Short Story Writing Contest PAN AM STYLE - Caledon … am...Our Pan Am Legacy Short Story Writing Contest SHARING THE SPIRIT OF THE GAMES The Pan American Games are the world’s third

2015

Short Story Writing Contest

Celebrating the Pan Am & Parapan American GamesPAN AM STYLE

Our Pan Am LegacyShort Story Writing Contest

SHARING THE SPIRIT OF THE GAMES

The Pan American Games are the world’s third largest international multi-sport event and in July 2015, Ontario has been chosen as the venue for the Toronto 2015 Pan Am and Parapan American Games. The Town of Caledon will be joining in the excitement and proudly hosting the equestrian component of the games at the new Caledon Pan Am Equestrian Park in Palgrave. Caledon Public Library is honoured to be part of the Pan Am legacy in our own community as we invited local writers of all ages to enter our Pan Am and Parapan American themed short story writing contest: Pan Am Style.

The following is a compilation of the winning entries that celebrate and share the spirit of the games through stories.

Front Cover: Badlands & Forks of the CreditPhoto Credits: Patti Foley

ADULT SHORT STORY1st PLACE: THE RACE OF YOUR LIFE by JOHN STECKLEY

1st PLACE: FLY by UCHE OCHUBA

1st PLACE: DASH AT THE PAN AM GAMES by CLARE BAMFORD

2nd PLACE: PLAY ME, I’M YOURS by WINIFRED M. MELLOR-HAY

2nd PLACE: LEAP OF FAITH by QUINN KAVANER

2nd PLACE: THAT DREAM by MEGHAN MCCLURG

3rd PLACE: SUPERIOR by KEVIN TAYLOR

3rd PLACE: JUSTIN TIME by STEVEN DOTTO

3rd PLACE: ONE MAN TO WIN by SPENCER MARSALA

1st PLACE: PACHI by CHISOM OCHUBA & DARSH KADAKIA

2nd PLACE: WHERE IS PACHI? by GIANLUCA SPATONE

3rd PLACE: JACK’S PAN AM SOCCER CHAMPIONSHIP by JEROME DITTMAN

TEEN SHORT STORY

CHILDREN SHORT STORY (AGES 6-8)

CHILDREN SHORT STORY (AGES 9-12)

MESSAGE FROM PRESIDENT,FRIENDS OF CALEDON PUBLIC LIBRARY

The Friends of Caledon Public Library are pleased to support this

important legacy publication associated with the Pan-Am games

in Caledon. This volume is representative of the creativity and

dynamism of the Caledon community and its support for sport

and play in all forms. The Friends of Caledon Public Library hope

that this volume will be cherished by all those who contributed

to it and will be enjoyed by all those who read it. Viva Pan-Am

2015 Caledon.

Doug Maskell, President

WELCOMEShort Story Writing Contest

DOUG MASkELL – PRESIDENT

MARTY HARRISON – PAST PRESIDENT

JACQUELINE BENNETT – VICE PRESIDENT

HELEN YOUNG – SECRETARY

PAM MCkINLEY – TREASURER

DIANE SAWYER – ALBION BOLTON REPRESENTATIVE

HUGH MARCHAND – ALTON REPRESENTATIVE

ZLATA PROUDLOCk – CALEDON VILLAGE REPRESENTATIVE CAROL MARTIN – INGLEWOOD REPRESENTATIVE

MONICA HILL – MEMBER AT LARGE

MARY MAW – Ex-OFFICIO MEMBER, LIBRARY LIAISON

SHARON WILSON – Ex-OFFICIO MEMBER, CHIEF LIBRARIAN

PAULA CIVIERO – Ex-OFFICIO MEMBER, LIBRARY BOARD LIAISON

FRIENDS OF CALEDON PUBLIC LIBRARYEXECUTIVE 2015-2016

THIS PROJECT WAS FUNDED THROUGH THE GENEROUS SUPPORT OF FRIENDS OF CALEDON PUBLIC LIBRARY.

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MEET THE CONTEST WINNERS

MESSAGE FROM INTERIM CHIEF LIBRARIAN,CALEDON PUBLIC LIBRARY

Local authors of all ages shared their creative talents in these

stories that celebrate the cultural exchange that is coming

to Caledon, the Toronto 2015 Pan Am/Parapan Am Games.

Through the games, we learn more about other countries, about

sport and sportsmanship but most of all, we learn that our own

Caledon community is home to a vast array of creative people.

The Library is always proud to support our local talent. Thanks

to the Friends of the Caledon Public Library’s generosity we

present their works to you.

Sharon Wilson, Interim Chief Librarian

The wind has died down. The snow no longer covers the track. The sky hasn’t been gray for at least a day. Here I am, out again, practicing for the race of my life. I qualified for the Canadian team in the 1500 metre run (the so-called metric mile) in the PanAm Games. My running has been going well, but you never know. And running for Canada, what does that mean?

I have been running the streets in the winter, scared that I might slip, but determined to keep on going. Indoor tracks, treadmills are all very well, but it doesn’t really feel like running until I am on an outdoor track, or at least outdoors.

Can I picture myself winning? I’ve seen others on the podium,

the national anthem playing, the flag flying, but I’ve never been able to picture myself there. Or afterwards. I see the others coming off of the podium, to be surrounded by those close to them, those that believed in them, those that supported them, but that doesn’t really work for me.

I’ve always run alone. I don’t believe in belonging to a club; that’s too social for me. I have no supporters. I’m like those people in the commercial for Goodlife Fitness, to a certain extent, in the part where they say “I’m not a hero. No one will pretend that they’re me” or words to that effect. But I don’t qualify for the second part. I am no child’s hero, no son or daughter, nephew or niece. Who cheers for me?

Today’s first runs starts well, fast and cool. I prefer running in the spring and the fall, but I will be running the race of my life in the summer. I have to remember to watch carefully for ice patches, as this high school track has puddles that might still be frozen. This feels good. This is one of the main reasons

why I run. I feel, thought, that I might need something else for me to do well, something to push me even harder.

As I circle the track for the second time, picking up my speed a bit, to improve my time, I see an old man walking a dog. I’ve often seen him on my winter runs. He steps off of the sidewalk with his dog to let me pass. I grunt some form of thanks that I don’t know whether he hears. We share early mornings when everyone else is in cars or asleep.

He has stopped walking. His dog is sitting. On my third time around, I notice that they are still there, in the same spot. I feel I have an audience, and that makes me want to run a little faster. In the fourth circuit, I give a final kick that surprises me with its speed. I’m exhausted. I bend over to catch my breath, but I still feel really good.

When I stand straight again, I see the old man and his dog walking towards the track. I find myself walking towards him. “Good run, son. I think even in my best years, I could not have

done the mile that fast.” “You used to be a miler?”I state and ask at the same time.

“Yep, it was my best distance. But now I can’t even run anymore – Achilles tendon, knees and ankles.” As he says these words, he ticks them off with his right index finger onto the index finger of his left hand. We are both silent for a while. Then he says, “You know I still dream of running, a beautiful dream. It is like flying.” I don‘t know what to say. There doesn’t seem to be any good response.

“I read in the local paper that you are running for Canada in the PanAm Games.” “Yes,” I reply. “It is my first international race.” “You’re lucky that your first international run gives you home track advantage,” he replies.

