[Hooman Ghayouri]

Death By Scrabble

by Charlie Fish

It's a hot day and I hate my wife.

     We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.

     I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman.

     My letters are crap.

     I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two points.

     I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting right now. I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I'd be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing something.

     She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She's beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.

     If only I had a D, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission.

     I start chewing on my U. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U.

     As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off.

     My rack spells MIHZPA. Plus the U in my mouth. Damn.

     The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife's throat.

<  2  >

     She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn't too hot to move I would strangle her right now.

     I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The U makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.

     She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more.

     She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning.

     It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.

     She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again. Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I am going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I am going to start hitting her again and again and again.

     The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I'm sweating. I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.

     She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea. No I do not want one.

     I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she's not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I'm beating her now.

<  3  >

     She asks me if I cheated.

     I really, really hate her.

     She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her, 155 to me.

     The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack, but the best I can do is SLEEP.

     My wife sleeps all the time. She slept through an argument our next-door neighbours had that resulted in a broken door, a smashed TV and a Teletubby Lala doll with all the stuffing coming out. And then she bitched at me for being moody the next day from lack of sleep.

     If only there was some way for me to get rid of her.

     I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points. That'll show her.

     As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails.

     My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don't believe it - but it can't be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened - the air conditioning unit exploded. And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The whole game is - JINXED.

     My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.

     I have to test this.

     I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn't leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B.

<  4  >

     I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly.

     Stupid. I open my eyes, and there's a fly. An insect, buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.

     I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final. Something terminal. Something murderous.

     My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.

     My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I am awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I cannot wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.

     Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.

     I play QUAKE for 19 points.

     I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.

     My wife plays DEATH for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake.

     I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.

     I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.

[Hooman Ghayouri]

Marmalade

by Sonja Cheal

Marmalade is a baked bean cat. I bet you've never met a baked bean cat before. If you have, it was probably Marmalade, because as far as I know, he's the only one in the whole wide World.

     As you can probably guess, a baked bean cat is a very fussy cat. All baked bean cats ever eat is ... baked beans. Baked beans for breakfast, baked beans for lunch, baked beans for supper and baked beans for brunch - in fact, I don't think that Marmalade the baked bean cat has even tasted anything else except for baked beans - ever! Sometimes, when Marmalade is feeling peckish and wants a snack, he will sit by the sunny window, reading his newspaper (The Daily Purr, and yes, cats can read - it's a common myth that they don't). And, as well as all this, Marmalade is probably the laziest cat in the World too. He's so lazy that sometimes, he won't even get out of bed!

     I have a tale to tell you about Marmalade. It's not a very nice one, so if you are at all squeamish, then you had better not read any further.

     Ah! You are reading on! I take it that this means you are a very brave person - don't say I didn't warn you!

     Marmalade lives in a very grand house. It's all very proper in there - purrfect for a baked bean cat. There is baked bean wallpaper in every room in the house which goes very nicely with the carpet which has a lovely baked bean pattern on it. The lamp in his sitting room is the shape of a baked bean, and the table is too. His lovely, comfortable, soft and squidgy favourite chair is also the shape of a baked bean ... the biggest baked bean in the World, in fact. In Marmalade's bedroom he has baked beans on his quilt and his bed is the shape of a huge, massive, enormous ... baked bean can. No matter where you go in Marmalade's house - there are baked beans everywhere.

<  2  >

     One morning, at the end of autumn, Marmalade groggily got out of bed, yawned the biggest, loudest, widest yawn, put on his warm baked beans slippers and dragged himself towards the window. He drew back his baked bean curtains and smiled contentedly as he saw a light sprinkling of snow had landed in his garden overnight. "Good," he grumbled to himself "at least I won't have to cut the grass for a while". Marmalade mooched downstairs, still yawning and walked through to the kitchen. Guess what Marmalade was going to have for breakfast? Yes, baked beans of course!

     Marmalade opened up his cupboard to get himself some baked beans and ... there were NO baked beans left! "Rats!" Marmalade muttered under his breath. "I'll have to go out in that horrible, freezing, icy weather and get some more baked beans. Double rats!"

     Lucky for Marmalade, in his garden was a tree. This tree was a very special tree because on its long, thick, strong branches grew something very special. Can you guess? Baked beans of course! More beans than you could ever possibly imagine. There were enough baked beans for Marmalade to feed for a month. When the baked beans got picked, the tree would just grow some more.

     So, reluctantly, Marmalade put on his boots, scarf, hat and a very warm coat. He went outside and trudged slowly through the snow to his baked bean tree, or to where his baked bean tree normally stood. Marmalade stood and stared, for instead of the lovely big strong baked bean tree, was a hole. No tree and no baked beans. Marmalade rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but when he looked again, the tree still wasn't there.

     "Well! Where is my tree? I must have baked beans, and I won't go to the shops to get them. I want my baked beans and I want them now" he shouted and stomped around the garden like a little human boy.

<  3  >

     So, Marmalade decided to go for a walk to see if he could find his tree. He didn't like walking anywhere very much, but if he didn't have a tree, then he wouldn't have baked beans, because he was FAR too lazy to go to the shops for his beans, and besides, they just didn't taste the same if they were store bought. Marmalade was such a snob!

     Marmalade walked down his path, angry that his tree had disappeared like that. He walked to the end of his street where he met Dougbert. Dougbert was a friendly alley cat.

     "Hello, Marmalade. What's the matter? You look angry." Dougbert asked.

     "My baked bean tree is missing. Have you seen it?" Marmalade grunted in reply.

     "No, Marmalade, I haven't. Why has it gone? Have you been watering it properly?" Dougbert replied.

