Trawling the dark recesses of the past

I'm feeling the pressure of having nothing to say. The week has been spent in mild panic about the possibility of missing appointments or forgetting things I've got to do. Husband has major exams in three weeks, we move house in 6 weeks, Christmas and holidays are coming and we are making a lot of appointments for autism treatments in between. Thus there hasn't been much room for thinking at length about very much at all. And because I don't want to lose you, dear readers, I have to post, and to post, I think I have to go looking back into the dark distant past files of the computer...

So here, tah dah, I present a children's story I wrote a few years ago. Obviously, I didn't succeed in getting in published - although I tried fairly hard. But I still think it's cute, and an interesting idea, even if the last line is pretty rubbish.


Island Andrew

In the middle of the lake was an island. It was quite a big island, with plenty of trees, and it didn’t look very far away. At least Andrew didn’t think so. Andrew wanted to go to the island.

It didn’t work when he asked Mum if he could go to the island.

“No Andrew, we’re on holidays, and anyway, how are you going to get there?” she said, going back to read her book.

Holidays weren’t holidays when there was nothing to do and no-one to play with. Annie was busy playing dolls with her friends.

“Just play in the lake,” Andrew’s mother said.

There must be a way of getting to the island, Andrew thought, sitting on the edge of the lake.

He looked at the island and dreamed of what adventures he could have there. Perhaps there would be a steaming jungle with crocodiles. Or wild and crazy hanging bridges he would have to crawl across. Perhaps there would be an island monster.

Andrew shook his head. It was no good. How would he get there? It was too far to swim. He couldn’t walk, and he didn’t have wings to fly.

“I wish I could go to the island,” thought Andrew. He picked up a rock and threw it in the lake. Then he picked up another rock and threw it in. Everytime he threw a rock in, he said to himself, “I wish I could go to the island.”

Andrew threw rocks into the lake all day and all the next day. He threw rocks in before breakfast, he threw rocks in up until lunch time. He kept throwing rocks in the lake until the sun set over the island.

The next day, when Andrew went to the edge of the lake, he picked up a stone to throw in the lake. But he stopped.

He looked carefully at the water, and then he looked again. It couldn’t be!

All the rocks he threw in the lake had made an island!

“I’ve made an island! I’ve made an island!” Andrew danced around and around for joy. “I’ve got my own island!”

He named it Island Andrew, and suddenly found that Annie wanted to play too!