she took my left hand in her right, and pressed a small, smooth stone into my palm. She looked into my eyes and gave a small, kind smile before walking on. Surprisingly, Ivy’s stone helped me feel better about Willow. Just feeling the hard stone in my hand calmed me. After a few days, I realized that I have lots of good memories of Willow, even though she’s not around anymore. About two weeks after Ivy gave me the stone, on a Saturday, I was taking my golden retriever, Lucy, for a walk, when I came across Mrs. Hernandez. Her children are all grown up, so now she lives with her husband and cat. She was sitting on her porch chair, her orange cat in her lap. Then I noticed that she had a sorrowful look on her face. I wondered what was wrong, and I thought of Ivy, and her stone in my pocket. So, I walked up to Mrs. Hernandez and asked her what was wrong. “Kind girl, so thoughtful of you to ask. My husband passed away two weeks ago,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears. I sighed. “I’m so sorry,” I said, thinking about Willow. She shook her head. As I shifted my weight, I felt the stone shift in my pocket. I thought about how Ivy had noticed I was sad, and she wanted to make me feel better. Much of what had helped me feel better was simply Ivy’s kind gesture. I made my decision to act. I switched Lucy’s leash to my left hand, then reached into my pocket with my right. I pressed my fist around the stone, and looked into Mrs. Hernandez’s eyes. I pressed the stone into her palm, holding on for just a moment, and gave a small, kind smile. Then I walked back to the sidewalk. Once there, I looked back to see Mrs. Hernandez smiling, and I wondered if someone had given the stone to Ivy when she had been sad. Peyton Jacobe, 12Dallas, TX
Animals
Pawprints in the Snow
Stella huddled against the side of the house, eyes slitted against the blowing snow. The wind whistled in the small cat’s ears, slicing through her gray fur and making her tremble uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered, and her paws were numb. She let out a miserable mewl. “Why, oh why, did I ever leave home?” Stella hadn’t meant to run away, exactly; she’d only wanted to go outside for a little and bat at this new, entertaining white fluff that drifted out of the sky. But when Stella was done romping around and had meowed at the door, no friendly human had come to let her in. Not even when she’d yowled and raked her claws down the door! Stella closed her eyes and pictured the door, red paint scarred with five gashes exposing raw wood. She felt like the door now, her “paint” scraped away to reveal the small, scared cat inside. Knowing she couldn’t go inside, Stella had wandered away, bored and alone. Now night was falling, the world growing darker and colder, and all Stella wanted to do was go home. A warm fire, a comfy bed, my human’s gentle hands stroking my back…. Stella shook her head, trying to clear away the fantasy like it was a film of dust on her fur. I can’t sleep here, she thought. I’ve got to find a better place. Fighting off the anxiety waging war in her mind, Stella got stiffly to her paws and raised her chin, tail high. I am Stella. And no mere storm defeats me! This one sure would give her a run for her money, though. The snow was up her belly, and Stella couldn’t feel a hair on her pelt after only a few heartbeats of walking. She trekked on, though, clinging to the hope that she’d somehow find a warm, cozy house to sleep in. What felt like days later, but was probably only a couple minutes, Stella felt like giving up. No more “I can do it” mentality for this cat. But, like a vision before her, Stella saw… an area without snow? She sucked in her breath quickly, regretting it as the cold air stung her throat. An alley lay before her, shielded from the swirling snow. Stella’s green eyes stretched wide. Her tail whisked with excitement. Suddenly rejuvenated, she streaked forward, practically flying over the snow, powder flinging up behind her like a freezing mist. In the alley now, Stella’s gaze roved until it rested on a small nook behind a metal trash can, lined with shredded newspaper. Stella loped to it, kneading her paws in the newspaper, pricking it with her claws. I couldn’t have made a better bed myself, she thought with a pleased, exhausted purr. All of her energy spurt drained, Stella collapsed onto the newspaper, asleep almost before her eyes closed. * * * A low, rolling growl sounded through the alley. Stella’s eyes popped open, glowing in the early morning darkness. Fear coursed through her, electrifying the fur on her back; it stood straight up. A huge, gray animal stood before her. It had short, coarse fur, a bushy, ringed tail, small, round ears, and a black mask around its beady eyes. Its lips were peeled back from sharp, yellowed teeth, and its eyes had a malicious gleam. Terror made Stella feel faint. This was a creature from nightmares, an animal that haunted even the bravest of cats. Raccoon. Another deafening growl erupted from the raccoon, and Stella added her own scared shriek to the clamor. The rank scent of raccoon filled her nose, and she realized it came from the newspaper as well as the creature. She must have been too tired last night to recognize the smell. “Oh no!” she wailed aloud. “I stole its home!” The raccoon advanced on Stella, claws clicking menacingly on the concrete. Stella backed up farther and farther, until her tail lashed into the brick wall of the alley. The raccoon let out a short, sharp bark, knowing it had the cat trapped. The expression in its eyes changed from anger to a cold happiness. Panic took over Stella’s body. Her whole pelt bushed out; she looked like a ball of gray fuzz with green eyes that flickered with fear. Her mind whirled with survival instinct. Fight or flight. Flight. Stella’s muscles tensed, and before she knew what was happening, she was leaping, soaring right over a stunned raccoon, landing neatly on light paws and sprinting out of that alley as fast as if her tail were on fire. The creature’s eerie screeches still echoed in her ears, vibrating in her. Stella was like the wind, whooshing over the snow, leaving nothing but swirling flakes in her wake. She was like a bird, riding the snowdrifts and swooping down them in great bounds. She was like an arrow, springing forward