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Tag: creative writing (page 2 of 2)

What Faith Can Do – Part 4

After a couple races, Emma was placed in the final five contestants. She cheered as Sophia came racing back through the entrance, with Pixie panting like a steam engine. Jumping off her horse, Sophia led her over to where Emma stood on the side and fell dramatically into her arms. “I just want this to be over.”

Emma chuckled, stood her up and gave her a hug. “You’re doing great! Especially for this being your first rodeo and all.”

“Yeah, well I’m not as good as you are.” Sophia grinned. “You’re fast!” Tobi snorted behind Emma and Sophia rubbed his nose, laughing. “Well, ok, you’re the fast one. Emma’s just good at steering you.”

Emma glanced up at the announcement board and groaned. “Why do I have to go second to last? I hate being ahead of anyone ‘cause then I have to worry my time getting beat. Plus, Abby Detwieler races after I do.” Abby was one of the toughest girls in the entire competition. Her father owned a 50-acre farm just down the road from where Emma lived and Abby could always be found practicing in her corral with her mocha brown thoroughbred, Star. “Her fastest time in the barrel race last year was 14.2 seconds.”

“What was your fastest time?”

“14.6 seconds.”

Just then, Abby walked past the sisters, leading Star. When she spotted them, she called “I hope you’re more ready than you were last year. I’m tired of winning year after year.” She give them a nasty grin, “Although, that prize money will be nice when I win it.”

Emma ground her teeth as she watched Abby lead Star toward the end of the line. “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to set a time that Abby can’t beat. I’ve lost to her every single year!” She twisted her gold cross necklace in between her fingers nervously.

Sophia squeezed her hand “Good luck,” she whispered. “I’ll be praying for you.”

Emma smiled weakly, “And I’ll be praying for you too. See you after the race… if I live through it.”

The next 20 minutes were a blur for Emma. She faintly remembered watching Sophia compete in the finals for her age group and finish with the third best time of 15 seconds. The next thing she knew, it was her turn to get out on the arena. The minutes seemed to drag by as she waited for the starting gun. She could see the crowd sitting in the bleachers and every single eye seemed to be focused on her and Tobi. Taking a deep breath, she started to pray silently, but jumped and nearly lost her seat when the crack of the pistol went off nearby. 

As they flew out of the entrance, Emma could feel the powerful muscles working in Tobi’s legs and sides as he surged toward the first barrel. Blocking everything else out of her mind, she focused all of her energy and attention on cutting as close as Tobi could to the barrels as they rounded the first corner. One down, four more turns to go.

At the second barrel, Tobi just barely bumped the rim with his rump. It wobbled back and forth and Emma had to resist the urge to look back. But, after they made the third turn and started on the home stretch, the barrel was still standing upright. Not having time to even breath a sigh of relief, she turned her focus onto the last two turns and then Tobi was galloping full speed back to the entrance to stop the clock. Slowing him down to a walk, Emma had him circle around near the opening to the arena to listen for her time: “14.3 seconds.”

Sophia waved from the side and Emma steered Tobi over to where she stood with Pixie, “Wow! That’s better than what you got last year!”

Emma smiled, “I know! That second barrel had me nervous there for a second, but stayed upright!” She slid off Tobi and patted his neck. “Now, lets just hope Star isn’t that fast.”

She felt as if her heart was lodged in her throat as Abby and Star shot out of the entrance into the arena. Her eyes were glued to the little screen that was available to the competitors in the waiting area. Star was in perfect form, cutting close around each barrel as Abby guided him with the expertise of a skilled rider. But then something happened that made Emma catch her breath in a short gasp. Star had bumped into a barrel as he passed and Abby’s hand had flashed out to steady it as they headed onto the next turn. At least that’s what Emma thought she had seen. Yet, the announcer didn’t seem to have seen it and the judges’ expressions hadn’t change. She turned to Sophia to get her opinion, but her sister was busy looking around at the other horses and stroking Pixie’s neck.

Just then, Abby came flying back in through the entrance. Star was breathing hard and his rider looked flushed, but happy. She flashed an unfriendly smile at Emma, who forced a smile in return. As her numbers were called out, Emma’s heart sunk: “14.1 seconds.” She started to walk away, but then was nearly jerked off her feet when Sophia grabbed her arm and dragged her back to where they had been standing.

“Look!”

There on the screen, the replay of Abby’s hand stretching out to steady the barrel as Star went past was playing over and over again as the announcer’s voice came over the loud speakers.

“It appears that while Abby Detwiler has entered a winning time for the barrel race, she has been disqualified for steadying the barrel with her hand as she rode by it.”

Sophia’s wide eyes looked up at Emma, who couldn’t seem to believe what she was hearing. “Does that mean…?”

Emma gulped. “I had the second fastest time…”

Then the announcer said: “So, since Ms. Detwiler was disqualified, that means that Emma and her horse Tobi are the winners of this years barrel race and the grand prize of $25,000!”

