YA Author Rendezvous

Creativity Unleashed: Books for the young and the young at heart


Flash Fiction

The Kanga Wola Fox and the Great Outback

At the Young Adult Author Rendezvous, we believe in fostering a love for writing in young people. One of our own, LJ Higgins, had the pleasure of judging a teen writing contest in September. We’re going to showcase each of the three winners. Enjoy the third story below.

A bit about the contest:

In September, Calliope, a small town in Central Queensland, Australia, held it’s annual Country Carnival. As part of the Carnival, YAAR Author L J Higgins was invited to judge a writing competition. She was blown away by the amazing entries, and along with two other judges, they chose one winner from each age category.

The Kanga Wola Fox and the Great Outback

By: Janay Jeynes

Friends Billy and Bridy set out on an adventure to find the magical kanga wola fox. The legend was, that the kanga wola fox granted wishes to whoever found him. They were cautious about what they were doing but they wanted the best for their loved ones. Billy and Bridys family were homeless, they had a couple of pairs of clothes and a handful of food. They lived in a poor country town of about two hundred other people, many with children under three years old. They wanted to help their town, friends, and family by finding the kanga wola fox.

They began to pack for their journey. They’d have to put up with the hot sun beaming down on their backs and the long tiring walk. Before they left everyone gathered around the town hall and wished them good luck. They began walking but before they could take one step an elderly couple grabbed Billy’s shoulders and warned him about the kangaroos. They mentioned that the creature was ancient and fierce. Billy thought the people were loopy. They told him that the creature lives in the middle of the forest about a kilometre from the river. Billy and Bridy were confused, they had been told that there were no kanga wola foxes in the area at all. They didn’t know what to expect but they were soon to find out. Off they went on their adventure.

Billy and Bridy had nearly reached the end of town. Billy had already started to list the things he wanted. Billy wanted an education, food and a home to live in. Bridy wanted the same things as Billy but she thought that was a little bit selfish so she didn’t mention any thing about wishes. When they had an hour to go on foot, Billy reached into the backpack looking for the water but they had forgotten to pack it. They came to a sudden stop then looked at each other and looked back and all they could see was little houses in the distance. They didn’t talk for half an hour then their mouths became sticky and dry. Suddenly they dropped and crawled. 

They told themselves half an hour left. They saw a puddle of water they wondered if it was real or not. They began to crawl faster and faster they touched the water and they mentioned that it wasn’t water it was air Bridy jumped in and floated back up and she told Billy to jump in. Billy had a gut feeling about it, he thought it was a trap. It took ten seconds to reach the bottom. They looked around and saw black shadows. They were frighted. A big kanga wola fox pounced out of nowhere. They didn’t expect to find it this close to the edge. It seemed the kanga wola fox didn’t expect them.

The kanga wola fox circled them, they could sense its fear and anger the fox spoke with his deep crackle voice, ‘‘why are you here, and what do you want?

Billy and Bridy stuttered with their words, “w.. w.. we are here to get wishes from you and maybe a little more.”

The fox laughed and laughed. He claimed he retired a year ago because no one needed him. But Billy and Bridy didn’t care, they knew he could do anything so they just stayed stubborn.

They looked up and saw that he looked sad so they asked, ‘‘what’s wrong?”

He replied in a soft voice saying, “I am lonely, and it’s been like this for many years.” 

Billy and Bridy were upset for what had happened so they turned and gave each other the thumbs up.

Bridy said, “well, we will make a deal if you give our whole town wishes you can come with us forever and you won’t be lonely.”

They had arrived at the small country town and everybody stared and clapped. Billy and Bridy got carried to the town hall and two little kids took the fox. Everyone started to line up for their wishes. The fox got upset because he realised that most people didn’t have a home to live in.

After he served them all he wanted to make wishes for him so he stood in front of a mirror and wished for a family and a name he wanted three family members and he wanted his name to be Sparks.

The next morning Sparks woke up he saw three foxes standing in the middle of the room. They ran up to him and hugged him. He was confused for what had happened but at the last minute, he remembers that he wished for a family. Sparks was proud of the achievements that he had created. Later on in the night, the town had organised a surprise party. Sparks was wondering where everybody was so he went home and when he opened the door everyone was there they had told Sparks it was for what he had done for the community.

On that night they all enjoyed themselves and they had the best times of their lives.


About the author:

Janay Jeynes placed first in the 6-12yr category in the Calliope Country Carnival Writing Competition.

Hello, my name is Janay and I am in year seven. I have recently moved to Central Queensland, Australia, and I am already off to a good start. My story took lots of effort and tears. It took me over a week and lots of reminders for me to write my story. I would like to thank the judges for choosing my story for first place in the Calliope Writing Competition, and I hope that everyone who reads my story enjoys it as well.    

Read the first story HERE.

Read the second story HERE.

This post was created by Michelle Lynn

The contest was judged by LJ Higgins

Don’t forget to check out more posts by the Young Adult Author Rendezvous HERE.

Swallow​ Creek Spring Fair

At the Young Adult Author Rendezvous, we believe in fostering a love for writing in young people. One of our own, LJ Higgins, had the pleasure of judging a teen writing contest in September. We’re going to showcase each of the three winners. Enjoy the second story below.

A bit about the contest:

In September, Calliope, a small town in Central Queensland, Australia, held it’s annual Country Carnival. As part of the Carnival, YAAR Author L J Higgins was invited to judge a writing competition. She was blown away by the amazing entries, and along with two other judges, they chose one winner from each age category.

Swallow Creek Spring Fair

By: Cassie Laelyn

Hands firmly on the steering wheel in the ten and two positions, Amelia flicked a glance over at the passenger seat beside her, where her creased leather satchel sat in-lieu of an occupant, eagerly awaiting their adventure. A far better companion than the grouchy, uncompromising one she’d chosen to leave behind. Plus, she was the one who’d received the exclusive invitation, not him.     The high-gloss, trifold brochure poking out from the front pocket of the satchel, once again caught her attention, causing the butterflies to resume fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She’d been counting down the days until the annual Swallow Creek Spring Fair and now it was finally here.