He then stood quietly. I petted his dog. “Of course, that can be a disadvantage too. You can feel that if you don’t win or medal that you have ‘let your country down,” he said, complete with finger quotations marks. “You know that that is a dumb idea brought on by too much hype, too much focus on medals. You would not have let us down. You are running for us in another way. People like me are running with you, even though we can’t run, certainly not at your rate. You let us live your thrill, your challenge. You are entering the race of your life and we are with you.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. He walks away with his dog, and waves with his non-leash hand back to me. I think I have got something now that will enable me to run faster, something that I can draw on when the body starts to say, “No more.” “Old man,” I say to the spring morning. “I feel I will be running the race of your life too. And it will be a good race, whatever happens.”

Forty-one countries, forty-one countries. Quarter note, two eighth notes, eighth rest, another eighth note and then a quarter note. That’s my rhythm of “forty-one countries.” It’s a full bar of music in four-four time. If I had fingers, I’d show you. It’s an infectious rhythm; I can’t get it out of my head. A piano is a percussive instrument, but it’s easy to forget about the little hammers knocking away when you hear beautiful music that come out of my sound box.

I’ve had a long and exquisite life, but in all my years I could

never have predicted what happened to me in 2012. You aren’t going to fathom the kind of transformation I underwent, all in the name of the Pan Am and Parapan Am Games that got everyone in Toronto and environs all excited.

I started out like most musical instruments do: shiny and new, fresh from the craftsman’s loving hands. My shellac was still sticky when they uncrated me and brushed off the shavings. They took care of me well at the music store right up until a slick man with a big smile sat down and gave my keys a tender caress. He fell in love and bought me on the time-share plan. He was a piano player and, as I came to learn, those folks never have any money. I knew our affair was over when they came and crated me up and hauled me back to the store. I passed many a long day peering out the window, waiting for someone to play me. An instrument needs to be played. If not, it heaves sigh after sigh of loneliness and then it goes out of tune.

The Pan Am and Parapan Am Games are held every 4

years showcasing athletes of the 41 member nations.

1st

THE RACE OF YOUR LIFE

by JOHN STECKLEY

Short StoryAdult

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PLAY ME I’M YOURS

by WINIFRED M.

MELLOR-HAY

2nd

Eventually I was bought by a wealthy man who wanted his children to learn to play. Oh, they were sweet kids, but they did not want to me play me. Their mother would force them to practice and they would bang my delicate keys with their tiny fists and slam my lid shut. I absorbed all the frustration of those little ones, but my heart ached for someone to play me with love. The best contact I got in those years was the maid running her duster over me.

Inevitably, the kids went away to school and the couple split up. The woman donated me to an inner city school. Boy, did I get a work out there! I was shoved at the back of the stage in a decrepit auditorium, and the things I witnessed! It made my rosewood blush. But I got played all day long. There was a teacher who believed that music would lift those children out of their poverty. She banged away at my keys like we were in a honky tonk. She coaxed those children to sing; she led a choir. When she was in full voice there was no stopping her. She was amazing.

While it can do many things, music cannot provide where school board funding falls short. I was taken from the noisy school and given to a church, sweet-smelling and peaceful. I was played on Sundays and one night a week for choir practice. That was my contemplative period. I loved weddings and

funerals too for there was always lots of music. Came a bequest from a parishioner who thought a baby grand would better suit the spiritual mood of the church and I was out on my a— again.

A family wanted me. All the kids were musical and the mom wanted to make some extra money giving piano lessons from home. That was my happiest time. I was played regularly; I was part of the family. The kids spilled their food on me, the dog urinated on me. They put a plant on my head and it leaked all down my back. The smallest child would hide behind me. I spent almost fifty years with that family; knew all the grandchildren by name. The dad fell asleep watching tv one night and his lit cigarette turned the curtains into a white hot mess. I thought I was going to die. I watched helplessly as the flames came closer and closer. Luckily the Mrs woke up smelling smoke and ran downstairs. She woke her husband and got him out. Then she came back in and dragged me out too. The firemen said she was crazy.

I didn’t die, but I was damaged. Scorched, dried out, out of tune. So I went to a convalescent home for pianos. They shook their heads at first; they thought I couldn’t be saved. But one kind man ran his hands down my back and studied me. He replaced the ruined wood. He stripped

me down and massaged oil into my fibres. Boy, if you ever get a chance to have a massage, do it. He rehabilitated me: he made me live again. When a tuner came and declared me fit, I was out of there in a flash.

My new life was in a place I’d never been before: a British-style pub where a lot of amber liquid was consumed. I thought the antics in the school gym were bad! Since I tend to absorb the emotions of those around me, let’s just say I tried not to be conscious for most of it. Whatever that amber liquid was, it sure brought out the worst in people. There were always fights, yelling, vomit, glasses breaking and clumsiness. I did get played quite often, but rarely by someone who knew how to tease the music out of me.

That was my life when they came and found me. The pub was behind on rent and the owners had skipped town. The landlords walked in and saw me in the dusty light coming in the back door. Turned out someone was looking for old pianos. They were going to paint them up and do something with them for the Pan Am games. And that was how I came to be in my present state.

It was a strange thing indeed. I was taken to this fella’s studio, nice chap. Ward Minnis, he was called. He has a big round face with dark eyebrows, and an

amazing smile. He explained to me he was going to paint me to evoke his home country of Bahamas. I was intrigued; I’d never been painted before. As he painted me he talked, and sang and spoke on his cell phone a few times. He’s a playwright, is Minnis, and he’s got three university degrees. Very accomplished man; develops webs now, whatever that means. But he misses his homeland and it came through the painting. He spread the colours on me with gentleness. Lots of blue for the water and beige for sand. Then near my head, reeds and rushes growing. On top, blue sky with a few wispy clouds. A perfect day at the beach – I think that’s what he was going for.

After I was painted I was picked up and delivered to Union Station in downtown Toronto. They plunked me down in the middle of the great outdoors. It was amazing. I felt the sun and the rain. I could feel the leaves falling on me. My senses were alive. And to top it off, people just walked up, sat down and played me. Some of them sang, some were quiet. Some just smiled, others laughed. They came in groups; they came alone. Old people, children, middle-agers, teens. They all caressed me with love. One little girl who played me apparently visited all forty-one of the pianos they had painted and sent out into the community.

Forty-one pianos, all painted to represent the forty-one countries who are taking part in the Pan Am and Parapan Games. It’s so splendid I could just burst. Since March this year I’ve been up in Caledon, indoors, and it’s pretty nice here. First I was in the Town Hall and now I’m in the library. (Just between you and me I like the library far better than the Town Hall.)

The Toronto 2015 Pan Am and Parapan Am Games are a celebration of not only sport, but also of culture. Apparently a gentleman named Luke Jerram invented this whole idea of the pianos, calling it Play Me, I’m Yours and it has been touring internationally since 2008, with over 700 pianos.

Well maybe one of you can make my rhythm into a song. Forty-one countries. If I had to choose the notes I’d pick a few right around middle C so that most voices could sing it.

And that’s the story of my life. I’m pretty happy about the part I’m playing in the Pan Am, Parapan Am Games, and from all the hype, including us pianos and the eyes they glued onto City Hall in Toronto, I’d guess the Games have got to be about togetherness, and celebrating things that are the same and different at the same time.

