Okay... it didn't win. Or place. But I STILL MADE IT TO THE FINALS GAH so I believe that, with a little work, it's good enough to win a prize.
I've edited this manuscript severely, adding and subtracting, moving things around, yadda yadda blah blah, basically bettering the story.
I give you "Storm", version 1.2.
I entered the barn.
The smell of fresh sawdust and vinyl siding hit me, hard. My thoughts jumped to our old place. Our old barn smelled better. Like sunbaked wood and hay and leather. Our old barn had character and warmth and memories of all those long, hot summers back west.
This one felt cold. Impersonal.
I pressed my cold lips together, wishing for anything, anything in the world but this.
Chief did not greet me at the door, like before. He ran away six months ago, a week after we moved to Ontario. Even though he’s a smart farm dog, I know he didn’t make it alive. Dad can’t fool me.
Sometimes, I still feel his wet nose nudging my hand, hoping for a scratch behind the ear.
I sighed. A thick cloud of mist floated into the bitter air.
A pink muzzle poked out of the first stall.
“Hey, Barley,” I murmured, rubbing my gelding’s white face. I named him Barley because of his grain-coloured coat. His black forelock, tangled and overgrown, flopped over his face.
I looked deep into his big, sweet brown eyes. I found a small piece of home in them.
I decided he needed a good grooming, and badly. I’d sort of been neglecting my horse, ever since Mom died.
I swallowed and got out Barley’s lunch. Ironically, none of it consisted of barley.
Taking off his blanket, I grabbed his grooming kit and started on his fluffy winter coat.
We used to live in Alberta. I liked it so much better there. Chief and Mom and Dad and my best friend Alex all lived there, happy and safe.
Then Mom got cancer. The hospital in Edmonton couldn’t help her, even after she got the mastectomy. It spread to her lungs. We moved to Ontario to get more professional help at a special hospital for cancer patients. That meant leaving home and Alex and the only place I’d ever known, but if they saved my mother, it was worth it.
They would have cured her.
After she died in the crash, we couldn’t move back home. We were out of money. We were stuck here, with a lost dog and no Mom. Just me and Dad and Barley.
I finished grooming my horse. For the first time, I noticed his rather ample middle. I glanced out at the tack room across the hall.
Barley could use a little exercise.
I walked slowly into the tack room, flicking the switch by the door.
There was less floating dust here than in the barn corridor; it had all settled months ago. A row of saddles and bridles lined one wall. There were three sets of tack. We didn’t use two of them. The horses they once belonged to were long gone.
Grabbing Barley’s saddle, bridle and blanket from the rack, I stepped into his stall once again.
I was going to walk him through the trail nearby. I didn’t plan on riding him. It was too early for that. Just holding the dusty saddle itself, with its amazing leathery smell, brought back vivid memories of Chief and Mom and home. I couldn’t bear to sit in that saddle and relive my old life right now.
It would be much, much worse.
I blinked a couple of times.
Barley lowered his head into the bridle like it was an everyday thing. I fastened it and saddled him up.
Leading him out of the barn, I glanced into the remaining empty stalls.
Mom had had a horse. She was a beautiful red Arabian mare. We sold her after Mom’s funeral.
I glanced up at the sky, squinting against the tiny, heavy grains of snow that fell on my face. The clouds were dark grey. Some small part of me idly hoped that the storm would pass over us and unleash its wrath elsewhere.
Before long, we reached the trail.
I walked Barley beside me. He plodded along lazily beside me, his nose at my shoulder.
Bzzz!
My phone was vibrating. I pulled it out of my belt pouch. I never, ever put my phone in my pocket. The radiation causes cancer.
I checked the text, expecting the usual cheesy joke from Alex.
It wasn’t a knock-knocker. She’d sent a picture.
Alex had her arm around a scrawny, black-and-white dog with matted, muddy fur. I’d know that furry face anywhere.
“We found Chief on st. outside my house. Vet says he’s totally fine!!! Please please please come to AB soon!”
The picture went blurry. I laughed, wiping away my tears. I hugged Barley around his neck. “Chief is safe, Barley!” I sobbed. “He’s alive! He’s home!”
He nickered, looking back at me. I think he understood.
Chief survived.
I grinned widely. All I could think about was how great this day suddenly was. How incredibly lucky I was that my beloved dog was okay.
I didn’t let myself think about Mom.
I took a deep breath, looking at the saddle. I figured it was about time.
I stepped into the stirrup, swung myself into the saddle, and nudged Barley forward. With an excited little buck, he trotted on.
I imagined Chief barking behind me. Mom was laughing as her pretty red mare snorted indignantly at him. Dad and Alex were up ahead on their horses, galloping away, challenging us to a race. We followed them, flying through the woods.
Barley ran. I leaned forward, relishing the freezing winter air on my face, imagining it to be the cold autumn air of Alberta. Of home.
