A Short Story: My Favorite Place
It has been a while since I posted a short story but here we are! This story is in the novel I am writing, which I finished the first draft of a couple weeks ago. The two main children go back and forth telling this story in their downtime. It may just be a story at the time, but then when it comes to an end, it turns out to mean much more for them both as they battle with wondering if a decision they made much earlier was the right one. They answer that question indirectly by discussing the short story that they told each other.
Those characters told the story in the third person, but I switched it to the first person here. I did that to practice writing in the first person for a story that I haven't worked on in a while but I am hoping to go back to soon.
Don't forget to stay until the end and answer a question I have for you all in the comments!
— — — — —
The woods are perfect. The perfect in-between of closed in and open. Think of the plains; large, grassy, open, and free to run in and that is lovely, but often so terribly windy and with no trees to climb, it gets boring after a while. Think of the ocean; it is nice in the shallow parts, but the deep of the ocean is so vast and relentless and swallows people whole. I can imagine being in the middle of it all, swaying under the waves, and just barely staying out of the water.
I shudder and return to the present, at a freezing, winding stream beneath my fingers, in the middle of the woods. My fingers trace the slimy rocks and tangle with the grasses that wave from below
The woods are the perfect in-between of something else too: peace and conflict. It's not so peaceful when the animals screech, kill, and die. They are not at peace. But the breeze comes in, the earth takes its time and covers the poor creature again, it seems to care, and make it right.
“Molly!” I pull myself out of my thoughts, stand up, and face Ted. The water drips off my fingers and I shake it a little as I wait for him to walk closer.
There are times like this when parts of my home, parts that are supposed to stay there, invade the pockets of peace that I find in the forest, and soil it. The forest seems to move, to grow close in an uncomfortable way, in a way it wasn’t a moment ago. All of a sudden it grew more scary, like the middle of the ocean. The woods are not supposed to be this way, it is because of Ted. Technically Ted is my brother but I don’t like to think of him that way.
“Molly,” he said again, in his gruffest voice, trying hard to be rough, “what are you doing here? Mother is waiting and we are all ready to go and you aren’t there.”
“Sorry,” I say quietly, but if you’ll take my word for it, I am not sorry and I didn’t mean it.
“Sorry doesn’t mean anything,” he grabs my wrist and pushes me forward. “Walk faster,” he hisses in my ear, “they are all waiting for your slow legs.” He says it deliberately like he is trying to engrain that thought in my head. It is my fault we had to linger, I am slow. I don’t really care anyway. I try to walk faster but his legs are longer than mine and he kicks my ankles before passing in front.
The Forest waits for me, for when I am here alone, without siblings or parents. Nothing bad ever happens when I am alone, I have never seen any dangerous animals or gotten into any poisonous plants. One day I saw three deer, far away, and they saw me too. I was sitting on a rock next to the winding creek with my fingers plunged inside, with the water washing over, that’s when I saw the sleek bodies of three deer, one of them just a baby. They didn’t move, I didn’t move, not even to pull my fingers out of the icy water. I just looked at them and they looked back. Ted had come looking for me that day too, ‘hey, come on!’ he yelled as he crunched sticks and leaves. I looked away from them for one moment and when I looked back, they had vanished.
Together, my siblings, mother, and I rode back to the farm on a horse-drawn wagon, my brothers chat loudly while my sisters chat quietly, they pick leaves out of each other's hair as the bumpy ride goes on and on. They always whisper quietly together. In the beginning, when they started, I wondered why. Did they not want me to hear? I wonder if that’s what they were looking for though, for my confused face as I sat all alone in a corner, I remember looking at them and every once in a while catching one of their gazes. They would smirk, flick their hair and talk with an added fierceness, occasionally pointing towards me for my benefit. It didn’t take me long to stop caring, once I did, they stopped pointing or trying to catch my attention. But they haven’t stop whispering.
