CONTENTS
SHORT STORIES
for children - Three's No Good
100 word - Avalanche
- Spring Cleaning
For Children
THREE’S
NO GOOD
The shot was sweet, falling through
the ring without touching the sides. Ben couldn't help smiling as the kid who
had released the basketball pumped his fist in the big kids' direction.
Ben
sat in unmowed grass, watching three boys play street ball on a half court,
built on a vacant block midway down his street. He did not know who they were
and they had not asked him to join in – although everyone knew three's not any
good to play ball. You really needed four. But they hadn't asked him to join
them. So, being new in the street, he just sat with his basketball wedged in
the joint of what remained of his left arm. He didn't remember loosing it. No
big deal.
The
big kid regained control of the ball. In his Bulls singlet and matching shorts
he was giving his two mates a lesson in ball control. And because he was half a
head taller when he missed a shot he usually won the rebound.
Ben
shuffled around on the grass. He could match him in height. It would make the
game more even. The ball ricocheted off the wobbly backboard, bouncing towards
the street. Ben stuck out his right hand, grabbing the ball when it looked like
it was to late to prevent it ending up squashed under passing cars. Jumping to
his feet, he shot a pass back to the big kid. Now was his chance.
'Wanna
play two on two?'
The
big kid's stare fixed on Ben's arm before moving down to his new boots.
'You
reckon just 'cause you got a pair of those means you can play basketball?'
'Yeah.'
Ben answered.
'Well
it don't and you ain't playin'.'
Ben
turned to walk away. No, he said to himself, I'll show you. He bounced the ball
between his legs, reversed, drove past the big kid and lay the ball up with his
good arm. It slipped through the ring and Ben caught it before it dropped to
the court.
'Way
to go!' one of the other two yelled.
Nobody
else spoke. A truck roared down the street, stirring up a breeze. Sweat
trickling down Ben's back turned icy, making his singlet cling.
'It's
no use playing with only three. You need four. It's gotta be even.' Ben said.
They
stood facing each other, like players lining up in a real game. Nobody moved.
Another truck roared by, raising the breezing again. A soft drink can rolled
across the asphalt. They continued to stare at his arm but he could see two on
two was beginning to look like a good idea.
'No.
I'm not playing with him.' The big kid's face had almost turned the same colour
as his hair. Red. Red hair, red face, red uniform. Ben wanted to laugh but he
knew it wouldn't help him get a game.
'Why
not Tim?' Asked the little kid who had sunk the jump shot over him.
'I'm
just not.'
Ah
well that's that, Ben told himself. I tried. He turned slowly, tucked the
basketball under his part arm, retrieved his jacket from the grass and headed for
the street.
'You
scared he'll beat you?' Sounds of scrambling feet became mixed up with yells
and grunts. Ben spun back to the boys. Tim and the little kid pushed at other,
returning shove for shove.
'Stop.'
He yelled so hard the words ripped at his throat. 'Stop. I'm going.'
Still
clenching singlets, they glared into each other's eyes, neither wanting to be
the first to give in. Tim dragged his opponent up close before releasing his
hold.
'No,
come and play. Three's no good.'
Now
it was Tim's turn to walk away. He didn't say anything as he sank into the
grass where Ben had sat.
'Come
on Tim.'
Tim
dropped his head low and watched the grass between his knees.
They
played until the sun dropped behind the houses. They played two on one, one on
one. They sank basket after basket from the foul line. Then from out where the
three point line would have been if somebody had thought to paint in lines. And
all the time Tim sat watching the grass grow between his knees.
'We
have a game every night,' the little kid said when they could no longer see the
ring.
'Great.'
Ben tied his jacket around his waist.
The
two boys moved off in the opposite direction. Leaving Ben standing on the
pavement looking at the outline of Tim's head.
'See
you Tim.' He didn't really expect to get an answer.
Ben
had just made it out of the ray of the streetlight when he heard their arrival.
Shuffling feet and loud voices. He paused in the shadows. Maybe they wouldn't
see him.
They
didn't see Ben, but Tim, still sitting on the grass, became their target. In a
flurry of whooping they sprinted out of sight onto the court.
Ben
could not make out what the gang was saying, but the way they were shouting and
the noises they made jumping around told him Tim was in trouble.
He
pressed into the wooden palings. What help would he be? And his mum had said to
be in before it got dark. He edged along the fence, away from the court. Away
from the street light.
'Take
'em off or we'll knock yer head off.' He heard that command clearly. They were
shouting louder. Surely they wouldn't really knock Tim's head off. He stayed
frozen in the shadows. If he ran he would be home before they knew he was
there. But they said they would knock Tim's head off.
Ben
dropped his basketball and ran. Ran back onto the court. Breaking through the
group surrounding Tim, right into the middle.
'You
right Tim?'
Tim
was sitting on the dark court yanking off his runners. This time he did not
stare at Ben's arm but straight into his face. He threw one runner towards his
attackers.
Ben
looked around counting to himself. Oh hell, there's five of them. And they're
big. Real big.
'We'll
have your runners too. Punk.'
Five.
And only me and Tim and Tim's sitting on his backside taking off his runners.
Ah well, I'm not much at fighting anyway. Ben joined Tim on the ground and
started to undo his laces.
They
stood in the night. Only the two of them and the rising moon. Cold from the
grass creeping through their socks into their toes. Ben wriggled his while
peering down at his feet. Mum'll go sicko, she's always going on about not
walking outside in my socks. And it's late. I'm dead.
'See
you Tim.'
This
time Ben received a reply. 'Be on my side tomorrow?'
Ben looked back
over his shoulder.
'Yeah.
Maybe. If me Mum ever lets me out again.'
© 1996
Previously published School Magazine - Orbit (New South Wales, Australia) 1999
Winner of the 1996 Best Story for a Child in the Society of Women Writers Victoria Awards
100 Word Short Stories
AVALANCHE
Children
came down the mountain in threes and fours. Seven hours earlier a constable
said, 'There's been an avalanche up the
mountain.' Now she stood at the bottom of that mountain searching faces as they
came into the spotlights. A woman screamed collapsing into the arms of her
husband. Kristen feared the sound would be her own and she had no-one to hold
her. 'Mum, Mum.' Her emotions were tangled, glad for the parents, hating them
because it was not her child. 'Mum, Mum.' Hands dragged on her neck and she was
crying in the arms of her young daughter.
© 2008
SPRING CLEANING
It was the first day of spring. Denise felt inspired to get
out in the garden. Her husband usually worked on it weekends, she thought he
might appreciate a little help. She went into his shed looking for tools; it
was a long time since she last ventured in there and she had to hunt around for
the pruning shears. She found them in a draw along with a bundle of letters
that began ‘My darling Barry…’
It was the second day of spring. Denise buried her husband
in the backyard, and planted a lemon tree on top of him.
© 2008
Writing Tips
- 100 word short stories should have all the elements of any other short story
- a beginning, middle and end
- tension
- believable characters who want something
- a change should happen to the main character
- 100 word short stories are a great way to hone your editing skills
- each word should be economical there is no room for wasted or frivolous words
- editing does not mean just getting rid of 'and' and 'the'
- often one word can take the place of two
- do not manipulate the story to fit the word count
Give this form of short story a go, it is a challenge but one worth trying. You never know you might become addicted.
Places to Submit
Positive Words, Editor Sandra Lynn James
PO Box 798, Heathcote 3523
Victoria, Australia