and zipping ahead. So fast… faster… faster… faster…. Despite herself, Stella laughed aloud, enjoying the cold air whipping around her face, fondling her ears, flattening her whiskers. She hadn’t felt this free for as long as she could remember. And that thought made her skid to a sudden halt, showering snowflakes in a white cloud. Now that she knew what it was like to be free, how could she ever go back? Stella’s mind churned like ocean waves, each idea crashing into the one before until she couldn’t think straight, spraying little particles of thoughts everywhere. Inside or out? Together or alone? Home or free? The lure of the wild tugged at Stella. It beckoned her, waving to her with curls of wind and flurries of snow. But home called too. Warmth and comfort, a human who loved her…. Stella’s heart ached, but her decision was made. How could she abandon her human? She needed Stella… and Stella needed her. As soon as she’d thought that, Stella felt a flash of something familiar. She stiffened. She could smell home! Heart thumping a tattoo against her ribs, Stella
Free
I stood on the top of the tall mountain, relishing every minute, every second, every moment. The cool breeze against my face, the wind toying with my umber coloured hair and the warm glow of the sun warming my skin… When I was surrounded by nature, by trees, flowers, valleys, rivers, and the forest teeming with life; when I was far away from the arguments between my parents, the furniture being thrown around, and the stress of my life, then I truly felt free. I sat down. I sat for a long, long time, watching the sun climb slowly up into the sky, its warm glow radiating onto the earth. A rock wren landed beside me, cocking its head. I smiled, watching as it hopped back and forth before spreading its wings and flying off. I sighed. I wished I could be free like a bird, free of worry. I was a mute; I could not speak. However, I went to a normal neighbourhood school, where schoolmates left me alone, ignored me like I did not exist. I didn’t mind, I preferred to have my own time anyway. I would sit patiently by the river in the school garden, my hands on my lap. My observant eyes and patience caught movements commonly unnoticed. I saw the sparrows collecting twigs and leaves for their nests, leaves falling from trees, squirrels storing nuts for the winter and ants working hard to build homes, bit by bit, one step at the time. Sensing how long I had stayed on the mountain, I looked at my watch, broken from my chain of thoughts. It was getting late and I had to head home for breakfast. Reluctantly, I stood up, enjoying the magnificent scenery for a while longer before carefully making my way down. I cautiously stepped on the rocks, slippery on the surface by the melted snow in the morning warmth. Spring was approaching. After walking downwards a few steps, I paused and squatted down by the stream near me and took a drink of water. The cool, clear water felt good as it ran down my throat. After the few mouthfuls of fresh water, I continued my progress down the rocky mountain. As I reached the valley, I could see my house ahead. It was a broken down building with an untended garden filled with weeds, and a hole in the roof where rain could sleep in. I took of my shoes and held them in my hands, walking barefooted in the soft grass. The grass pricked my feet, but yet it was soft, fuzzy and comforting. As I walked on, I thought I heard a rustle in the grass. I paused for a moment. There was no sound for a while, then the rustling resumed. Silently, I edged closer to the sound. Before I could edge any closer, I heard a shrill squeal and an Andean mountain cat came into view, dashing across the grass. It clutched a small bundle in its jaws, running with a slight limp in my direction. Upon closer inspection, I realised that it was bleeding on its hind leg. It was chased by a wolf with shaggy grey fur, almost close enough to deliver another bite. I looked around frantically for something to throw at the wolf, but couldn’t find anything. The wolf was gaining on the cat really fast. Then I had an idea. I reached into my backpack and drew out my purse. It contained tools I would need for survival if I ever needed them when I went out for an adventure in the wild. The purse was hard, but not too hard to hurt the wolf. Clutching it in my hands, I waited for a moment for a good aim and flung the purse at the wolf with all the strength I could muster. The purse hit the wolf’s skull, dropping onto the ground. The wolf whimpered and paused for a while, giving the mountain cat the time to run off. Realizing who had thrown the object, it spun around and advanced towards me. Slowly, I backed off and ran home as fast as my legs could carry me, slamming the front door behind me when I reached the broken-down building. It was then it dawned upon me that I had forgotten to retrieve my purse back. From the sofa, Dad glared at me. “You’re late,” he snapped. “Breakfast is on the table, turning cold.” I trooped into the kitchen, retrieving the packet from the kitchen table before walking out of the back door. I wondered if I could find my purse-and the cat. When I reached the field, the same spot where I last saw the cat, I sat down and munched on the sandwich. After a long while, I saw the grass part and the same mountain cat streaked past me. Curious, I followed the cat to see where it was going. I tailed the cat until it reached an overhanging rock. Inside lay an adorable baby Andean mountain cat. I looked at the older cat with big, grey eyes and mewed ever so softly. The cat picked up the kitten tenderly and dashed off. I followed the mountain cat. It didn’t seem to mind. The cat disappeared into a bush in the field. I peeked in and saw a litter of five kittens, all huddled together and mewing. I was surprised to realise that beside the litter lay my purse! The mountain cat picked up the purse tenderly in its jaws and handed it to me. Here, this belongs to you, thanks for saving my life. I stared at the cat, baffled. It seemed like it was talking to me, like I could hear its voice in my head. Indeed, I am talking to you. I attempted talking back to the cat. Thanks? I tried uncertainly. You’re welcome, the cat’s reply sounded like a purr. Happy with my new discovery, I sat beside the family of six as I
