Short Stories – The Artzy Evangawriter

Ember Creek: Snippet 2

Good morning, everyone! I posted the beginning of this short story a couple weeks ago, and here I am with the next part! Enjoy. 😀

Inside the trunk are oblong shapes and bulges all covered by white muslin and other scraps of carefully tucked fabric. My inner adventurer jumps in excitement as I reach down and gently unfold one of the objects.

When the cloth falls away, it reveals a stunning sword in a scabbard. Well, I can’t see if the sword itself is stunning, but the scabbard sure is. It’s made of leather with engravings in another language all down it. A few gems are embedded into the top of it, and laced all through the piece is stitching in a fine, silvery thread.

It’s also heavy, so I set it carefully aside and pull out the next piece.

Should I be snooping? Probably not—but Uncle Bryan did say I could look through the whole house.

The next piece is a leather chestpiece, followed by the remainder of a full set of leather and metal armor. It’s not any kind I’ve seen in pictures, so it must be old. Or not from my country at all.

Why does Uncle Bryan have this stuff? Was it his? Or his parents’?

I stare at the pieces for a long moment, shifting them so the dim light catches the metal pieces and makes them glint. It doesn’t look like a heavy outfit—being mostly leather. The sword is the heaviest part.

I pick it up again, studying the letters all over the scabbard. What does it say? Heaving myself to my feet, I lug the weapon after me and descend the ladder into my room.

I have to ask Uncle Bryan about this. I know both he and my father fought in the war, so it might belong to him. He might be able to explain why it looks so strange and what the letters mean.

He’s still out on the porch when I come downstairs, and I lean the sword awkwardly against the doorframe.

At the sound, his shoulders tense before he looks at me.

“I forgot you were here for a moment, Corey. Sorry about—what’s that?”

I motion to the sword. “This? Oh, I thought you might be able to tell me what it is. Where’d it come from? There’s a whole—”

He grabs the sword carefully, towering over me as he studies it. I step back, out of the doorway to give him space.

A long moment passes, then he looks past the pommel at me. “You opened the trunk?”

“You said—”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again.” With that, he leads me back up the stairs to my room and ascends into the attic. In the dim light, I scurry up just in time to see him stuffing the sword back into the trunk. I watch silently as he replaces the rest of the items and shuts the lid.

“Uncle Bryan?” I say timidly as he sits back on his haunches. His head turns to look at me.

“What, Corey?”

“What are they for? Were they yours?” I ask, biting my lip. He doesn’t seem mad, but the adventurer spirit has already died within me.

“Don’t come up here again, Corey. Please. If you tell anyone about those things, you could get hurt.” He motions for me to climb back down the ladder, and when I do, he follows me, shutting the trap door and latching it shut. But it’s not locked.

In silence, he leads me out of my room and back down to the dining room. And all the while I’m wondering, Who would hurt me? You, Uncle Bryan? Or someone else?

Thanks so much for reading! What do you think so far? I’d love to chat in the comments!

~Janet

Daily Sketch/Mini Life Update

Allow me to tell you a quick story.

A young(ish) girl pulls herself out of bed one early morning, woken by the insistent beeping of her alarm clock.

Eyes half closed with sleep, she quickly pulls on workout clothes and slips out of her bedroom in the pre-dawn light. Glittering frost covers everything, and she pulls on her farm jacket quickly, shivering. A tingling of chilly air greets her as she steps outside, heading across the gravel path to the chicken coop.

A quick two scoops of feed fall into her bucket and she unlatches the gate, entering the chicken yard. The feed scatters, half in and half out of the feeder. She opens the chicken coop door, watching for a silent moment as chickens stumble out into the light—less awake than herself. The geese and ducks are the most alert, squawking their annoyance at her as she swings the gate shut again and latches it.

Dropping her (now empty) feed bucket off by the can of feed, she hurries, toes cringing in her crocks, back to the house and across the deck to the front gate. Chilly fingers struggle to open her brother’s hand-welded masterpiece before she finally heads across to her truck.