Eyes back on the narrow, windy road, as the GPS, announced she was minutes away from entering the town limits. Easing off the accelerator, Amelia curved her Audi around yet another sweeping bend, treating her (and her stand-in-passenger) to uninterrupted views of the majestic landscape. Rolling forest green hills, worthy of a scene in The Sound of Music, filled the countryside for as far as her eyes could see, covered sporadically with fields of flowering canola, as though an artist had splashed patches of bright yellow paint across a green canvas. Squinting behind her shades, she spied an eagle in the distance, gracefully soaring in the cloudless, bright blue sky. Amelia wound the window down and sucked in a breath of clean, fresh country air, a stark contrast to the thick, foul, dirty stench her lungs were accustom to. It’s so much better out here. Rounding the final bend, the small township of Swallow Creek came into view and her excitement jumped a notch.  Amelia eased the car off the single lane bitumen road and pulled up before the weathered town sign to take a quick snap-shot with her phone.


Swallow Creek Est: 1873 Population: 607


Wow, for such a small town, they sure put a lot of effort into advertising their Spring Fair.  Resuming the journey, Amelia pulled the car back out onto the bitumen and headed towards the centre of town, where all the fun and excitement could begin. Choosing one of the many empty car parks at the beginning of the main street, Amelia wound the window back up and killed the engine.  She leaned over and grabbed her satchel before stepping out of the car. Her pastel, knee-length dress swayed in the gentle, balmy breeze, bringing a smile to her face; the first hint summer was around the corner.

Amelia paused for a few minutes to glance down the centre of the main street and take everything in, giving her an opportunity to prioritise her day of sightseeing. After waiting so long, she wanted to make sure she saw every inch of the historic township. The wide main street was flanked either side with a few weathered, stone buildings. The pathways and tin roofs were covered in a thick layer of creamy dirt like the sidewalks hadn’t been swept since the town’s birth. She half expected a tumbleweed to bounce down the road any minute now. Mid-way down the street on the right, was the Town Hall; a single-story red-stone structure, with a square steeple towering above the roof line, complete with a large roman-numeral clock on the face. On the opposite side was the sole pub, the only double-story building, complete with a wrap-around timber veranda on the upper level.  From first glance, the other buildings comprised of a general store, chemist, town library and historic homestead.  Craning her neck back, Amelia inspected a large tattered banner hanging loosely from its tether above her head, strung between two decaying wooden poles on either side of the street, gently flapping in the breeze.  The material frayed and ripped as though it had been subjected to the harsh elements over a period of decades.  Amelia could make out some of the faded words:

Swallow Creek Spring Fair 13 September Fun and excitement for all!

Peering back down the length of the main street, at the far end on the left, Amelia spotted a paddock filled with market stalls and the tops of amusement rides peeking above the tin roofs. That must be the Fair. Amelia eagerly slipped the brochure from her bag, folding it out to examine its content for the millionth time. Local produce, quality market stalls, and good old fashion country games were the taglines which had grabbed her attention, making the two-and-a-half-hour drive worthwhile. High on the priority list was buying homemade chutney or jam, from a region renowned for its ideal growing conditions. But first, she wanted to explore the hand-full of historic buildings, before she got carried away at the Fair and had to make the long journey home. Amelia crossed under the hanging banner and a wave of uneasiness trickled down her spine, frightening away the fluttering butterflies. She glanced back at the brochure clutched in her hand. There was something niggling her about the pictures on the brochure compared to the town before her. For starters, where were all the people? Shrugging off her paranoia—brochures always exaggerated anyway—Amelia strolled towards the first building on her list: the general store. Ding-ding! A tiny golden bell announced her arrival as Amelia pushed open the wooden fly-screen door and entered the store. Pausing inside, she cast her eyes over the cramped space; three rows of shelves huddled together in the centre, an unmanned counter on one side and a refrigeration section in the rear.

“Hello?” She called out to the empty store, receiving no reply.

Wandering down the first aisle, Amelia eyed the contents of the perfectly organised shelves. Reaching out, she ran her fingertip along the top of one of the tins and grimaced at the track it left through the thick layer of dust. The second and third aisles were the same, heavily coated in dust as though the store owner had neglected to clean for like, a century. She strode to the refrigeration section at the rear and covered her nose and mouth with one hand, as a foul stench filled the air. Leaning over, she poked her finger at a sealed bag of brown meat, laying at the bottom of a chest fridge, it bobbed back, swimming in rotten blood. Yuck!

Turning away, she grabbed a bottle of soft drink from the refrigerated shelves, its sides expanded as though it was going to explode, and inspected the used-by date. What? Did this store stock anything that wasn’t going to give her food poisoning? Quickly returning the bottle—she’d grab a cold drink somewhere else, thank you very much—Amelia turned on her heels and hot-footed it out the door. Back on the sidewalk, Amelia glanced up at the oversized clock situated on the face of the Town Hall’s tower. Weird. She could have sworn that was the exact time she’d arrived at Swallow Creek but according to the clock on her phone, she’d been here for over thirty minutes. Guess the ancient clock was broken. Crossing the bitumen, Amelia headed towards the Town Hall; the next stop on her list of things-to-see.  Amelia twisted the brass handle on the double wooden doors but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Maybe it was closed and everyone was at the Fair?  Cheers and a loud ding suddenly rang in the distance, like someone had slammed down one of those large hammers, throwing the weight to the top of the tower and hitting the bell. Winning a prize. As Amelia turned away, she caught a shadow pass the uncovered window, out of the corner of her eye. She halted mid-step and peered over her shoulder towards the white panelled glass. A moment or two passed without the figure returning and she exhaled the breath she didn’t realising she’d been holding. Shaking her head to herself, Amelia continued back across the deserted main street to the sole pub in town. At least there was music coming from that building. A tingling sensation at her nape sharpened during the fifteen strides it took to cross the road and Amelia peeked over her shoulder several times, to check if someone was watching her. Unable to see the fiery yellow eyes staring back, her mind shrugged off the weird sensations.  Her body, however, was not easily convinced. By the time Amelia reached the pub’s entrance she was a flustered mess; her heart racing so fast it was at risk of a speeding fine and her mouth so dry she had difficulty swallowing. Calm down, Lia.  You’re overreacting. Any second now, she was going to waltz into the pub and be surrounded by town folk and tourists here for the Fair, all of which would laugh at her crazy story, assuring her it was all in her head. What was she waiting for? Deep breath in… and out, and Amelia pushed open the antique door… and froze. Her heart sank. Inside the pub, there were no town folk perched on the wooden bar stools, no bartender behind the fully stocked bar, no patrons occupying the hand full of round tables in the centre. Where the heck was everyone?   Amelia forced her shaky legs to cross the polished timber floor to the far corner and inspect the jukebox, mid-way through belting out ‘The Gambler’. The track listing set on random and continuous play. Her gaping eyes peered right at the burgundy carpeted staircase leading to the upper level.  Think there’s been enough excitement for one day. Amelia tucked her satchel closer to her body and rushed out of the pub through the same door she’d come. It was time to socialise with actual people. If there are any… Back out on the dirt covered sidewalk, Amelia flicked a final glance at the clock town across the street. Yep, still broken.

