Author: thelighthousetve

by Emery Pugh

It was all fun and games playing poker with my fellow pilots until the alarms blared and I heard, “General Quarters! All hands to battle stations! Pilots, be ready to take off at a moment’s notice.” loud and clear on the speakers. I bolted from the pilots’ ready room onto the deck as the poker chips clattered to the floor.

It’s a perfectly clear day on February 5th, 1945, in the rolling Pacific, near the Solomon Islands. It seemed like just an ordinary day, but in war, anything could happen.

Guns blazed away at the sky. I squinted and followed the line of tracers (bullets) and sighted four objects dart between the clouds. I raised my eyebrows in surprise and my heart skipped a beat. Four Japanese kamikazes were headed straight towards our ship, the aircraft carrier USS Liberty Belle. The Japanese fighters were Mitsubishi Zeroes – fast, maneuverable, and deadly. However, the maneuverability of the Zero fighter had a caveat – its armor was little better than paper against the American F4U Corsairs, and the hundreds of pounds of bombs the Japanese planes were carrying nullified the advantage it had in maneuverability. The kamikazes intended to slam right into the ship, which would likely send the Liberty Belle to its watery grave.

However, the USS Liberty Belle was not an easy aircraft carrier to take down. At 850 feet long and 150 feet wide, it was a beast so large that it was sometimes mistaken as part of the skyline. The massive boilers and engine powered the bronze propellers, which had a diameter of an NBA basketball hoop, to push its gargantuan displacement of 25,000 tons of seawater. The massive aircraft carrier contained a variety of supplies (like fuel), weapons (bombs, torpedoes, and ammunition), personnel (over 2,500 total pilots, officers, and other crew), and planes (around 100) to function optimally.

One Japanese aircraft was hit by a bullet from a 5-inch turret, the largest gun of them all on the Liberty Belle with the farthest range. The doomed kamikaze spiraled into the sea, leaving a trail of smoke behind it. The Rising Sun on its left wing was the last thing to come to my eyes.

I quickly ascended the ladder to board my Corsair and slid the canopy closed above my head, strapped myself into the seat, and tuned the radio. I anxiously watched the enemy fighters hurtling towards the ship as the gunners put up a wall of lead bullets.

My plane, an F4U Corsair, is a sturdy propeller powered fighter-bomber with 6 wrathful machine guns (3 on each wing), capable of tearing through the armor of a Zero like butter. The Corsair was often recognized by its iconic wings – the inverted gull shape. It was almost like someone had smashed the wings with a long blade – the wing was bent downwards at halfway between the midway point of the wing and the fuselage (main body of the aircraft).

The radio crackled to life. I awaited orders.

“Attention, Corsair pilots. The enemy kamikazes are coming in hot, but the gunners should be able to take care of them. More bogeys [unidentified contacts on the radar] have been detected. Be ready to take off at a moment’s notice to intercept.”

A colossal explosion shook the sky. Shrapnel from the decimated enemy rained down and splashed into the ocean. Two down, two to go.

The remaining Japanese fighters started their ascent in preparation for a steep dive. The 40 mm cannons on the USS Liberty Belle started banging away. Another Zero was hit by a shell and exploded in midair.

“212, 213, 214, 215, launch now.” My number, 212, was abruptly called by the radio. “Five more confirmed enemies 30 miles distant, bearing 280 [horizontal direction: 0 is due north, 90 is due east, etc.].”

“Roger. Launching now.” I called into the speaker.

The catapults on the runway sprung forward, thrusting the wheels of my Corsair with tremendous force. My plane flew so fast that I was blind for a few moments after liftoff – all my blood had flowed to the back of my head. I experienced tons of G-forces, almost enough to render me unconscious. As soon as my vision was restored, I gently eased the control stick backwards (the control stick, often called just the “stick”, controls the aircraft’s tilt (up-down) and bank (right-left)). The plane turned slightly upward and I gained altitude alongside the other three Corsairs that had taken off with me.

Craning my neck to look behind me, I glimpsed the final kamikaze, ablaze like a bonfire, crash into the sea. I smiled, proud of the celebrating gunners on the ship.

Another command came through the radio. “Gain 10,000 feet of altitude as soon as possible. Engage at will.”

