Seeking Adventure

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.”

When I Grow Up...

Hello! I don't have any pictures of art to post, though I have been doing some painting. 

(Hopefully I'll post those soon.)

But, I do have a short story I wrote! Hope you enjoy. :)

When I Grow Up...

Jo was running. He was late for school, and he desperately did not want to be punished in front of the whole class. He had never been late before, and he did not plan on making this a first, though school was far from his chosen activity. Perhaps the new little girl with long hair had something to do with it, or perhaps not. At any rate, Jo was running. As he reached the long, meandering road to the schoolhouse, he glanced at the dirt path cutting through the forest. The shortcut. He hadn’t taken the old path ever since the day Rick had told him about ghosts.  But this was as a special case. He had to get to school on time. He would just have to risk the ghosts. He sucked in a huge breath, as if preparing for a deep dive, and stepped off the road onto the path. The forest was cool, and dim. Jo kept his eyes riveted on the path in front of him, and broke into a sprint. The faint sound of voices startled him, and he sped up. Suddenly, he broke into a clearing. Jo stopped short. Then, all his fears took flight, vanishing in a moment beyond the leafy canopy, along with all thoughts of the school bell. Before him, spread like a scene from some delightful book, was a group of people. All were dressed unusually, with worn but bright clothes. They were chatting around a small fire over which an iron pot was hanging. The scent from the stewpot talked in a familiar manner with his stomach, inviting him closer. Jo walked over, all thoughts of school temporarily dispelled.  A few of the people were looking over at him. Jo, ever sociable, struck up a conversation with the nearest boy, who was wearing a red handkerchief around his neck.

“I’m Jo. That smells good.”

The boy grinned. “Hey Jo. Yup. That’s hobo stew.”

Jo’s eyes grew huge. “You’re a hobo?” he asked, barely breathing.

The boy grinned wider. “Yup.” he said again. Jo was scarcely able to believe his great luck. He’d waited all his life, or so it seemed, to meet a hobo. Now, here, before his eyes, stood a real, live, flesh-and-blood specimen.

“My dad’s told me about hobos,” said Jo breathlessly. “Do you ride lots of trains? What’s in hobo stew? What do you do…”

“Whoa, whoa… hold yer horses!” said the boy. “I ain’t got but one tongue to answer ya!”

“What’s your name?” asked Jo.

The boy mopped his face with the red handkerchief and considered Jo.

“Why do you wear handkerchiefs?” asked Jo.

“I’ll make ya a deal.” said the boy, finally.

“What kind of a deal?” asked Jo.

“If ya stop talkin’ fer one minute, I’ll answer yer questions.”

“Alright.” said Jo, agreeably.

“Well, my name’s Alfred.” said the boy.

“Why…”

“And I’ve ridden about five trains myself. Hobo stew has anything in it from taters, to green beans, to meat, if ya can get any.”

“Is this…” began Jo.

Alfred interrupted. “Say, ya ain’t keeping your end of the deal too well, Jo.”

Jo shut his mouth again.

“Now, this stew is a pretty good un. We’ve got a whole chicken, a couple taters, and an onion.”

Jo opened his mouth, but Alfred began talking first. “What’s a fellow like you doin’ out in the woods on a school day?”

            A sudden vision of the drab school room flashed into Jo’s mind, and with a start, he leaped to his feet. The most prominent figure in the scene was Miss Alder, frowning sadly down upon him. Another figure, smaller, and more pleasant by far hovered in the background as well, warning the delinquent of the impending punishment.

Jo fled.

He was late.

The punishment was humiliating, and the new girl ignored all attempts at friendliness, even shunning the beautiful stick of peppermint purchased especially for her. Jo sucked the rejected candy at recess glumly.

That afternoon, Miss Alder, in her bright, cheerful voice, announced that each and every boy and girl in the room was to write on their slate what they wanted to be when they grew up, and why. Immediately hands flew into the air.

“Miss Alder, may I write down ‘doctor’?” asked Lenny.

“May I be a schoolteacher? My mother was a schoolteacher.” said Maryanne, primly.

Jo sucked his pencil for a few minutes, in deliberating silence. Finally, he raised his hand as well.

Miss Alder came over. “Yes Jo?”

“May I go outside for a few minutes?” asked Jo.

“Have you finished?” asked Miss Alder, looking dubiously at the blank slate.

“No. I need to ask someone something.”