She quickened her step towards the Spring Fair but the lure of the old library building drew her in. How could it not? An entire building filled with books; countless stories and adventures held between the pages. Ok, she groaned to herself. One more building but then she was heading straight to the Fair. This deserted town was beginning to give her the creeps. The double wooden doors to the library creaked open as she entered, echoing off the exposed rich timber rafters under the pitched roof. Amelia descended three steps and wandered down the first isle of towering mahogany shelves, overflowing with deep brown and burgundy treasures. She couldn’t help brushing her fingers along one of the leather-bound books before her, its spine frayed and dusty, the pages yellowed with age. There was something magical about the musky scent of an old novel, the way it filled the reader’s soul with— Amelia’s breath hitched and her head snapped around as a shadow passed outside the panelled window of the library. Forgetting the book, she raced up the stairs, ripping open the doors to rush outside. Her heart speed as she flicked her gaze left and right, searching for the figure among the empty, deserted street. Nothing. Once again, it had vanished without a trace. She prayed at any moment now, the town folk would jump from behind the buildings to yell, ‘surprise!’ and this crazy day will be forgotten. Biting her lower lip, she tried to decide what to do. Stay or get the heck out of here? She had come all this way, it would be a shame to let a few creepy moments ruin her outing to the Fair. Especially one she’d waiting so long for.  Right, she was going to take a quick peek at the Fair, if there weren’t any people there either, she would high-tail it out of this freaky town and put her lead-foot to good use. Her summer sandals scooted down the cement sidewalk to the end of the street and she breathed a sigh of relief; beyond the two-foot wire fence in front of her, spread out across a lush grassy paddock the size of half a football field, was the Spring Fair. Cheers and laughter filled her ears, drowning out the country music blaring from the loudspeakers. Finally. A shiver ran down her spine as Amelia pushed open the rickety gate to enter the Fair but she was too distracted to pay it any attention. Stall after stall lined the rows before her, filled with jams, chutney, sauces, smoked meats, handmade goods; you name it, there was a market stall for it. The fluttering butterflies returned, filling her with the urge to leap and cheer. Taking her time, Amelia wandered down the stall aisles, stopping at a chutney stand to taste one of the jars on offer. Yummy mango. At least these jars weren’t coated in layers of dust. She dug inside her satchel and grabbed out her purse, to purchase a jar or two.

“Hello?”  Amelia leaned over the chutney table glancing left and right, in search of the stall holder. “Anybody there?” She called. No answer.

Purse in hand, she peered down both sides of the stall, in case the attendant was on a break. Nope.  No-one. The tingling at the back of her neck returned and Amelia spun around, scanning the aisles with fresh eyes. Her stomach churned. Each stall was packed with fresh local produce, yet had no sellers behind the tables. At the same time as her realisation, laughter echoed from the carnival rides to the rear of the Fair, as though they were beckoning her. Maybe all the people are on the rides? Stepping free of the unattended stalls, Amelia discovered the real excitement at the Fair. Loads of operating carnival rides spread out over the paddock; a merry-go-round, a gigantic ferris wheel, a swinging pirate ship, and bumper cars.

She gravitated towards the giant chair swing directly in front of her, the only ride stationary for thrill seekers to board. Choosing a vacant chair on the outer rim, Amelia used the hanging chains to lift herself onto the warm metal seat. The moment she attached the linked chain across the front of her, securing herself in, the centre of the ride began to rotate, as though the giant swing had been waiting for her and her alone. Gradually the ride increased its speed, floating her chair out the side, rewarding her with a panoramic view of the town. Strands of golden hair fell free from her braid, blowing across her face, and she tucked them behind her ear. Closing her eyes for a moment, Amelia relished in the warm, calming rays steaming over her wind-blown cheeks. On the third slow spin, Amelia opened her lids and glanced towards the centre of the ride. Her breath hitched. From out of nowhere, a male appeared on the chair to her left. Another person at the Fair.

“Hi!” She waved over to him.

But he didn’t respond. Didn’t turn his head to acknowledge her. His gaping eyes stared straight ahead, gripping a small piece of paper tightly in his hands. Wait! Squinting, she discovered the male was clutching an ancient copy of the Swallow Creek Spring Fair brochure, its cover page faded to a sepia tone like an old family photograph on her grandmother’s mantelpiece. Not at all like the glossy one she’d received— Dread filled her stomach as she peered down at the brochure in her hand, it gradually changing to the same sepia tone. A date appeared through the paper as though she’d used a magic marker to reveal the ink.

Swallow Creek Spring Fair 13 September 1967 Fun and excitement for all!

What? How could that be? Her heart pounded behind her ribs and her lungs struggled to inhale a breath. Frantically, she scanned the ride and found more people appearing on the seats one by one, each of them dressed in various fashions as though they belonged in different decades. Each person clutching the same sepia tone brochure tightly in their hands, their eyes wide with horror. Amelia’s pulse pounded in her ears as she desperately tried to pull back the clasp with her thumb, to release the chain in front of her but it refused to budge.

“Help!” She yelled.

It made no difference, the people on the ride were oblivious to her screams. On the fourth rotation, she viewed the township below—or rather, the ruins. Decrepit buildings lined the main street she’d strolled down, stone bricks tumbled over the cracked sidewalk. All that remained in tack was the Town Hall clock tower, still displaying the same time she’d seen all day. Wait, was that— On the fifth rotation, Amelia narrowed in on the wooden slates directly beneath the clock face.  Oh my god. A pair of haunting yellow eyes were locked like laser beams on an unsuspecting tourist, about her age, strolling down the deserted street. Heading towards the Fair. A glossy brochure pinched between his fingers. No! She had to stop him. Amelia yanked harder at the chain on her seat, again and again, until her hand cramped. It was no use. The metal clasp was fused shut, as though she’d signed her fate to ride the swing forever, the moment she’d linked it to the opposite side.

“Stop!” She screamed at the top of her lungs down at the male, but he couldn’t hear her.