After cruising for a few minutes at around 200 miles an hour, I sighted an enemy Japanese kamikaze dart through the thin, gray clouds to my front-left. Immediately, I radioed back to command: “One kamikaze sighted.” The response was simple: “Copy that. Keep us updated.”

Soon after the first Zero, four more whizzed by. For a moment, everything seemed to fly in slow motion. We were flying parallel and in opposite directions, within two city blocks of each other. I could even see details like wear marks, bullet holes, and stains on the Zero.

Time resumed its normal pace. We raced past each other at breakneck speed.

I maneuvered behind the enemies and fired a burst of bullets from my machine guns. It was a hit – my target burst into flames and dived towards the ocean below. The pilot ejected and the parachute blossomed.

There were still four more kamikazes in front of me. I picked another target and squeezed the trigger, the machine guns roaring to life. To my frustration, I missed slightly high.

The enemy attempted to scramble away, but I fired again just in time. Several bullets struck the fuselage of the plane and went clean through. The Zero, however, continued to fly on. The pilot maneuvered sharply to the right, desperately trying to evade my shots, but I stayed on his tail through every twist and turn, continually firing a stream of .50 caliber bullets. One scored a lucky hit and exploded against one of his bombs, tearing the plane into shreds. I pulled backward on the stick hard, just enough to evade the shrapnel of the wrecked Zero.

It was my second victory today, but there was no time to celebrate. Bullets streamed right over my canopy – an enemy was on my tail.

I yanked the stick all the way to the left and held it there, causing my aircraft to barrel roll a full 360 degrees. The Zero’s inexperienced pilot dived downward, wrongly guessing my next move. Instead, my aircraft continued to veer to the left and climb at a slight angle, losing speed. The Japanese pilot realized his mistake and attempted to loop back around onto my tail, but he had overshot me and I had turned the tables– I was now on his tail. I pressed the trigger and more deadly rounds fired from my machine guns, several scoring hits. The pilot was forced to eject as his plane erupted into flames, spiraling down into the ocean.

The excitement was over – all five enemies had been destroyed by either myself or my comrades. I took the time to radio back to base: “Five confirmed kills total. I shot down three.”

“Good work. But be on the lookout, several more bogeys have been detected 50 miles out, 20 miles from your location.”

“Copy that. Low on ammo, but I will engage with all I’ve got.” I responded.

“Turn to heading [aka bearing] 350.” was the instruction. “We’re scrambling additional fighters to assist.”

“Roger, turning to 350.” I adjusted the radio and conversed with my wingmen: “Everyone, turn 350. More bogeys coming our way.”

In what felt like seconds, three Japanese enemies came into view in the distance to my left. Like last time, I maneuvered behind them and started peppering the planes with bullets. They immediately jerked into evasive maneuvers, but my aim was impeccable – one had been hit in the engine and the propeller had stopped spinning. The doomed fighter plummeted through the clouds into the sea.

My fellow Corsairs flew to my left and immediately started targeting the Zero on the left. The other kamikaze desperately attempted to escape by banking hard to the right, but I was one step ahead of him. I cut off his path and fired a burst of bullets that slammed into the tail rudder of the plane, shredding it and crippling the aircraft’s ability to swiftly swing side to side. Now, he was an easy target. I fired the rest of my ammunition at him as he slewed back and forth with his tattered rudder. I took the plane down with several shots to the fuselage, transforming it into a wreath of flames.

Out of the corner of my eye, I sighted the final Japanese kamikaze tumble uncontrollably towards the earth. Grinning with pride, I radioed back to the USS Liberty Belle: “All eight enemies destroyed… I’ve killed five. My wingmen took down the other three.”

“Congrats, you’re an ace now. Excellent work.”

As I turned back to the USS Liberty Belle, I suddenly began to feel exhausted as the adrenaline began to wear off. I realized what I had just done. In one battle, I had become an ace (5 enemy kills are required to earn the status of an ace).

I landed without trouble back onto the aircraft carrier. After later inspection, I found out that my plane had received no damage in that battle – not even one shot!

by Aleena Haimor

*For ages 10-18, for brief mentions of a kiss, and also death.

When I finally, finally muster the courage to even try to remember the past few days, I immediately regret the action as it hits me. No one is coming. I’m no more than a thin, sallow girl dying alone in the cold. How hard it was already, to survive with the raw ache of loneliness after he died, like a tender wound bleeding in my heart. And now, I have the deadly arctic snow and gale to bear through, the storm that rips and tears at my bare limbs like a blade. I have no will to live.