Sophia squealed and threw her arms around her sister. Suddenly her friends and the other contestants were surrounding Emma, patting her on the back and congratulating her on the win. Emma looked around and spotted Abby glaring at her from where she stood by the entrance. Shrugging and sending a smile her way, Emma swung back up on Tobi and fell in line with the winners of other events. Abby couldn’t seem to form words, and the last Emma saw of her that day was as she yanked on Star’s reins and made a beeline for the barn.

Emma rode Tobi around the arena, with a smile that just wouldn’t go away. She spotted her parents near the fence and waved at them excitedly. Her dad motioned that they would meet her back at the stall and she nodded. Arriving at the judges’ table, she shook the head judge’s hand and took the check that he handed her. She held it in her hands as if it made of glass and stared at it in unbelief. She had done it. Tobi had done it. They both had actually won!

The next few minutes were a blur of activity and people. As she made her way to the stall where Tobi’s things were, it seemed like everyone was reaching out to either shake her hand or give her a hug, congratulating her on doing such a good job in her race. She managed to get Tobi’s reins and saddle off before her parents and Sophia finally made their way through the sea of people in the barn. The next thing she knew, she was swept up in a big bear hug by her dad and he spun her around while she held onto his arms and laughed. When he set her down, her mom smiled at her and gave her a long hug, “You did a really good job, sweetie! I’m so proud of you.”

Emma grinned at her and then caught Sophia looking pointedly at her behind her mom’s back. Reaching into her pocket, Emma pulled out the check and held it out to her dad. “Here, Dad. I won this for you.”

He shook his head, “No, this is your money. You don’t have to give it to me. Keep it and save it for something for yourself. Or better yet, add it to your future college fund,” he added with a wink.

Emma kept holding it out to him. “No, take it. Sophia and I talked about it beforehand and decided that we would rather keep all of our horses and the farm more than we could want anything else right now. It’s yours.”

Her dad’s eyes misted over and he finally took the check from her hands. Their mom put her arm around Sophia and smiled at Emma. As he pocketed the check, Emma watched as her dad took out a familiar looking piece of paper. When he held it up, she could easily read the names of over half of their horses on the “to sell” list and she looked up at her dad, wondering why in the world would he bring it out now. She glanced over at Sophia and saw a confused expression on her face that mirrored her own. Then they heard the tearing sound and their eyes sparkled as they saw him tearing the list up. He smiled and held out his hands to them. Despite the dust clogging the air, riders of all ages getting their horses ready for the trip home, and the loud hum of hundreds of voices, Emma, Sophia and their parents joined hands and stood in a small circle just outside of Tobi’s stall. Bowing their heads, they listened as their dad prayed.

“Father, you know our thoughts and our dreams far better than any of us do. We acknowledge that You are the head of this world and You have a plan laid out for each and every one of us. I just want to thank You for showing us once again that we can completely trust in You for all things. Even when it seems like things aren’t going according to our plan, help us to remember that everything always goes according to Your plan. You alone are God and in You alone we put our trust.”

At that moment, a ray of sunlight shone through one of the upper windows in the barn and settled on the little family. Emma’s heart lifted when she heard her dad quote the final words from Psalm 139 at the end of his prayer:

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

Written by Anna Tielmann

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Extended Scene from Tim O’Brien’s “Stockings”

A loud blast from the dinner horn sounded across the camp. Dobbins tossed the letter onto his bunk, stood up, and pulled back the flap of the tent door. He cocked his eyebrow and grinned, “Well, boys, what do you say? Wanna go get us some of that crap they call ‘food’ from the Dog House? My stomach is literally eating itself.”

 “Yeah, I guess it’s about that time,” I drawled as I grabbed my jacket from where it was hanging at the end of my bunk and followed the rest of the men out of the tent.

“Watch out for that… hole,” laughed Dobbins as several guys sunk up to their ankles in mud. As he tugged his own foot free, Dobbins’ hand went to his pocket where the stockings were kept. As we stomped and scraped our boots on the steps at the mess hall, I glanced back and saw Dobbins pause at the edge of the porch, breathing hard. “You ok?” I asked, turning back to give him a hand.

He waved me off, “Naw, I’m good.” He grinned, grabbed the door handle, and, pulling it open, bowed with a flourish of his arm, “After you, my friend.” I chuckled and threw my arm over his shoulder.

As we entered the hall, I could feel the tense and uptight muscles in my shoulders and back instantly relax. Men were sitting close together around the long tables in the room and the air was filled with the sounds of joking, laughter, and camaraderie.

“Time to get us some grub!” Dobbins patted his belly and strutted over to the end of the line at the back of the building, picking up two trays and handing one to the guy behind him. He called out to one of the men serving the food, “Hey, Cal! You seriously don’t think I’m gonna waste my time in this line of yours? That slop isn’t even worth the wait!”

