Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: GRATE (11/19/15)
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TITLE: Safe House | Previous Challenge Entry
By Amy Gaudette
11/26/15 -
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But Grandma needed someone to look after her. She'd been my rock when Mom and Dad split. She'd been my anchor. Now it was my turn to protect her.
Lord, I don't know if you exist. Grandma says you do. If that's true, please help me. I know my uncle is selling drugs from her home and taking her money. I just don't know what to do.
My mind wandered to what I'd heard over the last two weeks. Uncle Ed talking on his cell phone about his contacts, the 'safe house', how the 'dough was in the oven.'
I fell into a restless sleep.
That morning dawned brightly. Today was the day. I was going to my grandma's to try to help her from her own son.
Dad had left already, probably over to his new girlfriend. I didn't think I could get used to him seeing other women. Nothing was the way it should be. My heart wept for something I couldn't have. Grandma was all I had. I needed to protect her.
As I headed over to Grandma's, I could see a car sitting in her driveway. Uncle Ed's. I sneaked up to the window and peered in. He was standing before the fireplace. I watched as he took a small package out of his coat and slipped off the warming grate in the chimney. He shoved the package in, closed the grate and walked away. I had proof.
I walked to the front door, my heart pounding.
As I was about to knock, the door opened and Ed stared down at me as though my hand was caught in the cookie jar.
“Ah!” I jumped.
“Are you okay?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Uh, y-yes. Fine,” I sputtered.
“Well, come inside. It's really good that you come and help out.”
I mumbled something and brushed past him. The smell of fresh baked cinnamon buns made my mouth water – my eyes, too.
Grandma wasn't in the room, so I took a deep breath. It was now or never.
“Uncle Ed? We need to talk.” I meant to sound ferocious, but my voice was thin and wobbly.
“What's up?”
“I know what you're doing here, and I'm going to make you stop. I won't let you hurt Grandma. I-I'll call the police!”
Uncle Ed's eyes widened. “Perhaps you ought to explain.”
“The drug deals, the money, doing your dirty business hiding out here.” I was in tears now.
Grandma came in. “What's going on?”
Ed answered, “I'm not sure. Your grandson seems to think I'm a drug dealer.”
Grandma grabbed my hand. “Why would you think such a thing?”
“ I'm sorry, Grandma, but I can prove it.” I went into the living room and pulled the fireplace grate off. “He hides it in here.”
I reached in and pulled out three packages, all neatly wrapped and tied. I looked up at them both, resolute in what I had to do.
“Son,” Ed spoke softly. “That isn't drugs. Those are important documents, as well as family heirlooms that will be given to you when you're 21. We needed to find a hiding place where your . . . father wouldn't be able to locate them, cash them in, and use the money in ways that . . . well, weren't for him to use.”
I opened the packages up slowly and saw two beautiful gold rings, some papers I didn't understand, and a pile of old-looking coins and bills.
“I'm sorry,” I murmured. I sat on the couch and cried.
“I'm proud of you. You did what you thought was right. I'm also sorry I haven't been there for you. Maybe we can change that?”
I sniffed. “I'd like that very much.”
“How about those cinnamon buns?” Grandma asked tenderly.
“That sounds real good.”
My uncle was as good as his word. We became best of friends. Grandma's was a second home to me. They gave me the roots I needed to stay grounded, and the wings to fly. I'll never forget that day I looked into the grate. That fireplace will always warm me in more ways than one.
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My red ink is tiny. Some lines needed smoothing out. I find if I read it aloud (or even better have someone else do it), I can figure out what lines need tweaking. For example, I read this line several times before it clickked: I was going to my grandma's to try to help her from her own son.
I think I would change it to: I decided to protect Grandma from her very own son.
It's not perfect, but I think it's a bit easier to understand, and it tightens ip the line by decreasing the count from 15 words to 10.
I found myself hanging onto every word. You have a knack for suspense. I really enjoyed this. I also think this would make a great book or article for mid-level readers (perhaps ages 8 to 12). You did an awesome job, and it's on topic too. It also has a couple of powerful messages in it.
God bless~
God bless~
Your piece was suspenseful with an added twist to the ending.