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“Extraterrestrial” by Sarah Robertson


by Sarah Robertson


“Go away, Kibbles!” I didn’t have an alarm clock, so my pet pug woke me up each morning instead. Please don’t question his name, I got him when I was eight and wasn’t very creative. As you can see, I wasn’t a morning person, and I still consider myself a night owl. Forcing myself out of bed, I grabbed my glasses and attempted to drag brush through my curly red hair before slowly walking down the stairs, Kibbles at my heels.

I walked into my houses small bright yellow kitchen. I squinted from the light as the room slowly came into focus. My eight-year-old twin brother and sister, Alex and Alice, were sitting at the breakfast table, bent over their newest prank. My mother was humming to her self as she hurried around the kitchen, cooking a quick breakfast. I sleepily sat down at the table, pulling one of my younger sisters perfect caramel brown ringlets just because I knew it would annoy her. Alice glared at me as our mother placed a plate of scrambled eggs on the table before she rushed out to work.

“ Ava’s in charge!” My mother yelled to my siblings before stepping out the door. Even if she was the head of the family, I seriously doubted my mother’s judgment on that decision. Alex and Alice would now do whatever possible to me today to prove that I wasn’t their babysitter. The week before, they had raided my candy stash, destroyed Kibbles dog toys, and then convinced my mother it was my fault. Before the twins could get a chance to harm me in any way, I had Kibbles on a leash and was safely away from my house, claiming to be taking Kibbles on a walk. I lived in Shawnee Mission, Kansas which was a farmland surrounded by city. I was walking Kibbles to an old abandoned farm. In front of the barn, there was a large field that was perfect for Kibble’s favorite game, fetch. Next to the field there was a cluster of trees, but I had never gone past them because of the stories that a group of witches that feasted on twelve-year-old children lived there. I know I shouldn’t belive everything I hear, but most kids at my school wouldn’t even go within twenty feet of the farm.

Crawling, I followed Kibbles under a hole in the chain-link fence that surrounded the old farm. I sighed in annoyance as I brushed chunks of dirt of my jeans. Kibbles placed a tennis ball by my feet, waiting for me to throw it. Instead of chasing after the ball, Kibbles turned in the opposite direction and growled. Eager to see what had made the pug so upset, I spun around to see the strangest creature. It was small, plump and as bright yellow as my mothers kitchen with four little feet and two huge, adorable eyes the color of a perfectly toasted marshmallow. As soon as the creature saw me, its eyes widened and it sped of into the cluster of trees. I followed it, branches hitting my face as I ran through the miniature forest. Okay, maybe it wasn’t miniature. What had appeared to have been a small group of trees on the outside was more like a vast forest on the inside. Before I knew it, I had lost sight of the little yellow creature and it was getting dark. Panting, I retraced my steps through the woods and back to my house. Opening the front door, I saw my mother standing behind the door, looking as if you could fry an egg on her face.

“ Ava Elizabeth Oakley!!!” She started, “ You were supposed to be watching your brother and sister today, and I come home to and you are no where in sight! I-“ She was cut off by my younger sister.

“ Alex, Ava, and I were out in the backyard, and Kibbles escaped through the gate. Ava went off to catch him.” She lied.

“ Oh.” My mother said, walking off to cook dinner.

“ You owe me.” Alice stated. I groaned and grabbed a chocolate bar from the (newly hidden) candy stash in my bedroom closet. Alice’s eyes lit up when she saw it, quickly taking it out of my hands. I leaned down and whispered in Alice’s ear:

“ You can have another if you cover for me tomorrow.” Alice nodded eagerly, scampering off. My mother eventually gave up on whatever she was attempting to cook and just ordered pizza, which was delivered half an hour later. As the family sat down to dinner, I noticed Alice was jittery, she couldn’t sit still. She had quite clearly already consumed the candy bar.

I went to sleep early, Kibbles curling up by my feet. The next morning I got up early, writing a note to my mother, saying I was taking Kibbles on a walk.

I repeated my steps from yesterday, climbing underneath the fence, entering the woods. I had been walking for a little while when Kibbles pulled his leash from my hands, bolting away from me. I chased after him, racing deeper and deeper into the forest.

“ No Kibbles! Bad dog!” I yelled trying to catch the dog. I tripped, and as I fell, I vaguely remember seeing the little yellow creature from the day before….

When I woke up a group of odd creatures where huddled around me. They looked just like the little animal that I chased the other day, but these where different colors of the rainbow. One was red, one was blue, another was purple, and yet another was green. I also spotted the little yellow creature standing to the side.

“ Who is you?” Said the red creature, who seemed to be the leader of the strange group.

“ Who are you?” I responded. The leader thought for a moment, before shrugging.

“ I is Fizzwizz, blue Shroom is Filp-flop, purple Shroom is Bopitty-boo, green Shroom is Puff, and yellow Shroom is Wheezy, and we are part of the first ever Shroom colony.” He said with authority.

“I am Ava Oakley, pleased to meet you.” I said putting my hand out to shake.

The creatures looked at me like I was crazy. I quickly lowered my hand.

“ So where do you come from?” I asked as the creatures as they began leading me somewhere. The blue creature handed me Kibbles as she began to speak.

‘ Come from planet Shroom . Fly here fifty year ago because planet go BOOM!” She said sadly. The other Shrooms nodded.

