Darla's Choice

• Gabriella Dasey, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2022

Darla sat on a small chair covered with intricate carvings of creeping ivy. The scent of flowers had wafted in through the windows and settled into the small cottage. The gentle rain that had been falling earlier in the morning had now dried up, and the sun was emerging from the clouds bringing warmth and colour to the day.

Darla jumped out of the chair and twirled around the room until she eventually bumped into her mother. She giggled and ran to the window, excitedly pressing her nose against the cold glass.

The day had finally come. After months of waiting, she had turned eight and that meant one thing. Her mother would take her to antiques shop in town to buy the old pen. While her mum thought the pen was ugly and ordinary, a bit of tat from the past, Darla knew it was magical. Why else would the words, ‘Write one wish only and it shall be granted’ be engraved on the side? Darla knew exactly what she was going to wish for. The Shetland pony she had always wanted. She looked at her mother, who groaned with exasperation and said, “Okay, Let's go.”

“Stop running!” Darla’s mother called, as the little girl pranced around the wet cobblestone road, nearly falling as her gumboots slid across the moss. Darla skipped towards a large shop with a glowing red sign that read ‘Antiques’. Darla loved old things; she loved imagining who had owned them before and what kind of lives they led. She pushed the glass doors open and ran inside, her eyes exploring the room. She squealed, and clomped around, walking past various bits of memorabilia, until she reached the far corner where the small pencil sat. The pencil was yellow with a lead that seemed to sparkle, and on the side in small gold letters it read, ‘Write one wish only and it shall be granted.’

“Darla, I need to take this call.” Her mother said as the small flip phone vibrated in her pocket. Darla nodded and scurried to a corner where she sat down with a notebook and her new pen.

“So, you’re like a genie!” she said to the pencil. Her mind was carried away by daydreams of her pony. But then she was interrupted by a sound coming from behind the bookshelf. It sounded like crying. Darla got up and crept towards the shelf.
“Are you sure?” her mother asked in between strangled sobs. “He can’t have cancer, he is so healthy, I don't understand!”
Darla’s chest tightened as she listened. Uncle Jake had cancer and it was bad. So bad that the medicine was having no effect. There was nothing they could do.

Darla thought about the pony. And then about beloved uncle Jake with his warm smile and corny jokes. It was so hard to choose, as she could only choose one thing to write.

She made up her mind, sat down, picked up the pen and wrote three words.