George the Duck

Here’s another story I had to write for English 4; a children’s story! I rather enjoyed doing a simpler plot but just characters just as lovable as the next. I hope y’all enjoy and don’t forget to let me know what you think. Faith out!

There have been many a tale told to the human world about the everyday life and adventures of animals. It’s no uncommon occurrence that human are just as curious about animals as they can be of us. However, this tale is a simple one of a simple duck who lived in a simple home.

The duck’s name was George. George had pristine white feathers and yellow bill from which would emit his boisterous and cheery voice. He lived with his five siblings, three sisters and two brothers, with their five cat and six dog friends. They all lived with the Hill family in a peaceful community in the suburbs as he heard them describe. Their house was modest with a fairly small backyard which was home to the pond the ducks frequented; well, except George. George had a problem, he was an indoor duck.

It wasn’t he fault, truly it wasn’t. For heaven’s sake, their ‘mother’ Liza (who was a human), often times wished their was a way to help George return to their pond outside. The issue was George was a lame duck who couldn’t walk anymore. When he was born, he struggled to waddle after his siblings so the Hill’s brought him inside their house which smelled liked dog hair and chai tea to live in the Mr and Mrs Hill’s room.

George grew to enjoy these times; he got to wear these straps they called ’suspenders’ to properly hold up a ‘diaper’, took baths in the huge bathtub which George swore was made of marble like the sinks, and he got attentive care from all five Hill children.

Despite this, George wanted to return to the pond outside where the fresh air would ruffle his feathers and he could hear the wild ducks that lived in the lake that resided behind the house. His colorful mind would wander along adventures with his siblings: Snuggles, Pokey, Mirage, Jinxy, and Sputnik.

George was sitting on the windowsill one day, gazing out into empty space as the youngest Hill daughter, Grace, came into the room to keep him company. She had noticed the duck’s sad expression many a time before. His tail would droop and his bright eyes dulled as they stared aimlessly anywhere with vibrant color and steaming with life, a sight not truly found within the concrete walls of the Hill’s residence. George stirred in his spot, desperately trying to move his feet again but failing. Salty water was threatening to become tears as he tried to forced his numb body to respond to his will. Her tender heart, which so adored the pets she took care of, ached while her clever mind began to formulate a plan to get George outside.

Leaving George alone once more, Grace raced downstairs and burst into the sewing room which tripled as a guest room and office for her older brothers (who aspired in filmmaking). Liza and her brothers, Craig and Edgar, looked to see Grace with beaming energy. “I have an idea to help George get together with his siblings outside!”

George was so lost in his wishful musings he hadn’t noticed the change in the air around him. Sure, he could hear the scary dogs downstairs who were probably arguing about nothing again. Two dogs in a particular, NewDog and Buddy, were vicious when it came to arguing and they disliked nay new human who entered the house. They scared George and most of the other ducks, George was happy to remain safe upstairs where they didn’t bother him. The cats were nicer in the sense they didn’t hurt him unless got too close. All in all, most the pets got along especially with the only nice dog, Murphy.

“George?” He turned his head away from the bright window to glance at the opening door. Grace was holding a little chair with wheels and a tube with little palm trees all over it with a huge grin. George was confused. What was so special about them?

“It’s a float and wheelchair, George,” Grace said simply to answer George’s unspoken bafflement. It was then it clicked in his mind. George flapped his wings in excitement before stopping to let Edgar and Craig help into the chair. He would have to use his bill to move, but he didn’t mind. The kids helped him down the stair before letting him move himself to the backdoor. George could hear it now, the sound of the birds and wind rushing past the trees, his siblings chatting about what they could hear the wild ducks say beyond the fence, all the smells of the outdoors waiting for him. Liza opened the door with a soft smile to George. “Welcome outside, George.”


Lessons Spun from Tales

Okay, so this isn’t from a prompt anyone gave me; rather it was an assignment for my English 4 class. It was a Modern Canterbury Tale we had to create ourselves. I used a recent experience as the base and gave it a more, fantastical setting. I hope y’all enjoy it and don’t forget to comment and share! Faith Out!