Sixth rotation and the tingling sensation at her nape intensified. Peering over her shoulder, she swallowed the lump forming in the back of her throat, as a monstrous black fog drifted across the grassy field towards the Fair. Towards her. The fog thickened and darkened the closer it crept, like a vicious thunderstorm rapidly building in intensity. Screams echoed in the distance as the fog swallowed the carnival rides whole on its approach. She frantically searched for the young male on the sidewalk. He’d reached the gate of the Fair, his face lit with excitement and anticipation.

“No!” She shouted, “Don’t go through the gate!”

The male paused, tilting his head to the side as though he’d heard a noise. A split second later his grin widened and he pushed open the gate, entering the Fair… at the exact moment, the population figure on the town sign increased by one. For the second time, today. Below, the sickening fog crept closer, nearing the chain swing Amelia helplessly hung from. Amelia’s screams joined the hundreds of others, the terrifying moment black tendrils of fog stretched up from the sinister darkness below, reaching for her feet like long whispery fingers. Oh god, please no… But it was frivolous to try and escape her pending doom. Because once more, the quaint country town of Swallow Creek had lured an unsuspecting tourist to their annual Spring Fair, with the prospect of fun and excitement for all. But only now, would the fun truly begin…

About the author:

After living in many different towns across Australia, Cassie Laelyn now calls coastal Queensland home, with her husband and two energetic boys. 

 She’s a self-confessed bookworm who admits to being slightly obsessed with stories involving otherworldly characters – everything from gut-wrenching romance to killer suspense!

 When she isn’t narrating the characters in her own head, Cassie enjoys binging on TV shows, spending time at the beach and going on adventures with her family.

The first story can be found HERE.

This post was created by Michelle Lynn

The contest was judged by LJ Higgins

Don’t forget to check out more posts by the Young Adult Author Rendezvous HERE.

City Girl, Country Boy

At the Young Adult Author Rendezvous, we believe in fostering a love for writing in young people. One of our own, LJ Higgins, had the pleasure of judging a teen writing contest in September. We’re going to showcase each of the three winners. Enjoy the first story below.

A bit about the contest:

In September, Calliope, a small town in Central Queensland, Australia, held it’s annual Country Carnival. As part of the Carnival, YAAR Author L J Higgins was invited to judge a writing competition. She was blown away by the amazing entries, and along with two other judges, they chose one winner from each age category.

City Girl, Country Boy

By: Charlie-Cherie Zorzan

“Harper!” My grandmother exclaimed as I got off the train from Perth to Kalgoorlie, a little town in WA that my grandparents call home, “Oh look at you! I can’t believe it’s been 7 years since we last saw you! How are you?”

“Great thanks, grandma, it’s good to see you too.” I smiled to see my grandparents after so long. We lost all connection after my parents divorced, but my Mum decided that it wasn’t fair to my grandparents that they never got to see me, but really, Mums always had a soft spot for my Dad’s parents.

I turned to see my grandad holding my luggage with a huge grin on his face. I ran over and wrapped my arms around him. I didn’t realize until I had finished, but I had started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I loved my grandad; I remembered when my parents used to take me down there every summer, he would read me a story every night and ride the horses with me, and take me in the tractor. That didn’t happen anymore.

“Well, how are you darling?” he said with a smile, “No boyfriends, I hope?” I laughed at that and told him that I was planning to be single for the moment.

“Good,” he grunted, “I better keep my gun on me, just in case. With a pretty face like yours, all them boys are going to be tripping over their tongues.” That little comment made my face turn tomato red. My grandmother chuckled and suggested that we head home.

As soon as we arrived at the little, yellow house I grabbed my bags and ran in, eager to see what had changed. It was mostly the same, with the exception of the spare room which had been repainted my favourite colour, aqua. I smiled, set my bags down and went back out into the kitchen, where grandma announced that dinner was already prepared and that she just needed 10 minutes to heat it up. So, I set the table for three and then poured grandmas homemade lemonade for everyone.

As I was eating my sausages, my grandmother said, “I just can’t believe you’re 17 Harper, you look so much like Conner.”

I shifted uncomfortably, my dad was a weird subject for me because I hadn’t seen him in about 6 years, after my mum won full custody of me when I was 11. It was true though, that I looked like him, we shared the same curly brown hair and bright blue eyes, as well as naturally tan skin. The only feature I shared with my mother was my smile, we both had identical smiles and dimples, with perfectly straight teeth. But the similarities ended there because my mother was fair skinned, had long, blonde hair so straight it looked like she straightened it and soft brown eyes.

“Yeah, I’m told that I look like him often.” With that, I excused myself and went to bed; I was exhausted.

I woke up at about 3 AM to sound of a truck engine roaring and a man cursing. I opened the window and found myself looking down at a muddy mess of a 17-year-old boy, trying to get his truck out of the muck.

“Hey, you!” I called out to him, come to think of it, that probably wasn’t the best decision, but I needed my beauty sleep, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, just hunting elephants.”

I rolled my eyes at that one.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to get this stupid truck to start!” He moaned, motioning to a rusted up ute.

Rolling my eyes, I called down, “Do you need a hand?”

“That would be very much appreciated.”

I quickly pulled on my boots and crept down the hall, careful not to wake my grandparents. I reached the door and in a quick motion, I was out of the house.

I made it to the ute and tapped the guy on the shoulder, he turned around, and, well, I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive. He had a mop of messy black hair and navy blue eyes.

He held out his hand and I shook it, “The names Tom, and you are?”

It was at that moment that I realised I had forgotten how to breathe. As though he could read my mind, he smirked and said, “You’re checking me out.”

I turned tomato red and in a desperate attempt to regain my pride, I replied with, “Was not.”

“You were too!”

“Was not!”

“Yeah, you were.”

“I wasn’t!”






“Was- Ugh, never mind.”

“Anyway,” He said, still smirking at me, “Are you going to keep staring at me or actually give me a hand? I can give you a minute or two to make up your mind if you want, I know it’s a hard decision.”

I blinked a few times and walked over to the back of the truck, he jumped into the drivers’ seat and started the engine. I pushed as hard as I could and we eventually managed to push his ute out of the mud.

He hoped out and smiled at me, “Thanks for that, I really appreciate it.”


We stood there in a comfortable silence for a few more minutes until I say, “Well, I should probably head inside.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to disturb any more of your precious rest, I guess I’ll see you around.” And with that, he jumps back into the truck and drives away.