Andrew stuck a note to the refrigerator door before he left: BACK IN A FEW DAYS, A. He expended no effort crafting an explanation- it was unnecessary. The note would go unread, his absence likely unnoticed. Andrew’s father would stumble through the backdoor sometime after 2 o’clock the next morning, step out of his boots, reel through the kitchen into the cluttered living room and collapse onto the crooked armchair in front of the television, glowing promises of hot single ladies and miracle pills lulling him to an empty, dreamless sleep. The next day would be spent in the same chair in front of the same television, nursing away his hangover with more booze.

After his grandfather died the previous autumn, Andrew con-sidered himself an orphan, his father as emotionally involved in his life as a piece of furniture and as physically capable of caring for himself, let alone Andrew, as a dog. Andrew knew he was lucky in one respect; John Riley wasn’t a mean drunk, not a belligerent, abusive alcoholic.

Short StoryAdult

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SUPERIOR

by KEVIN TAYLOR

3rd

Andrew wasn’t fearful; he wasn’t weighed down by unrealistic expectations or burdened with blame for an unfulfilled life. His father was simply indiffer-ent. Still, it left Andrew feeling empty and alone. Incomplete. Grandad was the only real parent Andrew had known since his mother’s accident a decade earlier, after which John moved he and his son from Bolton north to his father’s house on the bay. Now, at fifteen, Andrew found himself thrust into adulthood with all the in-dependence that comes with it.

He turned from the fridge and scanned the kitchen. Sink full of dirty dishes and a pot caked with fluorescent orange Kraft Dinner cheese, countertop lined with empty beer bottles and open cereal boxes, garbage can over-flowing with trash. The whole place smelled of sour brown failure. How quickly it had all fallen apart without his grand-father. Andrew reached into the seat pocket of his shorts and feltthe delicate edges of the folded newspaper clipping he had found the night before while looking through his grandfa-ther’s belongings. It was the only explanation he needed. His motivation.

Today, everything changed.

Time to go. There was a lot of distance to cover in the few remaining hours before dark. Andrew slung his backpack over his shoulders, clapped

through the screen door and was on his bike and out onto the main road without looking back. Batchawana Bay stretched out beside him at the eastern mouth of Lake Superior, shimmering with the silvers and golds of the warm afternoon sunlight, urging him forward.

Push the boundaries of what’s possible, son. Be great. Grandad’s voice sailed in across the friendly water. Andrew smiled and peddled harder, the sweet wind cool against his face.

He didn’t stop until he reached the T intersection of the quiet, familiar 563 and the wild and free Trans-Canada Highway, which snaked its way through the Northern Ontario wilder-ness on its long journey to the Pacific. Andrew leaned against the handlebars. Across the highway, two green arrows were nailed into a wooden signpost. To the west: Wawa, 157 kilometres. To the east: Sault Ste. Marie. An eighteen-wheeler roared past, sucking the long grass at the side of the road toward it like a magnet, a cloud of dust marking its place in the instant it was gone.

Grandad’s voice again: Go. Andrew paused for another passing car and then kicked out onto the Trans-Canada to follow the truck westward, the bright sun beginning to sink in the sky ahead like a celestial hot air balloon, leaving his shadow behind for one last look at the bay.

It had been a warm, dry May after a cool, wet April and now on the second last day of the month the pavement was sunbaked and the cracked dull grey of elephant skin. But Andrew flew across the surface like it was ice. Around the curves, he hugged the gravel shoulder where the igneous rock ofthe Canadian Shield pushed up through the earth and forest like a fist. Up hills he stood and pumped his legs until they screamed in protest and he bellowed his orders in response: Push! Down hills he glided, the trees blurring into a fluid green, the wind stinging his eyes, the white lane markers zipping by like blank frames on a film reel. To his left, Superior; the vast ocean of a lake cutting through the bush like a steely blue machete, demanding to be seen from beautiful vistas and subtle inlets that licked the highway where it dipped to water level. Every so often, a place to stop. Cars parked with their families spilled out on beachfront picnic tables, cameras and sand-wiches in hand. At every op-portunity, Andrew carried on.

Push.

He made it to Katherine Cove, a shallow horseshoe of tree-lined beach cut into the shoreline of Lake Superior Provincial Park, just as the sun was beginning to set. He climbed off his bike on shaky legs and collapsed onto the rocky sand, chest heaving. The cove was empty

of people. Andrew slipped his backpack off and brought out a water bottle and a granola bar, which he unwrapped and devoured with enthusiasm.

He looked out over the water, elbows rested on his knees. It was a cool, clear evening and the mighty lake was calm. The rainbow of pinks and oranges and reds that were painted across the sky in broad strokes danced like fire across the rippling surface and washed ashore in foamy mouthfuls. The air was crisp with the smell of pine and fresh water and the blackflies and not yet begun their annual assault. An unnamed island just offshore was silhouetted black against the horizon. After his frenetic pace, the stillness was almost overwhelming.

Andrew breathed deeply. This was one of he and Grandad’s favourite spots. Every year they would slide their old wooden canoe into the water and paddle out to the Lizard Islands, where they’d spend the day fishing and exploring in quiet, comfortable company. When Andrew was ten, athunderstorm rolled in as they were paddling back to shore and the canoe nearly capsized. When they finally made it back to the beach, soaking wet and panting, Grandad said: Remember the lesson you learned today: The harder things get, the harder you paddle.

When the sun finally slipped

into the lake and the stars spilled like jewels across the black sky, Andrew took the newspaper clipping from his back pocket and held it under the tiny flashlight that was clipped onto his keychain. “You’re my hero,” he whispered.

That night, he fell asleep on the sand to the sound of young leaves rustling in the trees behind him and water lapping just beyond his aching feet.

Andrew woke at sunup with a start. He only had a few hours to make it on time. It was an overcast morning and the stiff wind off the lake propelled him forward, determined. If yesterday was fuelled entirely by adrenaline, today required more focus to fight the pain clawing at his body. This was what com-petition felt like, he knew, and he was ready. Paddle harder.

An excited crowd was gathered outside of the community centre when Andrew finally arrived in Wawa four hours later. He looked around frantically, heart pounding.

“You OK?” a man asked.

“Is it here? Did I miss it?”

The man looked beyond Andrew and smiled, motioning with his head. “I think you’re just in time.”

Andrew followed the man’s gaze, and there it was: the torch, moving toward him, held up by a smiling woman with

Pan Am 2015 printed across the front of her windbreaker. Andrew felt his energy return with a spark as the crowd began to cheer. He made it.

Clenched in his hand was the folded square of newspaper that had been stuffed into a shoebox decades ago, the picture of his young grandfather with arms raised triumphantly over his head. The article was dated September 1, 1957. The headline: “Riley Takes Cycling Gold at Pan American Games”.

Grandad had never mentioned his gold medal, nor his participa-tion in the games. It was a secret he kept, but for Andrew’s entire life, his grandfather had been his champion. As the torch passed in front of him, Andrew felt his grandfather’s spirit alive in the flame and knew that he had been the country’s champion too. Finding the article had been no accident. It was his grandfather’s final gift, and it gave Andrew the new challenge that he had been searching for. Standing amongst the crowd of people cheering the flame, he no longer felt so empty and alone.

