Hire
Writers
Editors
Home Tour About Read What's New Help Forums Join
My Account Login
Shop
Save
Support
E
Book
Store
Learn
About
Jesus
  

Win A Publishing Package HERE            

The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge

BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN

INSTRUCTIONS

how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level

ENTRIES

submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners



Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.





TRUST JESUS TODAY

TRY THE TEST



Share
how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Good and Bad (05/07/09)

TITLE: When a Sparrow Won't Do
By Virgil Youngblood
05/13/09


 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
 ADD TO MY FAVORITES

When a Sparrow Won’t Do



Rufus leaned Papa’s old squirrel gun against a lightening-blackened walnut tree and stepped towards Cedrick with his fists balled tight. “You lay a hand on my sister or bother her again and your tombstone will read ‘Died 1901.’ Now, git!”

“I’m leaving,” Cedrick muttered, “but I want that bird. If it don’t show up to the mine ‘fore sundown, I’ll be back with some of the boys.” Cedrick wheeled to leave flinging a kick at Rufus’s blue tick hound sniffing his scuffed boots.

They watched Cedrick hurrying down the twisting mountain trail until he disappeared in a grove of Red maples. “Cyndy, if I told you once I told you a hunnert times -- stay away from Cedrick.”

“I was just here by the spring picking some poke salad for supper when he showed up. We ain’t got hardly anything else to eat, Rufus. You ain’t kilt a squirrel, I see.”

“I know, Cyndy. It ain’t your fault. But, if Papa don’t get back today with them canaries we’re gonna haft to deal with Cedrick.”

“Well, even if Papa don’t, he ain’t getting Peety!”

“Cyndy, Papa never should’a given you that bird. ‘Course, he couldn’t a’knowd that truck load of canaries was gonna turn over and kill ‘em all. They’re in desperate need of birds down to the mine and he’s hired to go git ‘em.”

“I know, Rufus. But, Peety is the onliest thing I own in this world. His singing pleasures me fiercely. Them miner’s think canaries is the only hope they have of living to old age. But, Rufus, without Peety I’d simply die. Ain’t I important, too? They can’t have him even if they need him.”

“Cyndy, our friends have to be more ‘portant than our pets. Them miners have families. If Peety gets loaned to them for awhile, it don’t mean he’s gonna croak. But if he did, he told ‘em to find some good air quick. That’s better’n no chance.”

“All I can say is Papa better spur that mine-train mule on up the mountain. Cedrick ain’t getting Peety. They can just shut that ole mine down ‘til they get their own birds. Or they can use a mouse. I heard they work same as a canary.”

“Yeah, but not as well. When a mouse keels over you got precious little time to git. He don’t give much sign.”

“I don’t care, Rufus. Peety stays with me.”

“Git on tuh the house, Cyndy. See what you can put on the table. There may be a few grits in the sack behind the salt crock. I’ll make a round and be along soon. Maybe I’ll find sum’pin for the pot.”

Cyndy grabbed her bag stuffed with pokeweed and headed home. Peety would be looking for her, turning his golden head side to side as he sat on his perch singing his little heart out. After Momma died trying to have number three, grandma passed and Papa crippled a leg in a mine accident. Grandpapa had already died of black lung. Rufus would start working in the mine soon and the mine would claim him too.

Any way you looked at it, no one in her family would be around very long. So, come hell or Cedrick, she was keeping Peety. He was the only thing that she could count on to put a bright spot in her gray days.


Cyndy and Rufus had finished a meager meal and sat outside on the rickety splintery steps watching darkness creep up the mountain. Far below five torches bobbed and weaved climbing higher on the trail. Cedrick was coming.

“What’cha gonna do, girl? If you don’t loan ‘em the bird, I’m gonna hafta stomp Cedrick or help him. Either way, I lose. I hate you gotta make a choice, but drat it Cyndy, right or wrong, they think Peety is the only hope their men-folk have. You can’t smell or taste bad air in the mine. You have to have a canary to have a chance.”

“I heard all that before, Rufus. I don’t want anyone to die, but…”

“It will just be ‘till Papa gets back. He will likely be here tomorrow. So, you gonna loan ‘em Peety?”

“Only the good Lord knows, Rufus. Momma ain’t here to read the Good Book for me and you can’t. He needs to tell me quick if I need to change my mind.”


The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


This article has been read 441 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Beth LaBuff 05/17/09
Oh… I wanted more. I've read how the little canaries were often the only bright spot in the life of a rural pioneer woman. What a dilemma… Your dialog seems very realistic.
Marilyn Schnepp 05/18/09
An HONEST critique is both Good and Bad, (our topic this week). The Good is that I learned a Canary is used to check the air in a mine (or WAS used in earlier times). The bad is that I didn't like the "backwoods country accent", and although you nailed it to a "T"...it's just NOT my cup-of-tea, so to speak, for good reading. But well written nonetheless, with no solid ending, just a question mark for the reader to use their own imagination in solving the dilemma. Nice job and very creative, with a talent for accents.