Using Colors by Emma Clairie (books under 200 pages TXT) đź“•
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Short stories centered around a color of the rainbow.
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- Author: Emma Clairie
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hint of the rising sun changed the look of the shrouded tractors, discs, and planters. As with the grass, the frost had covered these pieces with the finest layer of ice. Capturing the first rays of the day, the frozen field basked with a luminescence glow. Sarah stood still in awe of the beauty and then, it was gone. The sun broke the horizon bringing forth more morning light.
For that brief moment she felt the presence of Dan brushing a tear from her cheek. Inhaling deeply, Sarah straightened her shoulders. Today would be painful, but she knew she wouldn’t be alone.
THE PICKLE QUEENS
Pastor Johns sat on a stage behind a long table. He faced a room full of Green County residents. It was their annual fair and he was the sole judge. He seemed particularly nervous. Two ladies on the front row were glaring at him. Both ladies had had their share of winning the Annual Green County Sweet Pickle contest with six wins apiece. This year would break the tie. These two have not spoken to each other since the first contest.
Thelma Bottoms, wearing her dark green polyester pant suit, was staring at the pastor, as if boring a hole through his head and depositing the words “Pick mine, pick mine” into his brain. She lost last year and didn’t want that to happen again.
Nadine Siddens, with the tiny green pill hat balanced on her curls, sat with a smug look on her face. She knew she’d win again because of the secret ingredient in her green pickles.
Everyone knew, well those who lived in the Green County knew, that for the past twelve years only two jars filled with the deepest emerald green, mouth watering sweet pickles were presented to the judge. No one else ever entered the Sweet Pickle Contest. What was the use? Thelma or Nadine always won.
During the wait, bets were being taken in the back of the hall. Half the crowd laying money that this would be the year those two Pickle Queens would scratch each other’s eyes out.
The chairperson of the Green County Sweet Pickle Contest walked out on the stage carrying a small tray. On the tray sat three pint jars, each with a large paper number taped on the front.
Three jars?
What? Were their eyes deceiving them? Were there actually three jars entered? The two ladies looked baffled at first, looked at each other and then thunder rolled across their faces. Who dare enter THEIR contest?
With great ceremony, the chairperson opened jar number one. A fork was jabbed into the jar and brought forth one pickle. Pastor Johns’ hand shook so bad he almost dropped the pickle. Recovering, he took a small taste. A pickle from jar number two was handed to him and finally one from jar number three. Pastor Johns now had to decide a winner.
The room was so still you could hear dust fall. Any stranger or friend could only imagine the turmoil Pastor Johns was going through. With one sentence, announcing the winner, world war of any number would begin. Each able body looked at the nearest exit and mentally calculated the distance from where they sat so they could escape before the turmoil erupted.
The pastor stood and spoke. “Ladies and gentleman. Thank you for allowing me to be the judge for such a prestigious contest. All three jars were very crisp, sweet and so delicious. But one jar was quite unique.”
A gruff voice in the back hollered, “Just tell who won the dang contest, Pastor.”
.
“Yes, sorry. As God is my witness this years winner is…”
Air whooshed from the room as everyone inhaled in unison. Pastor Johns tore the number off the jar, turned it over and read, “Anna Waggle.”
Time froze for the residents of Green County. The winner was not Thelma Bottoms or Nadine Siddens. The winner was a greenhorn, the dark horse, or someone with lots of courage. Anna Waggly was jumping up and down, screaming, “I won! I won!”
The silent crowd waited for reaction from the dethroned Pickle Queens. Thelma lowered her head, a hankie to her eyes. Nadine’s smile disappeared and tears streamed down her face. No one was watching Anna who was waving her blue ribbon, and dancing all over the stage. Pastor Johns had simply vanished.
Nadine stood, looking absolutely green as she walked over to Thelma. A voice in the back of the hall hissed a chant “fight, fight”. Others crowded closer to watch.
When Nadine stood close enough she raised her arms and shouted “Halleluiah Lord! I’m so glad its over,” then gave Thelma a big hug.
The teary-eyed Thelma nodded. “Me too, Nadine, me too!”
“How about some coffee and a sandwich?”
Astonished, the crowd watched the ex-Pickle Queens leave the hall together.
Anna Waggly was still screaming, “I won. I won!”
THE PAPER CHALLENGE
“Close the door, Jenna” said Mrs. Grinstead. She sat behind a massive dark wooden desk. There were piles of papers and folders on the left side and on the right was her telephone. The file that sat in front of me had to be about me. I closed the door and looked for a place to sit. There were two chairs positioned in front of the desk and I moved carefully to one of them. Moving on crutches wasn’t the fastest.
“How are you feeling Jenna?”
“Ok.”
“From all the reports, you and your friends were very lucky.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
There was a pause. I had been looking at the floor during the conversation. When she didn’t say anymore, I looked up. Just as I thought, she was looking at me, waiting. I got nervous and blurted out, “Well, go ahead and tell me how stupid I was. And what was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking, Ok? I just did it. Just get it over with and kick me out.”