     "I never water my tree. That's far too much work." Marmalade said, and with that he gave a 'humph' and walked off, with his head high in the air, swishing his tail around like he didn't have a care in the World.

     As Marmalade walked around the corner, he came to the grocery shop. Now, they sold baked beans in there, but Marmalade never bought them from here - his own beans from his special tree were far better. Roger, the Tomcat was working in the shop.

     "Hello, Marmalade! Why do you look so sad?" Roger asked.

     "My baked bean tree has gone missing and I don't know why. Have you seen it anywhere?" Marmalade demanded.

     "Well, no, I haven't. Have you been looking after it properly, by weeding it regularly?"

     "Why should I bother weeding around my tree? I'm too busy. That's far too much work." Marmalade said angrily and with that he gave a 'humph' and walked off, with his head high in the air, swishing his tail around like he didn't have a care in the World.

<  4  >

     Marmalade continued walking, always looking for his tree. Soon he came to the bus stop where Terrance the tabby cat was standing waiting for the number 49 bus that goes into town.

     "Hello Marmalade. You don't look very happy. What ever is the matter with you?" Terrance asked very politely.

     "I'm looking for my baked bean tree. It seems to have gone missing and I don't know why. I don't suppose that you have seen it anywhere?" Marmalade asked, getting rather annoyed.

     "No, I haven't." replied Terrance, "Have you been feeding it plant food and fertiliser to keep it strong and healthy?"

     "Bah!" said Marmalade "Why should I bother doing things like that? It's only a tree, and besides, trees are strong enough too look after themselves. I don't have time to do that sort of thing. That's far too much work" and with that he gave a 'humph' and walked off, with his head high in the air, swishing his tail around like he didn't have a care in the World.

     By now Marmalade had almost decided to walk back home when he came to the park. The park was very big and there were lots of exciting things to do there.

     Leaning on the entrance to the gate was Bernard the boss cat. Bernard, as you can probably guess by his name was the boss of all the cats in the neighbourhood. Bernard always knew everything that was going on. Sometimes he even knew things were going to happen before they even happened!

     "Hello, Marmalade. You do look ever so miserable. I hear that you've lost your baked bean tree." Bernard stated matter-of-factly.

     "Yes, Bernard. Not that it is any of your business, but I have. I don't suppose you've seen it anywhere?" Marmalade asked.

<  5  >

     "Actually, I think I have. But before I tell you, I think I should tell you that your baked bean tree isn't very happy."

     "Humph!" Marmalade said. "Trees don't have feelings. Where is it?"

     And with that, Bernard directed Marmalade to the pond, where he thought he had seen a very unhappy looking tree sitting on the park bench.

     Marmalade didn't have to look for long, which was just as well seeing as he is the laziest cat in the Whole Wide World, and frankly, I don't think that he would have bothered looking for more than five minutes. Anyway, the baked bean tree was found by Marmalade sitting on an old park bench. He was hunched over, his head in his hands. He was crying. No, he was sobbing. His tears were huge, fat drops and they were pouring out of the tree's eyes. The tears fell into the pond, and as the minutes ticked by, the pond was getting deeper and deeper due to the fact that the tree simply WOULD NOT STOP CRYING! And can you really blame him?

     "Um, hello tree." Marmalade said, a little awkwardly. "I've been looking for you absolutely everywhere!"

     "Well, you've found me. You can go home now." Replied the tree.

     Marmalade looked around, as if to check that no one else was there. He coughed a light cough; the type grown-ups do when they are trying to get someone's attention. He took a deep, deep breath and began to speak.

     "I ... I ... I need you tree. You have the most wonderful beaked beans in the World. Come back. Please."

     "Ha!" scoffed the tree; "Why on Earth do you think I would ever come back home with you? You are a horrible, mean, nasty, selfish, heartless, thoughtless ... cat. You just want me come home so that you can eat my wonderful baked beans. Well, I can tell you something - I shan't! You never feed me, you never water me, you never weed me, you never talk to me, and I can tell you that being a baked bean tree is a very lonely business - no-one ever wants to talk to you because of our unique ... um ... aroma."

<  6  >

     Marmalade sighed. The tree was right. The other cats had been right. He had neglected it - his precious baked bean tree.

     Anyhow, after much persuasion, Marmalade managed to talk the tree into coming back home. I think the tree didn't want to leave in the first place, but his disappearance certainly had got Marmalade's attention. So off they walked, paw in trunk, back home. Out of the park "Hello Bernard!", past the bus stop "Hello Terrance!" (Still waiting for the never-on-time-number-49), past the grocers "Hello Roger!" (Won't have to eat your baked beans - thank goodness), down the alley "Hello Dougbert" (go find another alley you nosy cat) and finally back home.

     Now, months went by, and the tree was quite happy, living back in Marmalade's garden. And true to his word, Marmalade watered the tree, weeded the tree, fed the tree, and even went out sometimes just to talk to the tree. So, this is where the story ends ... or is it?

     You see, I did warn you that this was not a very pleasant story, so if you want to find out the real ending, then read on, otherwise, stop right here.

     Do you remember that Marmalade was a very lazy cat? Well, he was the World's laziest cat, and as you can well imagine, all this extra effort that he had to put into his tree was truly tiring. It was now the middle of winter and it was such hard work for Marmalade to go out and keep the tree happy. Besides that - it was very cold outside - far too cold for a lazy cat like Marmalade.

     One day, at tea time, Celia, Marmalade's next door neighbour popped around to deliver a parcel that had been left at her house by mistake.

     "Oh great!" Marmalade exclaimed, "Do come in, it's ever so cold outside. Have a cup of tea. I'm glad you came, I'm ever so hungry."

<  7  >

     "But don't you eat baked beans from your tree, Marmalade?" Celia asked.

