I have to brag about my "big boy" again! He had a writing assignment recently and I was really impressed with what he wrote. I am not a good writer so I am maybe not a good judge. Tell me what you all think! He was given and illustration with the caption "Another Place, Another Place",written under the picture. The picture was of 4 kids on a rail road hand car that had a sail. In the distance down the track was a castle. Enjoy!!
Another Place, Another Time
He lived in the town of Blandington. In Blandington, everyone and everything was the same. The males of the little town all wore berets when ever they were out-doors, and had short-cut hair, and wore slacks with white button-up shirts, always tucked in. Every female wore the same exact modest, rather dull looking dress, and their hair was neatly trimmed above the shoulders. If anyone in Blandington had ever asked anyone else the word “individuality” meant, they would promptly be directed to the nearest dictionary, and even then not find a definition. This was just the way things were in Blandington.
He wanted out. His name was Quentin. He knew that somehow, somewhere, there had to be a beyond, something outside of Blandington. You see, Quentin was like any other person in Blandington. His hair was short, he wore a beret at all times when he went out-doors, had short-cut hair, and wore slacks with white button-up shirts, always tucked in. He even pressed his slacks regularly, which was more than most boys his age did. And he never went anywhere without his beret. But despite his obedience to all the recognized protocols and dress codes, Quentin, though a mere boy of thirteen, was a free thinker.
His best friend was a girl his age named Priscilla. Priscilla also followed the protocols and dress codes, and she also cared for Quentin. Though she did care for Quentin, she thought he was a pretty strange kid. And he was.
Quentin heartily agreed with this statement, for Priscilla had told him this many times before. There was still one thing though, that Quentin thought himself, and that was this: through the heart of Blandington, there ran a set of railroad tracks. It merely sat there, and no one had ever seen any thing or anyone come down it, nor did they wonder…except for Quentin. One night, Quentin made up his mind to follow the tracks, wherever they may lead.
“Come with me,” he said to Priscilla, who was staring at him in bewilderment, as he stood outside her bedroom window.
“Why?” asked Priscilla, baffled.
“Haven’t you ever wondered what those tracks are for, what travels on it, what’s at the end?” interrogated Quentin, nearly hysterical with excitement.
“Quentin, it’s 11:23 at night. You’re breaking curfew! Maybe tomorrow. I have to sleep.”
Quentin stared her down.
“Oh, fine!” said Priscilla, giving in. “I’ll come.”
Priscilla was outside with Quentin within ten minutes. It was only a two minute walk to the tracks. And so their journey began.
They had been walking for about 24 minutes, and hadn’t even gotten all the way out of the town. Quentin looked at his wrist-watch. Almost midnight. He had heard many different stories about special things happening at midnight. He also knew that there was something special about these tracks.
“Quentin, we should turn back. If we’ve walked for this long and haven’t gotten anywhere, what makes you think that there is anything at the end of this track?” asked Priscilla, beginning to tire of this late-night stroll.
“Priscilla, tell me something,” said Quentin, patiently.
“Okay,” said Priscilla, somewhat meekly.
“Have you ever seen that house before? That one, with the barber’s markings?”
“No, I don’t think so. The barber that we go to has different markings on it, but so what?” asked Priscilla, her interest somewhat piqued.
“Well, if we haven’t gone very far yet and we already see something new, just think what all we could find at the end of the track!” elaborated Quentin. “Besides, I’ve heard that at midnight, special things happen.”
Almost as if on cue, Quentin saw a dim light behind them, rapidly growing brighter. Quentin quickly pulled himself and Priscilla off the track. The light’s speed began to slow down and revealed a small sail-driven railroad car, carrying a boy that appeared to be a little older than Quentin’s and that wore a sailor’s outfit, as well as another, slightly younger looking black-skinned boy wearing a bowler. Quentin and Priscilla had never before seen anyone with black skin.
“Evening folks!” greeted the boy in the sailor’s outfit. “Where are you headed?”
Stammering slightly, Quentin replied, “W-we’re trying to get to the end of this track.”
“Is there an end?” inquired Priscilla skeptically.
“Well of course it has an end!” replied the sailor boy jovially. “But you’ll never get there by foot. Climb aboard my car with me, I’ll take you there.”
Quentin eagerly climbed onto the car, pulling the measurably less enthused Priscilla behind him.
“You folks comfortable? Good, good. Full speed ahead, Jojo,” said the Sailor boy referring to the black boy at the front of the cart.
“Yessir!” replied Jojo enthusiastically, with a grin across his face. With out so much as a breeze, the sail seemed to drift forward as though filled with wind. They were off.
“Hang onto your beret, Quentin!” said the young sailor excitedly.
“How did you know my name?” asked Quentin, bewildered. “And what’s your name? And how did that kid make the sail fill?”