My principal sat back in her chair studying me.
“Jenna, I believe with all my heart that my job as principal is so much more than making sure everyone graduates from here. You were on that track until a couple of months ago. That’s why I wanted to visit with you.”
I was getting really edgy. If she wasn’t going to kick me out of high school, then what?
Mrs. Grinstead got up from the desk and went to her printer. She pulled out a piece of clean paper from the tray. Then she walked over to me, stopped and held the paper with both hands in front of my face.
“I want you to do think about something for me. By tomorrow morning, figure out a response to this: how life and this white piece of paper are alike.”
Figure out an answer to that stupid comparison? Piece of cake, I thought.
“Jenna, I know you are a very bright, eighteen year old, so you will understand why I won’t accept a flippant answer. Dig deep or you’re looking at week of in-school suspension, no make up work. Any questions? No? You may go.”
All night I search for right answer was so I wouldn’t spend the end of my senior year serving in-school suspension. How IS my life like that white paper? Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind would jump back in time to the accident. I couldn’t stop the rush of details and reliving the crash: the sounds, the screams and breaking glass. It was horrible. I broke out in a cold sweat.
Why did I ride with those girls? I don’t even like them.
“Jenna,” I scolded myself out loud. “Think, think. Paper. Life. A sheet of clean, white paper.” Still my mind wanted to switched back to the accident.
”Boy, if I could do it all over again…” I realized that I wanted to break out of the “good girl” format I had been in all my life. I felt this push to do just the opposite of my upbringing. Why? When did all this start? Me, Jenna, the sensible girl. Why WAS I hanging out with these girls? I searched my mind to find when I began feeling the need to be a “bad girl”. Nothing stood out, and then, it hit me. Erik.
My boyfriend for most of my senior year dropped me for Samantha. Erik said he got tired of waiting.
Tears welled up in my eyes. It still hurts. Hurts really bad. Erik said he respected my decisions. Was that all a lie? Did he say all those nice, wonderful things so he could score?
I sighed. Back to Mrs. Grinstead’s assignment. I needed to focus on it, not on the past. Maybe if I write down some ideas….
I stopped myself. Slowly I smiled. I had the answer for Mrs. Grinstead.
Facing Mrs. Grindsted the next morning, I began, “Each day I start out with a clean, white sheet of paper, in my book, creating my story. Lately, I have been filling it with stuff that hasn’t been very smart. The accident is one story filling those pages. Erik is another, or rather my reaction to Erik. It’s a part of me, but doesn’t have to be me. It’s about writing my life story, each day, one page at a time. Right, Mrs. Grinstead?”
Her smile said it all.
Imprint
For that brief moment she felt the presence of Dan brushing a tear from her cheek. Inhaling deeply, Sarah straightened her shoulders. Today would be painful, but she knew she wouldn’t be alone.
THE PICKLE QUEENS
Pastor Johns sat on a stage behind a long table. He faced a room full of Green County residents. It was their annual fair and he was the sole judge. He seemed particularly nervous. Two ladies on the front row were glaring at him. Both ladies had had their share of winning the Annual Green County Sweet Pickle contest with six wins apiece. This year would break the tie. These two have not spoken to each other since the first contest.
Thelma Bottoms, wearing her dark green polyester pant suit, was staring at the pastor, as if boring a hole through his head and depositing the words “Pick mine, pick mine” into his brain. She lost last year and didn’t want that to happen again.
Nadine Siddens, with the tiny green pill hat balanced on her curls, sat with a smug look on her face. She knew she’d win again because of the secret ingredient in her green pickles.
Everyone knew, well those who lived in the Green County knew, that for the past twelve years only two jars filled with the deepest emerald green, mouth watering sweet pickles were presented to the judge. No one else ever entered the Sweet Pickle Contest. What was the use? Thelma or Nadine always won.
During the wait, bets were being taken in the back of the hall. Half the crowd laying money that this would be the year those two Pickle Queens would scratch each other’s eyes out.
The chairperson of the Green County Sweet Pickle Contest walked out on the stage carrying a small tray. On the tray sat three pint jars, each with a large paper number taped on the front.
Three jars?
What? Were their eyes deceiving them? Were there actually three jars entered? The two ladies looked baffled at first, looked at each other and then thunder rolled across their faces. Who dare enter THEIR contest?
With great ceremony, the chairperson opened jar number one. A fork was jabbed into the jar and brought forth one pickle. Pastor Johns’ hand shook so bad he almost dropped the pickle. Recovering, he took a small taste. A pickle from jar number two was handed to him and finally one from jar number three. Pastor Johns now had to decide a winner.
The room was so still you could hear dust fall. Any stranger or friend could only imagine the turmoil Pastor Johns was going through. With one sentence, announcing the winner, world war of any number would begin. Each able body looked at the nearest exit and mentally calculated the distance from where they sat so they could escape before the turmoil erupted.