I’m nothing.

I never lead a happy life. Well, before, at least. I was left alone as a newborn, abandoned in a rickety structure near the sea. My powerful mind was too strange, and wrong, for my people. Although, I shouldn’t call them my people when they deserted me as they did.

Anyway, difference was not accepted. Even my family agreed, giving me over willingly to the elders, who then left me to die. Even though I never really knew those ruthless people, I somehow comprehended what my name was, only after hearing it a few times as an infant. It was Amara, and it means “grace.” Why did my family give me a name with such a meaning when they threw me away days later? They didn’t want me alive. I don’t even know how a helpless baby survived the wrath of nature. Yet, I did survive.

I grew up learning how to fend for myself. I watched the lions and rattlesnakes hunting. I remember thinking about how graceful they looked, catching their prey with ease. It was magical to me. I imitated their movements, killing with a spear instead of claws, with nightshade berries instead of venom. I killed my first buck at the age of ten, months, years, after living off plants. At the age of twelve, I already had the mind strength of an adult. 

Nevertheless, although I had powerful hunting skills and defense, and I had been alone all my life, I wanted someone to hold me. Someone to keep this lonely girl safe as she slept in peace for the night.

I was thirteen when I met the one person who had ever made me happy. It was a warm spring day and I had decided to take a break from my scavenging. The warm sun beat down on my face as I lay in an open field of violets, inhaling their fragrant scent. My eyes slowly closed as my tense body relaxed.

“Who are you?” an angry voice said.

I opened my eyes again. A boy in tattered shorts and no shirt on, maybe two years older than I was at the time, stood over me. He was glaring, with a dead doe slung over his shoulder. The first thing I noticed was how perfect he was. He was strong and well built, with a tan darkening his body slightly. I stared at his flawless form, shocked.

I was speechless for a moment before he repeated his question.

“Who are you?”

I mentally scolded myself and broke out of the trance. I answered in a soft voice.

“Amara.”

“Amara who?”

I closed my mouth and tried to ignore the pain in my heart. I didn’t have a family, least of all a family name.

“Just Amara.”

The boy, or should I say man, shook his head and rolled his eyes. He lay the doe on the ground and held the tip of his spear to my chest.

“What are you doing on my grounds?”

I put my hands above my head and sat up.

“Sorry, but I need to eat too. And I had no idea that these were your grounds. What did you think? I’m all alone,” I said sarcastically, quickly getting annoyed with the tall boy I had just met. He threw the spear on the ground and held a hand out.

“Sorry. I’m Emmett,” he said, his voice taking on a softer tone. “I’m alone too.”

“It’s fine,” I said, taking his hand. He pulled me up. I noticed how beautiful his deep blue eyes were and my breath caught in my throat.

         “So…um…?”

“Wanna hunt?” he asked uncertainly. Well, that was quick, I thought.

“Sure?”

Emmett nodded and motioned for me to follow him. He lay the slain doe from earlier in a small hut he had built. Then we set off. He showed me all his best hiding spots, the places he would conceal himself from the animals, so they didn’t see that he was there.

         From then on, as we grew to know each other better, Emmett and I quickly became best friends. We relied on each other to survive and even thrive. I still remember how we used to laugh by the riverbank as we fished. He knew all the best jokes and for once, I was happy.

I didn’t think that life could get any better, but it did.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The snowstorm had just begun.  It wasn’t as brutal of a winter as it is right now, but it was close. 

Emmett and I huddled together in our cave shelter, trying to stay warm. I was fifteen by then. Emmett and I had known each other for two years, and we were just like siblings. Or so I thought.

He looked at me and I turned up to look back at him from his arms. Something switched between us, and I found him leaning in. His perfect face came closer and closer to mine. Before I knew it, his lips were on my own and his arms were wrapped around me. I blinked, then kissed him back. It was blissful oblivion for God-knows-how-long, just me and him, kissing. I never knew about kissing before he did it to me, but it felt so natural. So peaceful. That was the best moment of my life. 

