Posts tagged short story

A story to read

An important part of writing stories is editing. Even the most famous authors who have written many books go over their work again and again fixing mistakes and making good writing better. At the moment I am rewriting and editing a novel to make it the best it can be. Going through 50,000 words is keeping me busy so while I do that I thought you might like to read a short story I wrote a few years back. You are the first children to read it :) Hope you enjoy it.

An Everyday Mum

By Melinda Szymanik

“I’m sure my mother is an alien,” Thomas said as we came down the hill toward my place.  “I don’t know what planet she’s from but she’s just the weirdest.”

“Oh?” I said.

“She’s gone all strange since we moved up here, lighting candles and buying crystals and reading tea leaves and stuff” he said.

“Ah,” I said.

We parked our skateboards by the back door and walked into the kitchen.  A batch of homemade chocolate chip biscuits lay cooling on a wire rack.  Their smell filled the room.  Mum had been baking again.

“Those look really good.  Let’s have a couple,” said Thomas.

“Nah, my Mum’s got supersonic ears that can hear me taking something out of the kitchen that I’m not meant to.  You watch,” I said opening the fridge door and bending down to the cans of fizzy drink on the bottom shelf.

“Nathan, what are you doing in the fridge,” a voice called out from a distant room in the house.

“I’m just thirsty Mum.”

“There’s perfectly good water in the tap.”

“Yes Mum.”

“Wow,” said Thomas.

Thomas was my new friend.  He’d moved in round the corner from our house and just started at my school.  We had a heap of things in common, like skateboarding and collecting old Spiderman comics and secretly reading books.  I’d just been over to his place and now, for the first time, he was visiting over at my place.

I was showing him round the house.

“This is the kitchen.  Cups and stuff are in here.  The loo is in there,” I said pointing to the toilet door as we walked down the hallway, “and that’s my sister, Ruby,” I said pointing at her lying on her bed dressing her doll.  She poked her tongue out.  I just stopped myself from poking my tongue back.  I laughed instead and Thomas laughed too.

“Go away,” my sister shouted.

“Nathan!  Don’t tease your sister,” my mother’s disembodied voice floated down the hall.

I took Thomas upstairs to my room and we ended up playing on the computer out on the landing.

After a while we got sick of computer games and went back outside.  Mum was hanging out the washing at the rotary line with her back to us.  Thomas and I picked up our skateboards as quietly as we could.  I should really have been doing my homework by now but we were having too much fun.

“If you’re going for a ride on your skateboard Nate, could you get me a carton of milk please?  There’s money in my purse on the kitchen bench.”  She hadn’t even turned around.  She was pegging out a big sheet and she’s not very tall. It looked tricky.

“She’s got eyes in the back of her head,” I said to Thomas.  Thomas gave me a funny look.

“Should we help her with that sheet?” he asked.

“No its okay, she’s got a third arm as well.”

Thomas’s head whipped back round to stare at my Mum.  She still had her back to us but the sheet was now perfectly pegged out on the line, stretched taut, flapping in the breeze.  She was bending back down to the basket, a shirt already draped over her shoulder as she picked out a towel.

I poked him in the back.  “I’m only kidding.”

We rode our skateboards down to the skate park, but my wheels kept jamming up.  I jumped off and picked my board up, turning it over to check it out.  Someone had stuck plasticene in the ball bearings of one of the front wheels and I knew who the criminal was.  “That little witch!” I exclaimed.  “She’s always mucking my things up on purpose.”

Thomas was impressed.  “My little sister would never think up anything as good as this.”

“Barbie’s gonna pay, man.  It’ll be a quick trip to the hairdressers for her,” I said in a funny voice.  Thomas laughed

But I was annoyed.  We had to forget the skateboarding and go straight to the shops for the milk.  We spent the thirty cents change on some lollies.  It seemed fair after what Ruby had done and I thought Mum wouldn’t mind once I’d explained.

 

When we got back from the shops we could hear Mum singing in the kitchen.  She sings a lot.  We’re used to it and she’s not too bad at it although the songs are a bit old and crusty.

My hand was on the back door handle when she called out, “I can make some hot chocolate with that milk for you two if you like.”

“Do you want something to drink?”  I asked my new friend.

I looked at Thomas.

“What’s wrong mate?”

“Your Mum’s in there,” Thomas said biting his lip.

“So?”

“It’s like she’s from outer space, or something,” he said, dead serious.

“Don’t be silly.  None of those things I said before are true.  She hasn’t got supersonic ears or eyes in the back of her head.”

“I know, I know,” Thomas said.  “It’s just…”

“She’s just a great Mum,” I said.  “And she makes the best hot chocolates.  You’ll see.  Come on.”

We went inside and I introduced Thomas properly to my Mum.  She smiled and said hello and took the milk from him with a thank you.  She had jeans and a t-shirt on.  She looked like an everyday Mum and I could see Thomas relax.

“I wish you wouldn’t call your sister names,” she said, as she put the cooled biscuits in a tin.

“She messed up my skateboard,” I complained.