The engine complains loudly when she turns the key in the ignition, but after a tense moment it finally starts. She waits a long moment, turning the air as hot as it can go, full blast at the windshield.

When the air starts making progress on the intricate icy spirals on the glass, she grabs her scraper and steps outside for a moment, loosening the ice and brushing it off quickly. Then back in the truck, she checks her mirrors and back window before popping the vehicle into reverse and backing out of the driveway.

Time for workout.

Allow me to interrupt here to say that the girl in this story is, in fact, me. This is a rough sketch of most of my weekday mornings. I only workout three times a week, and on the other days Bible reading follows chicken-opening.

This morning my aunt and I did a boxing workout (pretty fun, actually!) before I headed back home, all too aware that I had zero idea of what my blog post would be about.

So I’m coming out truthfully here, and apologizing for not preparing a post this week. Even though it’s winter, things aren’t slowing down much over here! Instead, this last week was filled up with plans in the first day and a half, and I’ve been going somewhere or doing something pretty much every day.

Obviously, I could have planned a bit better.

I should have.

And I plan to do so this week—blocking out an actual time to write blog posts for the coming weeks!

But I figured a little morning sketch would be a fun (albeit random) addition to the regular posts. I hope you enjoyed it!

If you’d like more ‘daily sketch’ stories, let me know! It was rather fun to write 😀

Until next time, God bless!

~Janet

PS: What does your usual weekday morning look like?

Ember Creek: Snippet 1

Good morning everyone! Today I’ll be sharing with you a snippet from a short story I’m writing—Ember Creek. I hope you enjoy it!

They said the war is over. But I know that it isn’t, not really. A war rages in my family, in my own heart. And the worst part is, I don’t know what it’s all about.

Snippets of whispered conversations, slips of paper hidden out of sight. And then the unexpected news—I’m going to stay with Uncle Bryan for the summer.

Two days later, my trunk thumps onto my new bedstead—an antique white piece of furniture stuffed into the corner of Uncle Bryan’s spare room. And it’s spare alright—nothing here besides the bed and a window seat with a view of the forest.

It’s called Ember Creek, apparently. I go downstairs to where Uncle is frying up some rabbit for an early dinner. At least he was expecting me, but he doesn’t seem very excited now that I’ve finally arrived.

His stocky frame blocks the stove as he stands there, silently flipping meat to sear it perfectly. The smell is tantalizing, but I fold my hands quietly and wait, not wanting to seem hurried.

“Want two or three pieces?” He asks, sliding the tray of steaming meat onto the table.

“Maybe two?” I say carefully, and he serves me up the desired amount. When I take a bite, the taste is wonderful.

“You know, I’ve never had rabbit before.” I say after my first bite.

Uncle Bryan’s short-cropped beard goes up and down with each silent bite.

“Did you shoot them yourself?”

“Umhmm.” He motions to a longbow hanging above the door. He’s a hunter, then. My parents never told me much about my uncle, and this is the first time I’ve seen him in my life—that I can remember.

We finish quietly, and I help him wash the dishes. After, he pulls a pipe and some fleurish out of a cupboard and motions me to step outside with him. He pulls up a chair for me, and leans against the railing as he smokes.

Finally, he turns his gaze from the vast forest of pines to me. The pipe rests gently against the railing as he studies my face. I look away, focusing on the birds flitting here and there in the trees.

“You look a lot like your mother.” He says slowly.

“I know. Everyone says that. Some say when I’m older, I’ll look like her twin.” I smile, picturing my mother’s strong but loving eyes. If only I could be as brave as her.

Uncle Bryan laughs softly, a twinkle in his eye. “Aye, that you might.” Then the smile fades and he turns back to the forest. “Twins.” I can barely hear it, but I’m sure that’s what he said.

In my turn, I study him. He looks a lot like my father, but I don’t say so. He knows it, I’m sure. They’re the real twins in the family, and when I saw him first I knew immediately. It was a little disconcerting, the resemblance. But I’d get used to it eventually.

“May I go up to my room?” I finally say. He puffs on in silence for a moment, then nods.

“Go right ahead. You can explore the whole house if you want.” He gives me a small smile, and I leave the porch.