     "Oh no, not anymore. You see, this parcel is my weekly delivery of Meatballs. I only ever eat meatballs now. These ones are the finest you can get. They're imported you know? No more baked beans for me! Do sit down next to me in front of my lovely, roaring, freshly cut baked bean log fire."

[Hooman Ghayouri]

The Dragon Rock

by Ellena Ashley

This story begins with Once Upon A Time, because the best stories do, of course.

     So, Once Upon A Time, and imagine if you can, a steep sided valley cluttered with giant, spiky green pine trees and thick, green grass that reaches to the top of your socks so that when you run, you have to bring your knees up high, like running through water. Wildflowers spread their sweet heady perfume along the gentle breezes and bees hum musically to themselves as they cheerily collect flower pollen.

     People are very happy here and they work hard, keeping their houses spick and span and their children's faces clean.

     This particular summer had been very hot and dry, making the lean farm dogs sleepy and still. Farmers whistled lazily to themselves and would stand and stare into the distance, trying to remember what it was that they were supposed to be doing. By two o'clock in the afternoon, the town would be in a haze of slumber, with grandmas nodding off over their knitting and farmers snoozing in the haystacks. It was very, very hot.

     No matter how hot the day, however, the children would always play in the gentle, rolling meadows. With wide brimmed hats and skin slippery with sun block, they chittered and chattered like sparrows, as they frolicked in their favourite spot.

     Now, their favourite spot is very important to this story because in this particular spot is a large, long, scaly rock that looks amazingly similar to a sleeping dragon.

     The children knew it was a dragon.

     The grown ups knew it was a dragon.

     The dogs and cats and birds knew it was a dragon.

     But nobody was scared because it never, ever moved.

     The boys and girls would clamber all over it, poking sticks at it and hanging wet gumboots on its ears but it didn't mind in the least. The men folk would sometimes chop firewood on its zigzagged tail because it was just the right height and the Ladies Weaving Group often spun sheep fleece on its spikes.

     Often on a cool night, when the stars were twinkling brightly in a velvet sky and the children peacefully asleep, the grown ups would settle for the evening with a mug of steaming cocoa in a soft cushioned armchair. Then the stories about How The Dragon Got There began. Nobody knew for sure, there were many different versions depending on which family told the tale, but one thing that everybody agreed on, was this:

<  2  >

    In Times of Trouble
    The Dragon will Wake
    And Free the Village
    By making a Lake



     This little poem was etched into everybody's minds and sometimes appeared on tea towels and grandma's embroidery.

     The days went by slowly, quietly and most importantly, without any rain. There had been no rain in the valley for as long as the children could remember. The wells were starting to bring up muddy brown water and clothes had to be washed in yesterday's dishwater. The lawns had faded to a crisp biscuit colour and the flowers drooped their beautiful heads. Even the trees seemed to hang their branches like weary arms. The valley turned browner and drier and thirstier, every hot, baking day.

     The townsfolk grew worried and would murmur to each other when passing with much shaking of heads and tut tuts. They would look upwards searching for rain clouds in the blue, clear sky, but none ever came.

     "The tale of the Dragon cannot be true," said old Mrs Greywhistle, the shopkeeper.

     "It hasn't moved an inch, I swear," replied her customer, tapping an angry foot.

     It was now too hot for the children to play out in the direct sun and they would gather under the shade of the trees, digging holes in the dust and snapping brittle twigs.

     "The Dragon will help us soon," said one child.

     "He must do Something," agreed another.

     "I'm sure he will."

     They all nodded in agreement.

     A week went by with no change, the people struggling along as best they could. Some were getting cross at the Dragon and would cast angry, sideways looks at it when passing. The villagers were becoming skinny eyed and sullen.

     Meanwhile, the children had a plan.

     Quickly and quietly, they moved invisibly around town, picking and plucking at the fading flowers. With outstretched arms and bouquets up to their chins, they rustled over to where the giant rock lay, as still as ever.

<  3  >

     The boys and girls placed bunches of flowers around the Dragon in a big circle. They scattered petals around its head and over its nose, then danced around and around it, skipping and chanting the rhyme that they all knew so well.



    In Times of Trouble
    The Dragon Will Wake
    And Save the Village
    By making a Lake.



     The searing heat made them dizzy and fuzzy and finally they all fell in a sprawling heap at the bottom of the mound. They looked up at the rock.

     Nothing happened.

     A dry wind lazily picked up some flower heads and swirled them around. The air was thick with pollen and perfume. A stony grey nostril twitched.

     "I saw something," cried the youngest boy.

     They stared intently.

     An ear swiveled like a periscope.

     The ground began to rumble.

     "Look out! Run!Run!"

     The children scampered in all directions, shrieking and squealing, arms pumping with excitement.

     The rumbling grew and grew.

     The Dragon raised its sleepy head. It got onto its front feet and sat like a dog. It stood up and stretched, arching its long scaly back like a sleek tabby cat. It blinked and looked around with big kind, long lashed eyes.

     And then its nostrils twitched and quivered again.

     The older folk were alerted by the screams and shrieks. The ladies held up their long skirts to run and the men rolled their sleeves up and soon the whole town stood together in a tight huddle at the foot of the hill, staring up at the large beast with mouths held open.

     "AHHHHH AAHHHHHHHHH!!"

     The noise erupted from the Dragon.

     "AHHHHH AAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

<  4  >

     The families gripped each other tighter and shut their eyes.

     "AHHHHH CHOOOOOOOOO!!"

     The sneeze blasted from the Dragon like a rocket, throwing it back fifty paces, causing a whirlwind of dust and dirt.

