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Showing posts with label Abigail Mullis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Abigail Mullis. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 9, 2021

"The Door to the Sun" by Abigail Mullis

The Door to The Sun
The following short story was written by my 14-year-old daughter.  
I thought it was quite creative and so I want to share it with you.  Enjoy!

Violet stared up at the ceiling fan and listened to Grandma’s endless snoring. She tossed and turned, but nothing seemed to help her fall asleep. She tried to go downstairs to get a snack, but the steps made an awful creaking noise that sent her right back up. She searched old shelves for a picture book she could look at to pass the time. But alas, Grandma only read Shakespeare and Jane Austen, which had no pictures. Violet passed the old hound dog in the hallway. He looked at her with tired eyes and seemed to say that he was sleepy too. Finally, she went back into her room and looked out her window at the starry sky and the skinny moon. The street was empty and everyone was asleep. Even the hound had finally settled down and dosed off. Violet rested her chin on her hand. 

Nothing fun happened at night. No one played checkers,  jumped rope, or ate popsicles in the heat while playing in the sprinklers. Night was for sleeping, and sleeping was no fun. Violet loved the moon, but she wished she could tell him to go away because wandering around without sleep was exhausting, but the moon wasn’t a person she could talk to…or maybe he was. Her mother was always talking about a “man in the moon”, and mothers know what they’re talking about. 

She decided to give it a try. “Mr. Moon, will you take me to the door of the sun?” she asked. She didn't know where the sun went when the moon was out, so she thought that it must be behind a door. After all, that seemed to be where everyone was when she couldn’t see them. When her mother and father had to talk about something very important, they always closed the door. When her older sister was angry, she closed the door too, or rather slammed it. When her father had to go off to work he shut the car door and sped off. When just about anyone was where Violet couldn’t see them, they were always behind a door. She bounced in her seat while she waited for Mr. Moon to come, but after sitting there for what seemed like ages, she gave up hope. She scratched at the peeling paint with her fingernail and imagined what it would be like to fly through the sky with the man in the moon.

A shadow passed by. She whirled around watching it flutter across her room. Fingers appeared on the window seal. They turned white as they pulled up a person who went straight through the glass.

        “Hello!” said the stranger in a cheery voice. 

        Violet gasped. Was this Mr. Moon? He certainly didn’t look old enough to be a mister. You could tell by his baby cheeks and short stature that he was at most only twelve. His clothes were scrappy and covered in soot. Violet thought that perhaps he was a chimney sweep, like in Mary Poppins. That would explain the soot, but there was more to him. His skin was faintly gray and silvery, like a ghost, and that was like no chimney sweep Violet knew of. 

        “Who are you?” she asked.

        “I’m Mr. Moon. Don’t you remember calling for me?” the boy said with a mischievous smile.

        “You aren’t a mister,” she protested.

        “Well, whatever I am, I’m the person you called for. I’m here to take you to the door of the sun.”

        Violet’s face lit up. “I’m ready!” she exclaimed. “I don’t have to change out of my pajamas, do I?”

        “No. It’s best that you wear pajamas. They’re more aerodynamic than clothes, but only during the night.”

        Violet didn’t know what aerodynamic meant, but she thought it must’ve meant something good.             Mr. Moon grabbed her hand and stepped onto the window seal. He looked back at her with his mischievous smile before sliding through the glass and taking her with him. They flew through the night sky. Violet’s two long braids followed behind. They sailed passed tall apartment buildings, and short yellow houses with sleeping families inside, passed clothing shops that Violet’s mother took her in to try on dreadful frilly dresses, and diners that had the most delicious milkshakes that were her and her grandmother’s “little secrets”, passed the school, post office, grocery store and everywhere else she would go with her mother to run errands. Mr. Moon changed his direction to upwards, and they shot passed twinkling stars and landed on a floating cloud. The cloud was fluffy and like everything Violet had ever imagined floating on a cloud to be like (she thought about it often).

        “This cloud will take us to the door,” Mr. Moon said.