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of bacon on the fry-pan. I jumped out of bed and raced into the kitchen, and there, much to my surprise, was Tom talking to grandad.

“Yeah Geoff, I reckon I could get to that today and maybe I could-” but he paused when he saw me, grandad turned to see what he was looking at and smiled when he saw me, “Ah, Tom, I don’t suppose you’ve met my granddaughter Harper, I told you she was coming yesterday.”

Tom nodded and said that he remembered.

Before I could decide what to say, grandma saved me and called out that breakfast was ready. At the breakfast table, my Granddad told me that Tom helped around the farm because he was getting too old to do it by himself. Apparently, Tom just lived down the road with his parents. Then, my grandmother suggested that Tom should show me around town, I almost choked on my bacon.

“No, its fine, I’m sure Tom is busy today, right grandad?”

“He can take the day off, I’m fine with that.” My grandad was not helping.

“But I was going to work with the horses today Mr. Harris.” Thank god, Tom was actually being useful.

“Then you can take Harper out for a ride, you remember the basics, right sweetie?” Ok, couldn’t grandma tell I was trying to get out of this?

“Then it’s settled, Tom will take Harper out for a ride this morning. Perhaps she can name our new horse.” Granddad said.

That got my attention, “New horse?”

“Yeah, we picked him up at the markets a couple of days ago. He’s young, about a year old, but he’s strong, needs a good rider.” I immediately warmed up to the idea of being with Tom for the day.

So we went outside, the awkward silence following us all the way to the stable. I didn’t know why, but he seemed to relax as soon as he was around the horses.

“What do you think?” Asked tom, spreading his arms wide gesturing to the stables.

“It’s beautiful, just as I remembered,” I replied with a huge grin on my face.

He took me to the back of the stables, where he introduced me to a beautiful light brown stallion with a white nose and legs. He said that this was the new horse and that I could name him anything I want.

“Peanut Butter.” I decided.

“What?” Tom questioned with one eyebrow raised.

I rolled my eyes and replied with, “I am naming him Peanut Butter, Peanut for short. Isn’t that clear enough?”

Groaning in frustration he looked me straight in the eyes and in a really sarcastic voice, said, “I know that, but why?”

I laughed out loud, wasn’t it obvious? As though he sensed he was missing something, Tom let his shoulders sag and frowned.

After I finished laughing, I managed to give him an explanation, “Peanuts coat looks like peanut butter, so he is now known as Peanut Butter.” I smiled proudly, Tom didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm though.

“That is by far the dumbest name I have ever heard in the entire seventeen years and 3 months I have been living in this world. I honestly feel bad for the horse.”

I laughed and in-between my cackling I managed to choke out, “He is Peanut Butter now, not horse.”

“Really, Harper this is ridiculous,” he sighed.

“You’re the one who said I could name him anything I want,” I reminded him.

He groaned and said, “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d name the poor horse something so dumb.”

“He’s Peanut Butter now. Accept it and move on,” I replied, holding my still aching sides from laughing so hard.

I continued to laugh as Tom continued to grumble as he saddled up Peanut and another horse. He ran me over the basics, just to make sure I knew what I was doing, and helped me on to Peanut. He hopped on his horse and pointed me in the direction we were riding and then we were off.

I held on tightly to the reins as I enjoyed the feeling of the breeze in my hair. I looked at the beautiful scenery as I gained speed. Peanuts hooves kicked up the red dirt, the sun was high in the sky; even the dead grass was beautiful. I rode through the gum trees, laughing uncontrollably, adrenaline running through my veins.

Finally, we stopped at the dam. We tied up the horses and wade knee deep into the water, we laughed and joked, and I honestly enjoyed just being with him. I turned to Tom to thank him for the ride, that I loved every minute of it, but before I could say anything, I realised he was already looking at me with an odd expression that I couldn’t read.

He took a few steps forward and bent down and whispered in my ear, “I had a lot of fun with you today Harper.”

And just like that, he moved away and went to get back on his horse. I followed him in a daze.

The trip back was a blur. All I could think about was the way he was looking at me. Why was he looking at me like that?

“Here,” I almost dropped the saddles Tom handed me. “Put these in the shed while I put the horses away.”

I watched him walk away and then went to the shed and hung up the saddles. Since I had nothing better to do, I went to the stables to see if Tom was done yet.

I walked into Tom brushing Peanut Butter. I come up next to him, grab a brush, and start on Peanuts left side. We worked in comfortable silence for about five minutes before I realised Tom wasn’t brushing anymore. I couldn’t see him anywhere. I turned around to look for him and found him standing in front of me.

“Breathe,” he murmured, as he started to lean forward.

His hands wrapped around my waist. I stood on my tiptoes and looked into his eyes. I swear a saw the trace of a smile on his lips as he continued to lean forward. His lips brushed against mine, ever so slightly, like a butterfly wings brush against a flower. He was about to press his lips to mine but I heard a person in the background clearing his throat.

We quickly pulled away, both our faces were bright red. There, in the entrance, stood my grandad.

He took a few steps forward, his face emotionless. He took a deep breath and finally spoke, “You know Tom, I have a fine collection of guns. Maybe I should show you them sometime.”

“Yes sir, I would very much like that.”

“I could show you now if you want, anything for a mate.”

“I would really like that sir, but I think it would be best for everyone if we went in for lunch. Harpers really hungry.”

“Yeah, I am.” I had to butt in, it was just getting too awkward to stay silent.

Grandad nodded and began walking towards the house, grumbling something about his guns.


A few weeks had passed, and I was with Tom nearly every day. One day, while we were eating lunch, Tom invited me to a family bonfire at his house. My grandparents let me go, so Tom went to help his parents set up, while I got ready.

He came round at about 5:00 PM to pick me up. I said goodbye to my grandparents and let Tom lead me to his rusted up ute.

When we arrived, I was full of nerves. I wondered what his parents were like. Would they like me? Why was I even worrying about this, it’s not like I was his girlfriend or anything?

He took me into the house and out onto the veranda. There, sitting in a chair, was a middle-aged woman with straight brown hair and navy blue eyes. It was clear that that was his mother, even though they didn’t share many features. He went over and gave her a hug and then introduced us.

“Ah, yes, Harper right? Tom hasn’t stopped talking about since he came back from Geoff’s the day he met you,” she said, smiling at me. “It’s great to finally meet you, I’m Ava.”

