Children’s Fiction

The Wanderer

Paolo was lost and the one place he wanted to see more than anywhere else in the world was his home. He had been searching for his home so long that it was only in his dreams that it now came back to him.

There was the large chair that sat by the fire. It was an old chair, with holes in the upholstery where the stuffing peeked out. You could feel the springs if you didn’t sit right back into it. But Paola was small and he could squeeze himself back into it. He remembered falling asleep in that chair.

There was the old oak tree. It grew on the crest of the hill that rose out the back of his home. He would climb that tree, snuggling himself into the trunk and surveying the world around him. In the winter and spring he could see so far but in the summer and autumn the leaves would block the view, though he did not mind. He would watch the squirrels instead, as they scampered though the branches, playing or gathering the acorns.

There was the orchard that lay at the bottom of the hill. In spring, it would be white with blossom. And all summer long he would watch the fruit grow bigger, until finally things started to ripen. First the pears, sweet yet firm. Later the apples, three, four different varieties. His mouth watered as he remembered the tastes.

And finally there was the apiary where his father kept the bees. He remembered walking there, the sound of the buzzing. He remembered watching the bees come and go to the orchard and the fields beyond, returning to their hives with their pollen baskets laden with pollen, white, cream and yellow. And the taste of the honey, a small piece of heaven.

But he was far from heaven now and his bones were weary. Another day gone by, another night to rest on foreign soil, far away from all the places he wanted to be.

Posted in response to the daily prompt – The Wanderer

A Dog Named Bob

Bob was a small, scruffy mongrel. His favorite food was porridge with just a drizzle of golden syrup. His collar, the color of a bluejay, stood out from his black as ink fur. He would stand guard by the mailbox everyday waiting impatiently for the postman. Even on Saturdays and Sundays you could find him there staring for hours at the box. When the postman lifted the lid of the mailbox Bob would set about to whine and bark. The bark was shrill like the sound of a plate breaking.


Perhaps the start of a story as inspired by yesterday Daily Post Prompt in which you had 20 minutes to write a post that included the words mailbox, bluejay, plate, syrup, and ink. And one more detail… the story must include a dog named Bob




Mildred’s Lost her Spots

As part of today blogging 101 assignment to publish something new I thought I’d try some children’s fiction. I wrote this story and then found that someone had already published a book with a very similar theme – so it has sat on my computer since.

Mildred the ladybird woke up early one morning. She got out of bed and stretched herself and yawned loudly. Then she looked in the mirror and discovered that her six black spots were missing! Where could they be? Mildred looked under the bed but there were no spots there. She looked in the wardrobe. She looked in the bathroom. She looked in the kitchen. She looked all over the house but she could not find her spots.

‘Where are my spots? What will I do without them?’ cried Mildred. She would have to get help to find them. She walked down the street and stopped to ask Andy the ant. Andy was a very small but fast ant.

‘Andy have you seen my spots?’

‘Spots, what do you want spots for? You look fine without them,’ said the ant as he ran off down the road.

Mildred walked on and met Diana the butterfly. Diana was very beautiful. On her wings she had two black spots of her own.

‘Diana have you seen my spots?’ Mildred asked.

Diana looked down at Mildred. ‘How could you lose our spots?’ said the butterfly in her posh voice.

‘I just woke up this morning and they were gone,’ explained Mildred.

‘You silly ladybird,’ said Diana. ‘I never take my spots off.’ Diane looked up at the tips of wings and admired her own two spots.

‘Do you have any spare spots?’ Mildred asked hopefully.

‘Even if I had I would not lend them to you,’ said Diana as she flapped her wings and flew gracefully away.

Poor Mildred was feeling very sad. What was she going to do? She went to see her friend Danny the dragonfly.

‘Danny I have lost my spots,’ Mildred said as large tears fell down her cheeks. ‘What am I going to do?’

Danny shook his head. ‘Have you looked for them?’ he asked.

‘I’ve searched everywhere but I cannot find them. I feel strange without them,’ sighed Mildred.

‘Do not worry Mildred,’ said Danny, ‘I have an idea.’ He led Mildred into his garage.

‘Look,’ said Danny, ‘I have a pot of black paint. We can paint you new spots.’

Mildred agreed it was a good idea.

Danny dipped a large paint brush into the pot of paint. He lifted it up. Danny was about to paint a spot on Mildred when he accidentally knocked the paint pot over. Mildred was now covered in black paint!

‘Oh no!’ they both cried.

Mildred was completely black. All her shiny red was gone.

‘I am so sorry,’ said Danny the dragonfly. He tried to wipe the paint off but it was already drying.

Mildred started to cry.

‘Do not worry Mildred,’ said Danny. ‘Look I have a pot of red paint.’

Mildred looked at the pot of red paint. She dried her tears.

‘I have an idea,’ she said. ‘Will you paint me red spots?’

‘Are you sure that is what you want?’

‘Yes,’ said Mildred.

Danny the dragonfly dipped his paintbrush into the red paint. Then very carefully he painted six red spots on Mildred’s back. When he was finished he brought Mildred a mirror. She looked at herself in.

‘I like the red spots,’ said Mildred. ‘I like them very much.