        Violet nodded and rubbed her hands against the silky cloud. She had so many questions she wanted to ask Mr. Moon. They were important to her, even though her mother always said that they were silly and nonsensical. Of course her questions weren’t though, and Violet didn’t mind what her mother said about them much, because she didn’t know what nonsensical meant anyway.

        “Do you know the seasons?” she asked. 

        “Of course,” he said. 

        “Well then, can you ask Winter why he doesn’t just take off his coat and join Spring?”

        “I guess I could. But have you ever thought that it might just be because the Snow is too childish to not be watched over by Winter and too beautiful to be completely given up on?” he answered.

        “I guess that's true.” She looked down. They had floated far. They were already drifting over the ocean. 

        “Ocean!” Mr. Moon yelled down. A wave crashed against the shore as if it was answering back. “What's your favorite snack?” A whale rose to the surface, and shot shimmering foam from its blowhole up onto the cloud. Violet studied the bubbling substance.

        “Sea foam,” Mr. Moon said. He laughed. “Interesting choice,” he called down.

        Another wave crashed, and the whale disappeared into the water. Violet dipped her finger in the sea foam and stuck it in her mouth. It was subtly salty, like the saltwater taffy she would have on vacation. It deflated in her mouth, and coated her tongue. “I can tell why he likes it. It’s a perfect balance between sweet and salty,” she said. She fell over onto her back and watched the passing world. “Mr. Moon, why do grown ups serve tiny foods at parties? Why not just serve the big kind?” 

        “Now that's a good question. My best guess would be that tiny foods are cuter. Wouldn't you agree? But who knows why grown ups do anything?”

        Violet nodded. She looked down at the ground and all the miniature buildings. Her eyes started to grow heavy. 

        “We’re here!” Mr. Moon exclaimed, startling Violet. He hopped off the cloud and helped her down. The ground was rocky and gray. They were on the moon. “Home sweet home!” Mr. Moon bellowed. 

        “How are we supposed to get to the door from here?” Violet asked.

        Mr. Moon pointed straight ahead. There was a long, skinny bridge connecting the moon to a platform, where a yellow door stood. “There it is,” he said. “The door to the sun.”

        Violet's face glowed. She ran off in front of Mr. Moon and onto the bridge. She stepped one foot in front of the other and stuck her arms out to balance herself. 

        “Wait for me!” Mr. Moon called. He glided over to Violet and scooped her up, taking her with him to the platform. There were two guards on either side of the door with the same silvery complexion as Mr. Moon. One guard had glowing blue eyes and sleek white hair. The other had auburn locks that were hung in two pigtails, and amber eyes that danced in the moonlight. They wore identical glittering dresses.

        “Oh! Hello, Mr. Moon,” the blue eyed guard greeted. 

        “Hello, Vega. And how are you, Betelgeuse?” Mr. Moon said, looking over at the guard with the pigtails. 

        “I’m very good, sir. Is it morning already?” Betelgeuse asked. 

        “No, not yet. But my friend Violet asked me to take her to the door of the sun.”

        Betelgeuse and Vega looked down at Violet. She was a cheery girl, with long braids, and curious green eyes. She was short, and her nightgown was so big on her that it touched the ground. “And why did you want to come to this door?” Vega asked.

        “I want the sun to wake up,” Violet answered.

        The guards nodded and signaled for Violet to come up. “Go ahead,” Betelgeuse said.

        Violet tip-toed to the door. She raised her little fist and tapped the door two times. It flew open. Out stepped a tall woman with golden ringlets and tan skin. She let out a long yawn. This was the Sun. The Sun looked down at Violet, and then glared up at Mr. Moon. She furrowed her brow.

        “You’re always doing this! Don’t you know I like my beauty rest! If you bring one more child to wake me, you’ll regret it!” she barked.

        “I’m sorry! It’s just…” Mr. Moon started.

        “It’s just that the night is so boring!” Violet interrupted. 

