Story
This is a story I wrote for class. I'd welcome any input.
Ella hated the purple ones. She’d come to terms with the pale green grubs, the long, slimy, pinkish brown worms, and the squiggly centipedes with their sharp, crackly legs. She even liked the soft, chewy caterpillars with their deep green skin and funny stripes, but the purple ones, the ones with the hard, crunchy shells, and wet, gooey centers, always made her gag a little. Her father said that she’d learn to like them when she got older, but she noticed the way he grimaced a little every time he bit into one of the nasty things, and had her doubts.
“Why can’t we have rabbit soup?” she said.
“You know I don’t have time to hunt for rabbits,” her father replied, picking a bit of beetle shell out of his teeth. “I think I’ve almost solved the problem with the temporal converter.” He ran a hand absently over his long, tangled hair, brushing away a flea. “And your mother… She’s gone now. Anyway, the insects give us more than adequate protein.”
Ella wasn’t sure what pro-teen was, but she knew what adequate meant, and the beetles definitely weren’t it.
“I could go hunting,” she said. “I know how to load the sling and everything. Mom showed me how.” Her mother had taught her a lot of things, really useful things, not like the math and spelling her father made her do every morning. She had shown Ella how to make a snare out of hide and brush, and which trail to set it across if you wanted to snag a fat raccoon. She had taught her not to go fishing at dawn or dusk if you didn’t want the big cats to notice, and which among the slivery, speckled fish had the tastiest flesh once you caught them. She even had begun teaching her which plants were good in stew, and which were good for a tummy ache or a fever. Ella just hadn’t learned fast enough.
Her father fixed her with an exasperated stare. “You know it’s dangerous out there, Eleanor. I can’t come with you, and you don’t know how to use the gun. What if you run into a… a bear or something?”
“Bears aren’t that bad. They only want to fight if you get too near their cubs. I’d never do that. You know I’ll be careful.”
“I know you’ll try, but there’s so much you don’t understand, and I won’t be there to help if something goes wrong.”
“I’ll only go as far as the shooting field. If I go now, I can be there and back by mid-morning, and we can have the stew for lunch.”
Her father sighed. “Well, I suppose you are almost an adult. Your mother was planning to do that ritual of hers on you later this year, if she’d... All right, go ahead. I’ll admit, some stew would be nice. But be careful, and be back well before sunset. You know it’s not safe.
“I will be! I promise, I’ll just go to the field and come right back. I’ll stay off of the deer tracks too.” Mom had always told her that the deer trails weren’t safe because the meat eaters used them too.
“Yes, yes. I suppose you’ll be fine,” he said. “Now, where did I put those calculations…” He wandered back into his “laboratory,” but Ella hardly noticed; she was already off on her way. As she walked out into the midday sunlight, she sighed in relief. The thick, hard walls of her father’s blocky, white home were good protection against predators, but she liked the feel of the sun on her hair and the grass between her toes. The slick tile and nubby carpet inside wasn’t nearly as nice. Her father said that it wasn’t safe to walk around barefoot all the time, but his feet were pale, fragile things. Hers were dark and leathery, and they covered the ground with ease.
The shooting field was an hour’s run from home. Ella paused twice on the way, once to gather some dandelion root for roasting, and once to climb an old, gnarled oak and gather a nest of jay eggs. It felt good to be moving. Her father had kept her near since her mother’d come down with the spotted fever, and the large number of bugs in her diet was only one of the problems with that. Her Mom’s supply of plants and roots was almost gone, and she didn’t know how her father thought they’d get through winter if she didn’t start collecting again soon. Every since Mom died he’d seemed strange in the head. He spent more and more time on “repairs,” although what the shiny screens and bright red wires were meant to do, and why they were broke in the first place, Ella didn’t know.