In the land of Nosmya, Roclu Gangur was a young female dark elf who making a name for herself as an adventurer. She hailed from the mines of midafell where her kin lived in the darkness and low lights of crystals and scattered moonlight from the skies high above. daring and curious, she discovered her thirst for the unknown when one night she ventured above ground and met her future traveling companion whom she named Templeton. Rock held the dignity of the dark elves in her shadowy appearance of grey skin, black short hair, and piercing grey eyes. Now, she sits in a tavern in Stagstrand were a stranger approaches her.
“Come on, Roclu, I want to go see that dragon’s labyrinth already! Why are you taking so long to eat?” Roclu did not reply to her excitable and more than a little impatient friend, but continued to eat her food in peace. It would no doubt be one of many stops along the trail to their destination. Templeton just didn’t like her steady spacing sometimes.
The Dancing Mountain Tavern & Inn was a favorite stop of hers no matter where they were heading. Stagstrand was located right in the middle of Nosmya which made it a perfect cultural hub for the masses traveling about for pleasure or business.

This particular place was her favorite because many visitors requested stories from her travels and she was waiting for that tie to begin. 
 “Peace, dear Templeton,” she said while rubbing his tail. “i do not mean to dawdle, but you know how much I love to spin tales.”
“Hahaha! Come on, fair patrons! I believe our adventurer and bard is ready for tonight!” Ulmug, the orc bartender, shouted passionately. Cheers and whistles echoed and only added the lively atmosphere that existed in the building.
Roclu smiled. She left some coins at her place before swiftly sitting on the bar counter so everyone could see her. Templeton scurried up to sit on her shoulder, not willing to miss out on the spotlight.
Some of the younger children ran up and sat on the floor in front of her. “Miss Gangur! What stories are you going to tell tonight?” “Of noble dragons and their lairs?” “Oh dark beasts that you had to defeat?” “Helping villages with their political issues.” 
 “Peace, peace!, dear listeners. While all those stories hold much value, I have one of a greater moral I must begin.” Roclu’s aura became stronger as she assumed a sort of persona. A grand storyteller that captures hearts and minds in tales that wove truth and fantasy together. She threw her hood back as she opened her mouth to speak. (Poor Templeton was nearly throw off of her as she started. “She should remember where I am, that girl.”)
“As I journey this land seeking new experiences, I also seek new people to meet and befriend. However, as a dark elf with the ability to see through lies, I have learned people can disguise themselves as someone else when their true colors are far more sinister than they lead you to believe.” A shiver ran through the crowd as she spoke.
“When I finished a job a band of kind dwarves offered me, I met a young, male tiger nekojin and a young, female of the bird-folk. They too, were traveling to Baymouth. For a few days, we remained in each others company and they appeared upright to my eyes. They gained my trust within this time and I shared many of my own stories with them in confidence. For a few moons, we became an adventuring group that preformed many jobs and requests together.”
As Roclu continued to tell of these two, Templeton interjected in the story with a scowl. “But they betrayed us! Those scheming monsters got close to her and her brother before showing their true face and stabbing them in the back!”
“Templeton, while I do admire your anger and thirst for justice, let me build up to it.” The children giggled while the adults appeared more concerned for the circumstances. Who would want to betray the brave, yet caring dark elf?
Roclu merely returned to her story without much notice to the change. “I learned that two were lost in their ways of spirituality and as a trusted friend, I sought to guide the young woman while my brother spoke to the tiger. My family, who learned of theirs, did not see much fruit in them and warned me of their true nature. I took caution, but I did not even see the knife they were preparing for me.”
Roclu paused. A cold chill passed over her heart as her mid wandered back to the day that cursed letter arrived at her family’s doorstep. Rage and sadness had tormented her soul as many came to her defense at the lies and slander of those two.
Roclu sighed and Templeton nibbled at his acorn. “Safe to say, they no longer travel with us and any accusation who support adventurers know of them and probably will refuse to be their patron.” The squirrel gave the room a satisfied smile as he fluffed his tail and rubbed Roclu’s ears affectionately. “They tasted defeat and backlash the moment they tried to stab my lovely Roclu.”
Roclu responded by smoothly shoving the rest of his acorn into his mouth. He stumbled and failed about before clinging to her cloak. “Yes, so that is the end of that story. Children, fair patrons, take heed to these words that i have deliver to you. Hold your cards close and reveal them to only those you know for certain you can trust. There are indeed wolves in sheep’s clothing and snakes in the grass who lie in wait for those foolish and blind enough to come close.”
The aura around her disappeared as Roclu concluded her tale. The children gazed up at her in awe while the adults turned to converse amongst themselves on her story. The dark elf herself just smiled. Another night, another tale, another lesson fro everyone to learn. These were her thoughts as she got off the counter before Ulmug stopped her. “No drink, tonight? Sweet Eight is the special tonight.” The orc’s offer of the sweet beverage caused Roclu to consult her squirrel with her eyes.
Templeton groaned before leaping to the counter again. “Hit us with all you got, Ulmug! We’re not leaving till I’ve had every drink on the menu.” “If you can manage to stay awake that is,” Roclu teased as Ulmug eagerly began to prepare their orders. Perhaps Roclu and Templeton would stay for the stay at The Dancing Mountain this time.