        The Sun looked away and shook her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose in silent frustration. Violet had seen this expression far too many times. Her mother did it often as a way of saying, ‘I’m disappointed that my daughter is just a silly little girl with her head in the clouds.’  Violet balled her fists. She was not just a silly little girl. 

        “I have to get ready,” the Sun grunted. She turned her back to them and slammed the door shut.

        Mr. Moon took Violet’s hand and flew her back to the cloud. They drifted away, but Violet kept her eye on the door until she couldn’t see it any longer. She had never thought that the Sun would be so rude. They floated back over the murky ocean who waved at them with seaweed in his hand. The cloud stopped over the city.

        “Why was the sun so rude?” Violet asked.

        “Because nobody likes to be woken up,” Mr. Moon answered.

        He took Violet’s hand and jumped off the cloud. Together they sailed passed twinkling stars, apartment buildings, little yellow houses, shops, diners, and everywhere Violet and her mother would run errands. They flew through the window and Mr. Moon let go of her. Violet looked out the window at the dusty yellow sky of the rising sun.

        “I have one last question,” she said. “Why does no one play checkers, or jump rope, or eat popsicles in the heat while playing in the sprinklers at night.”

        Mr. Moon itched his forehead. “Because dreaming is far more interesting. In dreams your imagination has no bounds. In the real world, not everything is possible.”

        Violet nodded. “Goodbye, Mr. Moon.”

        “Farewell, Violet. Call me next time you have insomnia.” He stepped onto the window sill and slid through the glass. Violet drowsily crawled into her bed and nestled into the covers. She didn’t know what insomnia meant, but she thought it must’ve meant something good, because this was the most fun night she had ever had.

Tuesday, May 7, 2019

Guest Blog by Abigail Mullis

Today, I want to share my daughter's short story where she won 1st place in her district for sixth grade in the Georgia Young Author's Contest.  I hope you enjoy!
It will all be Okay
Sitting on the lake shore the wind blew threw my hair. I breathed in the salty air of Lake Martin. I pulled my knees to my chest and looked out onto the water. This was great, complete silence.

“Eloise,” Mama said, startling me as she touched my shoulder.

“Mama,” I said turning around.

“It’s time for dinner, darling.”

I turned away. “I’m not hungry,” I muttered angrily.

She slowly sat down next to me and looked out onto the lake. “It’s hard for me too, you know.”

I stood up and walked away from her, off to the old tree house. I ran my hand along the the dusty wood ladder, not touched for years. I climbed and then sat on the old platform. The wind rustled through the old oak’s leaves. Shh, it calmed. Then Charlie came climbing up the ladder. Just another person interrupting my peace.

“Eloise,” Charlie said as he sat down next to me. “Why are you so angry? This was gonna happen no matter what you did or said. I thought you would have suspected this. I always thought you were the smart one.”

“But why? Why do we have to go? Why can’t we just stay here forever?” I asked turning to my older, wiser brother.

“We ran out of money, we can’t pay the mortgage without Dad.”

I sighed. “Why, did he have to go?” I asked.

“I don’t know, no one knows,” he replied.

“But, I don’t want to leave,” I protested.

“No one does, Eloise. We love this place, this house, this yard, this lake, but that’s just how things work.”

I slowly stood up and climbed down the ladder. “Well, Aunt Marion's place better be good.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Charlie laughed as he followed behind.

I climbed in the car and took one last look at the beautiful house that held all of my amazing memories. Right in this moment I felt like crying. I could remember Dad picking me up and throwing me in the lake every summer. It was our tradition on the first day of summer break. Charlie patted my back. “It’s okay sis,” he comforted.

“Say goodbye,” Mama bellowed and we drove off. We were half way down the road when I heard her whimper and let out a small sob. “You know the one thing I won’t miss about that house is how you guys tracked in mud in the summer,” she half laughed, half cried as she tried to lighten the mood.

“That’s the thing I’ll miss most,” I heard Charlie muttered.

