The Official Writing Challenge
BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN
INSTRUCTIONS
how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level
ENTRIES
submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners
Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.


TRUST JESUS TODAY

  • Share
  • how it works
  • Submit
Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Grrr! (01/28/10)
They’re fighting again. Their voices muffled, distorted like a Charlie Brown special. She can’t make out any specific words or threats; it doesn’t matter. She knows exactly what they’re saying. So do the neighbors. As do the police, who will undoubtedly be called. She looks at the small clock on her apple-crate desk and smirks. One thirty. Early today. Must be really important this time. Young as she is, she knows sarcasm well. Part of her DNA. Maybe the best part.

She glances at the clock again and closes her eyes in frustration. Never look at the clock twice. You know better. But, it’s too late. It’s story time now. I bet it’s a fairy tale. Miss Matthews loves fairy tales and happy endings. I wish I could still g-

She slams her open hands on the warped, uneven wood floor, stands up, walks to the single window. She leans her forehead against the cool glass, closes her eyes. No more thoughts like that. School’s gone. And it’s my fault.

The memory comes up strong, grabbing her like a riptide. Her first and last parent conference. Miss Mathews explaining her concern about “unusual” classroom behavior.

The mother’s eyes narrow with suspicion, wondering if the girl has said anything, but not really worried. She’s been warned too many times.

“She’s been playing with dolls a lot, a boy doll and a girl doll. And, um-”

The young teacher stops, tries to remember something, anything, from her recent classes that might help her through this, instead feels sweat drip from her armpit and down her side.

The mother, puzzled, irritated, waits, simmers.

“Did she hit someone with them? Or damage them?”

“No, no, no. She was playing ‘house’, and she was holding one in each hand, and the dolls were having a conversation and, um, she was, uh, growling.”

“Growling?”

The teacher nods, knows she sounds like an idiot, plasters on a smile, continues.

“Yes. She would make, uh, muffled-like noises, with the girl doll and then growl with the boy doll. Like this, um, mmpphh-mppphh-mmmpphh, then, grrrrrrrrrr, grrr, grrrrrr, rowr, grrr-”

The teacher’s face is red and hot. She wipes some spittle off her lips, holds her breath. The mother is stunned, then recovers. This is why I was woken up and dragged down here? My girl may be nuts, but this “teacher” is a-

“I guess I don’t understand what the-“

“I know, I’m sorry. This is, um, I asked why the dolls were making those noises, instead of using words. ‘They’re fighting,’ she said.”

The mother is silent at first, unsure of where this is going.

“I guess I don’t-“

Miss Mathews holds up her hand. “She said, ‘That’s what Mommy and Craig sound like when I’m under my bed.’”

Miss Mathews straightens her spine, glares at the mother.

“Do you have any idea what your constant fighting is doing to your daughter?”

Things disintegrate from there. Voices rise, threats spill out, little hands cover tiny ears, the conference ends. After arriving home, the mother promptly moves her daughter to the attic.

“I hope you enjoyed your time at school, sweetie, cause you’re done. I’m not getting called down there every time my nutso daughter starts growling, or whatever.”

She doesn’t let them know, but she loves the attic. She can barely hear a thing. Usually. Plus, it’s higher, puts her that much closer to where she wants to be.

A high-pitched scream, almost like a warrior cry, followed by a crash, makes her jump just a little, and forces thoughts of school from her tiny head. Grunting, she pushes open her window, waits. With a half-smile, she counts with her fingers. One, two, three, NOW. Sure enough, he storms out the front door. Halfway through the unkempt yard, he turns back, his face a dark red. Simultaneously she turns from her window, a large, matching, fake frown on her face. They each point an index finger, shake them with every threat, then follow with language no seven-year-old should be hearing, let alone mimicking. She turns, tossing her blonde curls, skips back to the window, not wanting to miss her favorite part.

His long strides, coupled with the heavy material of his coveralls, send Dandelion wisps tilting, then floating across the yard, rising higher and higher. She smiles and picks one. With wide, bottle-green eyes she tracks it, wondering where it will take her this time.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.
This article has been read 989 times
Member Comments
Member
Date
Laury Hubrich 
02/08/10
I love your title and this is well-written. The only thing I have a problem with is how the teacher attacked the mother. I would hope a professional wouldn't go about it that way. This is such a sad story. I would like to know what happens to the little girl.
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 
02/09/10
The story left me with chills. My daughter has worked as an elementary school guidance counselor, I fear this scenario is far too often true.
I wish the teacher might have been more gentle, but it is very believable. I find myself hoping the teacher will be able to do something when the girl doesn't come back to school. Very well done.
Chely Roach
02/09/10
This was all kinds of phenomenal. Enthralling, deep, and sadly realistic. Excellent.
Kate Oliver Webb
02/09/10
You've caught the atmosphere very well. Great story-telling, although very sad and real subject. My stomach was even reacting to the emotion; obviously your writing merits praise. The people in your story, however, merit something else entirely.
Mona Purvis
02/09/10
Very well done! I could cut the tension with a knife as I read along this true-to-life entry. All of us would hope for different approach by those in authority...but most of the time this is the result. Straight out of the daily news.
Mona
Barbara Culler 
02/09/10
I was confused at the beginning and did not understand what was going on.
Then I got it. So scary and so sad.

Maybe if you used italics for the flashbacks, it would have been easier to follow.

Great writing!

Loren T. Lowery
02/09/10
The reader cannot help but feel for this child. Sometimes I think one's imagination is a grace from God in that we are able to escape - even if but for a moment - the terrors of the life around us.
Carol Slider 
02/09/10
Oh, what a horrible life for a child to endure! You described it so vividly, I felt that I was right there with her. Awesome writing, terrifying story. Very well done.
Noel Mitaxa 
02/11/10
Very descriptive and very sad, for the child's having to detach herself from the adults will denying her any real skill in handling stress as she matures.