I have a painting in the works, but I can't finish it since we're on a road trip. However, I'll post another short story I wrote. This one is sort of my pet at the moment. :)
"Seeking Adventure"
Fyn wanted an adventure. But adventure didn’t seem to want
him.
The rays of dawn peered into the little alleyway, straight
into his room. Now, in the case of any ordinary child, this would have awoken him.
But Fyn was different. Fyn was already awake. His bright blue eyes were glued
to the window, and he was thinking, quite hard. Adventure, that coveted spice
of life had eluded him for an entire week. In fact, ever since he had started wanting
it, it had escaped him. Fyn flopped over onto his stomach. “If only mother
hadn’t read me that book,” he muttered.
The previous week, Fyn’s mother had finished reading Peter Pan to her son. This, his mother
thought would prove a good influence on the boy. It proved to have been of
questionable benefit to Fyn, however.
Fyn sat up and stretched. He did this every morning, since
Benji, the tallest boy in town, claimed that’s why he grew so much. After one
extra effort skyward, Fyn leaped out of bed. He had waited long enough for
adventure to find him, and it wasn’t going to happen; not unless he took
matters into his own hands. He must hunt down adventure, and, if necessary,
beat it into submission. He was going to have it, if it killed him.
“Where could that boy be in such a hurry to get to today?” wondered
his mother as Fyn darted out the door. She glanced at his plate, and smiled a
bit. Whatever it was, it hadn’t affected his appetite.
Fyn strolled down the street, hands stuffed into his
pockets. Where to begin searching? Fyn’s eye was caught by the coat maker’s
shop across the way. Particularly prominent in the window was a thick, furry,
fox fur cloak. To top it off, the fox’s head was on the cloak as well. Fyn’s
eyes grew large. If he had this cloak, he would be a genuine lost boy. Perhaps
with that cloak, he would find Neverland! A quick pocket search revealed the
dismal extent of Fyn’s bankruptcy. But there was always the option of
borrowing. He walked nonchalantly across the road, and into the shop. A middle
aged man sat at the front desk, taking the order of a tall lady. The fox coat
was in the front window. Fyn edged over, keeping one eye on the shop owner.
Now, to borrow it for an hour or two. Just ‘til he found an adventure. He
quickly slipped the soft cloak off the stand, and pulling it around his
shoulders, he darted out the door.
“Hey! Stop! Thief!” The rough voice made Fyn start. He kept
running, but his short legs were no match for the huge man’s stride. He felt
himself being yanked backward.
“Hoy!” The man grabbed Fyn’s ear, and tugged the fox cloak
off the small boy. “Don’t you try that again, you little thief.” The man
squinted threateningly at Fyn.
“I was just going to borrow…”
“Oh, yes. That’s what they all say. Just don’t ever come
near my shop again.” He raised a finger warningly, and gave Fyn a shake.
After the man left, Fyn sat glumly down on the roadside. Now
what could he do? He chewed his lip, and racked his brain. What would Peter Pan
do?
Suddenly, the most thrilling part of the story leaped to his
mind; the swordfight between Peter and Captain Hook. Fyn jumped up. He could do
that! A sword fight. All he needed was a sword and someone to fight. Those
couldn’t be hard to find.
An hour later, he realized that perhaps they could be. He
had a stout stick, which could serve as a sword in a pinch. But he had no
enemies. He kicked at a pebble in the road.
“Hey, shrimp!”
Fyn turned around. A
tallish boy a few years older than him was standing behind him. “This is my
alley. If you want to walk here, you got to pay.”
Fyn could scarcely believe his luck. “Did you call me
shrimp?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Yup. I did, shrimp.”
A huge smile swept over Fyn’s face. The older boy looked
confused.
“Then, sir, I challenge you to a sword fight. To the death.”
Fyn raised his stick dramatically.
The boy laughed, a tad uneasily. “Watcha talking about?”
“A sword fight. To the death.” Fyn especially relished the
last phrase.
“Uh,” said the boy.
“Well come on, find a stick or something,” said Fyn
impatiently.
