Back in December when we decided to homeschool Colby, I knew he was a good reader. What I was shocked to find out is that’s he’s an amazing writer as well. He has such a command on the english language to be so young. Every week he has 20 spelling words that he has to use in a four paragraph (at least) story and he publishes it to his blog on Friday. I was expecting some kind of crazy mess that you could tell he was just trying to use words.

The first story I read, I almost cried. I think it’s awesome, and every one since then as well. He is only 12 and he’s very much into military and war stuff so they can be rather violent stories at times. I wanted to share this story with you, it’s the first one he wrote that I was expecting pretty much junk lol. Here it is…

Creative Writing 1

As I walked into the job orientation, I began to become nervous. “Nothing to worry about, it’s just an interview.” I told myself. Then as I sat down, I looked at the mans face. He was older, maybe 45 to 50 years old, and had a clean buzz cut. He wore jeans and a military type jacket.

“The entire existence of your career here depends on this interview, son.” He said in a gruff voice.

“I understand that, sir.”

“So, do you think you have what it takes to go out there and fight the communists son?”
“Y..yes sir, I do think so.”

“THINK?! You better know, boy, or you won’t last very long out there!”

Oh, and did I forget to mention that my job “orientation” was applying for the military? Now that I think about it, that was probably the worst word to use.

But, that was months ago. I’m in the Russian wilderness, on a stealth mission to interrogate Dragovich, the Russian leader of their military power. We’ve just reached the outpost we located were Dragovich, and their nuclear weapons, are supposedly housed. It is so quiet, I can almost hear the plants conducting their photosynthesis. We’re crawling closer to the camp, shielded by a dirt out cove, just barely big enough for us to fit in.

My team consists of Jared Stern, a quiet, heavy set man in his mid-thirties. Then there is Carlos Menendez, a Mexican-American that has an opinion on everything, and is about 25 or 30 years old. Then, finally, there is me. Leonardo Brancher. I was always one to help others, and when the opportunity came to possibly help my country, I didn’t hesitate one bit.

As I was thinking back through what had happened so far, and reassessing myself, Everything went still. A small, sage colored ball fell about 10 feet in front of us, then exploded. I heard Jared cry out in pain, since he was the first in line. Then, I raised my head up just in time to see Dragovich climb into a jeep, and drive off.

Then I raise my weapon, an RPK with a stand and a silencer, and fired towards the cars tires. That was not my smartest idea, and it was a perfect way to get my self shot, which I did. I felt a searing pain appear in my left shoulder, and then saw my life flash before my eyes. I remember the day I got married, the first day my son went to school, the first day I drove a car, the first everything.

Luckily, that was the only wound I suffered. I got back up, and painfully, fired at some Russians, and again, painfully, I took a few lives. It was something I had never felt before, and didn’t like to feel. But I had to, if I was going to keep the United States from getting bombed. I did manage to be humane about it, at least. Trying to only shoot in places like the head, and the heart, so they wouldn’t suffer. I did feel bad for killing people in the buildings, just eating their cereal, or desserts, then all of a sudden, gone. After I got a little more…accepting of this feeling, I shot one man in the shoulder, and demanded to know we’re Dragovich had ran off too.

I was told that somewhere to the north of that location, there was another camp, but was armed more heavily, with snipers and gunman at every turn and tower. He also told us that it would be easier to find, because it had speakers playing songs and Russia’s national anthem. Another piece of info I was given was that the camp was in a square position, so we could try and think of a plan.

Then, I remembered something. Jared! He had gotten hurt in the grenade explosion. I sprinted back to were we had been, and what I saw horrified me. Carlos was sitting there, trying to stitch back a chunk of skin that had gotten blasted apart from Jared’s face. I couldn’t move, and then Carlos turned to me and said, “I’m not very confident he has much more than an hour before he bleeds out.”

I ran back to the soldier I had shot in the shoulder, and asked him were the medical supplies were. “Why should I tell you?” He smirked. I snapped. I had gotten shot, and my friend was dying. I shot the man in the shoulder and in both kneecaps, then asked again were the medical supplies were. He screamed and tried to move, but couldn’t. Then, he gave in and said, “In the main building, beside this one, in the kitchen! But don’t expect much, we usually only have to deal with snake bites.” Once I got the supplies, I ran to Carlos and Jared, and handed them the supplies.

“Leo,” Jared said, almost inaudibly, “send some letters to my family, explaining how this happened, and if I survive, which, I won’t.”

I recoiled in shock. I was standing in front of my near only friend in the military as he was dying. “Got it, Stern.” I said, as he went stiff.

I guess that hour had passed. And so had Jared. The next thing me and Carlos did was drive off in a practical truck at the camp, which was odd, because all the other vehicles were armored, or had a mounted gun on them. It did feel kind of odd, actually, VERY odd not having our other teammate with us.

Oh, and if your wondering what we did with him, we took his ammo and weapons, then we burned the body, so that way no one could get info off of his corpse, like from an ID card or what not. And, as another part if our AMAZING plan, we took the costumes from some soldiers and put those on so we could get in the camp easier. I didn’t have an aptitude for these clothes, so they were difficult and irritating to wear.

Then, up ahead, we saw the camp. This was either going to get us killed, and get America bombed, get us killed, but save America, or let us live and save America… I’m really hoping for that last option.


4 thoughts on “Proud

  1. Wow. I would definitely have thought that piece was written by someone several years older. Most twelve year olds are at a stage where their writing is a bit stilted and forced as they try to find their voice. Your son has definitely found his voice and has a great writing future ahead of him!

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