We arrive home, and I look over the fields of sheep and barns where the chickens live. Mist falls from the sky and clouds over the sun, yet still, we had gone to the woods and I don’t feel as dreary as the sky demands. I watch in awe as the clouds part, just enough, before the sky reaches its zenith, and sunlight streams out in visible streaks. For a moment I can’t take my eyes away. Once my siblings begin to push past me, I tear myself away and scoot aside. None of them noticed it.
It is time to survey the premises now, to look and see if anything is off if anything has changed since we left earlier this morning. We travel to the forest every other day to spend a couple of hours allowing my mother to search for herbs and berries. There are different ways one must act depending on how the house looks when we return. If the house is blank, plain, and normal with nothing disturbed, then it is alright, we move on with our normal chores. But if smoke rises from the chimney, smoke that had not been there before, or if heavy work boots lay toppled over at the front door, well that is different.
Today there is no smoke and no boots, so I push myself out of the wagon to follow the normal routine.
“Molly! Go milk the cow!” my mother spits from her clenched teeth as she struggles to open the stuck door.
“Can I wash my hands first?” I ask in a quiet voice, as I always do.
“Make it quick,” she responds, without really paying attention, as she always does.
I don’t go to the well to wash my hands, well I do not go to only wash my hands, I go to get a cool drink for myself and Betty. I hurry around the barn filled with chicken pens to avoid my sisters who gather eggs, as water sloshes out of the pan, and run to the next barn over. Inside is another one of my favorite places. The barn is filled with Betty and her baby cows. Oh, how I love Betty, I am not afraid of her and she’s not afraid of me. Not like she is when my father comes in. He takes her babies when they are just old enough. He takes them somewhere where they grow up and then they die. I can do nothing about it except lean against Betty in the corner, burying my head against her to hide the scene.
Betty moos a happy greeting when I come in and place the clean water in front of her. I like to get the milking done first and finish it quickly so when I finish I can stroke her soft fur. Today I do just that, I milk her until no more comes out. No, Betty is not the only cow on the farm, I have to milk all of them, so I move on. But Betty is my favorite.
I don’t get far. The kitchen door slams and yelling begins, I try to get my legs to move on, but they just won’t. I start to shake, there is stomping and it is coming closer. Why today?
I scrambled behind Betty, my legs begin to move quickly now. The barn door is flung open and slams on the other side. It hits so hard and the entire barn shakes.
“Molly!” he bellows and I look up from the floor to find my father. It was no surprise but still, I had been wishing it was one of my older brothers. But it was not just a mock imitation.
“Get away from that cow!” Can he say anything below a yell? I obey and slide away, grab the bucket of milk, and leave the barn, trying to stay as far away from my father as possible. However, I don’t bring it into the kitchen, not yet, but move to the side of the barn and collapse beside it. There is a hole in the peeling barn wall, I know exactly where it is, and I rest my cheek against it. I watch what happens inside as I fiddle with and peel red paint off the side, helping it along.
My father stomps almost all the way to the back of the barn and grabs one of Betty’s sons. Can he walk anywhere quieter than a stomp? I know exactly what is going to happen, I wish I could be in there, burying my face in Betty’s fur, and not here, hiding it in my own dirty hands.
He leaves with a protesting cow, It won’t be long before that cow is gone. Betty protests too. I can’t take it anymore. I rise and force myself to the door, away from my father’s eyes, towards the kitchen.
My mother is standing near the doorway, chances are that she was watching out of the small window placed at the top of the door, and just backed away as soon as I hurried towards it. I set the milk where she told me to and she didn’t mention me watching into the barn, through the secret hole. I always do whatever she tells me, lest she gets upset, claims I am disobeying, and decides to send me to father. I will be extra careful today.
“Go Molly, you can go play,” she says without looking at me and it sounds more like an order, so I leave. I am rarely allowed to ‘go and play,’ there is always a chore to do, so when she told me that I had to hold myself back from jumping. I squeeze my fingers together and look up at my tall mother just as she turns away.
“Oh, thank you mother,” I put on my most respectful voice, not too loud, not too excited, and yet neither afraid. Her bobbing head is the last thing I see before I flee from the room. We wouldn’t want her to change her mind.