“Um, I have to go.” said the boy.
“What? You can’t just leave after I challenge you!” Fyn
frantically groped for some means to make the boy stay. “That’s cowardly!” But
the boy was already gone.
Fyn dejectedly dropped his sword. Adventure was far more
difficult to come by than the books made it out to be.
Perhaps he was going about it the wrong way. He gnawed on
his thumbnail, and thought. Maybe if he took the bad guy’s part. What would
Hook do…?
~
“Come on! You just walk off!” Fyn coaxed.
Mary pouted. “I don’t want to get wet. And the water’s cold
right now. Mother said I wasn’t to go swimming for another month. I might get
sick.”
“Mary, you want the doughnut, right?” asked Fyn, waving the
sugary, warm treat temptingly.
The little girl twisted a blonde curl, and looked down at
her frilly blue frock. “My dress will be ruined,” she whined.
“Aw, come on.”
“Do I really have to have the
rope tied around my hands, though?” asked Mary reluctantly.
“You can just wrap it around once or twice. It’s for the
effect.”
Mary gave on more look at the coveted treat, and twisted the
clothesline around her wrists.
“Now, walk the plank, girl!” commanded Fyn, in his most
villainous voice, and poked her with his stick.
“Ow! Stop it!” Mary shrieked. Fyn stopped. Mary sighed, and
peered down at the pond from her perch on the old board.
“Oh, I don’t know…”
Fyn was thoroughly fed up.
“Just walk off!” he hissed between his teeth.
Looking like a martyr, Mary finally stepped off the plank.
There was a satisfying splash. Mary’s blonde head resurfaced
a moment later.
“It’s COLD!” she gasped. After a bit of splashing, and
slipping, she clambered onto the bank.
“Where’s my doughnut?” she demanded.
Fyn handed it to her, and she trudged off, dripping and
nibbling the treat.
Fyn sat down on the grass. Somehow, that hadn’t seemed much
like an adventure. Perhaps you couldn’t make adventure come to you. Perhaps it
was hopeless.
He slowly trudged homeward. The stars were appearing, and he
gazed at the bright points of light shining through the graying sky. “Second
star to the right, and straight on till morning,” he whispered under his
breath. He looked a little to the right, and suddenly something caught his eye.
A tiny kitten, black as ink, was strutting along the ridgepole of the tall
house, and leaning far out the attic window, a little girl with long brown hair
was calling to it.
Fyn’s quick eyes drew out a path by which he could reach the
lost kitten. He scaled the front porch, and climbed up the drain pipe. Soon he
was level with the attic window. The girl caught sight of him, and gasped. Her
brown eyes grew huge.
“I’ll get him,” said Fyn, and scrambled the last few feet.
He soon had the tiny kitten safe in his jacket. He climbed carefully back to
the window and handed the kitten to the girl. “Shadow,” she crooned, and cuddled
the kitten.
“Nice name,” said Fyn.
“Thanks.” said the girl. Shyly, she looked at Fyn. “I
thought you were Peter Pan,” she said, in awe. Fyn blinked.
“You’ve read Peter Pan?” he asked, rather unnecessarily. The
girl nodded vigorously. “Oh yes. That’s why I named him Shadow.” she stroked
the kitten. “Like Peter’s shadow. The way you climbed up here, and your green
jacket, and everything, just reminded me of Peter Pan.”
A grin rose unbidden to Fyn’s face. He quickly tried to
straighten his face. “What’s your name?”
“Uh, would you call me Wendy?” asked the girl breathlessly.
A women’s voice became audible. “Jenny, time for bed.”
The girl whirled around, and then looked back at Fyn.
“Come back?”
“Sure. Have you ever flown?” asked Fyn.
Jenny’s eyes grew huge, and her mouth dropped open a little.
“No…” she managed to gasp.
“Me neither. But maybe we can figure it out tomorrow.” said
Fyn.
A little smile rose to Jenny’s lips. “I’ve always wanted to
fly.”
Fyn smiled. “Me too.”
