Badgerblog

It was boiling outside one day when I decided to take a drive. I got in the car, and I turned it on and put on the air conditioner. It made my hair flow. I started to drive, and at first I went a little slow, then a little faster.

When I went faster, I rolled down the window. The air outside made my hair go wild like when you sleep on an ant pile.

As I went faster, my hair got crazier than ever. I went so fast I had to drive in a zigzag because of the other cars.

When I came to an empty road, I went faster than a jackrabbit on a rollercoaster.

Magdalena, fourth grade, Creedmoor Elementary School

On the planet Naboo, Clone Trooper George of the 501st was on an important mission and armed with a rifle. But he aborted the mission. As he ran, he had no memory of anything that had happened, and yet he saw the future. He had a plan. He started his plan. It looked like this: Sixfivefourthreetwoone. That was the plan. So, he began. But he tripped and was badly hurt.

The leader said, “Ha ha ha ha ha.”

George said, “I’m . . . I’m in danger.” And he was.

* * * * *

To be continued immediately: Fox heard his calls for help and so did Rex and Gree.

George wasn’t in the ship for three hours after the battle on Naboo. It is a mystery where he went.

Logan, fourth grade Wooldridge Elementary School

My cousin Lauren has a heart because she is always nice. She is always like, “You want water?” She is only three years old, I think.

When someone falls or cries, she goes and says they hurt themselves. I love my cousin so much. She is like my little hero. We always play together.

When my cousin first wakes up, she is grumpy. When I go get her, I ask, “You want to come with me?” She always says yes. I love her so much. I want her to always be my cousin. She likes to dance and go outside.

When my cousin goes outside, she likes to play tag and do cheers. My sister and I bend our knees and my cousin Lauren gets on top of our knees and stands up. She also says, “Go! Go!” She has brown hair. She is short, and most of the time I see her she has new shoes.

Zianne, fourth grade, Bluebonnet Trail Elementary School

My aunt has hair as curly as two waves atop each other. It is as short as a cat’s tail. It is black like a crow’s feather. It smells like earth, just like her. When you smell it, you can also smell the cocoa butter on her neck. It is sweet.

I love to play with the many curls in it. It feels like silk bunched together. It reminds me of a lion’s mane, short and curly, just like hers. It moves like a palm tree in the wind—slow, steady, and beautiful.

Rylie, fifth grade, Popham Elementary School

Sonai says colors from the fire determine our people’s fate. Sonai says I am too young to light the wooden ring in our people’s colors from the fire celebration. I say, I am nine years old and that makes me a woman. Father says, “Kaika, you are too young. What if the arrow drops and burns you?”

“Well,” I say, “what if the arrow shooter misses and burns you to the ground?”

Suddenly Father’s smile turns to a scowl, and I am sent to my family’s teepee. Later that night, when the snow white moonlight pierces my warm bright eyes, Sonai tells us it is time for our fate deciding. My mother Javen goes first. “Ah, Javen, you will be expecting soon!” Mother’s eyes fill with joy.

Next, Akzir, my annoying older sister. “Akzir, you will have good luck!” She starts prancing around like a pony, until mother stops her.

And finally . . . drumroll . . . me. “Ah Kaika, you will go through an adventure.” What did he mean? I couldn’t ask because he had vanished from behind the ivy green flames. Besides, nothing ever happens to me.

AWOO! Huh? AWOO! Wolves. I look up. Father is awake too. “Kaika, stay here, with your mother and sister,” he says. I knew he was out there fighting the pack of wolves. But I was worried. Last time Father fought a wolf, he ended up wounded.

“Ahhhhhh!” What now?

“Ahhhhhhhh!” Father! Suddenly, there is Father, hovering from a wolf’s jaws, cherry blood spilling from his face. When the wolf runs off with the last of our winter meat, I run too. I run past the trees, and onto the fragile, icy blue lake until I see the wolf. Step . . . creak . . . step . . . crack . . . step . . . crack! Then boom! As I fall into the freezing water, the wolf falls with me. I open my eyes: pain. But I see the wolf.

The meat falls from its jaws as it falls into the darkness of the lake. I catch the meat and climb to the surface onto the icy blue frozen lake.

Whoosh! The flaming arrow goes through the hoop. My feather earrings sway along with my porcupine dress. “All hail Kaika the Great!” my father says.

That’s when it hits me. The colors of the fire don’t determine our fate. We do.

I look at my wooden medal. It says: To Kaika Lavfenta Khant, for extraordinary bravery. My new pet fox prowler lays on my leg. The sunset fades as winter ends.

THE END

Taylor, middle school, north summer camp

In the very beginning, God created animals and placed them where he thought they’d go best. He also picked a ruler or a “king” of each habitat, like Tiger: Ruler of the Amazon. He made special privileges and responsibilities for them. All was well for a certain amount of time. That was before King of the Pond started taking advantage. God had put Toad as the pond ruler, or Toad: King of the Pond.

