Thursday, 6 March 2008

Night Owl

Brandon Scott Gorrell wrote a story called Night Owl. Then lots of other people re-edited it and wrote their own versions. It is explained a bit here. You can read reviews of some of them here. You can read all the versions on Brandon’s sidebar. I read all the versions and then I felt “encouraged” by something Brandon Scott Gorrell wrote (“i want to encourage anyone that reads this blog to write their own night owl”)so I wrote my own version. It was fun. Here it is:


Night Owl

At school we had a teacher who assigned us all an animal. I was the owl. I liked being the owl. The teacher said I was the owl because owls are clever, and I was clever. This made me feel good.

When I got home that day, I felt inspired. I was thirsty, but I didn’t want to drink just any old drink. I wanted to drink something that was amazing, something that only I had ever tasted. I checked the cupboards. We had fizzy orange. I liked fizzy orange a lot. But it was not the drink an owl would choose. I went to the fridge. We had milk. It dawned on me that my options were limited. I decided to make orange milkshake.

This was a mistake. There is a reason why you can never get orange milkshake. I hid the glass of “orange milkshake” behind the couch.

My brother was watching a cartoon on the TV. It was stupid. I was far too clever for cartoons now. I asked him if he had seen my bumblebee poncho but he didn’t answer me. I looked on the chair but it wasn’t there. I looked behind the couch, but the only thing that was there was the glass of “orange milkshake”. My donkey cardigan was on the table. I put on my donkey cardigan and went outside.

I walked across the street and went into Danny’s back garden. He was in the shed. I did the secret knock: two slow and five fast. Then I heard Danny shout Password? I said Insecure. The door opened.

Inside, it was just Danny and his brother. They were drinking lemonade. Danny’s brother got the red cup and poured me some. We listened to the radio and bobbed our heads to the songs until the news came on, and then I said I Have To Go For My Tea Now, because it was tea time, so I left.

Tea was just sandwiches. Mum was too busy to cook anything hot. But I like sandwiches. She asked me if I wanted lettuce and I said Yes. Then she asked me did I want tomatoes and I said Yes. Then she asked me did I want olives and I said NO, and she laughed, because it was a trick question. She knew I hated olives.

I went back over to Danny’s shed. I did the secret knock and he shouted Password? I said Insecure, and he let me in. Paul was there now. I never really speak to Paul. I think I would like to, but he is not like Danny. I never know what to say. Paul and Danny, and Danny’s brother were all talking and I sat there all quiet and then I remembered I was clever like an owl, and so I thought I should join in. Danny was saying that you could make a real telephone using tin cans and string. He said it would actually work. Paul said he knew how to build one, and then I watched him making holes in the tin cans with a hammer and a big nail. I tied the knots in the string. I am good at tying knots. I said that we would need to test it over a distance. And then I told them I would go back to my house and listen for their communication, and I got up and left, taking one of the tin cans with me. I trailed the string across the road and into my house.

Mum was watching TV, so I went into the kitchen and opened the biscuit tin. I took five biscuits and hid them in the pockets of my donkey cardigan. I thought: It Will Be Okay To Have These Biscuits, and then I went upstairs to my room. I listened for Paul’s voice. I listened for Danny’s voice.

When I woke up, I had a taste in my mouth that was half-biscuit, half-sick. There was no sick anywhere in my room, though, so I decided I must have just imagined it. The tin can telephone was on the floor next to my bed. It was quiet. It wasn’t making any sound. I felt bad. I knew I would have to tell Danny and Paul that the tin can telephone didn’t work. I knew I would have to let them down easy.

6 comments:

emily mcphillips said...

i like this :)
i also really like the idea of a donkey cardigan!

emma j. lannie said...

Thank you kindly.

I wish i had a donkey cardigan, but i think you can only get them if you ask a Nana "will you knit me a donkey cardigan?"
Oh well.

sally said...

Yes, this is an excellent Night Owl.

I have started doing one, too. I hope I remember to finish it.

emily mcphillips said...

i think i might try to knit my own donkey cardigan, or maybe it'll be one of those woolen waistcoats instead, i think that'd be easier.

emma j. lannie said...

Thanks Sally. I hope you remember to finish it, too!

Emily, if you knit anything remotely "donkey" I need to see it. And yes, sod the sleeves. Sleeves are very overrated!

sally said...

I remembered to finish it. I enjoyed writing it but I don't think my interpretation of the original was very, um, original.

Remember to let me know about the pylon blog, please.