“I’m sure I can fix it,” she said.  “I’ll have a go after I’ve made dinner.  I’ve left some biscuits for both of you even though you’ve already eaten.”  Thomas’s mouth was hanging open in surprise.

“How does she do that?” he whispered incredulously.

“You’ve got a red tongue from the lollies you goober,” I whispered back with a laugh.  “She’s just very observant.”  But it was lucky that Thomas was tipping his head back to drain the last of his hot chocolate from his cup when Mum’s third eyelids slid across her eyes as she was chopping onions.  Because it wasn’t his Mum that was an alien, it was mine.

The End

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“Starting from scratch.” (Part Four)

Theo gave another big sigh, which Augusta made a big show of ignoring. Then he turned away from the world back to the Words, bending his neck to his task, quill in hand, ready to begin copying the first sentence of the Big Book.

The Big Book had no title of its own anymore. Whatever it had originally been was now dust in the wind.

The copy he was working from, which rested on a sloping board in front of him, had been made by Headhabit Ceo himself more than half a century before.

One day Theo’s own copy, if it were good enough, would be sent out into the world. If it survived destruction at the hands of Takeaways, then it might eventually make its way to someone who would be enlightened by it.

Maybe Theo himself would be enlightened, if he could force his tired brain to separate the meaning of the words from the actual words themselves. After all, he had learnt something from all the other books he had copied and this was the Big Book, after all. It must have so much more to teach him than those. And very few students would be as lucky as him to read it in such detail.

Theo tried his best to blot out the sound of other quills as he began to scratch the letters, form the words, shape the sentences, bring the Big Book back to life, like the mythological Phoenix-bird from the ashes.

Nevertheless, the task stretched endlessly ahead of him.

 

The Big Book

Chap. 1

Dudly Dented

 

The happiest day of the spring so far was dragging to a closure and a blowsy silence lay over the larger, squarer homes of Privet Drive.



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“Starting from scratch.” (Part Three)

Headhabit Ceo often said: “The Words you copy here will one day travel far beyond the walls of the Monkery and enlighten many of those who are left. One day Words will once again work their way into people’s hearts. Civilisation as it was will return, and that will be good.”

Why will it be good, Theo wondered. Why would anyone want to go back to the way things used to be, just to risk having the same horrors happen again? Not only that, how on earth would people not brought up in the Monkery understand the old language in which the books were written. Inglesh was difficult, even for Theo.

It was tempting to risk everything in the Wilderness, to forget the endless copying of the Words and take a chance Out There. But Theo knew Augusta was right. And he knew he would never be brave enough to risk escaping. There were stories of students – boys and girls both – who had broken out and whose broken bodies had been returned to the Monkery.

Theo sighed, wishing he hadn’t been so attentive and obedient in lesson-time and, as his teachers had told him, so gifted in Inglesh and quillship. In recognition of his superior skills Theo had recently been entrusted with copying the Big Book.

Only a handful of students received this honour. Augusta was jealous, although she would never admit it. The Big Book was the longest in their whole small library and one copy took at least a year to complete. With such a long and important work any mistake in the copying was a bigger disaster than usual.

Headhabit Ceo personally checked each copy before the individual pages were bound together. Mistakes, however small, meant that both sides of a whole page had to be done all over again.

But who really knew how many errors had been made in the centuries since the last printed copy of the Big Book had ceased to exist? This was another question Theo often asked himself.

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“Starting from scratch.” (Part Two)

Long ago and far away the Burning Days were, although Brother Flammable made them seem like yesterday, as if he himself had been there. But it was all memory. The original Leftovers, who had brought their memories to the Monkery, were ancient dust and bones now. The books Theo, Augusta and the rest were copying were themselves copies of copies of copies of copies.

Theo leaned over to Augusta, his tablemate. She was quiet like him, hardworking too, although not as talented. She had said so herself.

“I feel like a slave sometimes,” Theo whispered. He gazed longingly out of the arched window.

“Don’t even think about it,” Augusta said.

“But I do.”

“Then you’d better stop. You know what’s Out There.”

Theo nodded. He did. At least, he knew what he and the other students had been told.

A rough road led from the Monkery into an unknowable wasteland, frozen solid at this time of year. Nomadic bands of Takeaways scoured the land. Wild animals, strange mutations from times past, beasts larger than buildings, roamed the Wilderness.

Brother Flammable had told them about monstrous birds (now extinct he believed, but who could be certain?) that had once flown across the world, north to south and east to west.

“Those birds had pincer-like teeth,” he said, “and hundreds of tiny eyes that gazed on the earth below. Every eye looked down on the bright lights of great cities as well as on the flickering lights of small towns and villages.”

“Everywhere”, Brother Flammable finished, “was linked by roads, long and short. No-one lived far from anyone else. But now distances are great, and people are scattered far and wide.”

“Do you believe all that?” Theo had once asked Augusta.

She had shrugged. “What else can I believe?” she’d said.

The students in the Monkery would never be able to find out for themselves if Brother Flammable’s tales were true or not. Their lives belonged here, from beginning to end. They were, as Headhabit Ceo was fond of saying, Guardians of the Words.

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