After pulling out the clothes and things I’ll need for the next morning, I take advantage of his offer to explore. I’ve heard a few things about this house—this was where my dad and Uncle Bryan grew up. It’s a log cabin, and pretty small. The only thing I’m interested in is the attic my dad has told me about. I save it for last, hoping it will be more interesting than the rest of the house.

The trap door is located in my own room, and when I slip up the ladder to the attic, it’s like stepping back in time.

There’s a lot of dust, first off. And not much light. Perfect. This is how an old attic should be, and for the first time since arriving I feel a glow of adventure. Maybe this summer away from home won’t be as boring as expected.

As I rummage through boxes of old clothes and toys, I can feel my dad’s presence acutely. Before the war, when he and his twin brother were kids—this might have been where they played.

Then I come across an old map. It’s only about 20 years old, but the land names have changed a lot since before the war. I set it aside to peruse more later, and push further into the corner of the attic.

Some old documents and books. A few scraps of an army uniform. And an old trunk.

I hold my breath, hoping it isn’t locked. When the lid opens, I sigh. It would have been more mysterious if it was locked, since now I’m sure it’ll just be more clothes and stuff.

But when I flip the lid all the way open, that’s not what I find. Not at all.

A Collection of Flash Fiction

This last week in my online community, The Young Writer’s Workshop (YWW or YDubs), I’ve had the pleasure of running a contest! In particular, a flash fiction contest—meaning each piece can’t be longer than 200 words.

For context, 200 words is around four full paragraphs. So, very short.

This has strengthened my technique in telling a story quickly and concisely. I can’t waste words, so I choose them very carefully.

Here are three of the stories I’ve written this last week based on picture prompts! I hope you enjoy them, and let me know in the comments which one is your favorite (mine is the chicken one XD)!

(For reference, each picture is followed by the story I wrote based on it.)

Hidden Friends

I always felt a bit out of place.

I didn’t seem to belong in the crowds at school or at home with my large and noisy family. I’ve always been the odd one out and got made fun of for it when I was little.

Now that I’m older, I ignore the comments about my awkwardness and the way I always sit alone in the corner. I can deal with it, and besides, I’m happy here. I don’t mind being alone, because I’m actually not.

I know lots of other boys and girls like me. I am acquainted with tons of heroes and heroines, villains and sidekicks. Darcy and Elizabeth are my favorites, among many, many others.

You may realize what I’m talking about now.

My best friends are the ones who live in books. I understand them, and they understand me. Although I might not fit in this world for now, my books show me that someday I can.

And I will.

Watch out, world!

Home

I used to long for Earth because I thought it was there that I would find adventure and, thus, contentment. But I know better now. I belong here, where I was born many years ago.

My home has golden spires reaching toward the sky, shining in the dewy light of the morning sun.

Green grass surrounds the mountain I live on, always soft and glowing. Although I am not royalty, my home is like a castle to me, a cottage nestled among the bonsai-like trees, high up on the mountain. It is like a mini Cair Paravel (a castle in one of the human’s books) but more glorious. At least in my opinion.

This will always be home to me, no matter where I go or what I see. The French Notre Dame on Earth pales in comparison to the love and family I have here. Although I used to long for adventure, now I realize that home is where the greatest adventures happen.

Mam and Pap are the only hero and heroine I need.

This Was a Mistake

I knew it was a bad idea from the start. I argued with Red when he suggested it.

“We aren’t meant to be in trees!” I told him.

But he didn’t listen. And none of the other hens listened either. Master was gone, so naturally, the only thing to do was climb a tree. After all, we’re birds, right?

Yeah, we are. But not flying birds. At least, we don’t fly much. Only enough to get into a tree and not out of it again.

So here we are, sitting in the dormant apple tree.

And apparently, every single hen except me is scared of heights (of course, they only realized that once all of them were in the tree).

Helpful. Very helpful.

I look over at Red, who gives me a guilty look. The guard of the flock raises his voice over the terrified squawking of the hens and asks me, “Why didn’t you tell us not to? You’re supposed to be the sensible one!”