Andrew looked back out at the road, his mind made up about the path ahead of him. This journey was only the beginning. He would follow in those footsteps. He would train. He would compete. He would extend his grandfather’s legacy.It’s your turn now, son. Work hard, paddle harder. Be great.

Short StoryAdult

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On you mark.I took a breath.Set.

Everything became slow motion as the gun went off. I had a perfect start and I could feel myself accelerating.

20 km/h.30.40…

*I was only fifteen. Yes, it was in 2011 when everyone first saw it. It was the 100 m sprint during the local public sports festival. Wait. Rewind. My name is Emmet. I was never really the fastest, or the strongest, or the tallest as a kid. Despite this I always wanted to do something bigger, better. I wanted to fly. So badly, that I jumped off my friend’s roof and attached ‘rocket boosters’ to my bike which I found out were oil-burning lanterns. Both of these

Short Story

instances resulted in failure, injury and/or tragic loss of a bike, but that day of the race, something clicked. That race, I was running one foot in front of the other, step after step. I took the lead and within seconds, it was over. 10.13 seconds! The spectators were shocked that the underdog had won. I had won. After the game a man in a suit came to meet me.

“Emmet that was a great race!” he said

“I don’t know what happened! I-I just ran, and I won,”

“Well I’ve never done this based on one performance, but you seem deserving of it. How would you like to join the Canada’s very own Aspiring Athletes Program?”

I could not believe my ears. Had I really been selected? The man handed me a form and intro-duced himself as Coach Parks.

However, I knew it was too good to be true and my eyes wandered to the bottom of the page until they spotted the fee.

$1500! My mother was single and we were barely affording rent in our crummy, beat-up apartment. At that instant I knew I couldn’t join the program, but it was worth

Teen

asking my mom.

Unsurprisingly, when I returned home that day, my mom simply responded:

“I’m sorry Emmet there’s just not enough money.”

I dialed the phone number listed on the form and stated my dilemma.

“Hmm, I see. The Government of Canada does offer $500 to any athlete in need entering this program, but the bottom line is; the shoes, the outfit, the trainers, the track – they all cost money. I need it within the next week or your admission will have to be terminated.”

“Bu-“ The line went dead.

So maybe with the extra $500, this program was possible. But I need needed another $1000, and fast. I took out a pencil and a sheet of paper and began to brainstorm. Bake sale – too tacky. Car wash – too many people involved. I had it - working at the local convenience store!

I rode my bike over to Supermart and asked the owner, Mr. McIntyre if I could work there. He said yes, and since the store was

doing well at particularly well at the time, I would be paid $100 a day, if I spent all my time and my weekends at the store. I knew that the money only balanced to $700, but for now it was the best I could do.

The next week of my life became a cycle. Go to school. Eat. Work at the store. Sleep. Repeat. It wasn’t easy, but at the end of the week, I had my $700.

At that moment, the true reality hit me. The $1000 fee was due.

Tomorrow.

And I was still short $300 dollars.

I plopped down on the couch, defeated.

It’s okay, I told myself. There will be other opportunities.

But I knew in my heart that there wouldn’t.

I solemnly glided over to my room and idly flipped through a box full of papers. These were all the documents that my father had left behind when he died so many years ago.

This was about the millionth time I had scrolled through the box, but this time I noticed something new. A sheet of paper I had never seen before.

It was a document for a bank account with $500 dollars in it. A note was scrawled in ink in the margin of the page. ‘For Emmet, if he ever needs it’.

Did I ever need it!

My mom drove over to the bank and withdrew the $300 I needed. I submitted the money the next day and a sigh of relief washed over me.

Little did I know that my journey had only just begun.

*Aug. 5, 2011 – The Training ArenaI walked into the training arena and I couldn’t help being proud. Against all odds, I had earned enough money to train in this program. Coach Parks came to meet me and introduce me to the program.

“Ok Emmet, I hope you are ready. There are no shortcuts in the world of sprinting. Meet Darren my star student. I hope you two become good friends.”

Star student? I thought, I ran 100 m in 10.13 seconds – I could beat anyone!

“Hi Emmet I’m Darren.” He stretched out to shake my hand, only to pull away in a fake. He laughed and walked away muttering ‘newbie’.

I was furious.

“Let me race him,” I told Coach Parks.

“No, you’re not ready. Give me ten laps. You too Darren - don’t think I didn’t see your ‘kind’ gesture.”How was this my fault?

I left the arena, wondering what I had done wrong.

For the next month, I didn’t run a single race. It was just starting practice, laps, and various assort-ments of workouts.

At last, I was finally going to run a race. Against Darren.

I set myself up in my block.

On your mark.This would be no challenge.Set.I tensed.

The gun went off. Plain and simple, I was beaten by more than half a second. A tough loss, but that day, I learned the impor-tance of humility.

June 1, 2012 – Before the Olympics“I want to go to the Olympics.”“No.”“I’m ready.” “No, you’re not.”

I was beaten. If Coach wouldn’t sign me up for the 2012 Olympics himself, then I couldn’t go.

“You will stay here and wait for the next major competition, and you will train harder than ever.”

And train I did.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years.Finally, I was ready.

11 12

Canada already had the honour of hosting the

games in Winnipeg, Manitoba in 1967 and 1999.

1

FLYby UCHE OCHUBA

st

Short StoryTeen

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July 10, 2015 – Pan Am GamesA huge roar erupted as the group of Canadian athletes entered the stadium for the 2015 Pan Am Games. I had qualified for the Canadian 100 m sprint team.

I was in the preliminary race and I was against runners from Jamaica, Trinidad, and USA. I ran a 9.91 second race and finished second, narrowly missing my record of 9.83. Regardless, it was enough to earn me a place in the semi-final race.

I had never felt better when I was running the semi-final, despite the pressure. I finished first with a time of 9.66 seconds – my best I ever! I caught a Canada flag that was thrown from the crowd and wore it like cape. It felt great to be in the final. I high-fived Pachi the mascot on my way out of the stadium. I found out later that Darren had also qualified for the final.

The next few days were a flurry of talk show interviews and press conferences. I would be going up against legends such as Tyson Gay and Asafa Powell. As each media event passed, the pressure of the big race mounted. If I wasn’t nervous before, I was now.

*July 22, 2015 – The 100 m FinalToday was the day.To make it, or break it. Today meant everything.

I looked up at the information screen: Lane 1: CAN – That was Darren. Lane 2: CAN – Me. 3: JAM, 4: JAM, 5: TRI, 6: JAM, 7: GBR, 8: USA.

As I stepped into my block, the pressure became unreal. The crowd was cheering and the whole country of Canada, all 36 million, were suddenly on my shoulders.

On you mark.I took a breath and closed my eyes.Set.

Everything became slow motion as the gun went off. I had a perfect start and I could feel myself accelerating.

20 km/h.30.40.

I peered to my left to see I was neck and neck with Darren. My mind raced. Would I win?

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. For in that very moment, I had discovered what it meant to fly.

side where he had trained with his rider.

Jester had been praised so many times on his talent, had ribbons pinned to his bridle, and fancy blankets tossed over him as crowds roared and called out his name. He knew the excitement well, but he always enjoyed the gentle words from his rider and the way she stroked his neck. That was why he did it, for her.