I smiled and shook her hand just as a man, a little bit older than Ava, walked up to us. He had black hair and brown eyes. Aside from the eyes, he looked exactly like Tom, that must be his dad. Once again Tom introduced us and the man said he’d heard all about me and identified himself as Toms Dad, Mick.

Overall it was a great night. I spoke to Tom and his parents by the bonfire until about 11:00 PM. I told them that I wanted to be an illustrator, and that my Mum wanted me to go to university and that I hadn’t seen my dad in 6 years. All in all, I felt more at home in front of that bonfire with these people I had just met, then I had since my parents got divorced.

At around 10:00 PM Ava and Mike went inside to grab some more drinks. It was just me and Tom in front of the fire, under the stars.

Tom took a deep breath and murmured softly in my ear, “Your eyes put all those stars in the sky to shame.”

I blushed a deep red and looked down at the ground. He gently put his hand under my chin and made me look up at him. I looked into his navy blue eyes and began to lean forward, he did the same. He pressed his lips to mine, and I’d have to say it was the best first kiss any girl could ask for.

In a few weeks, I had to go home, and I was dreading it. I didn’t want to leave Tom or my grandparents or Ava and Mike, who had become my second parents.

I was preparing myself to go to Toms and talk about what he wanted to do since I was going to have to find a way to make things work. But then, there was a knock on the door, I opened it and speak of the devil, there he was.

“Hey beautiful, listen, I know this is late notice but I’m taking you to the town fair.” He gave me that smile that just made me melt inside and grabbed my hand.

He lead me to his ute and I hopped in. He drove us all the way up to the show ground where the town held its annual fair. It was amazing. I don’t think I had ever enjoyed myself so much in my entire life. We danced and laughed and talked the whole night away. I kissed him over and over again, it was perfect, everything was perfect. But, all good things must come to an end.

“Hey, Tom, listen, I know this a topic we have been avoiding, but we need to talk about this,” I took a deep breath and continued, “The summer will be over in about a week, I am going to be leaving. And before you ask, no, I don’t want to leave, but if I stay my mum will drag me by my hair back to Brisbane.”

“You’re going to be a legal adult soon, why can’t you stay?” he asked, he was upset now.

“I just can’t, ok? I just can’t.”

“But you can!”

“Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be, we can still keep in touch we can still work this out.” I was near tears now.

“No Harper, you’re being ridiculous, you can stay if you want, just stand up to your mum!”

“I’m sorry Tom, I can’t.”

“Fine!” He exploded, “But don’t expect to see me again!”

“Tom! Wait!” But he was gone.

He didn’t come to say goodbye. His parents did, but he didn’t. I was probably for the best anyway, I wouldn’t be able to contain myself if he came, I’d be a sobbing mess on the floor.

I ended up going to university, I got in on a full scholarship. It’s not like I wasn’t smart enough. But that was when things started going wrong.

I started dating this guy called Mark. At first, he was really sweet and supportive, he made me feel beautiful. But then things took a turn for the worst. He slowly started to change me, I became depressed and insecure. He was horrible to me in public. I lost all connection with family and friends, and he embarrassed me in front of people. It hurt, a lot.

Eventually, I got out of the relationship, but it was too late. The damage had been done. I had already dropped out of university for him, I lost all my friends because of him, and my dreams had been thrown out the window.

I was a twenty-year-old girl with nothing, no friends, no plan, no love life, nothing. I packed my bags and got on a plane and flew to Perth. I got on a little train to the small town of Kalgoorlie and went to visit my grandparents. I hadn’t seen them in three years, not because I didn’t want to see them, just because there was at least a ninety-nine percent chance I would see him.

When a saw my grandma and my grandad, I just cried and cried and cried. It felt good to see them, they took me to their little house and just let me cry, they just rubbed my back and let me cry.

The next morning, I took the car and went for a drive. I needed some time to think.

As I was driving, there was a huge bump and before I knew it, I was stuck.  I got out and tried to push the car, but it wouldn’t budge. Cursing, I grabbed my phone to call someone, only to find that it was flat. I was cussing like a sailor, kicking the stupid thing and trying to get it to go. I was in tears by the time a rusted up ute pulled up next to me.

“Excuse, but do you need any hel- Harper?” That voice, it sounded so familiar, I looked up and there in front of me was Tom.

“Tom?” I couldn’t believe it.

All of a sudden his face split into a huge grin and he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly, “Harper! I am so sorry, I’ve missed you so much and I was such a jerk and-”

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence because I was kissing him, and it was like falling in love all over again.

About the author:

Charlie-Cherie Zorzan placed first in the 13-17yr category in the Calliope Country Carnival Writing Competition. She is thirteen-years-old and attends senior high. She is passionate about writing and desires to become a successful author. She also loves to read and enjoys a wide range of genres including action and adventure, history, love, and fantasy. Charlie-Cherie is a very enthusiastic and excitable person and enjoys getting out and being active. She plays netball and does boxing. Acting and drama are also her passion and she has been part of a small drama group for three years.

This post was created by Michelle Lynn

The contest was judged by LJ Higgins

Don’t forget to check out more posts by the Young Adult Author Rendezvous HERE.

Flash Fiction: Scrambled

Flash Fiction: Scrambled by Author Debbie Manber Kupfer

“Mrs. Dumpty is just as klutzy as her husband. Why they can’t just stay off that wall it beats me.” The King sighed. He’d tried sending in his men and the horses again. Didn’t work though. One of these days he’d give up and just make a huge pan of scrambled egg.

But today wasn’t the day for that. Today was Valentine’s Day. So he’d call in Cupid.

“Can’t do it,” said Cupid. “Not my area.”

“Don’t care,” countered the King. “You owe me a favor. Remember that stray arrow last year?”

“Yeah, I remember. You’re never going to let me forget that, are you? I’ll see what I can do.”

“Cheers mate. If anyone can get the Dumptys back together I know it’s you.”

Cupid flew down the wall. The Dumptys lay on the floor groaning. It looked bad, real bad. He worked for three hours straight but in the end had to call the King back.

“I’m sorry your majesty.” He sighed. “Even I couldn’t bring them back together.”

Want more from Debbie? You can check out her books on Goodreads HERE.

Find Lauren on the YA Author Rendezvous site HERE.

This was posted by Lauren Mayhew with the express permission of Debbie Manber Kupfer.


Story Seeds by Susan Faw

Story Seeds by Author Susan Faw

Short stories for when we just need the inspiration.

“I am purity of thought. I am steel sheathed in oil. I am justice made flesh. I am a blade master.”