Miss Alder blinked a few times. What on earth could he want to ask anyone? Her lively curiosity got the better of her. “Alright, Jo. Just hurry,” she said, finally.

Jo leaped up and dashed out of the classroom. In a few minutes he was back, panting, but a flash of triumph and defiance in his eyes.

He scrawled out some words on his slate and marched quickly to the front, handing it in with the rest of the students, a sort of daring look on his face.

After they left, Miss Alder looked through the children’s slates.

“Schoolteacher, doctor, writer, farmer, banker…”

The last slate was Jo’s. Scrawled on his slate, in messy chalk writing was his chosen profession and reason. Miss Alder’s lips twitched.

“I want to be a hobo, because they don’t have to go to school.”

chapters ten, eleven & epilogue

(chapters one, two, three&four, five, six&seven, eight&nine,)

Sorry I've taken so long to post the last sections... :(

But here is the end!

CHAPTER TEN

“Bad news, sire,” murmured King Shardo’s messenger. 

“What can possibly be bad?” asked the king jovially, munching on a hot pretzel. 

“Well, sire,” muttered the messenger, “The East Listrans have sort of…well….they have kind of…well, to be exact, they have taken our fortress.” King Shardo leaped to his feet, stuffing the rest of the pretzel in his mouth. 

“What’s this? Taken our fortress? What…what….” He fished for the right word, “what IMPUDENCE!” he exploded, causing the whole banister sliding party to stop with startled expressions on their faces.  

 “Your soldiers have taken our fortress!” he explained in loud tones to the East Listran women and children. 

“That’s what you did to us…” reasoned a young woman. “We always have fought for each other’s fortresses. Now we have the West Listrans’ and they have ours.” 

King Shardo glared at her for a moment, and then looked puzzled. 

“So is the war is over?” asked King Shardo. 

“I suppose so,” murmured another woman. The elderly white haired woman near the edge of the crowd listened keenly to this whole talk, though no one noticed her.

~

            At the West Listran fortress, a surprisingly similar exchange took place. The East Listran prisoners of war were freed, fed, and reunited with those they knew and loved. The Princess Celia was removed from her tree, and brought into the fortress, where all the West Listran women had relented, and were feeding the Easterners freshly baked pies, meant for their returning men. 

“But,” as one West Listran women put it, “we can’t let anything this good go to waste, even if there has been an invasion.” So the Easterners were well fed. As King Cartow wiped his mouth after his fifth helping of black currant pie, he began to think. 

“Leo, Leo, my boy!” he called, beckoning to Leo, who was in deep conversation with his father. Leo looked up reluctantly, unwilling to lose one minute with his newly recovered parent. Bryn, Leo’s father smiled, and motioned for Leo to attend the king. So Leo rose and walked over. 

“Leo,” started King Cartow, eyeing the raspberry pie with a hungry glint in his eye, “this war has gone on for a long time.” 

Leo nodded. 

“The main goal of us East Listrans was to win this fortress, at least as far as I was concerned…” 

Leo nodded again. 

“So, does this mean the war is over?” 

Leo hesitated. 

“I suppose so…” he admitted. “That is, if the Westerners don’t continue fighting. But why should they?” 

“Very well!” said the king, rising.  “People of East Listra, I would like to bring your attention to the wonderful fact that the Great War is over!”  A great cheer echoed in the hall. “At least, from the East’s point of view…” he added after the cheers died down.

~

 “West Listrans! Good news! Good news indeed!” cried King Shardo. “The Great War has come to completion! Our whole purpose is fulfilled! We have won the fortress of East Listra!” The West Listrans cheered. “At least,” Shardo added, “if the Easterners agree…”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Messengers were sent between the two fortresses like shuttlecocks. Peace was declared, and the countries decided to unite into one great country.   

“What a novel idea!” cried Queen Sita when she heard. “Who would have thought that East and West Listra would ever become one country?  Quite amusing!” (We are not sure how deep her tutor delved into the matter of Listra's history.)

~

In the village of Ralet there took place a joyful reuniting, late at night just as the clock struck eleven.  Aria wept tears of happiness and amazement when Leo burst excitedly through the doorway, followed by his father! Little Mary was shy at first, but her father bestowed her with such hugs and kisses that she could not remain shy for long. She nestled up to Bryn, and whispered that this was the best birthday she had ever had.