The pastor stood and spoke. “Ladies and gentleman. Thank you for allowing me to be the judge for such a prestigious contest. All three jars were very crisp, sweet and so delicious. But one jar was quite unique.”
A gruff voice in the back hollered, “Just tell who won the dang contest, Pastor.”
.
“Yes, sorry. As God is my witness this years winner is…”
Air whooshed from the room as everyone inhaled in unison. Pastor Johns tore the number off the jar, turned it over and read, “Anna Waggle.”
Time froze for the residents of Green County. The winner was not Thelma Bottoms or Nadine Siddens. The winner was a greenhorn, the dark horse, or someone with lots of courage. Anna Waggly was jumping up and down, screaming, “I won! I won!”
The silent crowd waited for reaction from the dethroned Pickle Queens. Thelma lowered her head, a hankie to her eyes. Nadine’s smile disappeared and tears streamed down her face. No one was watching Anna who was waving her blue ribbon, and dancing all over the stage. Pastor Johns had simply vanished.
Nadine stood, looking absolutely green as she walked over to Thelma. A voice in the back of the hall hissed a chant “fight, fight”. Others crowded closer to watch.
When Nadine stood close enough she raised her arms and shouted “Halleluiah Lord! I’m so glad its over,” then gave Thelma a big hug.
The teary-eyed Thelma nodded. “Me too, Nadine, me too!”
“How about some coffee and a sandwich?”
Astonished, the crowd watched the ex-Pickle Queens leave the hall together.
Anna Waggly was still screaming, “I won. I won!”
THE PAPER CHALLENGE
“Close the door, Jenna” said Mrs. Grinstead. She sat behind a massive dark wooden desk. There were piles of papers and folders on the left side and on the right was her telephone. The file that sat in front of me had to be about me. I closed the door and looked for a place to sit. There were two chairs positioned in front of the desk and I moved carefully to one of them. Moving on crutches wasn’t the fastest.
“How are you feeling Jenna?”
“Ok.”
“From all the reports, you and your friends were very lucky.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
There was a pause. I had been looking at the floor during the conversation. When she didn’t say anymore, I looked up. Just as I thought, she was looking at me, waiting. I got nervous and blurted out, “Well, go ahead and tell me how stupid I was. And what was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking, Ok? I just did it. Just get it over with and kick me out.”
My principal sat back in her chair studying me.
“Jenna, I believe with all my heart that my job as principal is so much more than making sure everyone graduates from here. You were on that track until a couple of months ago. That’s why I wanted to visit with you.”
I was getting really edgy. If she wasn’t going to kick me out of high school, then what?
Mrs. Grinstead got up from the desk and went to her printer. She pulled out a piece of clean paper from the tray. Then she walked over to me, stopped and held the paper with both hands in front of my face.
“I want you to do think about something for me. By tomorrow morning, figure out a response to this: how life and this white piece of paper are alike.”
Figure out an answer to that stupid comparison? Piece of cake, I thought.
“Jenna, I know you are a very bright, eighteen year old, so you will understand why I won’t accept a flippant answer. Dig deep or you’re looking at week of in-school suspension, no make up work. Any questions? No? You may go.”
All night I search for right answer was so I wouldn’t spend the end of my senior year serving in-school suspension. How IS my life like that white paper? Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind would jump back in time to the accident. I couldn’t stop the rush of details and reliving the crash: the sounds, the screams and breaking glass. It was horrible. I broke out in a cold sweat.
Why did I ride with those girls? I don’t even like them.
“Jenna,” I scolded myself out loud. “Think, think. Paper. Life. A sheet of clean, white paper.” Still my mind wanted to switched back to the accident.
”Boy, if I could do it all over again…” I realized that I wanted to break out of the “good girl” format I had been in all my life. I felt this push to do just the opposite of my upbringing. Why? When did all this start? Me, Jenna, the sensible girl. Why WAS I hanging out with these girls? I searched my mind to find when I began feeling the need to be a “bad girl”. Nothing stood out, and then, it hit me. Erik.
My boyfriend for most of my senior year dropped me for Samantha. Erik said he got tired of waiting.
Tears welled up in my eyes. It still hurts. Hurts really bad. Erik said he respected my decisions. Was that all a lie? Did he say all those nice, wonderful things so he could score?
I sighed. Back to Mrs. Grinstead’s assignment. I needed to focus on it, not on the past. Maybe if I write down some ideas….
I stopped myself. Slowly I smiled. I had the answer for Mrs. Grinstead.
Facing Mrs. Grindsted the next morning, I began, “Each day I start out with a clean, white sheet of paper, in my book, creating my story. Lately, I have been filling it with stuff that hasn’t been very smart. The accident is one story filling those pages. Erik is another, or rather my reaction to Erik. It’s a part of me, but doesn’t have to be me. It’s about writing my life story, each day, one page at a time. Right, Mrs. Grinstead?”
Her smile said it all.
Imprint
Publication Date: 12-09-2009
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