Sometimes she thought that he didn’t understand how things worked at all. He just sat there all day in his metal room, scribbling down notes and “adjusting the wiring.” When Mom was there, he’d gone out sometimes and helped gather. Ella’d liked those times, even though he was a hopeless shot with the sling, and occasionally had to be reminded which were the bad kinds of mushrooms. Maybe now he was getting better; maybe if he saw that Ella could help him, he’d want to do things again.
When she reached the field, Ella took out her mother’s worn, leather sling, and fitted it with a rounded stone. It was heavy in her hand; she hadn’t swung it in almost a month. Silently, she crept out into the tall grass of the meadow, crouching to stay out of view. She noted the splayed impression of a deer’s hoof as she crossed the path they usually followed down to the stream at the field’s far end. Further in, she saw the small, four toed tracks that a lone weasel had left crossing a rill. About ten paces further down its bank, she found the long back print of a rabbit in the soft, damp ground. By the size, it was a big one too; it should make stew enough for two meals at least.
She was about to start the slow work of tracking the rabbit to its burrow when a loud, blaring blast of sound broke the morning’s silence. She cowered down, body pressed near to the ground in an instinctive crouch, eyes scanning the horizon for the source of the disturbance. Her sling was held taut in her hands, ready to aim if a target came into view. Then, as the sound came again, she frowned in confusion and slowly stood up. She recognized it.
“Now Eleanor, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” her father had said. She’d been smaller then, barely up to his elbow, and she remembered his big hands running back and forth across the panel as he spoke. Her hair was still standing on end from the loudness of the sound it had just made. “That was the alarm siren. If you ever hear that sound again, I want you to stop whatever you’re doing and come right back home.”
“But what if I’m washing up, or gathering wood for dinner?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He said, putting a gentle finger under her chin and raising it up so she was looking him in the eye. “Even if you’re stirring the pot for your mother, I want you to run right back here to me.”
Ella had nodded, her own eyes wide and serious, and after a moment he had smiled his cautious smile and hugged her very tightly.
“There should be time,” he said, though she didn’t really think he was talking to her at all anymore. “I just don’t want to chance it.”
He’d made the sound again from time to time, to practice, he said, although rarely more than once in a year. Mom never liked him making all that noise. The last time had been months and months ago, before Mom got sick. She’d been off hunting when he did it, and had sharp words for him when she came back without dinner. The noise had spooked a yearling buck that was well within her sights.
Ella realized that she was standing completely still in the middle of the field. She turned back to the woods and started running towards home, startling a couple of quail into flight with her sudden movement. She paused a second, hesitating between the deer trail and the narrower, safer path she’d come out on. The siren sounded again, and she bolted for the deer trail, throwing caution aside.
The trail was smooth under her feet, letting her run almost as fast as she could out in the open. Her eyes scanned the woods, searching for signs of bear or cat even as her feet carried her forward. As she approached the clearing, she threw up a hand to shield her eyes. Something, something near the house, was giving off a bright purplish light.
“Eleanor!”
Her father’s voice was coming from somewhere near the center of the light. Was he trapped? She hesitated, looking sideways into the glare, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
“Eleanor! Come here! There isn’t much time…”
He was definitely near the middle of it, and now the siren was sounding faster, barely a breath between blasts.
“Eleanor! Ella, please…”
Slowly Ella took a step forward, then another.
Her father was standing in the door, she saw, with one hand outstretched.
Another step, and the light seemed brighter now. The siren was one continuous wail, pulsing and groaning.
One final step, and she was at the threshold.
“Take my hand.”
Ella reached out blindly, eyes closed against the glare that suddenly, briefly was brighter than the sun. She stepped forward, and her hands closed on air.
Slowly Ella opened her eyes, blinking in the light of the midday sun. Where her house had been, a great square of brownish gray grass was pressed down into the field, as if something heavy had rested there for a long, long time. A fire still smoldered in the fire pit, and the outhouse stood silent watch over the far corner of the glade. A spare bit of wire, partly stripped of its red covering, lay on the ground. Nothing else remained.
