The Wall-a story I wrote

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Here is a short story I wrote the other day. Hope you guys enjoy. If you have any suggestions or comments, please let me know.

It all started one autumn day when I saw some of the other children running in the park. Shouts and laughter filled the air. The warm sun shone on my face, a lasting reminder that summer had gone and the gentle breeze of autumn took its place. I could feel the coolness of the sand on my fingertips and the burn of the red metal slide on my legs.

But most of all, I remember her. She was slightly taller than I, with hair the color of the coals in Father’s barbeque. Her eyes were of the darkest brown, the same color as my sister’s, her skin, as dark as a piece of cardboard. She wore a pair of blue pants and a white shirt with the words “I Love New York” printed on the front. She was beautiful. Crystal, the others would call her, like a glowing grain of a once-whole prism that can make rainbows on the walls.

The other girl who followed Crystal closest was a tall girl. Her hair was the color of daffodils in the springtime, her eyes, like the shining pools of water in the summer. She was dressed almost exactly like Crystal, only her shirt was pink and said “Princess” on it. No one said her name.

I love the park. It is a place to climb trees or even travel to other lands on the magical pirate ship in the rolling waves of the golden sand. Sometimes I go there after school to play or to just think.

I was in the middle of an amazing adventure one afternoon with my friends, Edmund and Lucy, when water landed on my foot and I heard a thud in the sand beneath my feet.

“Watch where you’re going, Bitsy!” a voice snapped. I turned to look who had spilled water on my shoe. These are my favorite shoes, after all. The voice belonged to Crystal.

Everyone at school calls me Bitsy because I am small. They are all mean to me because I do not talk to them. They pull on my braid during math time, laugh at me when I cannot read the words to the class during read aloud and tie my shoelaces together in gym class so that I will fall down and they all laugh. They take the cookies from my lunch box that I made with Nanna and spill paint on the picture I paint for Papi when we visit over the weekend.

They are mean to me, but I cannot protect myself. I am small and shy. If I were as big as Goliath or as strong as Samson then I could squash them like bugs or launch them into orbit by throwing them up into the air like my sister does with her cereal in the mornings. I must defend myself, but how?

The next day at school, during library time, I borrow a book about castles during the medieval times. I love library time almost as much as working on my math lessons at home with Father. Sometimes, when Teacher is not looking, Ms. Taylor shows me where the exciting books are. Teacher says we are to read books like Junie B. Jones and Horrible Harry, but I do not enjoy these books. Ms. Taylor knows that I like stories about pirates or magical creatures and swords. Knights, princesses and dragons are more fun than stories about children in school.

“You’ll like that one, Elizabeth,” Ms. Taylor says as she hands me the book. I nod and sit down in the quietest area of the library, the place where all the books for the fifth and sixth graders are. None of the other second graders come to this area of the library, but the bigger children are nice to me. And they have their library time on Thursdays; we have ours on Tuesdays.

I love this book because I love castles. Castles were built as mighty fortresses on the top of a hill overlooking the peasants’ land. Because they were made of stone, the insides were dark and uncomfortable. If the land was under attack from invaders, then all of the peasants (and the gentry-the nobles) could take refuge in the sturdy walls of the castle while all the lord’s knights defended the fortress and the people within its walls.

A castle would defend me, so a wall of stone is what I will build to protect myself. Every time someone says something mean to me, another stone is set into place as a permanent reminder. When Crystal laughs at me during read aloud time, more stones are stacked, the mortar holding them together. It is a lasting warning about the treachery of the human heart and its emotions.

Day by day, the wall grows bigger. Stone after stone is stacked until I cannot see over the top or around the sides anymore. No one else is allowed on my side of the wall. The wall protects me and I love it. Weeks pass and the wall ceases to be built, but it is still both large and strong enough to protect me, to keep others from entering. Months pass. The seasons change from autumn to winter, then from spring to summer and back to autumn again. Years go by as I sit on my side of the wall, studying and beginning to ponder the reasons behind life.

So much time has passed. I have forgotten the joy that a kind word from Papi brings or the warm feelings I once had when Nanna would tell me stories when we made cookies together. I do not remember the feeling of a good night hug or the sound of Ms. Taylor’s voice, telling me I do not have to read the same books as the other children do.

One afternoon, as I was completing my studies underneath the shade of my favorite apple tree, I heard a sound coming from the top of the wall, followed by a light thud on the soft ground.

