Dreaming

Hi! Before you start reading, I need some help. This short story is about a little over 1200 words, but I need it down to 1000 for this short story competition. If anyone could give me some lines to take out, that would be great! Hope you like it!


Why does everyone look the same?

Today was Andy Pennington's first day of school as a fourth grader. The nine year was born in the United States, but moved England. He spent most of his life there but his family moved back after his father received a job promotion, and a major cash bonus.

Andy's family was very wealthy. His father, Wesley Pennington, was an oral surgeon. His mother, Maria, was a dermatologist. They use this money by sending Andy and his brother to top notch schools.

Andy despised his parents. Wesley and Maria were always rubbing their money in peopleâs faces. They made the stereotype that says all people who are rich are snobs true.

So now Andy was pulling up in the backseat of his father's white Porsche 911 with his eleven year old brother who he also despised, Roland.
St. Drew's Obedience school was the strictest school in Colorado. It was a grand old building that was established forty years ago. Andy was not looking forward to any of it.

All the kids in their uniforms were lined up outside in their grade levels. Andy and Roland hopped out of the Porsche, and onto the black cement. Roland left Andy alone in a heartbeat.

All Andy could think of is why did everyone act and look the same? No one was smiling, and they were standing silently in their lines. Andy walked up to his grade line, and tried to talk to the boy in front of him.

"Hi," Andy whispered. The shorter boy didn't speak, nor even talk to him. Before Andy could say anymore, a tall women in a formal suit came walking out. "I want everyone to walk in a straight line to their classrooms. If I hear a peep out of anyone, they could see me in my office." Andy was in for a long day.

At recess, there wasn't much to choose from. You had to pick a sport. Andy knew he wasn't one with anything that had to do with athletics, but he didn't have much to choose from. So, he chose to not do anything except to go to the back of the field and to sit by a tree and just write.

Andy loved to write, and it was his favorite thing to do. Day and night, he dreamed of being a writer. The only issue was his parents wanted him to go to medical school to become a doctor. He hated the thought of that.
Andy was working on a poetry piece. He was pretty proud of it.

âTwo dragons.
One was white as snow.
The other however, was black as a shadow.
They were in war against each other.
Fighting until their last breath.
One would reign victor, and soar through the skies-â

Andy was interrupted by a football that was just thrown in his face.

"Hey guys! Look at this dork!"

Brock Lee.

Brock was in his homeroom. He was the most popular kid in fourth grade, but Andy didn't know how anyone could be friends with someone
like him. Brock was declared the strongest kid after an arm wrestling competition that was held in the beginning of the year, so he was told. He's also the most feared by kids like Andy.

"What are you doing over there, little man?' Brock's best friend, Cody Johnson, asked approaching him. He ripped Andy's notebook out of his hands.

"No! That's mine! Give it back!" Andy cried, "Aw, he wants his precious notebook back." Cody said holding his notebook that contained some of Andy's best poems and stories.

"Please, just give it back! I need it!" One thing that Andy hated about himself was that he was short. All six of the boys surrounding him were way taller then him.

Brock and Cody gave each other evil smiles, and dropped his notebook into the mud. They stomped on it to make sure it was completely ruined.

Andy stood in silence as he was still trying to function that all the hard work he put into was now gone. "See you around, dork." Cody spat, and him and his gang left Andy alone. He picked his notebook out of the mud, and checked to make sure he didn't miss anything that could still be saved.

Nothing could be recovered. Andy wanted to cry, but the bell rang, and he had to go back to class.
When Andy got home, he ran to his room with his still soggy notebook. He just stared at it, remembering how much fun he had writing under the trees with the breeze, or on the porch listening to the rain, and even just the silence of his room.

"What's that?" His father asked curiously. Andy didn't even notice him walk in.

"Oh it's nothing,: Andy lied, "Get it off your desk! It'll ruin it!" Wesley said disgustingly, so Andy put it his his lap, which only made his father more grossed out.

"Can I see it?" Wesley asked. Andy handed it to him hesitantly. He was nervous because you could still make out some of the words he did in bright marker, or colored pen. His poem Colors was the most visible since it was done in rainbow marker.
"What is all this junk?" His dad asked, "My stories and poems that I write. It's what I want to do for the rest of my life." Andy replied confidently.

"You want to be a writer?" Wesley asked, and his son nodded. "You need to make money when you're older, Andy. Writing will get you no where."

"Not true. Writers make a lot. I looked it up." He answered quickly, "Yes, only the good writers make money. Have a real dream." His father left with his notebook.

Andy replayed those words in his head all night. Only the good writers make money. His parents have seen his work now and then, and in the back of his mind, he thought he would make them proud. But no. He did the exact opposite.

Andy didn't care though. His parents were nothing to him. He told himself that he would continue no matter what people thought of him and his writing.

The next day in English class, his teacher, Ms. Quinn, called Andy up to her desk. "I'm sorry to interrupt you Andy, but I just wanted to praise you on the writing assignment we did yesterday," She said as her white teeth glowed in her smile, "Thank you." Andy replied as happy as can be. This was the first compliment he has received in a long time.

"By reading this, I see you are way beyond your age's writing expectation. I am a writer myself, and I was wondering if I could put this on my website for my readers to see?"

"Of course you can. I'm glad you liked it." Andy was use to never having anyone praise him on his writing. This was a big step for him.

Fifteen years later, Andy Pennington was a best selling writer, and started his own school of writing for young kids. His parents threw him out when he decided to go to college to be a writer, and Andy never saw them nor his brother since. When he does see them again one day, he can't wait to rub it in their faces.