Ella hated the purple ones. She’d come to terms with the pale green grubs, the long, slimy, pinkish brown worms, and the squiggly centipedes with their sharp, crackly legs. She even liked the soft, chewy caterpillars with their deep green skin and funny stripes, but the purple ones, the ones with the hard, crunchy shells, and wet, gooey centers, always made her gag a little. Her father said that she’d learn to like them when she got older, but she noticed the way he grimaced a little every time he bit into one of the nasty things, and had her doubts.
“Why can’t we have rabbit soup?” she said.
“You know I don’t have time to hunt for rabbits,” her father replied, picking a bit of beetle shell out of his teeth. “I think I’ve almost solved the problem with the temporal converter.” He ran a hand absently over his long, tangled hair, brushing away a flea. “And your mother… She’s gone now. Anyway, the insects give us more than adequate protein.”
Ella wasn’t sure what pro-teen was, but she knew what adequate meant, and the beetles definitely weren’t it.
“I could go hunting,” she said. “I know how to load the sling and everything. Mom showed me how.” Her mother had taught her a lot of things, really useful things, not like the math and spelling her father made her do every morning. She had shown Ella how to make a snare out of hide and brush, and which trail to set it across if you wanted to snag a fat raccoon. She had taught her not to go fishing at dawn or dusk if you didn’t want the big cats to notice, and which among the slivery, speckled fish had the tastiest flesh once you caught them. She even had begun teaching her which plants were good in stew, and which were good for a tummy ache or a fever. Ella just hadn’t learned fast enough.
Her father fixed her with an exasperated stare. “You know it’s dangerous out there, Eleanor. I can’t come with you, and you don’t know how to use the gun. What if you run into a… a bear or something?”
“Bears aren’t that bad. They only want to fight if you get too near their cubs. I’d never do that. You know I’ll be careful.”
“I know you’ll try, but there’s so much you don’t understand, and I won’t be there to help if something goes wrong.”
“I’ll only go as far as the shooting field. If I go now, I can be there and back by mid-morning, and we can have the stew for lunch.”
Her father sighed. “Well, I suppose you are almost an adult. Your mother was planning to do that ritual of hers on you later this year, if she’d... All right, go ahead. I’ll admit, some stew would be nice. But be careful, and be back well before sunset. You know it’s not safe.
“I will be! I promise, I’ll just go to the field and come right back. I’ll stay off of the deer tracks too.” Mom had always told her that the deer trails weren’t safe because the meat eaters used them too.
“Yes, yes. I suppose you’ll be fine,” he said. “Now, where did I put those calculations…” He wandered back into his “laboratory,” but Ella hardly noticed; she was already off on her way. As she walked out into the midday sunlight, she sighed in relief. The thick, hard walls of her father’s blocky, white home were good protection against predators, but she liked the feel of the sun on her hair and the grass between her toes. The slick tile and nubby carpet inside wasn’t nearly as nice. Her father said that it wasn’t safe to walk around barefoot all the time, but his feet were pale, fragile things. Hers were dark and leathery, and they covered the ground with ease.
The shooting field was an hour’s run from home. Ella paused twice on the way, once to gather some dandelion root for roasting, and once to climb an old, gnarled oak and gather a nest of jay eggs. It felt good to be moving. Her father had kept her near since her mother’d come down with the spotted fever, and the large number of bugs in her diet was only one of the problems with that. Her Mom’s supply of plants and roots was almost gone, and she didn’t know how her father thought they’d get through winter if she didn’t start collecting again soon. Every since Mom died he’d seemed strange in the head. He spent more and more time on “repairs,” although what the shiny screens and bright red wires were meant to do, and why they were broke in the first place, Ella didn’t know.