     "AHHHHH CHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

     The second blast split open the dry earth, sending explosions of soil and tree roots high into the sky like missiles, and something else too ...

     The people heard the sound but couldn't recognize it at first for it had been such a long time since their ears had heard such tinkling melody. As their eyes widened in wonder, their smiles turned into grins and then yahoos and hoorahs.

     Water, cold, clear spring water, oozed, then trickled, then roared out of the hole, down the hillside and along the valley floor.

     The torrent knocked over a farmer's haystack, but he didn't care.

     The river carried away the schoolteacher's bike shed but she cared not a jot. It even demolished the Ladies Bowling Club changing rooms but they howled with laughter and slapped their thighs. When the flood sent pools of water out towards the golf course, filling up sixteen of the nineteen holes, the men just hooted and whistled and threw their caps up in the air.

     What used to be a dirty, brown dust bowl, now gleamed and glistened in the sunlight, sending playful waves and ripples across the lake and inviting all to share.

     "HMMMMM," sighed the Dragon sleepily, and showing his perfect movie star teeth. "Seeing as I'm awake ..."

     And he lumbered forward with surprising grace and style and disappeared into the cool dark water with a small wave of a claw and flick of his tail.

     They never saw him again.

     After the families had restored and rebuilt the village, and set up sailing clubs for the children, and scuba diving for the grandparents, they erected a bandstand and monument in the spot where the Dragon used to lay. Every year to mark the occasion, they would bring garlands of flowers and herbs and arrange them in a big circle. The children would have the day off school, for it was known as 'Water Dragon Day' and wearing the dragon masks that they had been working on all week, would skip and clap and sing.

<  5  >

    The Dragon helped Us
    As We said He would Do
    Hooray for The Dragon
    Achoo, Achoo, ACHOOOO!



     And that is the end of the story

[Hooman Ghayouri]

End of the Line

by Alison L. Randall

When Frank and I stepped through the post office doors, there was a crowd gathered, gawking at the new fixture on the wall like a chorus of wide-mouthed frogs. I had to get closer, and that was where being a girl that's scrawnier than a wire fence came in handy. Fortunately, Frank, my twin of eleven years, was just the same.

     "Come on." I said, grabbing his hand, and we slid through the cracks between people until we spilled out in front.

     Finally I got a good look. It was fixed to the plaster next to the postmaster's window, the place of honor usually reserved for the Wanted posters. Beady-eyed Zedekiah Smith, the bank robber, still hung there, but even he had been pushed aside for something more important.

     A telephone. The first one in town.

     "How's it work?" Noah Crawford called out. Noah's the best fix-it man around, and I could tell he was itching to get his fingers on those shiny knobs.

     "Don't rightly know," answered the postmaster, and he tugged at his goatee as if it might tell him. "I do know the sound of your voice moves along wires strung on poles. It's sort of like the telegraph, only you hear words instead of dots and dashes."

     "Ah," the crowd murmured, and I felt my own mouth move along.

     I gazed at that gleaming wood box and something happened inside me. Something — I can only guess — that might be like falling in love. The thought of talking into that box — of making my voice sail through wires in the sky — it took over my brain. I couldn't get it out.

     "Frank," I whispered to my twin. "I have to use that telephone."

     Five minutes later, Frank towed me up Main Street, toward home. "Liza — " he began, but I cut him off. We two thought so much alike, I had Frank's questions answered before he even asked.
<  2  >

     "You're right," I said. "It costs five cents and I don't have it. But look." I pulled him over to the window of Poulson's Variety Store. "You see those?"

     I pointed to a handful of shimmery rocks spread on black velvet. Some were a shiny gray shot through with gold streaks, others yellow as cheese curds. And one, clear and jagged, sat like an icicle, leftover from wintertime.

     Frank's eyebrows screwed up and I could tell he wasn't following.

     "If I found one of those, I bet they'd pay me for it." I explained.

     With a shake of his head, Frank hooked two thumbs under his suspenders. "But Liza — "

     I held up a hand — he couldn't tell me anything I didn't already know. "I've got that figured, too. I'll bet we could find some at North Creek — in the mine."

     Frank shrugged, pretending not to care, but I knew better. He wanted to explore that old mine, same as me. Besides, Frank knew he had no choice. Twins stick together, especially scrawny ones, 'cause it takes two of us to make one of most people.

     We spent half the morning on the dusty road to North Creek. Ma packed a lunch but said she couldn't understand walking all that way for rocks. She thought we were off to search the dry creek bed, and I didn't correct her.

     I felt a bit guilty about fooling my ma, but whenever a pang hit, I conjured up the vision of my voice dancing along wires in the sky. It looked a lot like me, my voice did, only wearing a pink tutu and carrying a frilly umbrella.

     We reached the old mine around noon. The hole in the sage-covered hill had been shored up by timbers. They were weathered and splintery, and looked like a picture frame around nothing.
<  3  >

     I stepped inside, my arms turning to goose bumps from the chill. The air smelled of mildew and rotted beams, but also of horse sweat and wood smoke. Strange. That mine had sat empty for years.

     Once my eyes got used to the dim, I gazed around, hoping to see shimmery rocks littering the floor, but dust was all I saw. Frank walked past me to where the walls narrowed, then disappeared around the curve. I followed fast.

     I'd come up right behind Frank when, ting, his boot connected with metal. He stooped, grabbed, and when he stood, his palm held more than we'd hoped.

     A gold coin. Frank's eyes nearly popped.

     "Where did that come from?" I whispered and reached out a finger to touch.

     Just then, voices sounded in the next cavern over: "Zed, hold it higher." Two men stepped through a gap in the far wall.