Outside the sun shone, the mist from the morning has cleared and it now looks almost like an entirely different day. I wish I could enjoy some time out there with the trees and the light breeze, but I can’t. That’s where my siblings are. There is nowhere to hide when, aside from the apple orchard, only a couple trees are scattered around the edges of the fields, so I prefer to stay inside. It's odd, right when Father gets home is the time that I get some free time, all to myself, but now I can’t do what I want to, more than anything in the world. Go to the library. I will be in terrible trouble if I am caught in there.
Around the corner, away from the kitchen and dining room, lay four small rooms, a bedroom for me and my sisters, one for my brothers, one for my parents, and finally my father’s library. Before I duck into my bedroom I peek into the library, hoping to smell the slightest hint of pages and my fathers’ ink. The dark room seems like a portal, with dark book spines that line every wall, a portal I could not enter.
I tore myself away, hurry into my room, and arrive at the smallest bed in the corner, my bed.
Under the blankets, tucked away, are three books which are what I am heading for. I plunge headfirst inside to pull each one out. These books are the reason I make my bed so tight each morning and keep an extra blanket and stuffed animal at the bottom to hide the lump.
Behind me, one window rises above my bed, I kneel and crane my neck to see out. The grass and the warm air that I remember looks tempting and almost seems to pull me towards it, and I know where my siblings would be, where they always are, I can avoid them. But I don't move, just cross my legs and open a book.
Currently, I am reading Heidi, a book that I was surprised to find on my father’s shelf in the first place. It was tucked away, halfway behind other books, but I spotted the bright green corner and read a section before diving deep inside the Swiss Mountains. Years ago, my mother taught me to read, she thought it was a good idea for me to know just a little. But then my father came home. He had been gone for a long time then, 'On a work trip,' was what my mother told us. He immediately disapproved and now my mother disapproves too, but I kept working on my own.
After every creek in the house, every whistle, every sound, even the slightest gust of wind from outside, I jerk my head up, look around, and prepare to hide my book. But nobody comes. I read for probably an hour or two but it feels like only a couple of minutes.
A door slams, “Is dinner almost ready?” my father demands and even though I am rooms over, I can still hear him clearly. I can almost see how my mother would nod but give no other answer. Even if it isn’t nearly ready she always answers yes.
I shudder and return to the present, at a freezing, winding stream beneath my fingers, in the middle of the woods. My fingers trace the slimy rocks and tangle with the grasses that wave from below
The woods are the perfect in-between of something else too: peace and conflict. It's not so peaceful when the animals screech, kill, and die. They are not at peace. But the breeze comes in, the earth takes its time and covers the poor creature again, it seems to care, and make it right.
“Molly!” I pull myself out of my thoughts, stand up, and face Ted. The water drips off my fingers and I shake it a little as I wait for him to walk closer.
There are times like this when parts of my home, parts that are supposed to stay there, invade the pockets of peace that I find in the forest, and soil it. The forest seems to move, to grow close in an uncomfortable way, in a way it wasn’t a moment ago. All of a sudden it grew more scary, like the middle of the ocean. The woods are not supposed to be this way, it is because of Ted. Technically Ted is my brother but I don’t like to think of him that way.
“Molly,” he said again, in his gruffest voice, trying hard to be rough, “what are you doing here? Mother is waiting and we are all ready to go and you aren’t there.”
“Sorry,” I say quietly, but if you’ll take my word for it, I am not sorry and I didn’t mean it.
“Sorry doesn’t mean anything,” he grabs my wrist and pushes me forward. “Walk faster,” he hisses in my ear, “they are all waiting for your slow legs.” He says it deliberately like he is trying to engrain that thought in my head. It is my fault we had to linger, I am slow. I don’t really care anyway. I try to walk faster but his legs are longer than mine and he kicks my ankles before passing in front.