Hope you enjoyed reading!

God bless,

Janet

The DLF and Other Bookish Thoughts (Mostly Related to C.S. Lewis)

The DLF: one of the best characters C.S. Lewis ever created, in my opinion. Well, all of them are good . . . but the DLF is one of the funniest. I can’t really pick favorites after Tumnus. 😉

I hope you know what I’m talking about . . . If you don’t, go read The Chronicles of Narnia and then you will!

Assuming you do know what I’m talking about, though, let’s move ahead.

First, the grand reveal mentioned in my last post, A New Challenge . . . With My Sister! In that post, I promised to reveal the character I drew if no one guessed who he was. So far, I don’t think anyone has.

So I must reveal the truth . . . although with all the talk at the beginning of this post, I think you may have guessed already!

The character is . . .

The DLF, or Dear Little Friend, otherwise known as Trumpkin the Dwarf from the land of Narnia. He appears in Prince Caspian first, then there is a slight mention of him in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and a last hurrah in The Silver Chair.

Personally, I think his part in The Silver Chair is the best, since by that point in his life, he is quite old and mostly deaf. And thus, quite funny.

For the fun of it, here is a direct quote of one of his conversations in the abovementioned book!

“Tu-whoo! Ahem! Lord Regent,” said the Owl, stooping down a little and holding its beak near the Dwarf’s ear.

“Heh? What’s that?” said the Dwarf.

“Two strangers, my lord,” said the Owl.

“Rangers! What d’ye mean?” said the Dwarf. “I see two uncommonly grubby man-cubs. What do they want?”

“My name’s Jill,” said Jill, pressing forward. She was very eager to explain the important business on which they had come.

“The girl’s called Jill,” said the Owl, as loud as it could.

“What’s that?” said the Dwarf. “The girls are all killed! I don’t believe a word of it. What girls? Who killed ‘em?”

“Only one girl, my lord,” said the Owl. “Her name is Jill.”

“Speak up, speak up,” said the Dwarf. “Don’t stand there buzzing and twittering in my ear. Who’s been killed?”

“Nobody’s been killed,” hooted the Owl.

“Who?”

“NOBODY.”

“All right, all right. You needn’t shout. I’m not so deaf as all that. What do you mean by coming here to tell me that nobody’s been killed? Why should anyone have been killed?”

“Better tell him I’m Eustace,” said Scrubb.

“The boy’s Eustace, my lord,” hooted the Owl as loud as it could.

“Useless?” said the Dwarf irritably. “I dare say he is. Is that any reason for bringing him to court? Hey?”

And it goes on. Anyway . . . this is an excerpt from one of my favorite parts of the book, and I thought you might enjoy reading it as well.

This being one of my fondest memories of Trumpkin, I was quite pleased to find that I had drawn him for the challenge! Although I must say, he isn’t very fat and his beard isn’t quite as long as it should have been in my drawing. Other than that, I think he looked pretty good!

Now on to the other bookish thoughts as mentioned in the title of this post.

I was in a Write Like C.S. Lewis competition once. It was a lot of fun, and I’m here today to share some of what happened during it!

Most importantly, I learned a TON about Lewis’s writing and style, for to be able to write like someone, you must first know how they write, right?

Right.

So I learned how C.S. Lewis wrote.

I read The Magician’s Nephew and some of Mere Christianity to study his style and came to really appreciate how simple his writing is!

For example, Lewis barely ever uses any dialogue tags other than said. Even when it’s a question, the character said it. Read the part I quoted above, and you’ll probably notice it too!

I think part of the reason he did this was to clear away the clutter of too many descriptions. Using shouted and asked and questioned all the time can make it a little confusing for the reader. I don’t think it’s wrong to use those descriptions once in a while, but said is so much easier!

One of the assignments in the competition was to write a scene in Lewis’s style. I used said a whole lot in that assignment! 😂

One other thing that you may have also noticed about Lewis’s style (especially in the Narnia series), is that he uses a lot of parentheses. It’s almost like he, the author, was jumping quickly into the story to explain something to the reader. I enjoyed this while reading his books and also when copying his style for my assignment.