***

Ava looked out the window of the plane and watched the land below her fly by. She always found planes so boring and stuffy. There was always at least one person that kept doing something really annoying.

It made her feel guilty, sitting in a comfortable leather seat while her horse was contained in a small space for the five hour flight. Jester never responded well to small spaces and this was his first flight.She looked out the window as the plane landed. Finally, she had made it to Canada for the Pan Am games.

Ava stepped off the plane and hesitated a moment as she looked around, then she grabbed her luggage and headed towards the trailer where her horse was waiting. The groom and her trainer had arranged everything. But she insisted on trailering Jester herself. They were driving ahead to prepare the stall and get acquainted with the layout of the OLG Caledon Equestrian

Park.

She said a quick “Hi” to her horse. He deserved a lot more than that but she was tired and it was late. She hopped in the truck, closed the door and slumped into the driver’s seat. She looked at her reflection in the review mirror, and she could see the bags under her eyes.

Ava looked at her map and saw her destination circled with pink highlighter. In small words it read “OLG Caledon Pan Am Equestrian Park, Palgrave”. All the horse related activities in the Pan Am games were going to be happening there. It took four years of training to qualify for the 3rd largest international multi-sport games, and she would be competing against legends like Ian Miller.

This was her first time at the Pan Am games and whatever the outcome it was going to be an exciting event.

The engine started up, the truck started to move, she flicked on the radio and hummed to the music as the cool summer air blew in her face. Leaving Pearson Airport was tricky but now the truck drove lazily down the road getting closer to its destination as every minute past.

After an hour of driving, she finally reached her destination. Ava had been hoping to make it at 11pm but instead she arrived at 12pm. She hopped out of the truck and went around the back to get her horse out of the

Horses munching lazily on hay and sleeping in the cool shade provided by the scattered clusters of trees.

Life couldn’t be better…

But it wasn’t to be. Instead there was darkness.

So much darkness.

Too much darkness.

Jester remembered his rider taking him on his morning walk and then handing him over to a man to be loaded into a horse trailer. After hours of driving he was unloaded and led to a large metal bird that reflected the sun like a queen of the sky, waiting in preparation to finally lift off the ground. Next he was led towards a small metal box and forced inside it. Feeling claustrophobic he reared up on his hind legs, but was forced back down by the cold metal ceiling that contained him like the prey in the talons of an eagle. Here he was, such a majestic and talented animal trapped in a windowless jail cell that couldn’t be escaped.

He heard a gentle voice, felt the prick of a needle, and after-wards all he remembered was blackness. An overwhelming blanket of darkness.

All he could hear was the angry horse gods outside rumbling with rage and slashing each other with bolts of lightning. He closed his eyes and tried to block it out of his mind, tried to think of the peaceful country-

trailer. She opened the trailer door and saw him standing there looking at her. She smiled at him and patted his head as she backed him out of the trailer and walked to the stable.

Ava was met by the groom who took Jester to his new stall. She meandered by the lovely stables, past the indoor warm up ring, and into the Grand Prix ring where she made her way to the spectator seats. She sat down to take in the beautiful view of the show ring where she would soon be the centerpiece. She liked this Equestrian Park, it was a peaceful place.

Very peaceful.

Ava had started to nod off, then sat bolt upright when she heard her horse snort. She had a flashback of riding Bryan; the horse she used to ride and her best childhood friend. Then one day Bryan passed away, just like that, but Ava still missed him more than anything. She didn’t want to get too emotion-ally attached again, not like last time, but Jester had a way of reaching her heart.

After a bit of dreaming and flashbacks, Ava decided to stop dwelling on the past and focus on the present. She stood up from the bench and walked over to her rental truck. She took one last look at Jester and the barn, then jumped into the truck and drove away.

She hadn’t gone very far, when she spotted a variety store. Just the sight of it made her

LEAP OF FAITH

by QUINN KAVANER

2nd

Beautiful rolling hills.

Tall green grass rustling in the wind.

JUSTIN TIME

by STEVEN DOTTO

Short StoryTeen

3rd

15 16

stomach rumble, so she bought herself a chocolate bar and an ice tea. Just a little something to quench her hunger and calm the mini thunderstorm in her stomach.

Not the healthiest and smartest choice for a late night snack, but she hadn’t had dinner.

After twenty minutes of driving, she reached the Hampton Inn and Suites Hotel in the town of Bolton. Apparently it had been built especially for the Pan Am games. She had to book months in advance, even before it was built in order to get a room. It felt like a lifetime ago since she had booked her room.

Ten minutes later Ava was sleeping in her comfort-able hotel room, completely oblivious to everything around her.

***Jester watched as the stall door slowly opened, releasing him from his large coffin. He felt this way even though the groom had filled it with hay, water, and comfortable straw to lie on. . His rider called it a stall, but he always thought of it as a temporary prison cell. He wished he could live outside with green pastures and shady trees just like in his dreams.

The last three days had been spent training with Ava except for a few special walks through the countryside grazing on grass and feeling the breeze.

Today Ava smiled at him and pet his mane, gently moving her

fingers through it. She leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“Today is the day Jester!” Ava said as she looked her horse in the eyes, “Oh come on! Don’t look so glum, after all that training we’re finally going to show off our talent! Well, whether you like it or not you’re coming with me.”

He never really understood anything that she said, but he knew it was comforting for her to talk to him so he didn’t really care.

Ava led him into the aisle and put his saddle on. Then she jumped on top and together they rode down the hallway of make-shift stalls. They could feel the heavy weight of anxiety in the air. Ava also felt the weight of respon-sibility weighing down on her shoulders.

She was anxious. Jester was anxious. They were both nervous.

Each step was like a heartbeat. One step, two steps, three steps.

One more step, two more steps, three, four, five steps into the show ring.

One, two, three, four, five billion eyes staring into their souls. All of them waiting. The whole world staring at them, waiting to see what would happen.

A small bead of sweat dripped off Ava’s face and hit the horse’s back.

when I got into the bathroom I remembered something so important... today was the day for my event, the 100m dash, in the Pan-Am games. I was so exited that I through off my jeans so fast they ripped in two, that barely fazed me though because I was now lost in my own world, wondering what pair of running shoes I would wear for the race. I went into the kitchen with my team Canada tracksuit, and my mom and dad were both already up and... arguing as usual. They didn’t notice me walk into the kitchen until after my dad admitted it was him who forgot to separate the lights from the darks in the wash. My dad turned to me and said,

“Hey! There’s my pride and joy. So how bout it champ, you ready to show those other athletes who’s boss?!”

I replied, “Ya, but not on an empty stomach... what’s for breakfast?”

“Well I decided to treat you today, we are going out to eat at your FAVOURITE breakfast joint, Lil Dana’s!”

“You mean your favourite breakfast place! That place is disgusting. The place smells like Grandpa’s old boots, and the walls are all stained with what I constantly have to keep reassuring myself is strawberry jelly. The food doesn’t even taste normal, every thing tastes like the same unholy mixture of expired ingredients! And the worst thing about Lil Dana’s is

that one creepy waitress with the glass eye, that always tries to flirts with me!!!!!”

“Oh well, did I give you an option?” My dad told me, in a somewhat snippy tone.

“I guess not.”