Of course, because everything good in the world will end one day, my luck had to stop. A few months later, we were out hunting. A mountain lion prowled around us as we held our spears. Quickly, it cornered us against the mountain and pounced, aiming for me. Emmett yelled and jumped in front of me before I could be killed, losing his life in the process. As I watched his lifeblood spill onto the ground, anger overtook me and I stabbed the lion with my spear. After it was dead, I ran over to Emmett’s limp form and took his head into my lap. I held his hand as he made an effort to speak.

“Amara…”

His hand slipped from mine and I knew he was gone. 

I could not bring myself to get up for hours after. Fierce sobs wracked my body and made breathing almost impossible. But I knew after I had mourned for some time that I had to bury him.

I laid him to rest where we had first met, in the violet field. The grave was messy, but it had to do. I couldn’t let his body be ravaged by nature. I had to give him a proper goodbye. So I brought his body to the grave and said a prayer for his soul.

Oddly, I feel peace. And I realize why.

The pain is going away. I can feel myself slipping in the present, and my consciousness is dimming rapidly. I am ready. Nevertheless, I want to remember one thing before I die. One memory. Well, two, I guess. That blissful kiss, and my Emmett himself.

I close my eyes and fall.

by Camden S.

I wake up on a normal morning, the rays of sun shining through the windows, birds chirping after returning from migrating south for the winter. It’s a Saturday morning after a long week at school. I love sleeping in on Saturday mornings, my eyelids still heavy after a long night of dreaming. As I lay in bed peacefully, my Dad calls my name. “Henry, start packing, we’re leaving in an hour!” And then my peacefulness ends as I remember we have a camping trip lasting the whole weekend. It’s not that I don’t like camping, in fact, I love it. But I was looking forward to a nice calm weekend instead of hiking until my legs feel like they’re going to fall off.

I drag myself out of bed and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I exit my bedroom my little brother Gregory (we usually call him Greg) comes running up to me. “Henry, I’m so excited! Do you think we’ll find any animals?!” He says jumping up and down. Can’t you go bother someone else? I say to him, not in the mood to start a long conversation. “But Dad’s busy packing, so there is no one else to talk to.” He says, sounding disappointed. I push past him ignoring his questions and go brush my teeth.

After I brush my teeth, I head downstairs to have some breakfast. My Dad sees me and asks, “Are you excited for the trip, son?”. Sure am, Dad, I say trying not to sound like I don’t really want to go. I feel bad for my Dad. It’s been hard ever since my mom passed away a couple years ago. He’s been trying to comfort us by taking us on many adventures, but it can sometimes be a little bit tiring.

I finish packing and get in the car, ready to go. My dad comes out of the house looking like he’s carrying a whole convenience store’s worth of goods and loads it into the back of the car. Greg comes out of the house, excited to go and begins running in circles.

It takes us about 4 hours to reach our camping location. It’s a really beautiful place; the sound of water flowing down the lush green hills and squirrels leaping from one tree to another. When we arrive at our spot, we begin unloading the car. I grab the tent with my Dad and start assembling it, while trying to figure out where the heck this one pole goes. After that, I grab a book and sit underneath a tree to read.

As dusk approaches, we all head into the one cramped tent that we all share. Our particular tent has a little clear plastic window at the top so you can see the stars. I lay there looking at constellations while I drift asleep.

The next morning, we wake up bright and early, Greg is the first one, wanting to head outside the tent while I was still trying to sleep. “Calm down Greg, I’m trying to sleep,” I say. “How can I calm down!? I want to head outside!” I love Greg but he doesn’t really understand the concept of relaxation. All this commotion wakes my Dad up and he takes Greg outside.

When I head outside the tent, I find them cooking some sausages. I walk up to my Dad, and he hands me a plate. I breathe in and smell the wood burning in the fire and the scent of the trees and flowers all around me. It smells amazing. I sit down on a seat near the fire and begin devouring my sausages.

Once we’re finished eating, we get ready to go on a hike. I grab my boots and favorite hat. My dad steps out of the tent and asks us if we’re ready to go. As ready as I’ll ever be, I say still half asleep. As we start trekking through the forest, I look all around me and see many beautiful things, from the little bugs on the ground fauna to the giant eagles flying above the treetops.