“ This is Shroom colony.” Fizzwizz stated as we entered a clearing. Marshmallow shaped houses stretched s far as the eye could see. Shrooms darted from house to house, chattering in an unfamiliar language. In the center of it all, a giant metallic building wrapped in what appeared to be an orange extension cord stood. Wheezy followed my gaze.

‘ That is Shroom shuttle,” He said pointing to a square car driving across a golden paved road. “ That is my house,” He pointed to a pink marshmallow house with a small garden, “ And that is old spaceship.” Wheezy finished gesturing to the metal blob in the middle of the city. The Shrooms gave me a tour of the city, so I got to try a special        Shroom food, called Puffuzzfizz ( Shroomian for orange muffin cake.) and I even got to meet the Shroom president, King Bonkers. I had an early dinner of Puffuzzfiz before slowly realizing it was getting dark out.

“ I have to get home!” I squeaked, grabbing Kibbles.

‘”You no go home, you no tell humans of Shrooms!” Fizzwizz said and he slowly began to grow fangs, and doubled in height. I grabbed my backpack and ran, Kibbles at my heels. I ran out of the forest, under the fence, and back to my house.

It was the last time I visited the alien colony for many years.

Little did I know that a little yellow Shroom had followed me home.


The End

© 2014 Sarah Robertson


“A New Dance” by Sarah Robertson

An animal trainer
“Don’t eat that!”
Spending $4


A New Dance

By Sarah Robertson

It was Bernie, my little brother, who woke me up that morning. “I’m going to be a professional animal tamer when I grow up!” He shouted, prancing around my room in a ridiculous circus clown costume.

“Go away Bernie.” I moaned and stuffed my face into my pillow.

But for some reason in between Bernie’s loud foot steps as he climbed down the stairs combined with my mom’s off key singing coming from the kitchen, I couldn’t manage to get any more sleep. I trouped down the stairs and into the kitchen where Bernie was already stuffing his face with food.

“Good morning Kate!” Mom crowed, whisking me a plate with two doughnuts on it, a blatant attempt to soften me after our argument last night. “Did you hear the owls hooting around midnight?” Mom asked. “Maybe they will be in the newspaper tomorrow!”

That was the problem with living in Boring, OR. Nothing interesting happens.

“Mom,” I answered sarcastically, still fired up from our disagreement, “I didn’t hear them. Neither did the newspaper people. Because we were all ASLEEP.”

I had left the house and was walking across my family’s farm, wondering how I should spend the last four days of summer vacation. I could go down to the candy shop and spend my $4 I had saved up. Or I could just spend the time wandering aimlessly around our cornfields. I sighed. There was one thing that I wanted to do, I thought as I looked down at my reflection in a horse’s water trough. A girl with straw-straight blond hair and icy blue eyes stared back at me. I sighed again. The thing I really wanted to do was to take dance lessons. But they cost too much money and, even Bernie, at the age of four, would know that. Ever since my father passed away two years ago, when I was ten, my family has been very poor. That was what mom and I had been arguing about last night. The cost of dance lessons. Obviously, I had lost the argument. How would I ever end up learning to dance? With that thought I steered myself towards Mr. Song’s house.

Mr. Song was technically my closest neighbor but he lived three miles away. Unlike all the rest of the families from miles around, who had been here for generations, Mr. Song moved here recently. He came from the city only a few years ago. While it was obvious that he had no clue how to run a farm, he never gave a reason for his move only saying he was seeking the simple life.

Maybe it was because that he wasn’t really from these parts that he never seemed annoyed at my questions, unlike my mother, and he actually answered them. Although, his answers were rarely straightforward. Nonetheless, I always found myself at his house if I had a problem.

Mr. Song was sitting in his garden, his short black hair and old blue overalls stained with dirt, a large, unripe tomato in his hand. It looked as though he was about to take a bite.

“Don’t eat that.” I advised. “It would taste horrible.” Mr. Song bit into anyway, and the result was rather funny. He made an immediate retching noise and spit the bite of tomato out onto the ground.

“Oh, well,” Mr. Song sighed. “I was never much of a gardener. Now, what do you need Kate?” I began to retell the fight with my mom.

I had just finished my tale as Mr. Munchers, Mr. Song’s old barn cat trotted over and curled up in his lap. Mr. Song scratched Mr. Munchers head thoughtfully and said with a twinkle in his eye, “Your mother said that you couldn’t be taught how to dance. Not that you couldn’t learn.” My huge grin at the idea faltered almost at once

How could I teach myself to dance? Is that even what he meant? Mr. Song must have guessed what I was thinking, because he answered as if I had spoken my thoughts out loud.

“Make your own.”

I left Mr. Song’s house thought deep in thought, working out our conversation. Watching the stalks movement in the wind swept cornfield, I slowly began to understand. For me dance isn’t just graceful movements learned through years of practice. It’s song, a mountain ready to climb, the sight of a setting sun. A dance is so wonderful it can’t be explained.

The evening suddenly felt like magic. I laughed and ran through the cornfields, swishing and swirling on occasion. Soon the awkward circles became a pattern, a design. A dance! The evening breeze tickled my hair, the owls hooted and slowly my voice came to join their odd, yet beautiful song. And with a tickling-glowing, buzz sort of feeling, I realized for the first time, in a long time, that I felt truly happy.

I know the moral of many children’s tales is to follow your own path, Write your own story. But the moral of mine is to write your own dance.

© 2013 Sarah Robertson