The rest of the drive it was dead silent until the radio accidentally started blaring If you like pina coladas, and gettin’ caught in the rain, if you don’t like yoga, and you have half a brain… it sang. We laughed hysterically, but soon the song was over and the mood returned. A few minutes later our car pulled into the driveway of an old, scary looking house. Moss and ivy grew up it’s sides. Out of the old front door walked a woman with a tight gray bun and a short yellow sundress. Mama opened the car door.

“Amy!” the woman yelled stretching out her arms and running towards Mama.

Mama got out the car and gave Aunt Marion a big hug. “Thank you so much, Marion!”

“Anything for my niece!” she exclaimed. “Now, don’t let those kiddos stay in the car, I want some sugar!”

Mama pulled us out of the car and into Aunt Marion's arms. Aunt Marion pulled us away and I stared at Charlie, he was wearing the same confused expression as me. “You are both so big!” she smiled. “Oh, Charlie! You’re practically a man! Now, your mother told me you were a senior, now is that right?”

“Yes, mam’.”

“Oh! I would never forget my Eloise! What a pretty name! Now let me guess, you’re head of the class, now aren’t you? You always were a smart cookie!”

I looked away and didn’t answer. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be home, with Dad.

“Well, that’s okay then. Why don’t you come in for some milk and cookies?”

“Yes, of course. How could anyone turn that down?” Mama replied as she followed Aunt Marion inside. She turned and looked at me with a sad expression but I could hardly tell because I was looking at my shoes.

We followed her inside and into the kitchen. It was much nicer and cheerful on the inside than it was on the outside. The kitchen was a bright yellow with pictures of fruits hanging on the walls. I hardly ate any cookies, I just wasn’t hungry with all of this on my mind, on my heart. After a little while I went up to what was now my new room. It was beautiful but I couldn’t be happy here. I sat down at the bay window and looked out into what was my new yard. I heard someone come into the room. Standing in the threshold of the door was Charlie.

“You need to be nicer to our hostess,” he said leaning on the door frame.

“I don’t like it here. I wanna go home,” I said looking back through the window.

He came over to me and sat down. “I know you don’t like it now, but I promise that you’ll get used to it.”

“I never got used to Dad being gone.”

“I don’t think we ever will,” he said.

My dad had died in a car accident the year before and nothing was the same without him. Mama tried to make due but it just wasn’t the same. We could hardly make enough money and we tried very hard to keep the house but we all knew we would have to give it up.

“Well I have to go check out my room,” he said as he stood up.

“What am I gonna do when you graduate?” I asked.

“You’ll do what you’ve always done and push your way through.”

I stared out the window until it was dark, I even skipped dinner, but I just wasn’t hungry.

Aunt Marion walked into my room a few minutes past dark. She knocked on the door but didn’t even wait for a reply before coming in and sitting next to me. I pulled my knees to my chest and turned to her. “Yes,” I said sassaly.

“I know it’s hard.”

“Do you really?” I scowled.

“Yes. My mother died when I was six. I had to live my whole life without her.”

I untightened my face.

“It’s hard to go through your life without a mother, especially when you’re a young woman yourself. She never got to see me graduate, or get married, or have children of my own.” She stopped and looked out the window. “She never got to help me through my problems growing up.” She looked as if she was about to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” I said letting my legs down. “Do you mind me asking how she died?”

“She died giving birth to my little sister. My father was never the same after she died, just as your mother isn’t the same as she used to be. I’m afraid however that he turned very mean after her death. He didn’t talk to us, I felt like he didn’t even like me. All he did was sleep all day and drink all night.” She sighed and turned towards me. “So, yes, I know how hard it is, but without my mother you wouldn’t have your grandmother, and you wouldn’t have your mother, and you wouldn’t even be here.”

“Grandma was that little sister?” I asked. She had never been able to tell me these things since she had died when I was only two.

Aunt Marion nodded. She held out her clamped hands to me and slowly opened them. My mother gave this to me, and now it’s yours. To let you know that it will be better even if that hole in your heart is never filled.” In her hands was a locket. She clipped it around my neck and I slowly opened it to see a picture of Aunt Marion’s whole family. On the other side there was a picture of a little girl that looked a lot like Aunt Marion. I smiled.