The Moment

Disclaimer: I do not struggle with depression or suicidal thoughts. This was merely the prompt I was given and I tried my best to follow it. Forgive me if it was a little inaccurate to any degree, I have no personal expression with the subject. So, if this is a sensitive topic for you, you should probably skip over this. Also, if you do struggle with this, please talk to someone. You matter. Your life matters. Reach out and a hand will take yours. “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10.

It wasn’t overnight, I witnessed this.

Belva was part of a group I had started within our dance troupe. Being homeschooled, dance was one of the social connections I treasured. We would compete on occasion, but our studio mainly did large scale performances for our town. Ballet, hip-hop, contemporary; you name it, we had it.

Now, I was in the upper ranks of the studio and one of the best dancers there. I’m not prideful or constantly boasting, but I knew where my skills were. So, I enjoyed helping out the lower levels with their dances and developing their techniques. Among my friend group, I earned the label ‘Dance Mum’. Of course, in the best manner possible that the term could indicate.

So that’s how I met Belva on one day that a new group of students came in. She was placed in my level where everyone became fascinated with her style. It merged ballet with contemporary and a splash of free-style dance. Belva became a favorite to watch and partner with in the coming weeks. She was lively, funny, and always willing to learn.

A year passed and I was sensing a change in her. Somehow whenever she came into the studio for class or returned from her dorm room, a cloud was covering her expression. Her laughter was bright for a moment, but damp and dull sounding just as her smile seemed made of porcelain.




“Oh! Sorry, Adi. Lost in thought again, I suppose,” I barely recovered from my mental wanderings and distracted myself with taping up my feet. Adi, one of my friends, just quirked a blonde eyebrow at me. “Whatever you say, just please tell me you remember your dance with Jay today. It was odd for you to blank out like you did yesterday.”

“I know. It’s probably just stress, I’ll be okay.” I reassured her with a grin before standing up to begin stretching. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Belva place her bag in the furthest corner of the studio next to the costumes. Day after day, she placed herself further and further away from the group. It baffled me, why was she doing it and why did nobody ask other than me?

I should check on her tonight and make sure she’s okay.

Class seemed to pass over my mind like the wind over a meadow. I could recall dancing with my partner Jay. I saw the room spin before my eyes as I visualized myself flying above them all. Like a firefly, madly floating through the air to find…, something. I wanted to shed my little light upon the path below me for someone to follow. My imagination encouraged my body to move with Jay and the music.


The sound of the toaster oven finishing dragged my mind back to reality. I was in the dorm’s kitchen, making a midnight snack of buttered toast and warm milk. Simple? Yes, just enough for me. I finished setting up my little tray with flowers from the window plant and started to make my way to my room. Thankfully, I was on the first floor so navigating my way through the darkness was no hard task. My eyes adjusted swiftly to the black abyss as if they were little amber lanterns guiding my way.

I was about pry open my door, which I had left ajar, when I noticed a door down the hall was alight. From my memory of the dorm assignments, it was Belva’s room. The door was shut but her light crept out form under it like a hand reaching out to grasp something it could not see.

A knot formed in my stomach and an unknown sense of urgency quickened my heartbeat. “Belva?” The whisper escaped my lips. Placing my tray down with as little noise as possible, I ran down the hallway. I don’t know why, but I decided to forgo knocking and try opening the door. It was unlocked. In a frenzy of strange peril, I scanned her room for any trace of my dear friend.

I knew thought I’d ever unseen the state her room was in. Marks on the wall like an animal was escaping containment, items scattered and our of place as if a whirlwind had silently invaded her belongings. “Belva?!” I spoke a little louder as dread crawled up my back. My ears, tuned sharply for nightly sounds, caught the final trip of the tap in her bathroom.