My dad only likes this place because he used to go there as a child and has to much pride to just admit that the place has changed, not to mention the hair-raising waitress still calls him Frankie even though he is a heavy set 56 year old man with a full beard. Plus, every time we go there it seems like something new is either broken or just plain stolen, it doesn’t help that it is located in the worst part of town. As we walked in to Lil Dana’s, I noticed that the usual booths were gone and replaced with a couple of stools. That wasn’t the weirdest thing though, seated on one of those stools was a mysterious stranger that I had never seen before. This was strange because Lil Dana’s only has three customers total. He wore a long black trench coated and a black fedora. He looked like a vampire trying to avoid the sunlight, or maybe my eyes were just playing tricks on me. However, I had no time to play detective today because I couldn’t be late for my event at 1:30. As we approached our set of stools the waitress came over and said, “Hey Frankie, hey Justin how are you doing?”

My dad perked up a little when he saw her,

She knew. He knew. They both knew. It was time.

As if horse and rider were one majestic creature, they took one leap into the air. The horse lifted his front legs to their full extent, hoping it was enough to clear the jump. It was as if a puppet master was looking down from above, lifting the horse’s legs and allowing him to make the jump.

One leap for all the training they had done together, one leap for faith, and one leap for the Pan Am games.

He then said, “Hi, Susan. I’m good and I’ll have the usual.”

The usual for my dad meant he was having black coffee, 5 eggs (yolks only), one bean burrito, and a gargantuan peanut butter cookie.

“So... Justin, I hear that today is the big day!” The waitress said to me as she leaned in a little too close for comfort.

“Yup, I can hardly wait... the fans cheering, the Pan-Am torch burning brightly in the stadium, it’s going to be great.” I replied, as I scooted away slowly.We finished our breakfast rather quickly, and headed for the door. We walked for several blocks back to our house and we passed by; a lady with two crying babies, a man with a curios toupee and a butcher shop selling the coolest side of beef I’ve ever seen. As we walked in the door of my house, I heard some noise coming from the kitchen, and it sounded like my mom was on the phone with her best friend, Fern. This was all I got from their conversation;

“...you see, when you’re trying to soften the look of your crow’s feet. Then you really should be using a solvent, NOT a solution!”

“REALLY!? In the restaurant? HA ha ha!”

“No! Ha ha ha! What an amateur, everyone knows that you need the right amount of fish oil.”

“So it went all over the waiter, HA HA HA, even on his moustache.

The morning didn’t exactly go as planned, well to be honest the whole day was one gut wrenching experience after the next, well until the very end that is. It started off as most days do, I awoke sweating through my shirt because my mom, Martha, refuses to turn on the air conditioner for some environmental reason, causing the house to sit at around 28oC. I got dressed in my favourite shirt and a pair of blue jeans,

Pachi was a fuzzy porcupine who always waved to people and gave hugs and high-fives. He practiced doing lots of dances and cheers. He spent a lot of time telling everybody to come to the Pan Am and Para Pan Am Games. He had 41 spikes on his back. He couldn’t wait for 41 countries to come to Canada and take part in the Pan Am and Para Pan Am Games. He loved being a mascot.

Pachi was a good mascot but one day he thought it would be fun to be an athlete. He wanted to win a shiny medal and he

Short Story

dreamed about all the children and his friends being around him and cheering for him.

Pachi visited fairs and markets and special events around his community. He worked really hard every day to get ready. He would always go home and have a big glass of milk and dream about being an athlete.

For Pachi’s 8th Birthday he got a pair of Nike shoes from his parents. After he ate his cake, he put on his Nike shoes and started to run really fast. He could run faster than all of his friends. He could run faster than his parents. He could even run faster than Usane Bolt.

Some people heard about how fast Pachi could run. Pachi knew how to cheers, he knew how to hug and give high-fives but he didn’t know anything about being a runner and an athlete. He would have to get

Children (ages 6-8)

some help.

Pachi asked his dad to help him. Pachi was a fast learner. He was already a very fast runner but he learned some new skills on how to start fast. He learned that he had to be dedicated and he learned that he had to train every day. He couldn’t play with his friends as much as he use to and he had to start eating really healthy foods and lots of vegetables.

He ran to school and he ran home from school. He ran to the store and he ran to his friend’s house. Pachi ran everywhere. No one could catch him. He won every race that he entered. When his friends ran up to him, he would run away from them. When little kids ran up to him, he would run away from them.

Then, Pachi started feeling very lonely. He missed his friends. He missed getting hugs and

7,600 athletes from across Latin America, South

America, the Caribbean & North America will compete

in the 2015 Games hosted in Toronto.

PACHIby CHISOM OCHUBA &

DARSH KADAKIA

1st

Short StoryTeen

17 18

Oh man... what a story, ha ha ha, and all while the mustard was still in his hair! Well Fern I have to go, it’s almost time for Justin’s event.”

“Ya, ya that’s right, he is a sprinter.”

“Yes, that is a stable career plan! Anyways I have to go, bye.”

She then left then kitchen and said

“Justin, isn’t it time to get going to the Pan-Am stadium. It’s already 1:10!”

“Oh... No!” I replied as I rushed to grab my jacket, almost toppling over the whole rack. I could NOT be late for the most important day of my life. I would be letting down all 7500+ athletes, not to mention the millions of fans in all 41 nations.

My dad snapped me out of my dizzying spell by yelling “Everybody get in the car!”

We all filled into the car nervous and anxious, and just as my dad fit the key into the ignition he floored it in reverse and ripped all the way down our street. I didn’t think that it would take too much time to get there considering that the venue was in Toronto and my dad was probably going 70km over the speed limit. As we approached the parking lot of the stadium we were stopped by a burly security guard with a hefty looking baton. He said to my dad,

“Ticket please.” My dad then replied.

“It’s right here... but could you please hurry! My son is competing today and we are already late enough!” As he handed the ticket to the security guard.

“Sir, I am required to administer the same level of service for all of the entrants of this venue and all participating venues of the 2015 Pan-Am games.”

“Great! was that a quote from the handbook or something!” My dad shot back, obviously very annoyed.

“Yes, chapter 10, subsection 5, paragraph 2.” The security guard puffed up his chest and looked at us with a big grin on his face. He seemed extremely proud of the fact that he could remember all of that.

“Good... Now could give me back my ticket!!!!!” My dad yelled this at the guard, who responded by saying.

“What did you say to me?”

“Oh forget it!” My dad floored the gas an we destroyed the little yellow and black wood bar in front of us, like a hungry lion devouring a baby zebra. We kept on going even though the security guard was now chasing us on his tiny little Segway. We found a parking spot and my dad zoomed into it surpris-ingly, perfectly. We all raced out of the car and down to the stadium, faster than a supped

up Ferrari. We got to the main doors and just out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Pachi! I desperately wanted that cute porcupine’s autograph but I had no time to spare. I quickly ran into the athlete’s change room and searched to find the exit. I soared passed all of the tired athletes who were already done their heats, knocked over a tall, Brazilian runner and just barely managed to escape his grasp. As I made it out of the change room I was yelling “Sorry!”, to the Brazilian guy, and wondering if I would even have enough energy to finish my run. I checked the time on the big clock on the jumbo screen and it read 1:29. I still had time, but I needed to move extra, extra fast. I sprinted faster than I ever have before an made it right on to my starting position, just as the clock struck 1:30 and the starter fired the gun. I had so much adrenaline in me that I blew those other athletes out of the water, and got the gold for the 100m dash. Looking back, I couldn’t have imagined a crazier

day, just think of all the stories I’ll have to tell my kids when I take them for breakfast at Lil Dana’s.