But enough talk. I would love to let you read this assignment for yourselves! It is a fan fiction, as you’ll soon see. I hope you enjoy it!

If you were to go into the English countryside many years ago and walk down a certain gravel road lined with beech trees, and if you were also to take a left turn when said road came to an end, you would have found yourself on the property of the Settle family. They owned a large house (that could be called a mansion by some people) with acres of land surrounding it, and they kept many servants. They had two children, named Alisha and Dunlap.

One fine morning, the two children were busy out in the yard in back of their house, and since they could find nothing better to do, they decided to play at mining. It was quick work to find two small shovels in the gardener’s hut, and they soon set to digging in the grass (they were not very well-disciplined children in the general sense of the term).

“I say,” Alisha said presently, “I do not think this ground is very nice to dig in. It is very hard.” And she set aside her shovel impatiently.

“Perseverance,” said Dunlap, “is one of the greater virtues you could cultivate, Alisha. I do not find it so hard after all. Perhaps you have struck a rock.”

“Perhaps we could switch holes. I’m sure you wouldn’t find it so hard—since you are a boy,” said Alisha.

Dunlap shrugged, and soon the two were at it again, having switched positions. Dunlap quickly realized, however, that his sister had not been completely mistaken in saying the ground was hard at that spot. He deduced that something was under the surface—probably a rock, as he had first surmised. Digging around it, his shovel constantly scraped against the hard surface just hidden from view.

“Alisha,” he said eventually, “come help me uncover this—I am absolutely certain something is hidden here. Yes, right there; do you feel it? I think it may be a wooden box.” Alisha became very excited about this, and they worked quickly to uncover the thing, which they were now certain was a box of some kind.

“Oh-o-oh,” Alisha said once the box (for it was a box) was uncovered. It was a beautiful red color and about six inches long and half again as wide. Dunlap lifted it out of the ground, and the two set about opening it.

As the lid was lifted, a slight glow met their eyes, and the two children stared in awe as they looked down upon many rows of beautiful rings. They were set in groups: a green and a yellow, then a little space, then another green and another yellow. They shone gently in the sunlight.

“Golly,” Dunlap said, “I wonder what these are. Should we touch them?”

For answer, Alisha reached forward and grabbed one of the green rings. She admired it for a long moment, running her finger around the edge of it before sticking it in her pocket and reaching for a yellow one.

And then, suddenly, just as she touched the coveted object, Alisha vanished. Dunlap gave a yell of surprise, looking around for his sister. But she was completely gone. Dunlap looked at the rings in astonishment, his surprise growing when he saw that the yellow ring Alisha had been about to pick up was also gone.

He reached into the box to grab one of the yellow ones as well. The yard, the house, and the box of rings disappeared immediately. For a moment, he could see nothing, then he was aware of a gentle green light coming down from above him. He couldn’t feel anything around him—he felt almost as if he were flying. “Indeed,” he said, “I almost feel as if I were floating in the air.”

For a moment he stayed there, then (slowly at first, then faster) he began to go up. As he did, he felt the growing sensation that he was underwater. And just as he was growing desperate for a breath of air, he broke out into the air and found himself crawling out of a shallow pool.

He stood up and realized, much to his surprise, that he wasn’t wet at all and he could breathe quite easily. He looked around wonderingly. He was in a forest of some sort, for there were very tall trees all around. He also noticed many pools scattered throughout and around the trees—all exactly perfect circles.

It was very still. And then he saw a girl sitting on the grass not very far away, seemingly asleep. For a moment he was very confused, but then he recognized her—it was Alisha.

What did you think? I genuinely hope you enjoyed my little story! I’d love to hear what other little things about Lewis’s style you may have noticed that I copied (or forgot!). Who is your favorite Narnia character?

God bless and have a lovely day!

~Janet (a die-hard fan of C.S. Lewis!)

The Parrot’s Blessing, Part 4

Part 4, yes. But also the end of the story! Enjoy! (You can find the previous sections of this story in the Menu at the top of the screen, under Writing and Short Stories😉).