For the moment, the storm had passed.
PLEASE comment and give me feedback! Thank you!!!
I've edited this manuscript severely, adding and subtracting, moving things around, yadda yadda blah blah, basically bettering the story.
I give you "Storm", version 1.2.
I entered the barn.
The smell of fresh sawdust and vinyl siding hit me, hard. My thoughts jumped to our old place. Our old barn smelled better. Like sunbaked wood and hay and leather. Our old barn had character and warmth and memories of all those long, hot summers back west.
This one felt cold. Impersonal.
I pressed my cold lips together, wishing for anything, anything in the world but this.
Chief did not greet me at the door, like before. He ran away six months ago, a week after we moved to Ontario. Even though he’s a smart farm dog, I know he didn’t make it alive. Dad can’t fool me.
Sometimes, I still feel his wet nose nudging my hand, hoping for a scratch behind the ear.
I sighed. A thick cloud of mist floated into the bitter air.
A pink muzzle poked out of the first stall.
“Hey, Barley,” I murmured, rubbing my gelding’s white face. I named him Barley because of his grain-coloured coat. His black forelock, tangled and overgrown, flopped over his face.
I looked deep into his big, sweet brown eyes. I found a small piece of home in them.
I decided he needed a good grooming, and badly. I’d sort of been neglecting my horse, ever since Mom died.
I swallowed and got out Barley’s lunch. Ironically, none of it consisted of barley.
Taking off his blanket, I grabbed his grooming kit and started on his fluffy winter coat.
We used to live in Alberta. I liked it so much better there. Chief and Mom and Dad and my best friend Alex all lived there, happy and safe.
Then Mom got cancer. The hospital in Edmonton couldn’t help her, even after she got the mastectomy. It spread to her lungs. We moved to Ontario to get more professional help at a special hospital for cancer patients. That meant leaving home and Alex and the only place I’d ever known, but if they saved my mother, it was worth it.
They would have cured her.
After she died in the crash, we couldn’t move back home. We were out of money. We were stuck here, with a lost dog and no Mom. Just me and Dad and Barley.
I finished grooming my horse. For the first time, I noticed his rather ample middle. I glanced out at the tack room across the hall.
Barley could use a little exercise.
I walked slowly into the tack room, flicking the switch by the door.
There was less floating dust here than in the barn corridor; it had all settled months ago. A row of saddles and bridles lined one wall. There were three sets of tack. We didn’t use two of them. The horses they once belonged to were long gone.
Grabbing Barley’s saddle, bridle and blanket from the rack, I stepped into his stall once again.
I was going to walk him through the trail nearby. I didn’t plan on riding him. It was too early for that. Just holding the dusty saddle itself, with its amazing leathery smell, brought back vivid memories of Chief and Mom and home. I couldn’t bear to sit in that saddle and relive my old life right now.
It would be much, much worse.
I blinked a couple of times.
Barley lowered his head into the bridle like it was an everyday thing. I fastened it and saddled him up.
Leading him out of the barn, I glanced into the remaining empty stalls.
Mom had had a horse. She was a beautiful red Arabian mare. We sold her after Mom’s funeral.
I glanced up at the sky, squinting against the tiny, heavy grains of snow that fell on my face. The clouds were dark grey. Some small part of me idly hoped that the storm would pass over us and unleash its wrath elsewhere.
Before long, we reached the trail.
I walked Barley beside me. He plodded along lazily beside me, his nose at my shoulder.
Bzzz!
My phone was vibrating. I pulled it out of my belt pouch. I never, ever put my phone in my pocket. The radiation causes cancer.
I checked the text, expecting the usual cheesy joke from Alex.
It wasn’t a knock-knocker. She’d sent a picture.
Alex had her arm around a scrawny, black-and-white dog with matted, muddy fur. I’d know that furry face anywhere.
“We found Chief on st. outside my house. Vet says he’s totally fine!!! Please please please come to AB soon!”
The picture went blurry. I laughed, wiping away my tears. I hugged Barley around his neck. “Chief is safe, Barley!” I sobbed. “He’s alive! He’s home!”
He nickered, looking back at me. I think he understood.
Chief survived.
I grinned widely. All I could think about was how great this day suddenly was. How incredibly lucky I was that my beloved dog was okay.
I didn’t let myself think about Mom.
I took a deep breath, looking at the saddle. I figured it was about time.
I stepped into the stirrup, swung myself into the saddle, and nudged Barley forward. With an excited little buck, he trotted on.
I imagined Chief barking behind me. Mom was laughing as her pretty red mare snorted indignantly at him. Dad and Alex were up ahead on their horses, galloping away, challenging us to a race. We followed them, flying through the woods.
Barley ran. I leaned forward, relishing the freezing winter air on my face, imagining it to be the cold autumn air of Alberta. Of home.
For the moment, the storm had passed.
PLEASE comment and give me feedback! Thank you!!!