Tag Archives: Second Placed

COCOS NUCIFERA BY S A DIXON

As a girl, they told her never to play under the coconut trees. And Sarah Appleton might have listened, except yesterday her
mother had thrown a very important book across the fence.

It wasn’t the type of book that came home from school listed on a slip of paper. Its author was unknown to anyone except those who liked fluorescent pink covers that yielded pages stained with saucy words.

Sarah had tried to tell her mother the book wasn’t hers, but before she could promise to return it to its owner right away, Maggie had arched her arm like a cricketer and bowled it at the single tree stump that dominated the space next door. Sarah was out.
Today she was lying on top the square water tank overlooking her mother’s clothesline, armed with a stack of chicken bones from last night’s dinner. These would distract the dog on the other side of the enclosure. She imitated her mother, and flung the bones at one of the farthest mounds of fallen branches that feathered the ground beneath the tree.
The dog was black, with ribs as thin as Sarah’s fingers. If it had barked too much, Sarah knew her mother might have peeked through the kitchen window to find out why. Then she would have seen Sarah slipping through one of the spaces between the rusted galvanise and flattened oil drums nailed up along the board fence.
The chicken bones had sunk between the thin, flexible branches that Sarah and Denny, the boy up the street, often fashioned into miniature nooses and tried to slip around the necks of unsuspecting lizards.

The dog had buried its nose into one of the spaces in the stack when the coconut fell, without warning, pulled by gravity
from the tree that swayed above their heads like a loaded gun, in winds that hinted of unrest somewhere out in the Atlantic.

The dog tasted a pain sharper than the bones it had been trying to swallow. It ran to the street, dragging its suddenly useless back legs under a car that had been taking someone to the bread shop around the corner. The thud brought Sarah’s mother and the neighbour out to see what had happened.

“Oh lawd! Me dog dead!” Miss Thompson said, hoping the driver would at least be willing to take the carcass someplace where
she wouldn’t have to smell it when it ripened.

At first, no one noticed that Sarah was missing. And by then, she had forgotten all about the pink book that had already been spoiled by last night’s passing showers.

Sarah was leaning against the tank, trying to shake the dog’s last cries from her head. Her back was pressed against the sheet of metal that chilled her just slightly less than what had almost just happened to her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

SA Dixon, second placed in the 18 to 35 age category (literary arts) of the Wadadli Pen 2011 Challenge, is an Antiguan-born author living in Kansas City, Missouri. She has previously focused on non-fiction, but has lately been concentrating on delving into more imaginative works.

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

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Fictional Reality by Rilys Adams

[2005 Young Explorer Wadadli Youth Pen Prize Second Placed Writer]

He fired from the car, as a bullet would a gun, dashing through the clearing and running towards the sparkling, ivory sand. He rejoiced when he felt the heat and heard the crunching sound of sand under his feet as he ran eagerly ahead.

Rilys accepts her award from then Culture Director Heather Doram.

“Damon, chile…min’ yu nah bruk yuh neck.”

Damon ignored Nana’s protests but propelled his lanky body faster. He did not stop until he settled into the turquoise cocoon with a loud splash.

Giggling, he dived and surfaced, calling out to Nana to join him. He floated, staring at the crystal, blue sky above then he turned his attention to where Nana had set up picnic under the shade of a mango tree.

Damon occupied himself frisking in the water. He dived and resurfaced repeatedly. Upon his fifth dive, he felt warmth enclose him. An amber glow emanated from a large whirlpool a few feet ahead. Curious, Damon surfaced to obtain more oxygen before he submerged and dived towards the vortex.

As he approached it, the warmth and the force of current increased. The current pulled Damon into the vortex as the warmth soothed him.

Reality lost its authority when Damon found himself in sapphire waters. Marble rocks were visible along the coastline and the sky was a deep violet. His mouth gaped when he viewed the shore which sparkled with fragments of diamonds.

Curiosity compelled him to further observe this uncanny island, for beside a coconut tree grew an apple tree. A heavily accented voice, conveyed in a lazy drawl, floated into audibility.

“What’yu declaration? What’yu motivation? What right d’yu have to trespass on the Isle of the Rastamagician?”

Damon looked for the speaker but saw nothing but swaying trees.

He could barely contain the shock when he sighted him. He was tall and slender, attired in a burgundy robe. His neat dreadlocks were now as white as the marble stone that lined the coast.

“Eh you…what’yu declaration?”

“Me I nah come here on purpose,” Damon stated immediately, in defence of himself.

The Rastamagician grinned, “Couldn’t have.”

The Rastamagician, whose name was Tamag, revealed to Damon the treasures of his island. Tamag took him to a cave, carved from Emeralds where the Rastamagician kept his possessions. There were books, a leaf-collection and shells. In the middle of the cave was a sturdy copper cauldron, where Damon supposed Tamag brewed enchantments and potions.

They toured the rest of the island, which to Damon’s surprise provided a habitat to many mythical creatures. He chased a Gnome and was able to watch a Selkie swim. Damon thought he would burst with excitement and happiness.

After the tour, Tamag offered to demonstrate to Damon a simple spell. Damon was delighted. Tamag placed a book a few feet from Damon, and told him that they were to make it fly.

“Point at it with yuh finger, say Evolvo. Then flick yuh wrist towards you and say Promotum.”

It took many attempts but eventually Damon caused the book to soar towards him. He could not contain his glee.

“You da first to ever come mi island and see it like dis,” Tamag noted.

“People come here, before?”

“They only see barren rocks. They call it Rhedonda. Yu Nana must miss you. You have to go.’

Damon protested to no avail. Tamag placed his hands on his shoulder and cried, “Reverto.”

When Damon pulled himself from the water and headed to Nana, it all seemed like a dream.

“What happen to you, boy?” Nana demanded on seeing Damon’s bemused face.

“Rhedonda is beautiful,” he murmured.

Nana ‘cheupsed’, “Rhedonda’s just a bunch ah rocks.”

THE END

Adams later in 2005 collected a literary arts award from the Optimists - along with Sandrena Martin and Sarah Ann Li, in recognition of their accomplishments in the Wadadli Pen.

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION & TERMS OF USE
Copyright of the winning Wadadli Pen stories and/or art work featured on this site belongs to the creators of the individual works and are used here purely for promotional and educational purposes. Other blog content, except otherwise noted, is created and/or maintained by Joanne C. Hillhouse. Site content should not be copied, distributed, transmitted, used for commercial purposes, altered, transformed, or built upon without the consent of the copyright holders.

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