To Tell a Story - Summer Writing Contest ENTRY

Instructions

"A long time back, in the Kinship of the Clouds, there was a fire. Almost no wolves made it out. And the ones who did were scarred and scared. Then, a shooting star from overhead fell. It didn't just fly across the sky. It stopped in midair, then fell down, into the forest. It was a strange sight for all the remaining wolves. They would have thought they were seeing things, if not everyone had seen it. And when the light cleared, the forest was green. The survivors looked around in amazement, then set off into the forest. No wolf knows what they expected to see, but we're all sure it wasn't what they saw. For when they arrived back at their camp, it was green with fresh leaves, and the most wondrous sight greeted them, for amongst the lush vegetation were their packmates, as alive as they'd been before the fire. They were all so happy, and lived out their lives, long and well. The end." "Wow... that was a good story, Mom!" My brother, Flint, says in wonder. "Agreed!" Chirps my sister Lizard. "I think it was good too." I say, "But... it's a bit unrealistic. Can I tell a more... sensible version?" "Go ahead, Jumper." Says Mom. "Okay. A long time back, in the Kinship of the Clouds, there was a fire. Almost no wolves made it out. And the ones who did were scorched and scared, and even there, some di3d to the smoke. Many lay still, panting and coughing, others pacing while the healers tried desperately to heal their packmates. A little while later, a shooting star fell. It didn't just fly. It stopped in midair, then fell into the burning forest. All the living wolves thought it was a strange sight, and, of course, were scared. But when the light cleared, new plants were growing, as green as the ones that were there before. A few brave wolves headed into the forest, leaving the healers and injur3d outside. And when they arrived at their camp, most of their packmates were alive. Some were coughing, but still living. By the next moon, everyone who hadn't di3d to the smoke was living happily as normal, but the fire had left scars, on the forest and the wolves themselves, scars that, though they would fade, would never truly heal..." I open my eyes. Flint is staring at me in wide-eyed h0rror, and Lizard had curled up towards Mom. "Was my story... was my story that bad?" I whimper, my voice small. "Well..." Flint explains, stuttering, "It- it was different. I hadn't- I hadn't thought about it that- that way." Lizard just whimpers. I feel so, so sad. Was... was telling it my way the right thing to do? Should I have just let them live inside their fantasy of safety and perfection? Was it wrong to share my views, the way I see the story? Later tonight, as we're cuddled up in the nest, I ask these questions to Mom. "Oh, Jumper," Mom says, looking down towards me, her deep brown eyes glowing softly in the late evening's last light, "There are many ways to tell a story."