WHERE IS PACHI?

by GIANLUCA SPATONE

July 10th had finally arrived. Over 7,500 athletes from Latin America, South America, the Caribbean, and North America had arrived in Toronto, for the Pan Am and Parapan Am Games. All the athletes were very excited about participat-ing in the sport they had trained so hard for.

In the meantime, at the Pan Am games stadium, the porcupine mascot named Pachi was pacing back and forth biting his nails. He was given the job to judge and choose the best athlete for each event. He knew all the athletes worked very hard for this big day, and that he would have a hard time picking out the best competitor. Pachi wanted all of them to win.

All this stress was too much for

Pachi to handle. He decided torun away and take a small break from working. This would givehim more time to think and make a better decision. So hepacked his bags and went on vacation to visit all 41 countries and territories of the Pan Am and Parapan Am Games. Pachi was hoping that he could learn more about each athlete so he could make a better decision about who to choose as the winner for each sport.

As he visited each place and enjoyed the attractions, parks, entertainment, beaches and delicious foods, he began to feel more relaxed and acci-dentally lost one of his quills in each country! He didn’t notice because he was having such a good time. When Pachi felt he had enough information about the athletes he decided to return back to Canada.

“Noooo!” he thought to himself when he lost his final quill in Canada and finally noticed that they were all missing. Pachi didn’t think he could be the mascot anymore because he had no quills left and hid in a forest so no one would see him.

While he was in the forest he began to regrow a quill...then another... and another, and finds out he is able to regrow quills! This made him feel happy, so he returned back to the Pan Am Studio where everyone had been waiting for him to start the games. By the time he got

back he regrew all his quills! He then chose the best athletes and everybody loved him.

Fun Fact: Each Quill represents a country participating in the Pan Am & Parapan am games.

Overhead birds chirped almost as if they were cheering too! Robert passed the ball back to Jack. Jack’s coaches shouted different things from the sidelines. Jack tried to pass the ball to one of his team mates, but it went out of bounds. The referee blew the whistle.

The other team kicked the ball back in play. Jack stole the ball and ran up the field, took a shot, and scored: one to nothing! Everybody cheered for Jack. He could not believe his eyes. He had scored the first goal in the final championship game.

The ball went back in the centre. Jack took a break on the sidelines. Halftime was in five minutes. Jack looked at the yellow and green jerseys on the other team - it was Brazil. And Canada, Jack’s team, was chal-lenging their winning streak.

Jack watched as Brazil made their way up field. One of their forwards took a shot and scored! The crowds screamed, the birds sang, and the coaches yelled. It was halftime and the score was one-one.

Jack drank some water and wiped the sweat off his face with a towel.

“Do you think we can do it?” Jack looked over at Robert.

Robert grinned. “Come on, pal. This is our game.”

Jack was refreshed and ready to play. The ball was in the centre and everybody was in their position. Jack ran up to the ball and kicked it upfield. Brazil ran towards the ball. But Robert got the ball and passed to Jack, who took a shot and scored.

Again, the ball was in the centre. Brazil passed the ball around Canada, but Canada allowed them no closer to their net. Eventually the referee blew the whistle. The game was over.

Canada had won.

“Ca-na-da! Ca-na-da!” The crowd chanted in the stands. Jack’s team threw water on each other in celebration.

The men’s team had won against Brazil for the first time in the Pan Am games. Both teams lined up to shake hands. The crowd started taking pictures.

Canada’s team received their gold medals. Jack stared at his award. The cool medal felt heavy in his hand. He was now part of Pan Am history: Toronto 2015.

Short StoryChildren (ages 6-8)

2nd

JACk’S PAN AM SOCCER

CHAMPIONSHIP

by JEROME DITTMAN

3rd

19 20

high-fives from all the kids and he missed cheering for the athletes.

Then, he started thinking that running should be the job for the athletes and hugs and high-fives should be the job of the mascots. He loved being a mascot and cheering the athletes on.

He took off his running shoes and started counting down the days until the Pan am Games and Para Pan Am Games would be coming to Toronto. He wanted to watch all the events and he couldn’t wait to welcome the 41 countries of the world to Canada.

Pachi wanted to be the best mascot ever!!!

Jack was getting ready for the game. He was nervous! The other team they were playing had won the Pan Am soccer championship four times in the past. Jack knew why. The team had good coaches, good footwork, good passes, and knew how to play like a team.

The crowd both cheered and jeered. The field looked ominous. The air on the field was stuffy – it was a humid day. Jack’s legs felt stiff, although he had been stretching for half an hour. His mouth felt dry. Now the game was about to begin.

Everybody was in their position. Jack was a striker. He passed to Robert, a forward on his team. The other team charged toward them. The crowd roared.

“You can

make

anything by

writing.”

- C.S. Lewis

Hi! My name is Dash. I’m a Palomino horse and I live on a farm. I now I don’t sound like much, but this is the story where I prove I’m very special!

My owner Lucy, a bubbly eleven year old girl, came out to feed me. I love Lucy, because she loves me! We go on trail rides together, we jump courses together, and we even compete in small community competi-tions together! As she walked up to the fence, I gave her a friendly whinny. “Hey boy,” she said, stroking my mane. “ “Want to go jump?” she asked.

I gave her a long whinny, which meant yes. So she led me to the tack shed. She tacked me up and just had to say the word “Jumps!” and I know to go to our makeshift jumps Lucy had set up. Jumping the course calmed me. Lucy led me to the first jump, tow cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other, and I jumped over it without any problems. I could feel the wind in my mane! We road over to the next jump, an old refrigerator box, and I jumped it, again with ease. “Good boy Dash!” Lucy called to me. I felt happy, impressing my girl. We went through all the jumps, and at the end, a taller human girl stood there, clapping. I know she was Lucy’s sister. “Hey Lucy!” I’ve got some big news! I’m competing in the Pan am Games! In the equestrian jumping! I would like to use Dash to compete with! I already filled out forms, so Lucy; can I use him in the race?” The Lucy

sister asked. I hear my name and Lucy got excited. She said yes, and then told me what was happening. That I was going to compete in the Pan am games. I didn’t exactly know what the Pan am games were, but I loved competing! Then, the Lucy sister got on my back. I was confused. But Lucy said it was good, so I let the Lucy sister stay. She told me to jump, so I trotted to the first box. She led me through the course smoothly. We did this every day for a long time.