The next day it was even worse. When Canon and Samantha arrived at his house, Justin had barely time to say hello when Canon was off her shoulder and in his face, squawking and flapping his wings furiously.

Warding off the bird, Justin held his hands up and backed away, waiting for him to calm down. Samantha held on tight to him, apologizing again.

But Justin wasn’t sure how long this could last. “I’m sorry, Samantha. I wish we could hang out more, but if he attacks me every time… I just don’t know how it’ll work.” He grimaced inwardly, hating himself for suggesting it.

Samantha’s ever-present smile dissapeared as she looked at him. Canon was in her arms, struggling for his freedom. “I can just leave him at home, if that works.”

Justin nodded slowly. “That might work. But what about today? I wouldn’t want to make you have to hold him all the time.”

“Here, take the camera.” She held it out to him underneath the bird. He took it quickly, barely avoiding Canon’s beak.

“Thief!” The bird screeched, bucking in Samantha’s arms.

“If you can look at it while we walk, he should be fine. He seems to only be angry when you’re near me.” She explained.

Justin nodded, wishing it wasn’t so. They started off, Justin admiring the small camera and inspecting it briefly. There was nothing obvious that was broken or in bad repair, so he told her he’d have to take it apart at home to get a closer look.

After that, they carried on a choppy conversation above Canon’s constant insults. It might have seemed funny if he were reading it in a book, but as it was, Justin saw no humor in the annoying and awkward situation.

After their walk was over, Samantha left Justin with her camera, saying she’d be back the next day (without Canon) to pick it up.

He worked on it that evening, finding and fixing the broken lense. He tested it by taking a photo of a flower vase on the dining room table, then set it on his desk and went to bed after praying with his parents.

The next morning, he was eating a quick breakfast when Samantha knocked on the door. His mother waved goodbye as he swung a jacket on and rushed out the door, grabbing the camera.

“Good morning! You’re in a rush.” Samantha joked as he exploded out the door.

“Sorry. I was eating breakfast when you came.” He explained, holding out the camera. “I fixed it!”

Delighted, Samantha turned it on and held it up. “Thank you! I—” At this moment, a sneaky bird dropped down from the roof and landed on her shoudler.

Shock and habitual fear ran through Justin, as he stared at the escaped parrot. “How’d he get out?”

Samantha was silent, glancing at her bird suspiciously. Pocketing her camera, she took the bird onto her wrist, where he sat looking at them both with a look that said, what did I do?

“I left him in his cage…” Samantha muttered, cocking her head to one side. Canon mirrored the image, causing them both to laugh. Then he turned and stared at Justin for a long moment.

Warily, Justin raised a hand and waved awkwardly, hoping he wouldn’t anger the parrot on accident. But Canon didn’t seem inclined to attack, and actually flew to his outstretched arm and perched there.

“Nice boy!” He squaked loudly. Justin winced, but smiled nervously as Canon rubbed his head on his shoulder. Why’d he have to say that of all things?

“Well, I guess he’s okay with you now.” Samantha said wonderingly. Canon bobbed his head up and down, the walked down Justin’s arm to his owner. He stuck his head the pocket of her yellow hoodie, pulling out the string handle of the camera. Before he could finish pulling out the newly-fixed device, Samantha gently released the string from his beak.

“I think I understand now—he trusts you because you fixed my camera! Or something like that, at least. You’ve proved yourself to be a good guy—or as he says, a nice boy—and now he’s ok with us being friends.” Samantha said slowly.

Justin smiled, relieved at the strange but reasonable explanation. “Well, that’s good I guess. Although I never thought I’d need a parrot’s blessing to be friends with someone.”

Samantha laughed. “True, it’s sorta strange and hilarious. C’mon, let’s go walk!”

THE END

And there you are! The end of the story. 😊 I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!

God bless,

Janet

The Parrot’s Blessing, Part 3

In which the plot thickens, and Canon tries to make himself more of a nuisance (and succeeds). Find Part 1 and 2 HERE and HERE.

