Literature

Two original tiny tales A — The boastful lantern: A lantern boasted that its light reached farther than any candle. When the wind rose, its loose door swung open and its flame went out. A candle inside a jar kept burning. “A strong cover matters too,” said the candle. B — The patient seed: A seed watched a paper flower being admired on the windowsill. “You bloom so quickly,” it sighed. Day after day the seed pushed a root into the soil. When the paper flower faded in the sun, the seedling opened its first living leaf. Neither could do what the other could do.

The key beneath the mat The clock above the station door clicked towards six. Niko pressed the parcel against his chest. Inside was the little wooden bird he had spent three evenings carving for his grandmother. Her train would leave at six. He needed to lock the workshop before leaving, but the key was not on its hook. He searched his pockets, the bench, the pockets again. A square of paper lay beside the door: “If you borrow the spare key, leave it beneath the blue mat.” Niko lifted the mat. A beetle scurried into a crack. Nothing else. Behind him, something rattled. “Looking for this?” his sister asked. The key swung from her finger. “I was locking the back gate.” Niko let out the breath he had been holding. Together, they ran towards the station.

The same arrival, two viewpoints A — Poppy: At last, my cousin arrived. I dragged my box of games into the hall and opened the loudest one first. He stayed by the doorway with his backpack on. Perhaps he thought my games were boring. I pushed another box towards him. B — Eli: The train had been crowded, and my ears still rang with its rattle. Poppy had lined up games for us. I wanted to thank her, but the flashing game and its music made it hard to think. I stayed near the door, hoping for a quiet minute before I joined in.

The overnight shelf When Ada returned the atlas, the library shelf sighed. “A little to the left,” it whispered. “That corner has been tickling me for weeks.” Ada stared. The shelf had never spoken during opening hours. “Please,” it added, more politely than most of the borrowers. She slid the atlas along. The shelf relaxed with a soft wooden creak. Beyond it, a narrow gap widened into a doorway. A sign swung into view: LOST ENDINGS. Ada thought of the story she had abandoned the night before, with a sailor stranded on an island and no way home. From beyond the doorway came the gentle knock of a boat against a jetty. She checked that the librarian was still nearby, then called, “I think one of these belongs to me.”

The last chair — a short play [Three students are setting up a display. Two chairs stand beside the table. A third chair is in the doorway.] TARA: Put it here. We need another seat. BEN: [Lifts the chair, then stops.] But if I put it there, nobody can reach the model. TARA: We promised three seats. LUC: [Moves the table slightly.] What if the table turns this way? BEN: [Carries the chair around the table.] Now there's a path! TARA: [Sits, then stands quickly.] And we can all see the model. LUC: Good. We built a bridge model. It would be a pity if nobody could get to it. [They laugh and begin putting out the labels.]