“Ha ha ha!” chuckled the sailor boy. “I’ve been told all about you. You’ve been expected for a long while now. And, how rude of me to not introduce myself. My name is John. And Jojo there is able to fill the sail simply because he is different and takes pride in it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could fill the sail yourself.”
“And who might you be, miss?” asked John, addressing Priscilla.
Priscilla looked at John strangely. “Why don’t you know my name?” asked Priscilla.
“I’m not sure. I guess you just weren’t…expected,” said John with a slightly worried, forced smile upon his face. “Let’s press on then, shall we?” The cart continued to roll along with great speed.
Before long, the houses seemed to simply melt away. Soon there was nothing anywhere in sight but the track on which the foursome traveled, as well as something neither Quentin nor Priscilla had ever seen or even heard of before: the sea.
Quentin could only stare in awe at the sea. He had been traveling for an hour and a half now and already, he was finding more than he ever expected. He couldn’t wait to see the end of the track, and possibly find out why Blandington was so, well, bland. And finally, why none other than himself had ever even wondered about the track. If there was an answer, he knew he’d find it there.
The car had been moving swiftly now for hours, and still, the sea and the track stretched as far as the eye could see. Priscilla had long lost interest in the sea at this point, and she was beginning to get impatient.
“Are we there yet?” she whined, shortly.
“You jus’ gotta have patience, ma’am,” said Jojo, eyes never straying from their course.
“But we’ve been traveling for hours and have gotten nowhere fast!” snapped Priscilla, still uncomfortable with Jojo’s diversity.
“He’s right, though Priscilla,” said John, in his calm, ever cheery tone. He thought for a moment. Then, speaking to Jojo, “Stop the car.”
The car slowed down as the sail deflated and finally came to a halt.
“Wait, why are you stopping?” asked Quentin, a hint off worry in his voice.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be off again before you know it,” John reassured Quentin. “Just as soon as Priscilla fills the sail again. Go ahead, Priscilla. Fill the sail”
Jojo moved over and took Priscilla’s seat. Quentin was feeling a little edgy.
Priscilla sat where Jojo had just been and set about filling the sail. She sat there for five minutes, willing the sail to fill with the invisible breeze. Nothing happened. Quentin took a peek at his wristwatch. Five more minutes passed. Still nothing.
“Why can’t I do it?” demanded Priscilla.
“Because you do not truly believe that it’s possible,” explained John, who knew exactly why. “You do not even believe that there is an end of this track to get to. You still don’t wonder about this very track on which you have been traveling for the past few hours. You were correct in saying that we’ve been getting nowhere fast. And you are the reason for that. We were not expecting you. You were never meant to travel to the end of the track. You were not born with your eyes open. This is where your journey ends.”
Just then, the sea began to bubble and froth.
Quentin understood what must happen, and why. He would miss Priscilla, but not as much as he thought he might. He realized that she did not belong.
The water’s bubbling and frothing began to get more violent.
Quentin said his final goodbyes to Priscilla. He would never see her again.
The water pulled back and began to curl, forming the beginnings of a wave.
Priscilla could only stare in horror. She did not quite grasp that the wave was meant to take her away, or why. She glanced at John, and then at Quentin, imploringly. John only gazed at the wave, waiting for it to carry out its purpose.
The great wave crashed over the car. It pulled back out as quickly as an eagle who had just snatched up its prey. When the wave was gone, so was Priscilla.
Quentin, John and Jojo were still as dry as a bone.
“Well then” said John, breaking the silence. “Shall we press on?”
Quentin, immediately picking his spirits back up, “Yes, let’s keep going! I want to reach the end of the track, with or without Priscilla.”
“That’s the spirit!” encouraged John. “She was only slowing you down. If she had remained, you would have lost any chance of getting to the other end. She did not believe, nor does any was else back in Blandington.”
Jojo began moving up to his place at the front to fill the sail.
“Wait!” yelled Quentin, stopping him before he could even sit down. “I would like to fill the sail.”
Jojo looked back at John, who nodded in consent. Jojo gladly stood aside and took a seat next to Quentin. Quentin eagerly sat in the drivers seat.
With barely any effort at all, Quentin filled the sail with the invisible breeze. The car took off so fast that John was knocked off his feet into his seat.
John was amazed at the speed that Quentin was able to create. He had never been able to make the car move at this kind of speed before.
Quentin could only grin with delight. He had already forgotten about Priscilla. Within a very short time, Quentin could see a castle off in the distance.
“What’s that?” he asked John.
“That, Quentin, is the other end of the track. The other end of the track is not only in another place, but another time.” replied John.
Quentin grinned and turned his gaze toward his wristwatch. It no longer ticked. Here there was no time. He was finally on his way. He had all the time in the world.