“Everyone look at me! I can stand on one leg and hop up and down,” said Toad. Everyone ignored the toad. It was true and clear that God had given Toad very strong legs to hop on. When he saw that no one was paying attention, he said “I am the best song singer of all of you, listen: “la de mi sooo.” Indeed, God had given him a beautiful voice. But no one liked him bragging. “Why does no one respect me anymore?” Toad wondered. Well, the question should have been re-phrased but the simple answer was—you brag too much.

“Look at me, I’m slick and green, I am beautiful. I catch food by the mouthfuls with my tongue.” God had given Toad a slick beautiful body and a huge tongue to catch food to share with his fellow animal friends, not to brag about. God saw that Toad was bragging too much, so he gave Toad a consequence.

“You will grow a bump each time you brag.”

And so each time the Toad bragged, he grew an ugly bump on his slick body. Toad still was too boastful to stop bragging. God added, “Your legs will now be weaker so you have to hop on two legs.” This didn’t stop Toad from bragging. Now God saw that all of this was still not stopping Toad from bragging, so he did one last thing. He gave him a small, skinny, catching-one-fly-at-a-time tongue. Toad did not care, he could still sing and brag just the same with his mouth. So God gave him an ugly voice. Finally, Toad stopped bragging. He was too ashamed. He had nothing else. This saddened and embarrassed him so much that he ran to the nearby marsh and hid under the moss.

Toad finally learned his lesson. That’s why you rarely see toads in ponds now and why they hide in dark green marshes.

Gloria, sixth grade, Austin Waldorf summer camp

The sound of snarling pit bulls rings in my ears as clear as a bell, a rigid, cold bell. I get chills up my spine. “Bang!” I hear a shot like a firecracker. Within the next few moments a bloodcurdling screech of pain and agony cuts through the air, through my head, stabbing my soul like a knife slashed in water.

“Ari, get inside!” my grandmother bellows with a terrified edge to her ancient voice.

Later, I am followed down the street like prey. Defenseless prey. It doesn’t connect in my mind, to know why he stalks, but I know he is there. The bass from the speakers shake the earth greater than any earthquake. And the profane rap leaks from the piece of rusted metal called a car stereo. Among the sewer water, cans of Budweiser and candy wrappers float carelessly. . . . A civil war begins. . . . Riots and incomprehensible Spanish is the only thing I hear then.

Yet, it’s not all bad. Down the cluttered street, Shakayla and Jariah talk loudly about nonsense, and my house is being invaded by pregnant felines. This war between the adults, between ethnicity, will not affect me. I will not say that I’m color blind, but I do not take notice. I’m the outsider. I’m unable to fit in. What?! Is it because I’m Mexican?!

Ariana, sixth grade, Ojeda Middle School

The rusted hulk of a car blew up after having hit the tree. The person driving the car rolled out. I poked him with a stick. He was severely burned, but he continued to twitch. I giggled at the irony of the sight, for he was the same man who hit my turtle and little sister a few days before. You see, my little sister had been walking her turtle, Skittleman Franklin, when the inconsiderate son-of-a-biscuit swerved onto the sidewalk and hit them. They were immediately rushed to the emergency room. My sister only had a couple of broken ribs, but, unfortunately, Skittleman died.

I poked the man again. He moaned and continued twitching. As I saw the ambulance approaching, I kicked him a few times in the face (and the ribs, for my sister), jumped on my bike and pedaled away. I decided to buy some cheese to celebrate the avenging of Skittleman Franklin.

Ashley and Andrea, eigth grade, Del Valle Middle School

Photo courtesy of Lisa Solonynko.

The night air turned chilly as I took the long way home from school. I had stayed late for tutoring and knew that if I wasn’t home at exactly 8:30, I would be condemned to a life of after-school scheduling and constant disappointed eyes from my over-protective mother. That I wasn’t willing to risk, because even though I hated all the extra clothes on brisk days and the first-aid kit that was packed into my bag every time I left the house, I appreciated the sentiment.

After nearly ten minutes of walking, I pulled myself out of my thoughts and heard the sound of running water, or rather, water running over rocks. Like a creek. I was near the housing complex, but I had never heard any sounds like that coming from it before; every natural piece of forest and brush had been wiped away in its making. The sounds were oddly soothing, and before I knew it, my feet were carrying me to its source. In the back of my mind, I knew that my mom would worry, but I didn’t care. My only purpose at that moment was to get to the creek and figure out how it got there.

I began walking faster. I was deep into the complex when I saw a small winding trail off to the side. There seemed to be some kind of oasis at the end of the road, begging to be discovered. So I followed the trail. Birds, trees, and even the wind, it seemed, howled at my entrance and urged me forward. It was as if I was meant to be there and something was meant to happen, but damned if I knew what it was.

