Late Entry

• Dylan Keyt, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2008

I couldn’t believe it. I was about to finish this damn near-impossible game! Just a few levels more, and then...
“Gavin!” I heard Mum call from the kitchen. My controller flew out of my hands in panic and the ‘Game Over’ screen popped up.
“What?” I yelled, close to screaming.
“Did you remember to send your story to that writing competition?” she asked.
The competition. How could I not remember? I had left the letter with my story on the coffee table in front of the T.V so I wouldn’t forget, because the deadline was tomorrow.
“Crap,” I said as I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to 5, which meant I had a measly 15 minutes to get to the post office and deliver my story.
I needed a stamp, and the nearest post office was about 2 kilometres away. I pleaded with Mum to drive me, but she was too busy.
“You’ve had all day to go there and drop it off,” she badgered. “But now I have to cook dinner.” I shook my head and grabbed the letter; it was pointless arguing with her.
“Be safe!” Mum called out as I sprinted out the door. This wasn’t going to be easy because I’m not the fittest person I know of, so I thought a measured jog would be enough for me to get to the post office in time.
About 10 minutes later I saw bliss and misery, both at the same time. The post office was dead ahead, about 2 minutes away. Unfortunately, in front of me were the two main bullies from school, Paul Hodger and Max Benton. There was no evading them, so I tried to just walk past them, hoping they wouldn’t notice me.
“Hey, it’s that kid who owes me lunch money,” Paul sniggered as he and Max blocked my path. “Hand it over, Weed.”
“I don’t have time for this,” I replied. “Let me through.”
“Weed wants to get through?” Max sneered. “Weed has to pay up, first.”
“Or Weed gets bashed,” Paul added.
I didn’t think I would get home alive if it wasn’t for a policewoman who came out of the supermarket.
“Maxwell Benton and Paul Hodger. Haven’t been getting into trouble at school, I hope?”
“No, Constable Gertude,” said Max, looking embarrassed.
“Good,” Gertude said. “Then I expect that you’ll leave this boy to continue on his way.”
The boys nodded and stepped aside. I managed a quick smile at the constable before breaking into a sprint towards the post office. Disappointingly, the sign said ‘Closed’. I banged on the glass door desperately until a bald man came. The door still shut, I waved my letter in front of his face, begging to post it. The man shrugged apologetically, pointed at the sign, and walked off.
I was about to explode when I got home, and I did when Mum said,
“Couldn’t you have just sent it online?”