Sometimes she thought that he didn’t understand how things worked at all. He just sat there all day in his metal room, scribbling down notes and “adjusting the wiring.” When Mom was there, he’d gone out sometimes and helped gather. Ella’d liked those times, even though he was a hopeless shot with the sling, and occasionally had to be reminded which were the bad kinds of mushrooms. Maybe now he was getting better; maybe if he saw that Ella could help him, he’d want to do things again.
When she reached the field, Ella took out her mother’s worn, leather sling, and fitted it with a rounded stone. It was heavy in her hand; she hadn’t swung it in almost a month. Silently, she crept out into the tall grass of the meadow, crouching to stay out of view. She noted the splayed impression of a deer’s hoof as she crossed the path they usually followed down to the stream at the field’s far end. Further in, she saw the small, four toed tracks that a lone weasel had left crossing a rill. About ten paces further down its bank, she found the long back print of a rabbit in the soft, damp ground. By the size, it was a big one too; it should make stew enough for two meals at least.
She was about to start the slow work of tracking the rabbit to its burrow when a loud, blaring blast of sound broke the morning’s silence. She cowered down, body pressed near to the ground in an instinctive crouch, eyes scanning the horizon for the source of the disturbance. Her sling was held taut in her hands, ready to aim if a target came into view. Then, as the sound came again, she frowned in confusion and slowly stood up. She recognized it.
“Now Eleanor, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” her father had said. She’d been smaller then, barely up to his elbow, and she remembered his big hands running back and forth across the panel as he spoke. Her hair was still standing on end from the loudness of the sound it had just made. “That was the alarm siren. If you ever hear that sound again, I want you to stop whatever you’re doing and come right back home.”
“But what if I’m washing up, or gathering wood for dinner?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He said, putting a gentle finger under her chin and raising it up so she was looking him in the eye. “Even if you’re stirring the pot for your mother, I want you to run right back here to me.”
Ella had nodded, her own eyes wide and serious, and after a moment he had smiled his cautious smile and hugged her very tightly.
“There should be time,” he said, though she didn’t really think he was talking to her at all anymore. “I just don’t want to chance it.”
He’d made the sound again from time to time, to practice, he said, although rarely more than once in a year. Mom never liked him making all that noise. The last time had been months and months ago, before Mom got sick. She’d been off hunting when he did it, and had sharp words for him when she came back without dinner. The noise had spooked a yearling buck that was well within her sights.
Ella realized that she was standing completely still in the middle of the field. She turned back to the woods and started running towards home, startling a couple of quail into flight with her sudden movement. She paused a second, hesitating between the deer trail and the narrower, safer path she’d come out on. The siren sounded again, and she bolted for the deer trail, throwing caution aside.
The trail was smooth under her feet, letting her run almost as fast as she could out in the open. Her eyes scanned the woods, searching for signs of bear or cat even as her feet carried her forward. As she approached the clearing, she threw up a hand to shield her eyes. Something, something near the house, was giving off a bright purplish light.
“Eleanor!”
Her father’s voice was coming from somewhere near the center of the light. Was he trapped? She hesitated, looking sideways into the glare, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
“Eleanor! Come here! There isn’t much time…”
He was definitely near the middle of it, and now the siren was sounding faster, barely a breath between blasts.
“Eleanor! Ella, please…”
Slowly Ella took a step forward, then another.
Her father was standing in the door, she saw, with one hand outstretched.
Another step, and the light seemed brighter now. The siren was one continuous wail, pulsing and groaning.
One final step, and she was at the threshold.
“Take my hand.”
Ella reached out blindly, eyes closed against the glare that suddenly, briefly was brighter than the sun. She stepped forward, and her hands closed on air.
Slowly Ella opened her eyes, blinking in the light of the midday sun. Where her house had been, a great square of brownish gray grass was pressed down into the field, as if something heavy had rested there for a long, long time. A fire still smoldered in the fire pit, and the outhouse stood silent watch over the far corner of the glade. A spare bit of wire, partly stripped of its red covering, lay on the ground. Nothing else remained.