Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Start (01/16/06)
TITLE: Miracles Never Cease
By becca rooks
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With reckless abandon and unrestrained joy, the little yellow Pomeranian leaped with ecstasy into the inviting playground of the backyard. He loved it out here; there was a complete wraparound fence, so his people allowed him to frolic freely to his heart’s content. There were tall stately trees to provide shade when the blistering sun became too much, serving the double purpose of providing markers for the application of his scent. Bushes and flower-strewn grass created a perfect playing field for hide-and-seek between the gleeful canine and all the other creatures, be they harmless insects, or deadly snakes. It didn’t really matter, it was all good fun.
The fleas watched the excited food source, quivering in anxious anticipation. Hoping that the manna they saw running before them would become a realized answer to their prayer—they were very hungry. “Please, oh Great one, grant us this gift of sustenance for us and our children, and we shall declare You mighty across the land!” they cried in supplication. “This land has become unfruitful and barren. Woe is us.”
Life had been so blessed, once. Ease and comfort leading to laziness, and eventually, bored discontent. Selfish hoarding and petty squabbling had ensued in shockingly quick order; son turning against father, sister against brother, until anger and destruction had left nothing in its wake. Now, finding it necessary for survival to band together, this diminished nation knew that they must start over, and were but looking for an opportunity.
“Almost here, he’s coming, he’s coming,” the maniacally eager look-out called in barely contained agitation. “Make ready!” commanded the leader in tones of authority and encouragement to his people as they hunkered down, coiled with expectation, just aching to spring forth. “Get set, on my mark, NOW!”
As one body, the dark cloud of fleas jumped with all their strength, latching on, catching handholds to whatever first came within their reach. Twitch never even knew what hit him, as his feet, tail, back, stomach, were all unobtrusively invaded by the starving sand-dwellers. He was now a real live walking, barking, fleabag motel. The Great one had come through; He had given them their new start.
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