I burst inside to find her. Belva was trembling as tears fell down the trail that left behind on her stained cheeks. Her bathtub was a deep pit of water, turned a hideous greenish red from God knows what. Yet my eyes moved to see the most dangerous object in her hand, a plugged-in razor. “Nora,” Her voice echoed from the chasm in my mind. “Will this be my last bath bomb?”

It clicked in my mind. I had to say something, I needed to make my presence a reality to her if her eyes thought she was dreaming. I felt the depths of my soul cry aloud to me for aid. I spoke up;


Suicide Prevention Hotline: tel:1-800-273-8255


Riddle Me…Whatever

It was one of those sunny days where you don’t feel like doing particularly anything, just laying in the warm light of that glowing orb in the sky was enough. Letting your skin soak up the rays and giving yourself a lovely glow that would cause the envy of others later. That is what Kahula was doing. She was a young Sphinx who lived hidden among the sands of the Sahara, specifically the Atlantic Coastal Desert. The faro echo of the waves lulled the fledgling cub to a comfortable silence of her mind and a relaxed being.
“Kahula!!!!!” Her golden tail flinched in mild annoyance as her state of silence was broken and tumbled like shattered glass at her paws. Kahula refused to move or ope her eyes to acknowledged the voice even as the sound of its feet drew nearer to where she lay. “Kahula!! What goes with a carriage, comes with a carriage, is of no use to a carriage and yet the carriage cannot go without it?”
At the mere mention of a riddle, Kahula’s instincts awoke her mental eye. After all she was a Sphinx; riddles were their life. Turning her head to reveal violet hues alight with fire, she spoke. “The answer is noise. Something I wished to be absent from, Va-ma-ma-lin.”
Vamamalin was a male Sphinx close to her age who enjoyed teasing her with endless riddles, no matter where she happened to be. Her violet eyes filled with vexation met with his grey ones that beamed with delight and mild disappointment at once. “You answer too fast, Kahula. Where’s the fun is that? You’re so icy.”
“How often do you intend to say that?It’s merely because you torment me with these riddles. You surely will be the one Sphinx to get into the history books.” Kahula glared at him before she turned her face back to the direction of the sea. True, she was sharp witted and had a keen mind, yet she preferred to remain within the tribe of Sphinx’s and stay by the sea. Sometimes, she and her friends would imagine the ice from the North came sailing past the coast they lived by.
Vamamalin just huffed at Kahula’s sharp tongue. Unfurling his wings, he removed a small bag from his hip. He placed it between them and let the contents fall out. The clicking of glass caused Kahula’s ears to twitch to better her the sound. “Marbles again? You know how well you fail at this game, Vamamalin. A riddle for a marble, my collection grows immensely thanks to you.” Her own wings spread out in a show of pride as she continued, “You won’t be able to catch any fair lady like this if you can’t beat them.”
“Perhaps I’m not trying yet,” Vamamalin retorted as he circled the marbles in a ring of sand with his talon. “Ladies first,” he said with a toothy grin.
“Though I live beneath a roof, I never seem to dry. If you will only hold me, I swear I will not lie. What am I?” Kahula decided to begin simple. She knew Vamamalin was as clever as she, but for one reason or another, he didn’t try quite as hard with her as he did others. Vamamalin closed his eyes and begin to process the riddle.
As he did so, Kahula watched him carefully, her paws crossed over the other like a regal cat watching a mouse dance before it for its entertainment. She took in his colors, gold and brown fur with wings tanned by the sunlight. His hair was ruffled by the wind and sand, coarse brown hair that roughly framed his face with neat lines that brought attention to his clear eyes.
“My tongue. Is that it?” Kahula frowned, but nodded. “Correct, you take a marble.” A victorious grin beamed from Vamamalin as he lifted a green marble from the ring. “Surprised, Kahula?” “A bit, you didn’t take as long this time. Well done.” A mutual grin was shared as the game continued. Despite his warm demeanor and her, somewhat cold personality when disturbed, these two shared a special bond that created quite the mystery.

fear & memory

Here, in the torn fields of Poland,
Is a wagon on a road, all alone.
Its paint gone and the wood dampened,
Nothing itself it, all picked to the bone.

Further along this lonely place,
Is a house, abandoned and disgraced.
Glass scattered across the floor,
Precious memories are nevermore.

In the distance, the ruins are seen,
Of a town that witty and alive.
Oh, if the townsfolk had been more keen,
Then perhaps the attack that could survive.