The thought skidded across the vacant space where normally lodged his fears, devoid of the normal sensations that fueled it. He packaged the sensations and pushed them into a blackened box, a box that constantly burned. He fed his fears to the flame and the box swallowed the ashes.

He recited the catechism, blocking out hope and despair in equal measure. Emotion had no place in the ritual of the blade. There was only form and shape, steel and flesh. All other realities were extraneous.

His opponent was at least a hand taller, with a corresponding reach, but his advantage lay in his speed, in his ability to dance the swords as light ballerina on pointe. In actual fact he practiced the traditional dance as often with his sister as with other blade masters, as the foot work of the dance gave him a swiftness and lightness of movement missing in most who claimed the title.


This dexterity had saved his life more than once.

He was not sure it would be enough this time.

Patel stroked the air with his blade, with practice strokes that whirled around his form and the blurring caught the sunlight in a sizzling arc that made his eyes blink bright trailers.

The crowd shifted, gasps and “ooh’s” rising in a wave and murmuring broke out.

Maybe I shouldn’t have challenged the king’s steward. Perhaps that was unwise… he shoved the thought into the box as his concentration wavered. He had no room for doubt. To win this battle would take every ounce of skill he possessed.

He squared with the towering bulk that was Patel, and touched his blade to forehead, then bowed.

Whatever the outcome, he would show himself true. His sister would be avenged. Raw pain lanced across his peace, but this time he stoked it, stroked it. This challenge was for her. Images of her broken body, tossed into a ditch along the roadside flashed into his mind. He held the image of her ravaged body in his vision, feeding his passion and his sense of justice to be served, but the anger, the fear, the grief of loss he fed to the box.


He would avenge his sister. He would attack swiftly, with all the force he could bring to bear. Full tilt, unto the death. Life was not worth living without her.

“I am purity of thought. I am steel sheathed in oil. I am justice made flesh. I am a blade master.”

He launched himself at Patel, sword a matching blur to Patel’s. A whirlwind of dancing death descended on the unsuspecting steward.

sword dance girl-431751_1920

English Idiom: “Full Tilt”- As fast or forcefully as possible…Originally referring to the combatants’ thrust of a sword or lance this term has been used figurative since about 1700.”

Source: The American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer.

Want more from Susan? You can check out her books on Goodreads HERE.

Find Susan on the YA Author Rendezvous site HERE.

This was posted by Michelle Lynn with the express permission of Susan Faw.

Esmeralda’s Chanukah

prettymenorah    By Debbie Manber Kupfer

Esmeralda Grunch woke up from her bed deep inside the hibernating tulip. The tulip was snoring again. The flower sprite nudged its petals hoping to coax it back into silent slumber, but to no avail.

Reluctantly, Esmeralda reached up and parted the crimson petals. A harsh burst of frigid air slammed the sprite and for a moment she contemplated going back to sleep, but that wouldn’t do. Tonight was the first night of Chanukah and she had an important task to complete before sundown.

She eased herself out of the sleeping tulip and shivered as a huge snowflake landed on her nose. Ugh, she hated snow. Her friend Lucinda, who lived in the snowdrop at the other end of the garden loved snow, especially as her bloom was the only one that didn’t hibernate during the winter months.

As she flew over the garden she saw the other sprites busy with their holiday preparations. Some were wrapping presents, others were collecting fairy gelt, and still others were painting dreidels. In the middle of the garden was a fairy ring made of brightly colored toadstools and in the center of the ring sat a large silver menorah. Two candles had been set in its holders – an emerald one for the first night and a deep azure candle for the shammas or helper candle.

Esmeralda flew down to a stately sleeping daffodil and tapped gently on its petals.

“Wake up Daphne! It’s almost Chanukah. You can’t sleep the day away.”

“Don’t get your wings in a twist, Esmeralda. I’m coming.”

“Have you got the potatoes?”

“Of course, I’ve got potatoes. What do you think I am – a troll? Give me a hand here. No wait a moment, let me use my wand.”

The daffodil sprite took out a canary colored wand and levitated the bag of potatoes out of the recesses of her floral home. The sleeping daffodil made little grumbling noises, then settled its petals and returned to its dreams.

Next they visited Moshe who was sitting on the ground by his marigold cradling a large glass bottle.

“Ah, there you are ladies. I have the oil ready. Only the best from my friend, Olive.”

Next stop was Percy who dragged a huge copper skillet out of his petunia. The pan was easily twice his size. Daphne levitated the oil and the skillet and the four flower sprites flew on to the edge of the garden to the home of Phoebe, the phoenix. Phoebe lived in a sunflower that burned brightly and yet magically did not melt the surrounding snow.

The phoenix flew out to meet the sprites. “Ah, you arrived. Now we can make the latkes for tonight’s celebration.”

All that day the sprites grated, mixed, and fried, while Phoebe the phoenix supervised the flames. By sundown they had a tray of piping hot latkes.

Daphne took out her wand once more and levitated the tray and they all flew to the fairy ring to watch the phoenix light the candles. Then they shared the latkes, exchanged presents, and played dreidel for fairy gelt.

Finally, tired and happy, Esmeralda made her way back to her tulip, where she settled herself into her petal bed and fell fast asleep.

Check out an interview with Debbie HERE.

Debbie has a page on the YA Author Rendezvous site HERE.

You can see the YA Author Rendezvous on Facebook HERE.

As ever, we hope you enjoy this month of joy. From everyone here at the YA Author Rendezvous:


The Great Bobbert

The Great Bobbert by Debbie Manber Kupfer - Flash FictionBy Debbie Manber Kupfer

(A Flash fiction from the world of P.A.W.S.)

“Popgoes! Hey, Popgoes! Come back here! Where is that weasel?”

The Great Bobbert scratched his head unleashing a cascade of bluish purple powder from his long straggly orange hair. His many pockets bulged with a multitude of objects: cards, rings, whistles, coins, scarves, and balloons – all the tricks of the trade for a working clown.

He rushed through the park, puffing and panting, accidentally kicking a squirrel in his path that chattered angrily at him.

“No need for that kind of language,” muttered the clown.

“Now, where is that pesky weasel? Ah, there he is. What the . . . ? Is that a kangaroo? Where did it come from? They’re certainly not indigenous to Missouri, or at least I don’t think they are. Did it escape from the zoo? I wonder if there’s a reward?”