The Forest waits for me, for when I am here alone, without siblings or parents. Nothing bad ever happens when I am alone, I have never seen any dangerous animals or gotten into any poisonous plants. One day I saw three deer, far away, and they saw me too. I was sitting on a rock next to the winding creek with my fingers plunged inside, with the water washing over, that’s when I saw the sleek bodies of three deer, one of them just a baby. They didn’t move, I didn’t move, not even to pull my fingers out of the icy water. I just looked at them and they looked back. Ted had come looking for me that day too, ‘hey, come on!’ he yelled as he crunched sticks and leaves. I looked away from them for one moment and when I looked back, they had vanished.
Together, my siblings, mother, and I rode back to the farm on a horse-drawn wagon, my brothers chat loudly while my sisters chat quietly, they pick leaves out of each other's hair as the bumpy ride goes on and on. They always whisper quietly together. In the beginning, when they started, I wondered why. Did they not want me to hear? I wonder if that’s what they were looking for though, for my confused face as I sat all alone in a corner, I remember looking at them and every once in a while catching one of their gazes. They would smirk, flick their hair and talk with an added fierceness, occasionally pointing towards me for my benefit. It didn’t take me long to stop caring, once I did, they stopped pointing or trying to catch my attention. But they haven’t stop whispering.
We arrive home, and I look over the fields of sheep and barns where the chickens live. Mist falls from the sky and clouds over the sun, yet still, we had gone to the woods and I don’t feel as dreary as the sky demands. I watch in awe as the clouds part, just enough, before the sky reaches its zenith, and sunlight streams out in visible streaks. For a moment I can’t take my eyes away. Once my siblings begin to push past me, I tear myself away and scoot aside. None of them noticed it.
It is time to survey the premises now, to look and see if anything is off if anything has changed since we left earlier this morning. We travel to the forest every other day to spend a couple of hours allowing my mother to search for herbs and berries. There are different ways one must act depending on how the house looks when we return. If the house is blank, plain, and normal with nothing disturbed, then it is alright, we move on with our normal chores. But if smoke rises from the chimney, smoke that had not been there before, or if heavy work boots lay toppled over at the front door, well that is different.
Today there is no smoke and no boots, so I push myself out of the wagon to follow the normal routine.
“Molly! Go milk the cow!” my mother spits from her clenched teeth as she struggles to open the stuck door.
“Can I wash my hands first?” I ask in a quiet voice, as I always do.
“Make it quick,” she responds, without really paying attention, as she always does.
I don’t go to the well to wash my hands, well I do not go to only wash my hands, I go to get a cool drink for myself and Betty. I hurry around the barn filled with chicken pens to avoid my sisters who gather eggs, as water sloshes out of the pan, and run to the next barn over. Inside is another one of my favorite places. The barn is filled with Betty and her baby cows. Oh, how I love Betty, I am not afraid of her and she’s not afraid of me. Not like she is when my father comes in. He takes her babies when they are just old enough. He takes them somewhere where they grow up and then they die. I can do nothing about it except lean against Betty in the corner, burying my head against her to hide the scene.
Betty moos a happy greeting when I come in and place the clean water in front of her. I like to get the milking done first and finish it quickly so when I finish I can stroke her soft fur. Today I do just that, I milk her until no more comes out. No, Betty is not the only cow on the farm, I have to milk all of them, so I move on. But Betty is my favorite.
I don’t get far. The kitchen door slams and yelling begins, I try to get my legs to move on, but they just won’t. I start to shake, there is stomping and it is coming closer. Why today?
I scrambled behind Betty, my legs begin to move quickly now. The barn door is flung open and slams on the other side. It hits so hard and the entire barn shakes.
“Molly!” he bellows and I look up from the floor to find my father. It was no surprise but still, I had been wishing it was one of my older brothers. But it was not just a mock imitation.
“Get away from that cow!” Can he say anything below a yell? I obey and slide away, grab the bucket of milk, and leave the barn, trying to stay as far away from my father as possible. However, I don’t bring it into the kitchen, not yet, but move to the side of the barn and collapse beside it. There is a hole in the peeling barn wall, I know exactly where it is, and I rest my cheek against it. I watch what happens inside as I fiddle with and peel red paint off the side, helping it along.
