Late Again

• Rhiannon Younger, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2009

He was a tornado.The branches tore at his skin, giving him many cuts. His clothing had little tears in them, where the sticks of the forest had torn through.He was leaping over logs and running at a speed that would make any person dizzy. But he was on a mission. He was sure that he would see it any moment now. As he leapt over another log,like an angry dear, pushing its way over anything standing in its path, he finally saw what he was looking for.
A house, with lattice climbing up its walls, a flower garden that was filled with sweet smells and butterflies flying about and every other little detail on the cottage, was more recognisable than anything else. As he jogged up the steps, aware that time was running out, he took hold of the little door knob, twisted and carefully opened the door and took one look inside and hysteria washed over him.
He had forgotten that he left the house in a hurry, so now it was a disaster site. Pillows were lying around on the floor, a table covered with orange juice, bananas and apples on the bench, in an untidy order and the carpet covered in dirt and mud, from earlier that morning. And amongst it all, was his homework, with the orange juice spilled all over it, and his cat, Missy, sitting neatly on a cushion, licking the orange juice like it was the last drink she'll have in a long time, and she was trying to drink it as quickly as possible.
"Missy! Stop! Stop that at once!" He cried, but it was too late, the ink had smudged on the page, and you couldn't tell that there were meant to be words on it. " Missy, look what you did! I'll never be able to write another story as good as that one! Oh, no. What am I going to do about my homework? I cant get another bad grade! Mum will have a fit!" He exclaimed, suddenly anxious and scared about what his mum would do if she found out. He shuddered inwardly.
He went to the kitchen, grabbed the tea-towel off the rack, and started franticly dabbing the cloth onto the paper, silently praying that it would work and be okay afterwards. But sadly, no. There was a big orange coloured stain right in the middle of the page, and all of the words were partially smudged, except for his name, Zachary Goode, that stood out. He gave up, and for a moment he felt hopeless, but just as quickly as it had come, it vanished, a new feeling in its place. Anger.
He was soo mad that he stomped towards the bin, and shredded, scrunched and tore at the paper, until there was nothing left of the orange-juice covered homework. Missy, who was devestated that her drink was gone, gave him a look that could kill, padded lightly through the house, jumped through the cat-flap and landed gracefully outside.
As his anger subsided, Zachary thought to himself 'Its too late to start a new story, I'll just have to go to school and tell Mrs Kenny that Missy drank my homework. Shes soo not going to believe me.'
So when he was finished feeling sorry for himself, he looked at the clock, and gasped. " Oh, no! Not again! Its already past eight thirty, I'm going to be late!" Zachary sobbed. So he dried his eyes, took one last look at the messy house and walked to the door, slammed it shut and lightly jogged back to school, thinking all the time of what punishment he was going to get.