This is a small story for horse and/or fantasy lovers. Though it’s not a true story, I will be writing it in first person. It is about a town girl with a country gal’s heart. ENJOY:
I ran across the street still looking from side to side. My backpack bounced on my back making a uncomfortable feeling.
One of my feet landed on the side walk. I bounced, and my other foot joined it. I turned left and ran down the street. As I was about to turn into my house’s yard an icy snowball hit me. Again? How many snowballs does this guy got stored away in that freezer of his? I whirled and glared at the short blond boy standing behind me. “Cut it out, Luke! Or I’ll tell your Mom.”
Luke is the ten-year-old, short, blond-haired boy that lives next door to me. Luke, you see, had made several snowballs last time it snowed and put them in the freezer. This had: one, frozen them together so they didn’t crumble easily; two, made them icy and so sting more; and three, meant that there didn’t need to be snow on the ground for Luke to have a “snowball fight” with me. Not that they are very good snowball fights, because he is the only one with snowballs.
“Oh I’m so scared,” said Luke sarcastically. “My Mom is the one who let me save some snow balls, so you can threaten me all you want and I won’t care.”
“Ah, but does she know that every day when I get back from school, you throw one at me? And does she know that you are annoying me by it? And if all else fails, I’ll get my Mom to ask your Mom to make you stop,” I challenged.
“Humph, good luck with that, Kacey.” Luke shrugged and went back to his house.
Ugh, why does he have to be so annoying? I was mad at him. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if that had something to do with how little snow we got here and the lack of space.
My house has a small yard with a stone fence around it and a white washed gate at the front. In the middle of the yard there is a tall oak tree, at least I think it is a oak. The house itself was a pale green, with slightly darker green “shutters” that didn’t really work.
On the inside of the house there is a kitchen, a living room, a finished basement, a pantry, a bathroom (of course), and two bedrooms. The basement had been divided into three rooms: the play room, another bedroom, and another bathroom.
I slept in the basement bedroom, and my parents claimed the bigger of the upstairs bedrooms. The third bedroom was the guest bedroom. There was a small table in the kitchen where we ate, and in the living room there was a TV as well as a few book shelves, a coffee table, and, of course, a few couches and chairs.
In the basement play room was a toy chest, extra blankets and pillows, another TV, two couches, a coffee table, two book shelves with a assortment of old school books, plain story books, as well as some movies and TV shows,
Then the house has a back yard. We also call it the play yard. It is the smaller of the two yards. It has a couple trees, the same type as the one in the front yard; then there is a eagles nest/tree house. It is half in the tree and half out. It is my “secret” hide out. Over my “secret” hide out is a tarp to protect it from rain. I put the tarp there because I also put some of my toys there.
So, you see, my house doesn’t have that much room. And I was born up farther north where we had lots of space and plenty of snow to go around. Then, after my brother moved out, the Foresters, Luke’s family, invited us down here. The Foresters are family friends. My Dad use to work with Luke’s father. Since my brother moved out we hadn’t been able to handle the farm as well, so we sold the place, animals and all, and moved down here.
The neighborhood around here is nice and friendly. I’ve made friends at school, plus school isn’t that hard and the teachers are nice; but there is the lack of things I grew up with: animals—though my Dad said we might get a dog after we’ve settled in better, maybe even a indoor cat—space, and quiet. And all together: a farm life.
I tromped along the rock path through the front yard, also known as a the garden yard, or the entrance yard. I reached the door and swung it open.
I was sorta excited. Our Christmas break just started, and our Christmas break assignment was to write about Christmas, the things done to prepare for it and the aftermath of it. For the math assignment we have to do stuff like calculate how much money you have to spend and then how you divide and spend it.
However, I was also worried. I was worried that we wont have a white Christmas. Up north we always had a white Christmas, but here… we might not. This would only be our first Christmas here, and I knew that there would probably be at least one Christmas in the future, probably more! But I felt that I’d feel more at home if there was a white Christmas this year.
I stepped into a warm kitchen. My mother was standing over the stove, stirring a pot that probably contained at least part of tonight’s supper. “Hey Mom, I’m home,” I called as I shut the door.
“Well, hi there, honey. Don’t forget to take your shoes off. I just swept the kitchen, and I don’t want you tracking in mud.” My mother glanced at me and waved before turning her attention back to the pot. I obeyed and unlaced my shoes.
I sniffed the air quietly and decided that there was soup in the pot. I slipped out of my coat and hung it next to my mother’s in a small cupboard next to the door. Since the cupboard was tall and wide, it was perfect for hanging up coats and putting shoes out of sight. I kicked my shoes into their place under my coat and then walked over to the stairway down to the basement.
I took the steps two at a time and skipped the last four steps completely, jumping the rest of the way to the floor. I was in the play room. It had a nice red carpet that helped thaw my feet, which, despite my shoes, felt frozen. That was the problem here—it was plenty cold, but it barely ever snowed.
I put my backpack on the coffee table and grabbed a remote turning on a music player. It was playing I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. This has been probably my favorite song since I’ve moved here. I turned the volume up a little before grabbing my backpack and going to my bedroom.
In my bedroom was my bed, a desk, my dressers and other necessities. I put my back pack next to my desk and unzipped it. Then I threw myself onto my bed, sinking into its warm, red, blankets. I grabbed a white pillow, put it on my face, and rolled over. Another day was practically over, school was out for Christmas break, and soon the rush for buying Christmas presents would start. I deserved to take a nap.
So I lapsed into a stage part way between reality and dream. I was gliding across the the ground on a chestnut mare. I practically flew over a jump. I looked down and saw the the ground was covered in perfect, white, undisturbed, snow. Undisturbed, that was, until we went past it. The air was still, but the chestnut mare and I made a wind. Little animals jumped aside as we passed and stared after us as minutes later we disappeared.
I was slightly aware of the music being turned off and of someone entering my room, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hold onto this fantasy as long as possible. “Honey?” the gruff, but friendly, voice of my dad broke into my dream. I for the most part ignored it. “I’m home. Are you even awake?” He grabbed at my side, and I made a muffled ow sound, but I still ignored him. As long as he knew I was awake, he would just tell me whatever he needed to, or go away if he had only came down to say hello. So I continued to just partly listen while I hung onto my dream.
Until he said, “Luke Forester is coming over for supper and the night. We’re babysitting him while Mr. and Mrs Forester have a night out and go to supper and a movie.”