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Entry #5
Lots of times, I get the start (or middle, or end) of a story in my head. It never goes past that. I try to write more, but it is forced and unnatural. Most times, it's only a few paragraphs.
I got another one today. I thought I'd write it down and share, since it'll just rattle around in my headuntil I forget it. So here goes.
--
Katherine Megard left her house at precisely 9:21 am on a bright and snappish Tuesday morning. The wind nibbled at ears and nosetips while the remaining red and yellow leaves whispered to each other in their secret treetop language. Only they called her Katherine, everyone else called her Kate. Those who knew her best called her Katydid.
Her grandfather was the one who called her Katydid first, mostly as a tease but also because he was bursting with pride at all the things that Katy could do, and did. "Who made this fingerpainting? Why, Katy did!" "Who made these delicious cookies? Of course, Katy did!" As she grew, it did certainly seem that most things Kate wanted to do, she was able to do, and do it well.
On a knifish Tuesday night, with the stars poking holes in the night sky blanket to let winter take a sneak peek at the world, Kate failed to return home.
For once in her life, she was Katydidn't.
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