“Thank you.” I said.

She smiled back and walked to the doorway and the turned around. “Oh, and next time please eat your food, your mother is very worried about you,” she laughed.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Guest Blogger - My Daughter Abigail

My 8-year-old daughter, Abigail, is a witty, intelligent, and budding young writer.  She loves to write stories and spends lots of time doing it(on her own initiative).  Yesterday, she was so excited to show me the "writing desk" she set up in her room exclaiming, "I'm a professional writer now!"  Over the Christmas/New Years break, Abigail decided to research and write about three important female figures in history.  Annie Oakley was Abigail's choice and she asked my wife for two more suggestions; my wife suggested Florence Nightingale and  Edith Wilson.  I share these as a proud father, but I think you will also enjoy these short and creative historical exposes from my little Abigail.


My favorite person in history is Annie Oakley. I decided to write a story about her. After you read this story maybe she’ll be your favorite person in history too.
It all started on August 13,1860 when Phoebe Ann Moses was born. You're probably thinking I thought we were talking about Annie Oakley.  And  we are but believe it or not Annie Oakley’s real name is Phoebe.  When  Annie was 5 her father died. Annie soon got a new father. One day after tons of begging Annie’s stepfather finally let her shoot his gun. With one shot she killed a turkey. That was the first time Annie had ever shot a gun and, she was only 7 years old! That’s basically how it all started.
When Annie was 15 she got a letter from her older sister inviting her to come to Cincinnati and visit. Annie went to a shooting show while she was there.  At the show she met a man named Frank Butler. Annie entered a shooting contest against Frank and she won. One year later Annie married Frank.
Annie and Frank had a stage act together where they did shooting tricks. That’s where Phoebe Ann Moses became known as Annie Oakley. You’re probably wondering how it exactly happened. Well, Annie needed a stage name, so she came up with the name Annie Oakley. Her and Frank joined Buffalo bill’s wild west show. They traveled to France, Germany, England, and other countries with their show.
Annie Oakley passed away at the age of 66, she died on November 3,1926. She lived a wonderful life and she is famous for her life. She was a woman who loved to shoot guns, was great at it and, she is famous because of her love of guns.  

            On October 15,1872 Edith Wilson was born. Woodrow Wilson married Edith on December 18,1915. You may be wondering who Woodrow Wilson is, well he is the 28 president of the U.S.A. When Edith married Woodrow she became the first lady of the U.S.A.
On October,2 Edith found Woodrow unconscious after he had a stroke! The stroke left Woodrow’s left side paralyzed and made his vision blurry. Woodrow’s health got better but his illness were permanent. That left Edith to run the country!
Woodrow could barely do paperwork, Edith had to do basically everything Woodrow used to do! This was pretty important because back then women weren’t  allowed to have positions in the government.
In 1921 Woodrow finished his turn of being president. He had been president from 1915-1921. Woodrow Wilson died on February 3, 1924. Edith Wilson died on December 28, 1961. Edith Wilson is one of my favorite first ladies.

         On May 12,1820 in Florence,Italy Florence Nightingale was born. When Florence was young she started to help the ill and the poor.
Florence knew she would be a nurse at the age of 16. When Florence told her parents she wanted to be a nurse they forbid her from it.They forbid her from it because Florence was expected to marry a rich man and it was below their standard. In 1851 Florence finally got permission to be a nurse.
In 1853 the crimean war started. Florence helped in the crimean war by helping the sick and injured soldiers. Back then there hospitals were disgusting. It was probably as gross as a gas station bathroom. Florence did not like the dirty hospitals. Florence started making all the hospitals cleaner.
At the age of 90 on August 13, 1910 Florence Nightingale died. Without Florence we probably would still have disgusting hospitals. Today we still have the symbol of a lamp for nursing because Florence was known as the lady wit the lamp. She is known for this because she would check on the soldiers in the night with a lamp. Florence Nightingale will always be remembered.