Around noon, and an hour into our hike, we hear rustling in a bush off on the side of the path. As we go to investigate, we see a deer snacking on some leaves. I see Greg the most excited I think I’ve ever seen him. The deer notices us and starts to run away but when Greg sees this, he runs after the deer. Greg! I yell as I run after him. My dad did the same and we run through the forest in an attempt to stop him. I eventually catch up with him and I grab his wrist. “What were you doing Greg? It’s not safe to run out into the woods like that.” I look around to see where my dad is, but I can’t find him. I call out for him but hear no response, we must have gotten separated while chasing Greg. I have no idea where I am, and the trail is nowhere to be seen.

Greg starts crying and says, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have run off like that. I just wanted to say hi to the deer.” It’s ok Greg. Do you remember the way back to the trail? “I don’t. Are we lost?” he asks between sobs. I don’t know, but we should try to find our way back before it gets dark. I think we went this way. Holding Greg’s hand, we start to find our way back to camp.

It’s quite scary being in a forest all alone. I hear noises echoing in the tall trees above my head. I see a squirrel running away, afraid, just like how we feel as we are trying to find the way back to camp.

After a while of walking, I notice the sun starting to set. I realize that we will not be able to find our way back today, and we’ll be stuck out here for the night. Just thinking about being stuck out here in the cold scares me. Just Greg and I alone. What happens if a bear comes? I can’t think about this now, I need to focus on finding somewhere to sleep for the night. After about 10 minutes I spot a cave. Looks like we’ll be spending the night here, Greg. “What! We are sleeping here!? What about camp and Dad!?” he yells. We’re going to have to continue looking tomorrow, but we need rest right now, I say, exhausted.

The cave is pretty big, and it seems safe as I walk into it. I call over Greg, saying to follow me into the cave. My voice echoes off the cave walls creating an eerie effect. I gather some leaves to make a bed, so we don’t have to sleep on the bare rock. As the sun sets, we lay in the cave as the forest starts to fall asleep. Something I never would’ve expected about being in the woods alone was how, after your fear fades, you notice how peaceful it is. The only sound is the light breeze and swaying trees.

Greg and I wake the next morning to a sound outside the cave. A slight bristling in the leaves as something moves through them. We lay in silence, fear creeping in as I wonder if it is a bear. Every second feels like an hour, the suspense unbearable as it gets closer to the cave. And suddenly, I see my father. I feel Happiness, joy and relief all at the same time as I run to my father to give him a big hug with Greg close behind me. As I hug my father, I think to myself how Greg and I just survived a night in the woods, and how this will be the best story I will tell in my life.

The End

by Olive Pea

It was August in a small English town, and the melancholy gray sky over the trees had ceased its weeping for just a moment. Four children pleaded to be let outside and their mothers finally shooed them through the doors to play for a while, but not without the usual warnings, “be safe, don’t ruin your clothes, and do not go near the woods”. Within minutes, the four young boys convened at the northern edge of town, gaping up at the wall of trees that seemed to erupt from the ground like knives.

The foolish four knew of the beast in the woods. The teachers and parents warned, the townsfolk whispered, and recently the paper brought news of three missing young men found dead in the woods. But never mind all that. Today these four children were, according to Adam, to become heroes, monster hunters, the stuff of legends. Adam, of course, was the leader, as always. He had gathered the other three around him, forming a sort of square.

“I shall defend you all, as your leader, with my mighty sword!” Adam declared, hoisting his fantastic sword, an old stick, to the gray sky, tossing back his hazel-brown hair with a flourish. Bertie looked up at him in awe, just as he always did. Bertie was Adam’s best friend, 10 years old like Adam but stalkier with fair hair. They were both best friends since before they could remember and spent every day after school at each other’s houses. 

The other two boys were younger. Connor and Sean Wallace were 9 and 5 respectively. The brothers had flaming red hair and sparkling blue eyes. They had moved to the town in January from Ireland after their father died. They were mostly quiet, but when they did speak their voices rang with the melodious tones of their homeland.

“I don’t reckon you’re plannin’ on goin’ in there,” Connor said, his bright blue eyes nervously flitting across the forest line. “That’s where the beast is.”

Adam shot him an irritated glance. “That is the plan, we are monster hunters after all. We’re going to find that beast and kill it!”

“But–but they told us not to. It’s dangerous! We could get hurt—”

“Shut up. We’re monster hunters, don’t listen to the old people, they’re looney!!”

“I will go in,” Bertie said loyally.

“Alright then, in we go!” Adam declared.

