Preface
Planet Earth.
We feel safe, in our little homes.
Our countries have armies.
They will protect us.
Or will they?
CACAWC - Chapter One
We feel safe, in our little homes.
Our countries have armies.
They will protect us.
Or will they?
A Little Place You Might Like.....
To Rise or Be Struck Down - Chapter Two
Chapter Two
As the sun slowly rose over the horizon, I slipped out of the bed that Greta and I shared. I hurried as slipped on my clothes; it was a brisk spring morning, and the early morning air nipped my skin. Quietly I opened the curtain that hung around Greta and my “room”. Our cottage was really only one big room, so we had hung blankets from the ceiling as a way to divide our house into three rooms - Mama’s room, the girls room, and the main room. Jasper slept in the main room, which served as kitchen, dining room, and sitting room. My brother slept by the fire, which lay in the center of the room. He tended it all night, making sure that our house stayed warm enough in the chilly hours of night.
As I slipped quietly into the main room, Jasper made a noise and rolled over in his bed. I froze in my tracks. After about a minute, I continued tiptoeing toward the door. I gently lifted my coat off the hook that was near the door, and slipped out into the morning air.
As the sun slowly rose over the horizon, I slipped out of the bed that Greta and I shared. I hurried as slipped on my clothes; it was a brisk spring morning, and the early morning air nipped my skin. Quietly I opened the curtain that hung around Greta and my “room”. Our cottage was really only one big room, so we had hung blankets from the ceiling as a way to divide our house into three rooms - Mama’s room, the girls room, and the main room. Jasper slept in the main room, which served as kitchen, dining room, and sitting room. My brother slept by the fire, which lay in the center of the room. He tended it all night, making sure that our house stayed warm enough in the chilly hours of night. As I slipped quietly into the main room, Jasper made a noise and rolled over in his bed. I froze in my tracks. After about a minute, I continued tiptoeing toward the door. I gently lifted my coat off the hook that was near the door, and slipped out into the morning air.
To Rise or Be Struck Down - Chapter One
by Grace Morgan
It has been many years since I last told the story I’m about to tell. I live in a convent now, and most of the women aren’t interested in exiting tales of bravery, sacrifice, heartache, and adventure. A few of them, when I first came here, told me that my stories gave them headaches. After a year or two, I gave up. Forty years later, old woman that I am, I still yearn for the days when I’d run through the woods, singing like a little bird. However, let me stop this boring rambling, and begin with the story.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When I was fifteen years old, I lived in the town of Dell. My father was dead, I had an older (by three years) brother, and a younger (by ten years) sister, as well as a mother, and we lived together on the brink of the town. My brother worked for a man named Mr. Goodman (he really was a good man. We always joked with each other about how well his name fit him). My brother would do odd jobs here and there. From being a farmhand, to shingling the Goodman’s house, my brother would do it. Mr. Goodman would have just given us money to provide for us, but my brother wouldn’t allow it. He would work and provide for us. I had a feeling that it had something to do with him feeling like he needed to step up as the man of the family after Father had died.
I was proud of Jasper, but I also pitied him. He and our father had been so close, and worse, Jasper was fourteen when Father had died. That left Jasper as the one of us three children who remembered Father most, and thus missed him most. I had been but eleven years old, and Greta merely one. Greta had few recollections of Father, which I think was good, as Greta was a sensitive little child. If I accidentally stepped on an ant, she’d cry all day and call me a murderer, telling me that the “por widdle ant never did nofing to you” and “how wud you feel if a big diant thtomped on you fer no rethon?”.
It has been many years since I last told the story I’m about to tell. I live in a convent now, and most of the women aren’t interested in exiting tales of bravery, sacrifice, heartache, and adventure. A few of them, when I first came here, told me that my stories gave them headaches. After a year or two, I gave up. Forty years later, old woman that I am, I still yearn for the days when I’d run through the woods, singing like a little bird. However, let me stop this boring rambling, and begin with the story. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When I was fifteen years old, I lived in the town of Dell. My father was dead, I had an older (by three years) brother, and a younger (by ten years) sister, as well as a mother, and we lived together on the brink of the town. My brother worked for a man named Mr. Goodman (he really was a good man. We always joked with each other about how well his name fit him). My brother would do odd jobs here and there. From being a farmhand, to shingling the Goodman’s house, my brother would do it. Mr. Goodman would have just given us money to provide for us, but my brother wouldn’t allow it. He would work and provide for us. I had a feeling that it had something to do with him feeling like he needed to step up as the man of the family after Father had died.
I was proud of Jasper, but I also pitied him. He and our father had been so close, and worse, Jasper was fourteen when Father had died. That left Jasper as the one of us three children who remembered Father most, and thus missed him most. I had been but eleven years old, and Greta merely one. Greta had few recollections of Father, which I think was good, as Greta was a sensitive little child. If I accidentally stepped on an ant, she’d cry all day and call me a murderer, telling me that the “por widdle ant never did nofing to you” and “how wud you feel if a big diant thtomped on you fer no rethon?”.
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