Cal gave Dobbins a give-me-a-break look and laughed, “Dob, you ask that question every day you come in here. Do you really think the answer’s gonna change?”

“You never know,” Dobbins grinned. “You could have a change of heart one of these days for a good ol’ friend who hasn’t had a decent meal in who knows how long.”

“Ain’t happenin’. You gotta wait your turn just like everyone else does”

“Grump. See if I ever do you a favor again.”

“You never do anyway.” Cal smirked as he plopped meat and potatoes on Dobbins’ tray.

Dobbins winked, “You’re catchin’ on pretty quick.” As our group sat down at one of the empty tables and started eating, the loudspeakers crackled to life, making some of us jump:

“All troops are now being put on immediate stand-by. I repeat; all troops are on immediate stand by. Await further orders. Over.”

At that, Dobbins slowly pulled the stockings out of his pocket and wrapped them around his neck and shoulders. All eyes were drawn to him. “No sweat, guys. We’ll make it.

-Written for Creative Writing on October 30, 2011

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Static Scene

A blood red sun shone through a thick veil of smoke over an ominously quiet town. Black ashes fluttered in the wind, like the snow of death. Traces of gasoline lingered on the light breeze blowing through the skeletal structure of what was once a house. Charred doors stood as if still attached to a non-existent wall and shards of glass littered the surrounding grass. Large crows with black, beady eyes pecked among the burnt remnants of what was once a kitchen. Blackened cupboards with their doors lopsidedly hanging, melted trash cans, and a shattered cookie jar yielded their contents to the persistent pecking. Metal bed frames stood out in stark contrast to the ghostly white remains of a bedroom wall that easily flaked at the slightest touch. A smoky mirror hung, cock-eyed, in what was once a bedroom. At its foot lay the broken pieces of picture frames, a young child’s smiling face peeking out between the remains of a hand-crafted frame that had managed to escape the hungry flames. Outside, on the scarred lawn covered in debris, there stood a sturdy sycamore tree. Several of its branches had been suddenly amputated and a large chunk had been gouged out of its trunk. Tucked in the nook of the roots at the base of the tree, a well-worn rag doll sat with a childlike, yet expectant look on its face. Her body was disproportionate from years of cuddling and the smile on her face, though nearly worn off from numerous kisses, was one that even tragedy could not erase. 

– Written October 6, 2011 for Creative Writing 

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The Jewish Christmas Tree Seller

It was the day before Christmas Eve in New York City. Blaring car horns traveled through the alleyways and down the streets, while the sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “White Christmas” drifted out of store entrances, beckoning to the passing shoppers. White flakes danced on the wind as they swirled down from the thick, gray blanket of clouds. Children’s faces were turned up to the sky with their tongues hanging out in an attempt to catch the small, cold morsels, while parents and grandparents held tight to their coat sleeves so as not to lose them in the stampede of Christmas shoppers.

Amongst all the hustle and bustle of the city, a small, round man shook his head as he watched passers-by scurry from door to door as if they could keep the cold at bay by moving faster. Sitting in a little run-down shack, surrounded by racks of soon-to-be Christmas trees, Elias watched as young Islamic women made their way up the stone steps of the new Islamic Cultural Center across the street. Elias rolled his eyes, “America; the land of the free,” he muttered with a harsh laugh. “I guess that makes New York the city of diversity.”

Elias looked like your stereotypical Jew: a gartel was hanging from his waist, a kippah was perched on his head, and he was sporting a thick, curly beard. But, while he looked the part, Elias certainly didn’t act the part of a devout Jew. While other Jews didn’t observe the Christmas holiday, Elias could be found every Christmas season on his little portion of the sidewalk, surrounded by rows upon rows of trees.

Turning, he straightened his cloth belt and glanced around at the mixture of prospective buyers wandering among his blue spruce and white pine trees. Moms and dads stood in small groups while their kids ran helter skelter, pointing out various trees they thought would be the perfect size for their house. Elias heard their giggles and laughter ringing through the air as the wind whipped toward him. Pulling his coat closer around him, he burrowed his face down into his beard, trying to defrost his nose.

As he watched a small boy in an oversized blue winter coat, wearing a fluffy coonskin cap pulled down low over his ears, bouncing around like a jumping bean as he pointed out the perfect tree to his chuckling father, Elias thought. “This is the life I want for Tina and me.” Just then he caught the disapproving glance of the Jewish rabbi as he hurried past on his way to the synagogue to pray. Every year, during the Christmas holiday, Elias always felt like throwing his head back and screaming to the wind, “This is America; the land where anyone can be anything they want to be!” So what if his girlfriend, Tina, was a Christian and believed that Jesus was the Messiah? So what if the Jews and Muslims that surrounded his little Christmas tree stand didn’t agree with his beliefs?

Yet, Elias acknowledged the rabbi with a nod, all while grumbling under his breath, “Judgmental old coot.”

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