So, in they went. Three excitedly skipping through the first trees, while one cautiously crept. With Adam leading, sword raised, they stormed through the forest like titans. Past a boulder. Around a pond. Over a fallen tree. Dusk had begun to seize the sky when they finally found the perfect cave. The walls dripped with moisture, leafless vines covered the entrance, and a decrepit tree stood on either side, bent and shriveled with death. Little Sean danced around in a circle and giggled, while Bertie looked at the cave with glee. Connor kept glancing over his shoulder; Adam had a stealed look painted on his face. He held up his mighty sword. Then the sky began to weep again, and they pulled their hoods over their heads.

“What is that?” Connor pointed at a muddy mark on the ground. It looked like a footprint. There were more, leading into the cave. 

Adam investigated and announced, “Monster tracks. We’re going in my crew, heave ho!”

Conner did not like this, looked at Adam with a furrowed brow, and said with concern, “if we really have found monster tracks, then I say we should tell the grownups. It’s too dangerous. We could die Adam, we could die!”

Adam laughed. He laughed some more. Then Bertie joined in. Even Sean, aloof, began to giggle. When Adam had finally gained control over his outbursts, he shouted, “we are going in! We are monster hunters, and I shall kill the monster with my sword and rid these lands of this beast!!”

Conner didn’t look so sure of that and said warily, “I’m staying out here.”

“That’s right, you’ll be our guard’” Adam proclaimed. He then turned toward the cave and under his breath muttered, “looney.”

Bertie copied Adam and whispered stupidly, “looney.”

So in they went, except Connor who was stationed just outside the mouth of the cave. All flashlights clicked on at the same time, as was Adam’s orders.

Dark and brooding stood the thing. Its ghastly sunken face loomed 5 feet above their heads, suspended from an unnaturally tall and twisted body like a rotting tree. The thing opened its mouth, revealing a cavern of rows and rows of sharp teeth, and it inhaled with a raspy gurgling sound, sucking out the light of their flashlights. The shadow neared them, and footsteps thundered off of the cave walls. Then the noise abruptly stopped, the tall shadow right before them. Adam screamed and jumped forward, swinging his sword wildly in all directions. Then a piercing shriek came from Bertie, beside him. The monster growled and its footsteps boomed out of the cave. Sean started to cry as moans of agony came from Bertie’s hunched shadow. Adam rushed towards him and dragged him out of the cave, ordering Sean to follow.

Now he could see Bertie’s face; a slash ran across his left eye from his forehead to his left cheek. Adam looked at his mighty sword. Its tip was red with blood, and Adam smiled giddily.

“Look Bertie, I wounded the beast! I sliced at him like a true monster hunter, and scared him away. Now he shall have a great scar to remember me by. Hah!”

Bertie moaned, clutching his ruined eye with both hands.

Connor then rushed from his hiding spot in the bushes towards the three, a look of horror on his pale face.

“It’s comin’ back!! It’s comin’ back, run!!!”  

They heard the crashing footsteps quickly nearing them once again. Adam grabbed Bertie’s arm and pulled him while Connor swooped up his little brother into his arms.

Then they became like all things hunted, running breathlessly and numbly; deer leaping over logs, hares bounding amongst the ferns, mice scurrying through the grass. But the thing was fast. 

Tears in their eyes, hearts pounding vigorously, legs aching, the boys ran, Adam still pulling Bertie along and Conner carrying Sean. Their clothes tore as the branches and bushes snatched at them like gnarled hands and fingers; the rocks tripped them, making them stumble into muddy puddles that filled their boots; even the wind seemed to be fighting against them as it pelted raindrops in their faces at a slant; nevertheless, they sprinted as fast as they could. Over the fallen tree. Around the pond. Past the boulder. The footsteps subsided, but their fear had not and so they mindlessly continued to flee in panic.

The rain fell like arrows shot from heaven, the inky stain of death from the fallen sun had bled through all remaining daylight, making it difficult to see, but still they stumbled on.

The four finally reached the town. Though lamps were lit the streets were bare. They struggled toward the first house, and pounded on its vivid red door. Exhausted, panting, Adam released Bertie and Connor set Sean on the sheltered porch. The door opened and an elderly man, back bent with age, looked down upon the ragged boys. “You hunted it, didn’t you? Come in you fools! You should have heeded the warnings. You could have lost more than an eye!”

The End