Finally, after a long trail, I found the source and gasped. It was one of the most beautiful scenes the world could have conjured. A small waterfall fell over cascading rocks, and the water led down a stream to a larger pool. There were fish jumping out, and frogs leaping from rock to water, and there was even a bird on a rock in the center of the pond, just staring out into the night sky. I made my way to a series of rocks, each one just big enough for a foot to step on. I put one foot in front of the other and made my way to the center of the pond, where the bird perched. I was mesmerized. I wanted to hold it. I wanted to feel the feathers that had been everywhere. The feathers that had experienced no restraint. As I watched, the bird slowly turned its head and looked at me. I froze. Its eyes bore into mine and I needed to know the secrets it held. Without thinking, I sprinted across two more rocks, but stopped when I noticed my foot had crooked another way. I tumbled into that water, which was deeper than it looked, and all I could do was smile as I went down.

I knew that I was in trouble, but at that moment all I could think of was my mother. As cold water came rushing at my face, I remembered I had to breathe and began to push my way to the top, but quickly realized I couldn’t. All the extra clothes my mom made me wear were weighing me down. As my heart slowed and an inky blackness settled over me, I laughed. Even though I knew I was dying, I laughed the hardest I had in my whole life—the fact that my mom’s precautions were helping me drown made me giddy and hysterical. My last thought was of my mom and how she would take it when someone found my body and told her the reason I had drowned. I kept laughing. I no longer wondered what the creek was doing there or how I had tripped in. I only thought of her. My mother, the one who loved me so much she killed me.

Jennifer, eleventh grade, Travis High School

This week, we’ll be posting the finalists for the Rose Million Healey Award in Short Fiction. Come out to our community-wide reading Saturday, May 2, to meet the authors and find out who the winner is.

“Sir, exiting subspace now.”

“Hot dam. . . .” Lt. Kari mutters as a battle unfolds on her sensor plot. Outside the Leviathan-class cruiser, lasers and cannons fire madly as missiles and flak light the darkness of space. On her plot, a wave of Basilisk- and Dragon-class destroyers crash against an equally formidable wall of the enemy’s Demon- and Relsh-class ships. As the bridge watches, the Gaians break off their attack as the Shelkn wall cruses more than half of them.

“Dear God,” a tactician officer whispers as crippled ships run into subspace, leaving the others to face the oncoming wave of Shelkn destroyers. Slowly, the green contact signatures disappear until only one remains.

Captain Helsh watches the viewscreen as a single Dragon-class destroyer breaks through the line of enemy ships. Triguns, beam cannons, and turrets flare madly as she returns fire to those engaged with her.

Helsh acts quickly. “Get me the name of that ship as well as a link.”

“Aye sir!” shouts a young ensign, going about his new task. Already the deck vibrates as the Peacefinder engages a small Cain-class cruiser.

“Sir! It’s the Desertrunner. Comm link open now, sir.”

“Admiral Lish, are you all right?”

“What the hell do you think? We’re just eating ice cream and cake over here. Want to join us?”

Helsh smirks at the admiral’s reply. “Sir, come to point six-eight-one left down; we’ll meet you there.” The noise on the other bridge intensifies as alarms go off; then, “Understood. Desertrunner out.”

Helsh looks down at the navigations officer. The man salutes and says, “Six-eight-one left down, aye sir.” A Rakshema-class cruiser shudders on their viewscreen as missiles slam into its engines. The burning hulk sinks beneath the Peacefinder as it plows through a field of expanding atmosphere and scrap metal, the roar of weapons ringing in everyone’s ears as the sound crosses the debris field.

The Desertrunner reaches the meetpoint just as three bright lights herald the coming of Demon-class destroyers, eager to rip the damaged Dragon apart.

“This is bullshit!” Helsh looks up at Kari’s outburst. She notices his cocked eyebrow and says, “Sir, we are arriving at the meetpoint, but there is no way we can take on three Demons!” Helsh sighs. “Call for fighter and bomb escorts; we can’t leave the Desertrunner.”

Already missiles scream toward the Demons, shattering armor plating and ripping apart vital systems. The tactician looks up and shakes his head. “Not even good enough, sir. Reading a two percent drop in hull integrity for that destroyer.”

Helsh shakes his head and turns to the communications officer. “Tell the Desertrunner to make for the nearest safe zone. All hands full ahead!”

The eight-thousand-ton cruiser speeds forward, spewing missiles, laser, and flak. Three thirty-four-thousand-ton destroyers fire back at the Peacefinder in one violent wave.

The cruiser tries desperately to evade the deadly attack, reaction thrusters lighting its hull, but is too slow. The bridge shakes violently as the ship absorbs part of the attack, shields flaring. The crew drops to the deck as a missile slams into the forward shield quadrant, the explosion ripping through and tearing the hull apart.

Helsh hears a strangled curse above the alarms and explosions as his own voice shouts, “Jump out now!”

Slowly the proximity alarms fade as more and more of the Peacefinder slides into the blessed abyss of subspace.

As the last thud of weapon-fire fades from the deck at their feet, Helsh looks around the bridge. The communications officer lies on his back, blood seeping from a hole in his chest. Looking at his console, Helsh notices the sharp protrusion, slick with blood.

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