Clowning no longer was as lucrative as it used to be, especially as weasel food had become so expensive of late, so Bobbert was always looking for a way to supplement his income.

“Maybe if it’s not from the zoo, we can use it in the act? Maybe Popgoes is arranging a contract. Good weasel – they’ll be extra Purina Weasel Treats for you tonight.”

Cautiously the clown moved forward. “I wonder if it’s fierce. It doesn’t look fierce, but you never know. Appearances can be deceptive. Look at Popgoes. Everyone thinks he’s so cute, but he’s a devious little bugger with a nasty bite!”

“Popgoes, come here!”  The weasel looked up at the clown and then leaned towards the kangaroo as if sharing a joke or a secret.

Without warning, the kangaroo bolted out of the path. Bobbert pounced and grabbed his weasel before it followed. “No, you don’t,” he said, and returned the struggling Popgoes to the felt hat on the top of his orange thatch. Resigned the weasel sat there surveying the world around him.

“Now, let’s go see what happened to that kangaroo.” He scoured the park looking for the wayward critter. He saw squirrels and rabbits galore, and plenty of locals walking their dogs. He asked a couple if they’d seen a kangaroo, but they looked at him as if he was crazy.

Finally, winded and dejected, he sat down on a bench next to a boy with dark messy hair. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Hey Kid, have you seen a kangaroo, around here?”

“No mate!” the boy said smiling. “Now, why would there be a kangaroo in the park?”

“Joey!” a voice called from the other side of the path.

“Gotta go!” said the boy, and bounded off, but for just a second it looked to Bobbert that he morphed into a small brown kangaroo.

“I must have drunk too much schnapps,” said Bobbert, shaking his head. “Come on Popgoes, let’s go home.”

You can read more flash fiction, poetry, and general silliness in Tea & Dark Chocolate by Debbie Manber Kupfer.


A Beach in Winter

Written by Lauren Mayhew

The soft sand beneath my feet trembles as I take each leisurely step forwards. Its pale glow hovers above the ground like a dense mist, hiding my toes in its mysteries. A withering sun makes it cold to the touch like a glistening icicle.

I look up. A grey blanket gazes down at me. It stretches across the sky as far as the eye can see. A watery sun, stung by the harshness of the winter months, peeps around the clouds, coyly watching my slow progress to the vast ocean ahead.

Grey. Reaching towards me, the almighty ocean tries with all its might to tow me into its murky depths. Crashing waves shower me with water – minute droplets enter my mouth leaving a salty taste. The water seeps through my clothes making me shiver. A shiver that intensifies with the flourishing wind.

My balance is knocked by a mighty gale. The wolf that it is, runs back with another strong blow: this time it howls. A howl that seems to thwart the monstrous movement of the ocean. A howl that fastens the eye of the sun. A howl that summons the rain…

Splash! Splash! Splash! The sky releases cascading droplets of water that bound off the rocks and settle on the sodden sand. Hammering rain, gambolling onto the ocean’s surface, deafens me, gradually increasing in volume as the ocean fights back.

Water giants tumble onto the shore, leaving trails of white foam behind them. Its salty scent burns my nose with every breath I take.

In. Out. In. Out. A repetitive motion that claws at the sand, dragging it deep under the surface and then transporting it to the beach once again.

Fresh Flash Fiction: Sugar and Eggs


Written by
Sarah Wathen

Brown sugar, packed. Thump.

White sugar, heaping. Ssssss.

A teaspoon of vanilla. Splash.

Two eggs. Crack. Splat. Crack. Splat.

I lift the metal bowl to my face, lips a hairsbreadth from slimy golden yolk, and breathe. Glorious.

“What is it about sugary eggs and vanilla?”

Now that other ingredient. I wrinkle my nose and scoop the pungent stuff, spoonful by hated spoonful. The whir of a hand mixer reminds me that humming helps. But there is nothing soothing about a random tune—my grandmother did that and she never hit a note—so I choose something. Fast.

“Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer…” I hate when people just can’t let Christmas go. Damn if that song isn’t still stuck in my brain. “Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm, huh huh.”

Dough rolled and ready, exactly one quarter-inch thick. I sift through cutters. Heart? Suspicious. Star? Ironic. Four-leafed clover? Just hateful. I smile and select the clover.

“One little, two little, three little clovers.” The dough is satisfying to cut. Solid but pliable, like Play Doh. Forgiving. “Five little, six little, seven little…” The rest of my invented song escapes me. “See, that’s why you stick with the classics.”

I strip off my rubber gloves and bang the tins into the oven. Then wait. And wait. Baking cookies have no business smelling so…so…

“Had a very shiny nose.” I tap my feet, crave the ding. “And if you ever saw it.” My hands sweat in their mitts. “You would even say it—”


A delicate tea saucer. And a paper doily. I plunk down the clover while it’s still steaming. Oil seeps into the doily, an evil halo. But warm cookies are more appetizing than cold cookies, so I shake my head, get a grip. Last minute inspiration sends down a sprinkle of powdered sugar—a kindness or a mockery—and I push through the swinging doors.

My slippers tap checkerboard marble floors. A home shouldn’t echo like that.

Click. Click. Click.

The tick-tock of a disapproving grandfather clock melts my resolve and I slow, my breath shallow.

A firm grip swings me around and I almost drop my offering. “I’ll take it to her.”

Blood thunders in my ears. I can hardly hear my own feeble, “Okay,” so I bob my head and shove the plate into his chest.

“It’s almost over.” His smile is blurred, his finger tracing my jawline warm.

I nod again and a hot tear hits my shoe. An acrid smell escapes her sickroom and buffets my cheeks as he closes the door on my shame.

I scrub my face with both hands, square my shoulders. A galvanizing breath strains my diaphragm. “Okay. Fresh linens.” Stick to the basics. Don’t think. “All of the other reindeer…”

My steps echo to the stupid melody and I wonder if I should perform a step-ball-change to mix things up.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I pause to open the glass door, halt the heavy pendulum.



Written by
Debbie Manber Kupfer


Dear Santa Paws,

Now let’s get something straight. I’m not dreaming of a white Christmas. Never did get the attraction to snow. Nasty, yucky, stuff—makes my fur all wet. So if you could keep it away this December that would be great.

Better still how about a sunny December in Hawaii instead? Then I could lounge on the beach and take a nice long catnap. Then when I wake up, the waiter will serve me a fresh fish on a platter.

Yes, that’s what I want for Christmas (and a new catnip mouse would be nice.)

Yours Sincerely,


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