I popped saltwater taffy into my mouth as I spoke, which was probably a bad idea, considering what I was going to ask. "Want to go out to ice cream?" I inquired. "The weather's nice enough."
He glares at me. "No. They don't have honey-flavored ice cream anymore, so it's pointless. That's the only flavor I liked."
I chew on another piece of taffy thoughtfully. "We could take a walk on the beach," I suggested.
That made him scowl. "You know what? How about we just sit here, and do nothing? Yep, that's what I want to do. So you can go do whatever you want, but I'm staying here."
"You're boring," I complained.
"Pretty much," he yawned. "I'm old and weathered. You go do your thing; I'll be fine here."
"You, my friend, are coming with me," I ordered. "Besides, you are only seventeen."
He lay back in his chair so his copper hair glinted in the sunlight. "No, I'm not," he replied lazily. "You can't make me."
It was my turn to glare, and I started sucking on an orange-flavored piece of taffy. I grabbed his arm, and squeezed it so hard that he winced. "Come ON, lazy bones," I said half-teasingly. "Please? Just for an hour or two."
"Or three, or four, or sixteen," he muttered, but got up. "You're really convincing, you know."
I grinned. "I can be, if I want to. I'll meet you outside." I raced out the door and punched my fist into the air once I was alone. The grin hadn't left my face.
Pretty soon, out he came, wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and a scowl.
"Cheer up!" I exclaimed, lightly punching his arm.
Pearly sweat dripped down his face. "I'm cheered," he said, rubbing the spot where I punched him.
I frowned. "What's wrong?"
"I--I, um--well, it's this thing-" He broke off. "It's a fear. But it's dumb. So we're going to move on."
"I won't tease you," I promised.
"Uh, yeah, I know," he said. "It's just--let's leave it alone, okay?"
"Okay," I sighed. "So, ice cream? Or beach?"
"I don't know," he grumbled. "Beach, I guess."
"Beach it is!" I yelled, running into our car and starting it. Our car was bright yellow (my idea) that never got dirty. Well, okay, that's a lie. But when it DID get dirty, I made sure that we washed it off. I was kind of scared of my stuff being dirty. My brother, on the other hand, didn't care if our stuff was filthy, so I had to clean up after him.
I tried to get the wheel, but my brother out his hand on top of where mine was. "Oh, no," he said. "I drive."
"You are only seventeen," I reminded him grumpily.
"You aren't even sixteen yet," he told me, and evil-older-brother grin on his face. "You can't drive."
"But... I'll be turning sixteen in a few weeks," I protested. "Please?"
"No," he said firmly. "I drive. You get shotgun."
I made a face at him and climbed into the front seat. "Soon enough! Soon enough I'll be sixteen, and you'll have to face my wrath."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but in six days I'll be eighteen, which means YOU'LL be facing MY wrath. Anyway, that's a stupid thing to say." He started the car and drove away, not waiting for my comment.
I gave him one anyway. "I'm not stupid."
"Uh-huh, but you say stupid things."
I pursed my lips and shut up, even though it gave my brother the satisfaction of me being quiet for once. That thought made me angry, so I started eating another saltwater taffy, which was minty.
We reached the beach in approximately five minutes. (One time I used a stopwatch to time how long the drive was. Don't ask. It started because my brother challenged me about something, and then... Well, let's not get into the details.)
It was a nice day for the beach. The sun was shining, there were not a whole let of clouds, and the water was a beautiful blue color.
"So... What are we supposed to do?" My brother grunted.
"Enjoy it," I sighed happily.
"Not enjoying anything," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. I balled my fists, ready to punch him, and harder than the last time. Instead I just started yelling, which was probably worse for him.
"You never enjoy anything but spending time in your dark house! Don't you like the sea air? Don't you like the ocean? You should! Now start enjoying it! NOW!!" I shouted.
He furrowed his brow. "What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with YOU?" I shot back. "I was just trying to spend some nice time with you. But you don't care about anyone but yourself!" I chewed vigorously on another taffy, to keep me from getting louder.
He sighed. "Look... It's complicated. I have a fear of... of..."