Then, one morning, the Lucy sister and Lucy led me out of the fence. It was still dark out, and I was tired. They led me to a big horse trailer. I was confused. But, Lucy was there, so I knew it was fine. She game me three apples and closed the trailer door. Then, it started moving. It felt weird. It went on until finally it stopped. Lucy led me out of the trailer. Then, the Lucy sister tacked me up. The Lucy

sister was wearing competing clothes. I knew because Lucy wore those clothes when competing. Oh yeah! We were competing! Lucy stroked my mane, and I gave her a soft, happy whinny. Then, the Lucy sister ‘jumps’ but I didn’t know what she meant. This wasn’t home. I didn’t know where the jumps were. Then, Lucy led me to a door. She opened the huge door and it led to an arena. Lots of humans were sitting around the arena, and I saw a bunch of big jumps! I whinnied with delight and trotted to the closest jump. “Go!” I heard a human voice yell. “Giddy up Dash!” the Lucy sister said to me. So I dashed (my name exactly) to the first jump. I leaped over it, and then ran to the second jump, then the third, then the fourth. Each one I jumped. I jumped over a bunch of jumps, I couldn’t count how many. The Lucy sister guided me to all the jumps. I loved the wind in my mane! I heard human voices cheering! And then, I heard one distinct voice yell; “GO DASH! GO DASHER!” Lucy was cheering for me! So I ran full speed to the last jump! I got to the jump and...LEAPED OVER IT PERFECTLY! The crowd went wild! I whinnied happily. Lucy ran up to me and threw her arms around my neck. I whinnied softly in her ear, and she laughed. The Lucy sister got off me and walked to a group of other people. A man walked onto a podium. “The judges have chosen the winners! And first place goes

to …HAILEY AND DASH!” Lucy hugged me! I whinnied happily! I WON! I WON!

I’ve been hearing this story since the day it happened. I was 3 years old. My grandparents had a pond in their backyard. I was always drawn to it. I don’t remember it myself but I was told that I would run to it and talk to it.

Finally, the day came when my parents thought I should swim. My mom and grandma were swimmers in the Pan Am games so it was especially special for them. I screamed with joy and laughter as soon as I touched the water. My grandpa said I was destined to be a mermaid.

On my 4th birthday, my parents enrolled me in swimming lessons. I was such a fast learner that moved up 3 levels before

The first Pan American Games were held in Buenos

Aires, Argentina, in 1951 and the inaugural Parapan

American Games were held in Mexico City in 1999.

DASH AT THE PAN AM

GAMES!

by CLARE BAMFORD

Short StoryChildren (ages 9-12)

1st

21 22

2nd

THAT DREAM

by MEGHAN MCCLURG

“There is something delicious

about writing the first words of a

story. You never quite know

where they’ll take you.”

- Beatrix Potter

Short StoryChildren (ages 9-12)

23 24

ONE MAN TO WIN

by SPENCER MARSALA

3rd

my first report card. I would speed down the lanes barely taking a breath. My grandpa was my best supporter. I was his mermaid, his racer, his one and only granddaughter.

When I was 8, I joined a race program. I won all of my races. My coaches called me Racing Grace. They had never seen anyone like me. I made friends with the kids on the other teams while also being competitive.

When I was 15, I tried out for the Pan Am team. I practiced 7 hours a day convinced I was going to make it because my mother and grandmother did. When I didn’t, I was devastated. I stayed in my room for hours on end thinking I was a complete failure. Now, I now I’m not. I’m 19, and I’ve made the team this year. I’ve learned from my mistakes and I’m happier than I ever have been. I’m confident in myself. My family have been great supporters an I owe them everything. They’ll be in the front row cheering me on and maybe, just maybe, I can add a gold medal to my shelf. This is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life.

Once there was a boy named Jake, now this boy was pretty extraordinary with a fencing sword and a bow and arrows. Jake’s mother and father got divorced when he was 5. Jake never really got to hang out with his father, and his mother on the other hand was very mean to Jake. She rarely ever fed him! He would be very shy around his mother. So one day when Jake was 20, he got a job as a professional fencer and archer. A few years later he decided that he would take a break on being a professional teacher and mentor and try to get into the PAN AM games. When Jake was teaching an archery class his coworker said to him, “ Mr. fisher there is someone on the phone for you.” He went too the phone and was astonished at what happened! He was in the PAN AM games! He was so extremely happy and told his assistant that he would have to teach the class. Jake chose the extraordinary from the ordinary. When he got to the PAN AM games everyone was there, even his mother had showed up! Which made Jake very happy and the matches began. The

first match was fencing! Jake knew he might not win because fencing was his weaker sport versus archery, but Jake carried on like a strong and brave man. Jake had got hit three times, but then he got a spark of imagina-tion. He decided to do a parry one disengage lunge and he hits his opponent, Josh. Josh had hit Jake and the score went haywire because he had fraudu-lent equipment. Which means he had upgraded his equipment in an illegal way! Josh got a black card! Black cards are not commonly given out. Josh was out of the whole game! Jake had won the fencing round! The next and last match for Jake was archery. Jake was awesome at archery! The targets were arranged in a perfectly straight line. Jake thought in his head; Just the way I like it! Jake and Barry had to go and grab their bows. The bows they used are called takedown recurve bows. The recurve bow had been used throughout history by the Persians, Greeks and Romans. It was the main weapon of choice for the Roman archers. Barry had to go first; he shot the arrows in such impatience that he only got one bulls eye and one white! His points added up to eleven. Jake went up to the firing line and knocked his first arrow, take a deep breath. And Jake did. All three of his arrows landed right on the bull’s eye every time. Jake had won the archery match too! He got both of his gold medals for archery and fencing! When Jake was

going into the back to see his family, the players Josh and Barry grabbed him and said, “You shouldn’t have won!” Jake wasn’t that easy to get at. So Jake said to them, “Here you can have these medals there a sign of my friendship. Well at least I think so.” They looked like babies having their first ever solid food! Jake even was biting his lip from trying not to laugh, “Well, can I at least have the medals so I can take a photo with my mother?” They said, “Yeah sure! Go right ahead!” So Jake did. Jake’s mom came up to him and gave him a big hug and kiss, “Congratulations honey!”

Jake said, “Thanks mom, thanks a lot!” So Jake went back to the two medal lovers and gave the medals to them, but then they said, “You know what? Just keep the medals they’re right-fully yours!” So Jake ended up having two new medals to add to his collection. Jake felt very proud of himself. He had finally gotten to the Pan Am games and won Gold! Jake and his mother began a new beginning in their relationship. Jake had new friends, Josh and Barry, they respected him.

Thank YouCaledon Public Library would like

to acknowledge the creative talents

of all participants in our Short Story

Writing Contest. We applaud your

courage and creativity. Thank you

for sharing and allowing us the

privilege of enjoying your talents.

SHORT STORYCHARLES FRECkLETONLead | Albion Bolton Book ClubHUGH MARCHANDRepresentative | Friends of Caledon Public LibraryDANIELE D’ONORIOPoet, Activist and Community Coordinator

Adult

SHORT STORYPATTI FOLEYOwner | Just Sayin’ CaledonHEATHER SCAVETTAAuthor | Read Local CaledonDOUG MASkELLPresident | Friends of Caledon Public Library

Teen

SHORT STORY

NATALIE SPAANYouth Services Coordinator | Caledon Public LibraryDIANE SAWYERRepresentative | Friends of Caledon Public LibraryROSSELLA BRUNOVolunteer and Teaching Graduate

SHORT STORYChildren (ages 6-8)

Children (ages 9-12)

CASSANDRA SCAVETTAAuthor and TeacherHELEN YOUNGSecretary | Friends of Caledon Public LibraryBRENDA BESTVolunteer

JudgesShort Story Writing Contest

25

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