Stories

Michael Arthur Patterson rubbed his hands over the tombstone. It was rough and cold under his fingers, and he shivered a little. He ran his fingers down the front of the stone until he found the carved letters. ARTHUR.

Kenya Jayne Washington bent over and put her hands on the ground. Then she put the top of her head on the ground in between them. Ever so carefully, concentrating so hard she almost bit her tongue, she pushed her wobbly legs up into the air. There! She was standing on her head.

MacKenzie Isabelle Evans stood in the middle of the lawn. She put two fingers into her mouth and whistled a long, piercing whistle.

Standing at his window, he could see the beautiful red stable that housed his family’s Arabian horses, with its perfect fenced riding ring. He could also see, through the trees, part of the Farmers’ old barn and house next door.

At lunch recess, Kenya played kickball with the older kids. She was having a lot of fun until she saw three sad little faces on the sidelines. “Time out!” she called and went to talk to Solly, who was pitching.

Susannah watched the woman for a moment. Her face was red, and she was sweating. Still holding the boys’ hands, Susannah went over to the bench and asked, “Are you all right, ma’am?”