“What’s with this crazy wall?” the boy asked. He was a bit taller than I, with lighter hair and darker eyes. I did not speak to him. Why should I answer him if I do not even know him? “What’s your name?”

I stared at him for a moment. “Give me your name and I shall give you mine and more besides,” I replied.

He bowed slightly and walked over to where I was sitting. “My name is Matthew Theodore Wilson III, but you can call me Matt. All my friends do, anyways,” he said with a smile.

“My name is Elizabeth and I want to know why you are here. Why did you climb the wall? Why-“ His hand silenced me and I did not speak anymore.

Matt sat down under the shade of the tree. “I guess I’ll start at the beginning,” he said.

“When I saw the wall being built from my window at home, I began to get curious about what was happening, so I asked for help from the Great Architect. He told me some about the wall and its origins, so I made an oath to him to help in whatever way I could.”

“I do not need your help!” I snapped angrily. That is why the wall was built – to keep out anyone who dares enter, to protect me from people like Crystal, who have made it their life mission to torment me, to hide from rejection, betrayal and hatred. “I do not need help from anyone! Do you not understand why the wall was built?” My voice was raised to an almost deafening crescendo, but Matt did not wince, even the smallest bit. Maybe his ears do not work as well as mine do.

Matt sighed. “I see you have everything for survival here,” he said. “But may I stay here for the night? My home is in the very center of the war.”

I looked down at the ground as he spoke. “Yes, but you have already disturbed the peace on this side of the wall,” I answered.

Matt glanced over at my books, staring mostly at my math book. “You like math?” he asked. I nodded and he continued. “Me too, but the Professor says it’s a waste of time better spent studying the classics, but nobody pays him any attention, anyways.” He grinned. “I spend most of my time working on math.”

“Tell me,” I said. “Why do you enjoy numbers so much?”

Matt, however, did not answer my question. “Tell me why the wall was built and then I’ll answer your question,” he replied.

I am not sure why I did this, but I told Matt everything: about Crystal’s mean remarks, about the other children at the school, even about Ms. Taylor letting me read books about castles and brave knights who went on adventures to rescue princesses being held captive by evil dragons. Something had told me to trust him, so I did.

Matt listened patiently for me to complete my tale. And then, as if by magic, part of the wall began to crumble and the pieces vanished. “Did you really answer my question?” Matt asked quietly. Why was the wall built in the first place? To be honest, I do not even remember.

Over time, Matt and I would talk beneath the shade of the apple tree. Sometimes he would help me with my studies and other times, he told me of adventure stories. Little by little, I began to trust him. Since we met, I have had a compelling desire to trust him deeply. I learned that he wanted to be a computer programmer when he was older and he has a good sense of humor. But two questions still tugged at my mind.

After a few months, Matt was teaching me about geometry theorems when I finally found the nerve to ask him one of those questions.

“Why did you stay here?” I asked. The war he spoke of must have been pretend. If he can see the wall from his house, then surely I would have been able to hear the sounds of war from my side of the wall.

Matt shrugged. I turned my eyes to the ground. He tilted my chin up gently, my eyes looking into his. “Because I love you, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his other hand resting on my shoulder. “And love always comes first.” Tears came to my eyes as I heard a loud crash. We were surrounded by a whirlwind of dust and debris. But when I opened my eyes, I could see no more wall. I was free at last.

“I-I love you too, Matt,” I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder. To be loved and love in return is the only thing that could have broken down the wall, labored by so many years of rejection and being teased mercilessly by others. Hatred, betrayal and rejection are powerful things, but love is more powerful.

The first half is good, but you lost me after Matt climbs over the wall and asks what is's for. It's too metaphorical and abstract for me. Could you elaborate?

I liked it. The castle wall metaphor is really effective, and the curveball of moving from the realistic world into the metaphorical one worked especially well. It couldn't have been easy to write as smooth a transition as that. And your spelling and grammar is nearly perfect! That's incredibly refreshing to see.

I hope you won't mind some constructive criticism. In a couple of spots you switch from present tense to past, breaking the flow of the writing. Personally, I think using the present tense is a dangerous area to be going into for a young writer, what with the different verbiage, but that's your choice. And a lot of the scenes involving other characters gets muddied up with brief descriptions of the action. Clearing up the situations for the reader would work wonders. Other than that, good job!