My father stomps almost all the way to the back of the barn and grabs one of Betty’s sons. Can he walk anywhere quieter than a stomp? I know exactly what is going to happen, I wish I could be in there, burying my face in Betty’s fur, and not here, hiding it in my own dirty hands.
He leaves with a protesting cow, It won’t be long before that cow is gone. Betty protests too. I can’t take it anymore. I rise and force myself to the door, away from my father’s eyes, towards the kitchen.
My mother is standing near the doorway, chances are that she was watching out of the small window placed at the top of the door, and just backed away as soon as I hurried towards it. I set the milk where she told me to and she didn’t mention me watching into the barn, through the secret hole. I always do whatever she tells me, lest she gets upset, claims I am disobeying, and decides to send me to father. I will be extra careful today.
“Go Molly, you can go play,” she says without looking at me and it sounds more like an order, so I leave. I am rarely allowed to ‘go and play,’ there is always a chore to do, so when she told me that I had to hold myself back from jumping. I squeeze my fingers together and look up at my tall mother just as she turns away.
“Oh, thank you mother,” I put on my most respectful voice, not too loud, not too excited, and yet neither afraid. Her bobbing head is the last thing I see before I flee from the room. We wouldn’t want her to change her mind.
Outside the sun shone, the mist from the morning has cleared and it now looks almost like an entirely different day. I wish I could enjoy some time out there with the trees and the light breeze, but I can’t. That’s where my siblings are. There is nowhere to hide when, aside from the apple orchard, only a couple trees are scattered around the edges of the fields, so I prefer to stay inside. It's odd, right when Father gets home is the time that I get some free time, all to myself, but now I can’t do what I want to, more than anything in the world. Go to the library. I will be in terrible trouble if I am caught in there.
Around the corner, away from the kitchen and dining room, lay four small rooms, a bedroom for me and my sisters, one for my brothers, one for my parents, and finally my father’s library. Before I duck into my bedroom I peek into the library, hoping to smell the slightest hint of pages and my fathers’ ink. The dark room seems like a portal, with dark book spines that line every wall, a portal I could not enter.
I tore myself away, hurry into my room, and arrive at the smallest bed in the corner, my bed.
Under the blankets, tucked away, are three books which are what I am heading for. I plunge headfirst inside to pull each one out. These books are the reason I make my bed so tight each morning and keep an extra blanket and stuffed animal at the bottom to hide the lump.
Behind me, one window rises above my bed, I kneel and crane my neck to see out. The grass and the warm air that I remember looks tempting and almost seems to pull me towards it, and I know where my siblings would be, where they always are, I can avoid them. But I don't move, just cross my legs and open a book.
Currently, I am reading Heidi, a book that I was surprised to find on my father’s shelf in the first place. It was tucked away, halfway behind other books, but I spotted the bright green corner and read a section before diving deep inside the Swiss Mountains. Years ago, my mother taught me to read, she thought it was a good idea for me to know just a little. But then my father came home. He had been gone for a long time then, 'On a work trip,' was what my mother told us. He immediately disapproved and now my mother disapproves too, but I kept working on my own.
After every creek in the house, every whistle, every sound, even the slightest gust of wind from outside, I jerk my head up, look around, and prepare to hide my book. But nobody comes. I read for probably an hour or two but it feels like only a couple of minutes.
A door slams, “Is dinner almost ready?” my father demands and even though I am rooms over, I can still hear him clearly. I can almost see how my mother would nod but give no other answer. Even if it isn’t nearly ready she always answers yes.
“Molly!” My mother calls. I have already put my books away and I tumble out of the room.
“Yes?”
“Oh,” she gasps, placing a hand on her chest, “you started me, I didn’t know you were still in here.”
“What is it, Mother?”
“Go find your siblings, tell them it’s time to sit down for supper.” Her tone changes in an instant, she is irritated now, and yet I can’t place what I did. Maybe it isn't my fault but I know I should hurry.