Alas, they are gone as the air grows cold,
The hum of the planes and roar of tanks forebode.
The Second War of the Worlds is upon the land,
Perhaps this time, peace shall be able to forever stand.

Purple Rain

Myrtle Birch was a simple girl with simple desires. Her heart was on her sleeve as her thoughts came unfiltered from her mind. This could cause a bit of a stir among those around her but she meant well for the most part. Thus, one could count on Myrtle to speak the truth in any situation but this caused many to believe her to be a pessimist by nature. This outlook severely affected a pair of young twins named London and Landon. They lived next door to the girl and they preferred the sunny days that surrounded the atmosphere of their home. They clung dearly to these moments to avoid the shadows that dealt so close to them.

One day, a storm covered the blue sky above while thunder rolled in from the East, bringing lightning with him. London covered herself with a blanket, only peeking out with quivering green eyes to spot Landon building a fortress around their bunk beds.
“Will this protect us at all, Landon?” London inquired softly.

Now Landon was older than London by 7 minutes and 23 seconds; a position he prided himself in and took the role of knight to heart. He would avoid telling the full truth sometimes to guard his little sister’s fragile heart. “It will, I’ll make it hold fast until the storm blows through. I promise.”
The thunder let lose a roar that appeared to gather the sounds whistled from deep within the house itself. London squeaked and hid again while Landon grabbed his wooden sword and shield. He glared intently at their bedroom door, his green eyes blazing fire, dangerous and impassioned.
Clunk. Landon spun on his heel and waved his sword to and fro in response to the sudden noise. He was breathing heavily as the tension made his skin crawl. Clunk. This time, Landon saw what it was; a rock hitting their window. Followed by another and then another at a time, who was throwing them?
London came out from under the covers as Landon crept to their window seat. There, out in the rain with a purple rain suit on and umbrella, was Myrtle Birch. Once she spotted the black hair of the twins, she smile with a wave, urging them outside. “Come on outside, I bet you’ve never played in the mud puddles before!”
She wasn’t wrong, the twins mainly avoided the outdoors when it was rainy and damp. Why go out when the sun wouldn’t be there to smile upon you? The clouds just…seemed moody and that affected you. London and Landon shared a glance, silently debating their choices. He shrugged. “What do you think, Lon?”
“Maybe we could try, I kind of want to know Myrtle anyway, Lan.” His sister responded timidly. The matter was settled so they helped each other with their rain gear before sneaking out the door, down the hallway, down the stairs, and past the kitchen to the back door. They ran over the pathway as the rain dripped down the plastic coats. The sounds of the earth under their boots made London a little uncomfortable but the smell of the world shocked both of them.
It was clean. Clean like they smelled after a bath when they had been playing all day. This sparked their curiosity and they quickly went out the gate to the long stretch of grass between houses.
Myrtle spun around with a giggle. Her blonde, curly hair bounced with her movements, almost catching on her umbrella handle in her absentminded dance. Her purple boots were caked with mud and grass and some mud managed to flung itself onto the hem of her coat. The twins stopped just at the edge of the mud pit, hesitating to join in Myrtle’s odd game. This caused Myrtle to pause and question them.
“Why the long faces? Don’t you like the rain?” “Well, rainy day are just…” “Moody and sad and make us feel sleepy.” Landon and London replied respectively. Myrtle pursed her lips with a hand on her hip. “Y’all are looking at it wrong then,” she replied bluntly as she marched over to them. “Rainy days shouldn’t be ALL that. There are good things in them, like this mud; the smell of the earth, the purifying rain, when you think of it like a shower upon nature instead of the clouds crying, it becomes a lot more hopeful and cheery in a way. That’s why I invited you two here with me,” Myrtle nudged their boots with hers. Some mud was smudged on their yellow and orange boots and the twins seemed more conflicted.
“You only come out on sunny days because that’s where you escape but you can escape here too. I want to be there and show you more to the world. There’s hope, a greater Hope than you know.” Myrtle smiled wide. A warm, inviting smile which became contagious to the twins. Their faces lit up at her promise and they stepped into the mud with her.
Landon and London spent the rest of the afternoon with Myrtle. It was true what they heard, she was simple and bluntly honest but a far brighter optimist than they thought they were themselves. Hope, they thought, Myrtle showed us that greater Hope today.