     They weren't miners. I could tell that from one glance. They were dressed for riding, with leather chaps and spurs. One held saddlebags over a shoulder and had a mustache that hung past his jaw. The other wore a battered hat, his face hid in its shadow. When he raised his lantern, the light shone full on those beady eyes.

     It was Zedekiah Smith, the bank robber.

     I plastered myself to the wall, hoping to disappear into shadow. Frank hunched over, hiding his head in his sleeves. But for once, we weren't scrawny enough.

     "Hey!" The mustached man pointed, then dropped his saddlebags and ran for us.

     I tried to run, too, but met up with Frank's backside. The next thing I knew, Frank and I were on the ground, being hauled to our feet by a sharp-nailed hand.

     "Lookee here, Zed," our captor cried, "a couple of spies."
<  4  >

     "No," I said, brushing myself off. "We're not spies. We were looking for rocks to sell. There's a new telephone in town, and I just wanted to — Ow!"

     The mustache man yanked my hair. "Does she always talk this much?" he asked Frank. Frank — the traitor — nodded.

     "Looking for rocks, eh?" Mustache Man pried open Frank's fingers. The gold coin glowed warm in the lantern light. "Lookee here, Zed. Musta fallen out."

     Zedekiah Smith strode over and picked the coin out of Frank's palm. "You don't want that, boy. That's dirty money."

     "You made it that way," I told him. "You stole it."

     Zedekiah Smith narrowed his eyes, turning them even beadier. "Caleb's right. You do talk a lot."

     Five minutes later, Frank and I were back to back on the ground.

     "That's what you get," Caleb said, as he tied our hands behind us. "Shouldn't go poking your noses in bad places."

     "It wouldn't be bad without you," I said, and Frank twitched.

     "Sure it would," Caleb said. "Old mine's a dangerous place. You could've got caught in a cave-in, or bit by rattlers. Lucky you got us instead. He, he!" He tightened his knots then stood straight. "Someone will find you in a day or so. We'll be long gone by then. Right Zed?"

     "That's right." Zedekiah Smith stood back, watching Caleb do the dirty work, his eyes shaded again.

     "Just let us go," I begged. "We won't tell."

     "Ha!" Caleb shouldered the saddlebags. "I'd like to see you keep your mouth still."

     Zedekiah Smith took up the lantern and without looking back they passed through the opening in the rock wall. I listened until the jingle of their spurs faded.
<  5  >

     We were alone in dark so thick it stopped up my nose. Caleb was right. This was a bad place. I wouldn't last a day. And worse, when Ma found my lifeless body, she'd know I was a liar.

     I was about to sink into despair, but Frank distracted me with more twitching.

     "There," he said. "I'm free."

     I couldn't believe it when the ropes went slack. Jumping to my feet, I rubbed my wrists, trying to figure how Frank had managed to surprise me so. It wasn't that he'd worked his bony wrists out of Caleb's knots. That was plain Frank. The real surprise was that he'd come up with the idea without my help.

     "Phew," I said, relief washing over me at my second chance at life. Ma wouldn't have to find my lifeless body after all. And as for the liar part, well, I'd work on that.

     But first, I had another good deed in mind, the best way to begin my new life. I was about to turn in that outlaw.

     I grabbed Frank's arm and towed him toward the exit. "We need to get to town and report Zedekiah Smith." Then something else occurred to me. "Think of the telephone calls I could make with that reward money."

     'Liza — " Frank started up, but I knew where he was heading.

     "Of course we'll split it."

     We rounded the wall and ran smack into another, one with chaps and a hat. Zedekiah Smith was back. Before we could move, he had us trussed in his arms like two pigs for slaughter.

     "Let go!" I cried, pounding his chest.

     "Shh," he whispered. "Caleb thinks I forgot something."

     I froze. "But . . . "
<  6  >

     "I came back to cut you loose."

     For once, I had a hard time filling my mouth with words.

     "Now, you stay hidden until I get Caleb away," he whispered. "It won't do to have him telling people about my weak stomach."

     "Are you feeling poorly?" Frank asked and Zedekiah Smith laughed.

     "No, but I've got no stomach for hurting people." His arms went limp, releasing us, and he took a step back. "You'd better do your duty and report me. But take this in case that reward money's long in coming." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pale yellow rock studded with honey-colored crystals. "I saw it out in the dry creek bed. Might be worth a telephone call."

     He dropped it into my hand and gave a wink. Then he turned and walked out into the sunlight. Frank and I gawked, like a duet of wide-mouthed frogs.

     We didn't make it to the Sheriff's office until the next morning. I reported Zedekiah Smith, just like I should, but for some reason, it didn't feel like a good deed anymore.

     Our next stop was the Variety Store. Old Mr. Poulson's eyes kindled when he saw the crystal rock. Twenty-five cents went to Frank, who wasted it on candy. I saved mine for something monumental.

     The post office wasn't crowded anymore. Still, there were a few lookers as I walked to the counter and laid down my nickel.

     "I'd like to make a telephone call," I announced.

     "How about that," the postmaster said, stroking his goatee. "You'll be the first. Who would you like to call?"

     "Who?" I echoed. And just like that, my vision dissolved. Pink tutu and frilly umbrella, both drifted off like a dandelion in the wind. My voice couldn't dance along wires — it had no place to go. Nobody I knew had a telephone.
<  7  >

     I turned to Frank and found him grinning.

     "You saw it all along," I accused.

     He shrugged. "I tried to tell you."

     "You did?" I thought back to the day before and realized that maybe he had. I'd been too busy using my own mouth to notice.

     After taking one last, loving look at the telephone, I turned away from the counter. Maybe candy would be a good use for that nickel after all.

     "Frank," I said, pondering those thoughts he kept having without me, "next time you have something to say, speak up. I'll try hard to listen."