~

 The question arose of who should be king, while the two royal families sat in East Listra’s palace room. 

“I think, personally, that I would not be a bad choice,” said King Cartow humbly. 

“But,” said King Shardo, “I do think I am better equipped for the job!” A whole new war was shaping up when a knock was heard at the door.

“Enter!” called both kings at once, and then glared at each other. A little old lady, with bright blue eyes and white hair swept into the court in a dark brown cloak. 

“YOU!” cried King Shardo. 

“The maid?” asked King Cartow. 

Leo, who had just entered the room, glanced sharply at the old women. She was the key to all this... 

“Yes, my lords. It is I.” 

Leo drew all his courage together, than spoke. “Why did you do it?” 

She glanced at him, surprised. Then she spoke to herself in a low tone, which only Leo heard. “He knows it was not just chance! Moreover, he knows it was I. Clever. Very clever boy. He might do. Yes.” Then she spoke directly  to him, shedding her false cracking voice, and speaking in a clear, sweet tone. 

“I was alive when the Great War began.  Rather, I was alive before it began. I knew what peace was. Then war came. It dragged on for years. People grew weary, but did not know how to stop, people forgot why the war started, but did not know how to stop it. So it continued. Finally, I knew it was nearly time for my departure from this world. But, oh. It made me so sad to know that this war would go on; killing innocent people, tearing apart families. If I, who knew what peace was, did not stop it, I feared it might never end. So I came up with a plan. I was the Princess’s maid.” She glanced at Celia. “I brought the news of Celia’s disappearance.” She looked at King Cartow. “I was the informant. I waved the red flag. ” She glanced at King Shardo. “And the rest, you yourselves did.” Her gaze drifted over the crowd of people coming to rest on Leo. 

“You especially, my boy. And now, for your king.” She looked at King Shardo, who tried to wipe the stunned expression from his face and smile nicely, but failed. She looked at King Cartow, who shoved the rest of his pie in his mouth and wiped it, trying to look innocent.   

“Your king shall be the one who did the most to end this war. The one who carried out the plan for peace. Kneel, all people of Listra, to your King Leo!”  Leo started violently. 

“No! I couldn’t! I…” He was drowned in applause, as the whole court sank to their knees to pay homage to their new king. 

This man had youth, strength, and courage, and would rule their country well. The old lady held up her hand. 

“Yes. You will be the greatest king in the history of Listra.  Do your best for your country. Make it strong. Never let it fall into ruin again.” Leo nodded, still stunned with this barrage of information and honor.   The old women held out her hand to King Shardo. 

“Your crown.” King Shardo looked defiant. 

“My dear lady!” he began in a huff. King Cartow snatched the crown off his head and handed it to the old women, a smirk on his face, for it was not his crown that was called for. 

“And yours,” added the old women, taking the crown offered her. Now it was King Cartow’s turn to look angry. But King Shardo grabbed the other crown and tossed it to the old women. She carefully examined them both, then, placing one on top of the other, pressed gently down. The two crowns fit together like two pieces from a puzzle. The crack had vanished. 

“No one shall ever break them apart again,” said the women, and placed the new crown on Leo’s head. The crowd cheered again, and again. The sound carried out of the castle, into the forests, into the plains, and echoed throughout the new country of Listra.

EPILOGUE

The old lady died the next morning, just as the sun rose over the horizon. She was given a quiet burial, for as Celia said 

“She wouldn’t have wanted great honors, or large ceremonies.”  Leo walked to her grave in the afternoon.  There sat Celia, looking at the blank gravestone. She looked up as Leo drew nearer. He saw a trace of wetness on her smooth brown cheek. She smiled up at him. 

“We never knew her name.” She gave a little laugh that caught in her throat. “It seems such a shame that she couldn’t have seen a bit more peace.” 

Leo looked solemn. “I know.  But I think she was truly happy. Her life could end in peace. And she died with the knowledge that our country would stay whole and peaceful for centuries to come.” 

Celia rose slowly. “All due to her peacemaking,” she added quietly. Leo put an arm around her shoulder. Celia wiped away another tear, and then smiled happily. 

“That is what we should put there.” She gestured to the blank stone. “Peacemaker.” 

Leo nodded, and then they turned slowly, hand in hand, to walk toward the rising sun and the palace, where their new life awaited them. But never would they forget that all they had gained was due to the Peacemaker of Listra.