The next morning, Justin met Samantha at the mailbox. Canon was perched on her shoulder again, still staring at Justin.

“I really think he doesn’t like me.” Justin commented after a while. Samantha just laughed.

“He just acts mean sometimes, as a guard for me. He never starts out trusting anyone, until they prove themselves.”

Justin raised an eyebrow. “So I have to pass the parrot test before I can be your friend?” He asked nervously. The bird made him uncomfortable.

“I guess you could say that.” She laughed lightly, “but it isn’t that hard. Here, you want to hold him?”

Justin cringed inwardly, remembering the parrot’s insults from the day before. But Samantha had just laughed them off, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, was it?

He took Canon from Samantha, placing him on his shoulder. The parrot squawked loudly in his ear, causing him to wince.

“Sorry about that. Cannon, settle down! He’s a nice boy. Nice boy…that’s it!” She grinned as Cannon settled down on Justin’s shoulder, quiet.

Justin’s face burned hotly from her description of him, but at least he wasn’t going deaf. He smiled nervously at Samantha, hoping he wouldn’t make a fool of himself again.

“See, he likes you!”

If only you did, too. “Uh, huh.” He took a tentative step forward, the bird wobbling on his shoulder. Samantha gave an encouraging smile.

“He’ll keep his balance. If he doesn’t, he can just fly off and come back. You’ll be fine.”

Justin nodded, then yelped loudly. A flurry of brightly colored feathers blocked his veiw for a moment, then he saw Samantha’s concerned face. Canon was gone. He held a hand up to his ear, wincing as he felt a slight cut where the naughty parrot had pecked him. His hand came away bloody.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” Samantha gasped. Justin grimaced, clenching his jaw in pain. He would not whimper.

“Yeah, I don’t think he likes me.” He said through clenched teeth.

Samantha was silent for a moment, digging in her pocket for a tissue. Justin held it to his ear gratefully, and she gave him a shy smile.

“I’m so sorry about that. I’ve never seen him attack someone like that.” The parrot in question was nowhere in sight, having flown off after pecking Justin. They searched for him for a few minutes, but gave up quickly, Samantha explaining that when he flew off like that he would come back on his own time, and never before.

They walked on silently, not sure what to say. Eventually, Samantha broke the awkward silence.

“So what do you like to do? I mean, after you’re done with school and everything, on your own time?”

Justin hesitated, hoping she wouldn’t think his hobby was weird. “I—like to take apart things and put them back together. I finished a camera yesterday, but I’ve done radios, phones, an old computer… things like that.”

Samantha nodded, impressed. “That’s so cool! I wonder if you’d be able to fix my camera—Something’s not working and it won’t focus when I try to take a picture.”

Justin nodded excitedly. “Sure! I can do that, easy.”

After that their conversation was more relaxed and time passed quickly. Soon they had walked a whole loop around the neighborhood, ending in front of Justin’s house again. They stopped by the mailbox.

“Thank you for coming with me, Justin! It made my walk a lot more fun.” Samantha beamed at him, causing his heart to race. He smiled weakly back.

“You’re welcome. It was fun for me, too.” He touched his ear gently, feeling that the blood had dried. “Well, mostly fun.” He quirked a smile, causing Samantha to laugh.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry about that! Hey, I’ll bring my camera by tomorrow for you to look at, if that works?”

“Sure,” he nodded, biting his lip. He stuck out his hand, not sure how else to say goodbye.

She grinned, shaking the proffered hand. “See you tomorrow!” Just then, a streak of color flew down from a tree across the road and Canon landed on their hands, squawking so angrily that he couldn’t find anything witty to say.

Justin recoiled, trying to avoid another painful attack. But as soon as he let go of Samantha’s hand, the bird calmed down and took his perch on her shoulder, glaring at Justin.

“Canon! Quit that, right now!” Samantha whacked her pet gently on his back, upset. “I’m so sorry Justin. I’d swear he was jealous, if I didn’t know better.” She smirked and shook her head, waving to him as she walked away.

Justin leaned on his mailbox, confused. What did she mean, ‘If I didn’t know better.’?