     The poster of Zedekiah Smith seemed to nod at me as we passed

[Zohreh Gholami]

Mischievous boy

Peter was eight and a half years old, and he went to a school near his house. He always went there and came home on foot, and he usually got back on time, but last Friday he came home from school late. His mother was in the kitchen, and she saw him and said to him, "Why are you late today, Peter 


My teacher was angry and sent me to the headmaster after our lessons," Peter answered"


To the headmaster? his mother said. "Why did she send you to him?"


"Because she asked a question in the class; Peter said, "and none of the children gave her the answer except me."


His mother was angry. "But why did the teacher send you to the headmaster then? Why didn"t she send all the other stupid children?" she asked Peter 


Because her question was, "Who put glue on my chair?" Peter said

[Hooman Ghayouri]

The Happy Prince

by Oscar Wilde

    Note: Oscar Wilde intended this story to be read to children



High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

     He was very much admired indeed.'He is as beautiful as a weathercock,' remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic taste; 'only not quite so useful,' he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

     'Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?' asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. 'The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.'

     'I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy', muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

     'He looks just like an angel,' said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks, and their clean white pinafores.

     'How do you know?' said the Mathematical Master, 'you have never seen one.'

     'Ah! but we have, in our dreams,' answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

     One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

     'Shall I love you said the Swallow', who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

<  2  >

     'It is a ridiculous attachment,' twittered the other Swallows, 'she has no money, and far too many relations;' and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came, they all flew away.

     After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love. 'She has no conversation,' he said, 'and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.' And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtsies. I admit that she is domestic,' he continued, 'but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also.'

     'Will you come away with me?' he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.

     'You have been trifling with me,' he cried, 'I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!' and he flew away.

     All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. 'Where shall I put up?' he said 'I hope the town has made preparations.'

     Then he saw the statue on the tall column. 'I will put up there,' he cried; 'it is a fine position with plenty of fresh air.' So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

     'I have a golden bedroom,' he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing, a large drop of water fell on him.'What a curious thing!' he cried, 'there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness.'

     Then another drop fell.

     'What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?' he said; 'I must look for a good chimney-pot,' and he determined to fly away.

<  3  >

     But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw - Ah! what did he see?

     The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

     'Who are you?' he said.

     'I am the Happy Prince.'

     'Why are you weeping then?' asked the Swallow; 'you have quite drenched me.'

     'When I was alive and had a human heart,' answered the statue, 'I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot choose but weep.'

     'What, is he not solid gold?' said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

     'Far away,' continued the statue in a low musical voice,'far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion-fowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of-honour to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.'

<  4  >

     'I am waited for in Egypt,' said the Swallow. 'My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves.'

     'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince,'will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad.

     'I don't think I like boys,' answered the Swallow. 'Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect.'

     But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. 'It is very cold here,' he said 'but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger.'

     'Thank you, little Swallow,' said the Prince.

     So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

     He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. 'How wonderful the stars are,' he said to her,'and how wonderful is the power of love!' 'I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,' she answered; 'I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.'

     He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. 'How cool I feel,' said the boy, 'I must be getting better;' and he sank into a delicious slumber.

<  5  >

     Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done. 'It is curious,' he remarked, 'but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.'

     'That is because you have done a good action,' said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

     When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath.

     'What a remarkable phenomenon,' said the Professor of Omithology as he was passing over the bridge. 'A swallow in winter!' And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.

     'To-night I go to Egypt,' said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, 'What a distinguished stranger!' so he enjoyed himself very much.

     When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. 'Have you any commissions for Egypt?' he cried; 'I am just starting.'

     'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'will you not stay with me one night longer?'

     'I am waited for in Egypt,' answered the Swallow. To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.'

     'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince,'far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.'

<  6  >

     'I will wait with you one night longer,' said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. 'Shall I take him another ruby?'

     'Alas! I have no ruby now,' said the Prince; 'my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.'

     'Dear Prince,' said the Swallow,'I cannot do that;' and he began to weep.

     'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'do as I command you.'

     So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the student's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

     'I am beginning to be appreciated,' he cried; 'this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play,' and he looked quite happy.

     The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. 'Heave a-hoy!' they shouted as each chest came up. 'I am going to Egypt!' cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

     'I am come to bid you good-bye,' he cried.

     'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince,'will you not stay with me one night longer?'

     'It is winter,' answered the Swallow, and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.

<  7  >

     'In the square below,' said the Happy Prince, 'there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her.

     'I will stay with you one night longer,' said the Swallow,'but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.'

     'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'do as I command you.'

     So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. 'What a lovely bit of glass,' cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

     Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. 'You are blind now,' he said, 'so I will stay with you always.'

     'No, little Swallow,' said the poor Prince, 'you must go away to Egypt.'

     'I will stay with you always,' said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince's feet.

     All the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.

<  8  >

     'Dear little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there.'

     So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves warm. 'How hungry we are' they said. 'You must not lie here,' shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

     Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

     'I am covered with fine gold,' said the Prince, 'you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy.'

     Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street. 'We have bread nod' they cried.

     Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

     The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door when the baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

     But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more.'Good-bye, dear Prince!' he murmured, 'will you let me kiss your hand?'

<  9  >

     'I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.'

     'It is not to Egypt that I am going,' said the Swallow. I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?'

     And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

     At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.

     Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: 'Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!' he said.

     'How shabby indeed!' cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor, and they went up to look at it.

     'The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer,' said the Mayor; 'in fact, he is little better than a beggar!'

     'Little better than a beggar,' said the Town Councillors.

     'And there is actually a dead bird at his feet,' continued the Mayor. 'We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here.' And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

     So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. 'As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful,' said the Art Professor at the University.

     Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. 'We must have another statue, of course,' he said, 'and it shall be a statue of myself.'

<  10  >

     'Of myself,' said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

     'What a strange thing!' said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.'This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away.' So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.

     'Bring me the two most precious things in the city,' said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

     'You have rightly chosen,' said God,'for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me

[Hooman Ghayouri]

 

Mr Sticky

by Mo McAuley

No one knew how Mr. Sticky got in the fish tank.

     "He's very small," Mum said as she peered at the tiny water snail. "Just a black dot."

     "He'll grow," said Abby and pulled her pyjama bottoms up again before she got into bed. They were always falling down.



In the morning Abby jumped out of bed and switched on the light in her fish tank.

     Gerry, the fat orange goldfish, was dozing inside the stone archway. Jaws was already awake, swimming along the front of the tank with his white tail floating and twitching. It took Abby a while to find Mr. Sticky because he was clinging to the glass near the bottom, right next to the gravel.

     At school that day she wrote about the mysterious Mr. Sticky who was so small you could mistake him for a piece of gravel. Some of the girls in her class said he seemed an ideal pet for her and kept giggling about it.

     That night Abby turned on the light to find Mr. Sticky clinging to the very tiniest, waviest tip of the pond weed. It was near the water filter so he was bobbing about in the air bubbles.

     "That looks fun," Abby said. She tried to imagine what it must be like to have to hang on to things all day and decided it was probably very tiring. She fed the fish then lay on her bed and watched them chase each other round and round the archway. When they stopped Gerry began nibbling at the pond weed with his big pouty lips. He sucked Mr. Sticky into his mouth then blew him back out again in a stream of water. The snail floated down to the bottom of the tank among the coloured gravel.



"I think he's grown a bit," Abby told her Mum at breakfast the next day.

<  2  >

     "Just as well if he's going to be gobbled up like that," her Mum said, trying to put on her coat and eat toast at the same time.

     "But I don't want him to get too big or he won't be cute anymore. Small things are cute aren't they?"

     "Yes they are. But big things can be cute too. Now hurry up, I'm going to miss my train."



At school that day, Abby drew an elephant. She needed two pieces of expensive paper to do both ends but the teacher didn't mind because she was pleased with the drawing and wanted it on the wall. They sellotaped them together, right across the elephant's middle. In the corner of the picture, Abby wrote her full name, Abigail, and drew tiny snails for the dots on the 'i's The teacher said that was very creative.

     At the weekend they cleaned out the tank. "There's a lot of algae on the sides," Mum said. "I'm not sure Mr. Sticky's quite up to the job yet."

     They scooped the fish out and put them in a bowl while they emptied some of the water. Mr. Sticky stayed out of the way, clinging to the glass while Mum used the special 'vacuum cleaner' to clean the gravel. Abby trimmed the new pieces of pond weed down to size and scrubbed the archway and the filter tube. Mum poured new water into the tank.

     "Where's Mr. Sticky?" Abby asked.

     "On the side," Mum said. She was busy concentrating on the water. "Don't worry I was careful."

     Abby looked on all sides of the tank. There was no sign of the water snail.

     "He's probably in the gravel then," her mum said. "Come on let's get this finished. I've got work to do." She plopped the fish back in the clean water where they swam round and round, looking puzzled.

<  3  >

That evening Abby went up to her bedroom to check the tank. The water had settled and looked lovely and clear but there was no sign of Mr. Sticky. She lay on her bed and did some exercises, stretching out her legs and feet and pointing her toes. Stretching was good for your muscles and made you look tall a model had said on the t.v. and she looked enormous. When Abby had finished, she kneeled down to have another look in the tank but there was still no sign of Mr. Sticky. She went downstairs.



Her mum was in the study surrounded by papers. She had her glasses on and her hair was all over the place where she'd been running her hands through it. She looked impatient when she saw Abby in the doorway and even more impatient when she heard the bad news.

     "He'll turn up." was all she said. "Now off to bed Abby. I've got masses of work to catch up on."

     Abby felt her face go hot and red. It always happened when she was angry or upset.

     "You've hoovered him up haven't you," she said. You were in such a rush you hoovered him up."

     "I have not. I was very careful. But he is extremely small."

     "What's wrong with being small?"

     "Nothing at all. But it makes things hard to find."

     "Or notice," Abby said and ran from the room.



The door to the bedroom opened and Mum's face appeared around the crack. Abby tried to ignore her but it was hard when she walked over to the bed and sat next to her. She was holding her glasses in her hand. She waved them at Abby.

     "These are my new pair," she said. "Extra powerful, for snail hunting." She smiled at Abby. Abby tried not to smile back.

<  4  >

     "And I've got a magnifying glass," Abby suddenly remembered and rushed off to find it.

     They sat beside each other on the floor. On their knees they shuffled around the tank, peering into the corners among the big pebbles, at the gravel and the pondweed.

     "Ah ha!" Mum suddenly cried.

     "What?" Abby moved her magnifying glass to where her mum was pointing.

     There, tucked in the curve of the archway, perfectly hidden against the dark stone, sat Mr. Sticky. And right next to him was another water snail, even smaller than him.

     "Mrs Sticky!" Abby breathed. "But where did she come from?"

     "I'm beginning to suspect the pond weed don't you think?"

     They both laughed and climbed into Abby's bed together, cuddling down under the duvet. It was cozy but a bit of a squeeze.

     "Budge up," Mum said, giving Abby a push with her bottom.

     "I can't, I'm already on the edge."

     "My goodness you've grown then. When did that happen? You could have put an elephant in here last time we did this."