“Okay,” I knew that’s what she would ask and I barely finish slipping my boots on before I hurry out into the warmth, and a smile even appears across my face as the wind blows through my hair.
The first place to look would be the apple orchard. It’s a wonderful place, one that reminds me of a fairytale, trees scattered around and full, when the season is right, with juicy apples. It’s a place I wish I could spend more time in yet it’s also great for hide-and-seek.
Something moves in the corner of my vision and the odd sensation of being watched crawls over me and I shiver instead of smile when the next breeze blows past.
I peek around trees trying to get a glimpse of my siblings messing with me. Giggles erupt around me, and I yelp.
“Hey! Come on!” I am helpless and utterly alone and I have no idea what to do. “You have to come back now, it’s time to sit down for supper. They are going to get mad if you don’t come back soon.” There is, however, no response except more giggles. And then something hits me. A big, bright apple. My mouth drops open and I whip around just as another apple hits my back from the other direction.
“What is it, Mother?”
“Go find your siblings, tell them it’s time to sit down for supper.” Her tone changes in an instant, she is irritated now, and yet I can’t place what I did. Maybe it isn't my fault but I know I should hurry.
“Okay,” I knew that’s what she would ask and I barely finish slipping my boots on before I hurry out into the warmth, and a smile even appears across my face as the wind blows through my hair.
The first place to look would be the apple orchard. It’s a wonderful place, one that reminds me of a fairytale, trees scattered around and full, when the season is right, with juicy apples. It’s a place I wish I could spend more time in yet it’s also great for hide-and-seek.
Something moves in the corner of my vision and the odd sensation of being watched crawls over me and I shiver instead of smile when the next breeze blows past.
I peek around trees trying to get a glimpse of my siblings messing with me. Giggles erupt around me, and I yelp.
“Hey! Come on!” I am helpless and utterly alone and I have no idea what to do. “You have to come back now, it’s time to sit down for supper. They are going to get mad if you don’t come back soon.” There is, however, no response except more giggles. And then something hits me. A big, bright apple. My mouth drops open and I whip around just as another apple hits my back from the other direction.
“Noo,” I start to cry and dive to the ground with my hands over my head. More apples hit me, I close my eyes, and try to imagine that I am on a hill, basking in sunlight, drinking goat's milk, and happy as can be.
More apples.
More giggles.
After a long pause, I hear footsteps and finally look up. All my siblings are scrambling away towards the house. Ha! Somehow I feel triumphant as I stand, gripping an apple.
“I can run away, ha! I can run away and no one will hit me with another apple again. No one will ever laugh at my face.” With my siblings gone, I start wandering around the trees in peace. I should go back and eat a silent dinner as my father rattles his thoughts out to my older brother and then silently get ready for bed and ready for tomorrow, another day with my siblings' taunts scattered in between quiet moments. I can’t seem to tear myself away.
I really could run away, the thought pounds in my head as if someone is repeating it dozens of times. I could, gather dozens of apples and even find a rag to wrap them in before I leave. I will eat them for breakfast, lunch, and supper until I run out. I could run into the mountains and never return.
— — — — —
Thank you for reading!
Don't leave yet! I have a question for you. I would love for you to comment on what you think about Molly's sudden desire to run away at the end. If you are subscribed and reading this through your email then you can click on the blue title to arrive on my blog and from there you can comment on the blog post itself.
If you can go back to when you were young, think about a time when you were very upset. So upset that you can't think straight and some of the things you do think don't make sense. Have you ever been so upset when you were younger that you said you would run away? Now most likely (and hopefully), like me, you had a good family life as a child, vastly different than Molly's, and that intrusive thought to run away lasted for only seconds. Molly lives in a different place and a different time period and her running away would look much different than mine.
When answering this question I want you to think about a lot of things. I want you to think about what you would do if you were placed in Molly's situation. What do you think Molly should do? I want you to think about what Molly will do, and what will make a better story, staying or leaving?
Will Molly find a new Favorite Place?
Comment your answer below!
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