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Showing posts with label Short Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Stories. 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.