     Abby put her head on her mum's chest and smiled

[Zohreh Gholami]

THE STORY OF 2 LINES

Two parallel lines were born.
A boy in classroom drew them on a piece of paper.
Then the two lines looked at each other.
And at that first sight their hearst began to beat .
And they loved each other .
The first line said : we can live a good life together.
The second line shivered with excitement .
The first continued :and we can have a house on a cospy paper.
I would work through days.I can become the edge of a remote road , or a siderail of a ladder.The second line said : I can become one of the sides on the squar rim of a vase fuul of roses , or the sides of an only bench in a small park .
The first line said : what a romantic job.
And we will surely be happy .
At this time the teacher shouted :
(( Parallel lines never meet )),and the students repeated it .
The two parallel lines shivered .and looked at each other .The second line brust into tears.
The first line said:No its impossible .We will certainly find a way.
The second said : you have heard what they said . There is no way.We can never meet . She began to cry again.
The first line said :we shouldn't despair.We will step out of this page and travel around the world.We will finally find someone to solve our problem .
The second line was calmed.Then They crept out of the paper and passed through under the door and entered the yard .From that moment their journey started .
The passed over fields...
Burning deserts...
High mountains...
Deep valleys ...
Over seas...
Populated towns ...
Years lapsed.And they met with so many scholars.The mathematician told them : It's impossible . No mathematics formula can help you meet each other . You would destroy every thing .
The physicist said : let me disappoint you from the very beginning .Were it possible to ignore the laws of the nature .there would be no such thing as physics.
The doctor said : there is nothing I can do , your desease is incurable .
The astronomer said : you are the most selfish beings on the earth.If you meet , the whole cosmos will perish . The planes would get out of their orbits and collide . The world would fall apart ,since you would violate an important law .
The philosopher said :I'm sorry the principle of contration holds everything .
And at last they came across a child who uttered just three sentence : you will meet.Not in the reall world,seek to meet some where else.
The two parallel lines left her,and continued their journey again . But now between them something was coming into begin .they were losing the desire for meeting . The first line said : It's nonsense .The second said : what ?
the first said : that we should meet.The second said : I think so too . And they went on they way.
One day they reached a field . An artist was there in the middle of the green grasses ,painting on her canvass.The first line said : the canvess to get ride of our homelessnes .
the second one said : perhaps we should'nt have ever got out of that paper .The first one said : we'll be at peace there .
Then they stepped onto the field .They went on the artist's hand and then onto her brush.The artist thought and moved her brush .
The two lines became two rails on a railroad which passed through a field and then on the horizen where the scarlet sun was setting the two lines met so romantically

[Zohreh Gholami]

A missing cat

The owner of a missing cat is asking for help. "My baby has been missing for over a month now, and I want him back so badly," said Mrs. Brown, a 56-year-old woman. Mrs. Brown lives by herself in a trailer park near Clovis. She said that Clyde, her 7-year-old cat, didn't come home for dinner more than a month ago. The next morning he didn't appear for breakfast either. After Clyde missed an extra-special lunch, she called the police.

When the policeman asked her to describe Clyde, she told him that Clyde had beautiful green eyes, had all his teeth but was missing half of his left ear, and was seven years old and completely white. She then told the officer that Clyde was about a foot high.

A bell went off. "Is Clyde your child or your pet?" the officer suspiciously asked. "Well, he's my cat, of course," Mrs. Brown replied. "Lady, you're supposed to report missing PERSONS, not missing CATS," said the irritated policeman. "Well, who can I report this to?" she asked. "You can't. You have to ask around your neighborhood or put up flyers," replied the officer.

Mrs. Brown figured that a billboard would work a lot better than an 8"x11" piece of paper on a telephone pole. There was an empty billboard at the end of her street just off the interstate highway. The billboard had a phone number on it. She called that number, and they told her they could blow up a picture of Clyde (from Mrs. Brown's family album) and put it on the billboard for all to see.

"But how can people see it when they whiz by on the interstate?" she asked. "Oh, don't worry, ma'am, they only whiz by between 2 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. The rest of the day, the interstate is so full of commuters that no one moves." They told her it would cost only $3,000 a month. So she took most of the money out of her savings account and rented the billboard for a month.

The month has passed, but Clyde has not appeared. Because she has almost no money in savings, Mrs. Brown called the local newspaper to see if anyone could help her rent the billboard for just one more month. She is waiting but, so far, no one has stepped forward

[Zohreh Gholami]

A Thoughtful Gift

Catherine invited Nelson to dinner. Last semester she had been a student in Nelson's grammar class, but she had to drop the class because her son Kendall was having a problem in school. The problem was that he wasn't studying. Catherine decided that Kendall needed more motivation. She would provide that motivation by watching him like a hawk. She would also restrict his use of his Game Boy. He was allowed to play the computer game only on weekends.

Nelson was getting to be an old man. He had been teaching various subjects for almost 40 years. He could have retired 10 years ago, but he loved teaching. He said his students gave him something to look forward to every day. He planned to teach until he dropped dead in the classroom.

Nelson needed to take a little gift to Catherine to show his gratitude for the invitation. He couldn't think of what would be appropriate. Opening his kitchen cabinet, he found the perfect gift—an unopened box of tea. In a kitchen drawer, he found some fresh-looking wrapping paper. He wrapped the box of tea up expertly. Feeling proud of himself, he drove over to Catherine's and rang the doorbell.

He presented his gift. Catherine made a funny face. She said she loved the wrapping paper. Then she unwrapped the tea and made another funny face. "Nelson, I gave this tea to you at the end of last semester, and I wrapped it in this paper!"

Nelson gulped. His face turned red. He told himself he had to be more careful with gifts in the future. Stammering, he apologized to Catherine. She smiled and said, It's okay. It's the thought that counts, yes