"Oh, what is it?" I said. "Just say it!"
"Dogs!" He blurted out. "And there's always dogs outside, so I never go outside. And... and at the beach, there is going to be dogs."
I let out a breath of air. "You could have told me."
"You would have thought I was stupid."
"What do you care what I think? Anyway, I don't think you're stupid. Pull over. I'm taking the wheel," I said.
"Uh... I don't think that's a good idea," he mumbled.
"Do it!" I said. "Dad gave me some lessons. It'll be fine."
He still looked worried, but gave me the wheel. "Try not to kill us, okay?" He said.
"I'll try not to," I said, which made him look more scared.
For the first part, the driving went smoothly. We didn't see any dogs. Just people in bathing suits and shops. But then my brother got a sick look in his face. It kept getting whiter and whiter, until it as paler than snow.
"Turn... Turn around," he croaked. "Now..."
I looked over at what he saw. There was a big, brown and super furry dog running toward our car. It was drooling, and you could see its large teeth. I thought it might stop, but no. It kept running for our car.
"Turn around!" My brother rasped.
But I couldn't. We were at a red light, and it looked like we'd be here for another minute or so, and cars were behind us. I sucked on a banana-flavored saltwater taffy while my brother started shaking in the front seat.
"What is that dog doing?" I muttered. He was only a few steps away from our car now, and the light was still red.
Suddenly, with a large leap, the dog jumped into our car, into my brother's lap. Yes, our car has no roof. My brother started screaming, high-pitched like a little girl. He looked like he was experiencing the worst pain he'd ever been in, and it did bother me that a strange dog was in our car. "Push the dog out!" I yelled.
"I CAN'T!" He screamed. He was struggling to get out of the car as the dog licked his face, but he could't, because at that moment, the light turned green.
"STOP THE CAR!" He wailed.
"I can't!" I said. I was surrounded by cars, and nobody was really trying to help us out.
My brother had tears steaming down his face, and he shakily tried to pry the dog off him, but the dog would not budge.
"Well, this sucks," I said.
"YOU THINK?" My brother cried.
We sat in the car for three more minutes, with a strange dog in my clean car, my brother crying, and stuck in traffic at the beach in the nice sunshine, with salty air to breath in.
Finally, I could pull over. I dragged the dog out of our car and calmed down ,y brother. (It took about half an hour. I won't get into detail.)
Afterward, I said, "That was interesting."
"You think?" My brother sniffled.
So much for a nice day at the beach.
Why do you write?
Out of 42 submissions for last week’s featured challenge, with a grand total of 27 likes, the winning entry* was an untitled piece by @StellarBee.
You’ve seen her around. You have read, liked, and commented on many of her posts. But... who is she?
Stellar “StellarBee” Bigatel is a fifth grade student and Seattle native. We caught up with her on Wednesday to announce the news. To say that she was elated is an understatement. Below are a few highlights from the interview.
P: How do you feel about the big win?
S: It’s exhilarating to have the opportunity to be published for the first time. I didn't think it would happen this soon.
P: What does it mean to you to be included in a publication like Quail Bell?
S: I think it's cool to be a girl getting published in a magazine run by women and to think that my writing is included with genres that I like to read.
P: What advice would you give to people that want to incorporate writing into their everyday lives?
S: I say go for it! Write as much as you can, when you can. Share your stories with others… Never give up on writing just because sometimes you can't get it right. We all struggle with one thing or another and it just makes us stronger.
Please join us in congratulating Stellar on a well-deserved win and THANK YOU to everyone that participated. We look forward to hosting more opportunities like this in the future.
-The Prose. Team
(*Corresponding link will be released in this week's newsletter.)
I write.
I write because it makes me feel alive.
I write because I morph into my character. I hate it when I have to kill my favorite characters. I love it when characters I hate get into a sticky situation.
I write because there's something scary about looking down at a blank page. What will I write? Will it work out? So I bring on the pen.
I write because I enter the golden gates of writing, instead of escaping the real world. I snatch bits of Real World here and there throughout my stories, making them more real to me.
I write because, if I don't have the power of words, I don't really have a power at all.