Hope you enjoyed it! 😃

God bless,

Janet

The Parrot’s Blessing, Part 2

A while back, I posted the beginning of a short story I wrote, called The Parrot’s Blessing. It’s a comedic romance… sort of. I decided to post the second part today, and I hope you enjoy it!!!

She did come again. In fact, she came every day at around 7:10am for a week. Justin watched her each day, wondering who she was. Finally, he decided to try to talk to her.

On the eighth day, he went outside at 7. His jacket flapped in the cool breeze, causing him to shiver. He waited by the mail box for her, unsure what he would say.

When she finally came around the bend in the road, he tried to look like he wasn’t watching her, pretending to check the mail several times and pulling a few stray weeds. She was just passing him when he stood up, his face hot.

“Morning.” He croaked before she could walk away.

“Morning! How’re you?” She slowed down and stopped, her parrot flying ahead for a moment before returning to her shoulder.

Justin looked away, blinded by the morning sun glinting off her bright hair. Or maybe to hide his face. “Good. You?” He managed. Why couldn’t he act normal? He hadn’t even admitted to himself that he liked her… yet here he was making a complete fool of himself.

“I’m wonderful this morning.” He could hear the smile in her voice, even as he looked at his muddy shoes. She was silent for a moment. Then, “Say, do you live in that house?”

Justin nodded.

“It’s a nice house. I walk by here every morning, and I’ve noticed it.”

“Yeah. It’s a nice house.” Justin agreed, glancing at it. He’d never noticed how nice it was until now.

“I’m Samantha. What’s your name?” The parrot preened on her shoulder, giving Justin the stink eye.

“Justin.” He shook her hand, finally managing to look at her face.

“No-no-touchy!” The parrot squaked loudly. Justin retreated a step, glancing at it nervously.

“He must not like me.” Justin said wryly.

“Never mind Canon, he’s normally pretty rude.” She grinned playfully, scratching the bird under it’s chin.

Justin nodded, not sure what he could say in response. Finally, as she seemed ready to say goodbye, he said desperately, “Do you live near here?” She nodded, her bright smile returning.

“About half a mile down the road, on Jasper street.”

“Geez!” Justin breathed. “How can you walk so far each morning? What time do you get up?”

She laughed. “It’s not that far! Do you not walk much?”

Justin smirked. “I’ve never really tried. I’m homeschooled and don’t get out that much.”

“Lazy!” Canon chose the moment to inturrupt. Justin pursed his lips, wishing the bird couldn’t speak.

But Samantha was unfazed, simpy bopping her pet on the beak as she explained, “I like to see the houses around here, and get to know the people. Want to walk with me sometime? It’d do you good—you’re pretty pale.” Her crystal blue eyes danced as Justin nodded slowly.

“Cauliflower!” The bird commented.

Justin stumbled for words, flustered by the insult. “I guess so. I get up at 7, and you come by at 7:10. I’d be ready by then tomorrow, if that works for you?”

She was silent for a moment, nodding slowly. “Sure. Say, how do you know I come at 7:10? I didn’t even know that!”

He was found out. Justin glanced at his shoes, trying to come up with a good excuse.

But she beat him to it, saying, “Have you been watching me? How long? Haven’t you ever considered that I might find it creepy to be watched by a complete stranger?” Her brows were furrowed in concern.

“Creepy!” Canon observed. Why did he have to have such a good vocabulary?

“No! I didn’t mean it to be creepy. I’m sorry. I saw you a week ago, and I only watched you because I wanted to know who you are, promise!” Justin looked at her, pleading for her to believe him.

She considered for a moment, finally nodding. “That’s alright. I trust you.” Her smile relieved Justin considerably, and he returned it happily. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” The parrot stared him out of sight as Samantha headed on her merry way, leaving Justin feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Absentmindedly, he checked for mail before remembering belatedly that there was none. He’d already checked three times.

What did you think? Who’s your favorite character (mine is definitely Canon 😂) If you’d like more of this story, just like this post and comment below! If there’s enough interest, I’ll post the next part next week! 😁

God bless,

Janet