Young Writers Society

This is what I wrote for the Tom Howard/John H. Reid Short Story Contest, I should have all mistakes and typos out, but it would help for thoughts and opinions. There are links I have seen to the Contest, if you haven't seen one, the website is www.winningwriters.com.

Two Wagons.

(April 20th, 1851)

We’d been on the trail darn near a week now, and already I am missin’ the happiness of having a home. The days are long and are filled with constant walkin’. The nights are the only rest we get, and still there is more work to do. Most nights, we don’t even want to go to sleep knowin’ that the next day it will start all over again. The trip isn’t so bad; there are people to talk to. That Roberta that keeps talking to me, she can be annoying, but she is all right I guess. She does not like the name Roberta, so everyone calls her Lil’-Missy. There is a story behind it, but she won’t tell me. Hey Tomorrow is my birthday! I’ll be fifteen!

Matthew closed his journal; he had been looking at it, looking at some past entries. That entry he had just examined was written nearly 2 months ago. Basically, every day since then was exactly like that. (Minus a few weather conundrums.) There was one difference now from then, he did not mind the presence of Missy, he actually enjoyed it. He finally realized that he was still holding his journal, so he threw it back up on the wagon.

“Hey there Math,” said Missy, clinging to his left arm.

“Hey Miss,” he said looking into her eyes.

“So, you finally want me to tell you why I got the name Missy?” she sighed.

“Yes Miss, now tell me,” he spat with irritation.

“Fine then. Well, I was eight-years-old I had a fascination with English Ladies, being all proper and such, so people started to call me Lil’ Missy. Are you happy now?” she said then crossed her arms and looked away from him.

“Now Miss, I was only curious. You can’t be mad at me for wanting to curb my curiosity,” he said and tried to stare into her eyes. She resisted.

“No,” she gave up and looked into his eyes.

There, they continued to look at each other nothing else but each other. The only other thing they had to do was keep walking to keep up with the wagon. Their locked gaze was interrupted when some of the men shouted to stop the wagons. The two separated to work on their chores for the rest of the day. It was almost dark when Matthew was finally allowed to leave.

Matthew sat on the ground ten yards from the wagon, and watched the sun as it made its way to the horizon. A few minutes later, Missy came up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“It is not so bad. On the move to the west, is it?” asked Missy.

“It is not, I have learned to speak English properly, and my writing skills have improved, no thanks to you,” he said and smiled at her.

“Math, do you love me?” she finally asked, eyes glittering. It was a question she had been longing to ask.

“Oh my dear Missy, I do, but it cannot truly be love until the other returns the feelings as well,” he said.

“Dear Math, you know that did not make any sense…” they laughed.

They looked into each other’s eyes, and then they realized they were holding hands. The two looked back up at each other, and then they kissed.

(July 4 1851)

Deeply in love are Missy and I; we say so all the time. Our lips seem to be together more as we near the mountains. Today is the Fourth-of-July, so there is no traveling. Missy and I have been side-by-side all day. Our parents do not like it one bit; my parents do not like Missy’s, and vice-versa. We don’t care though; there is nothing that will ever break us apart.

Tears fell as Matthew looked over this page. It had been nearly a month ago, and yet a day never passed that he could go back to then. It finally got to the point where his parents decided to break away from the train to keep them apart. He had spent most of the days after he had to separate in the doldrums. The only thing that kept him from wanting to kill him self was the secret letters they sent back and forth. They had sent nearly one hundred letters to each other, and Matthew was planning on another one today.

“MATTHEW MATTLOCK MOLLOINGHAM!” yelled his father.

“What is this?” asked his mother holding an open letter that was supposed to be his; it was signed “Stephen”

“How would I know, it says it is for a man named Stephen?” he stated confidently.

“Stop the nonsense, it was sent to our wagon, it is from Roberta wasn’t it?” his father said angrily.

Matthew started to walk away, “Come back here!” they both yelled.

“They are not good people Matthew, why can’t you understand that. Well, if separating you two is not enough…” his father walked away.

“We will talk more of this later,” said his mother.

Matthew punched the wagon and fell to the ground. He looked over at the sunset. It was one very similar to the one so many days ago, only now with mountains. He longed to be with Missy, to hear her laugh, to see her face, and touch her hand. He sat there until it was dark, and then his parents came up.

“Now, we can not have you see her, her parents are not good people. Now-“ started his mother.

“How?” he asked.

“For the last time, they are Mormons. Mormons are following the word of a man who said he saw god in a cave-“

“Christians are following the word of a man who one day said he was the son of God.” Pointed out Matthew.

“My Lord, I never thought I would hear such Blasphemy from my own son,” said his father said with a look of abhorrence, followed by Matthew being slapped.

“So, we have sent her a letter already saying that you have died, and so you will hear no more from her,” said his mother.

There was a lump in his throat; he was disgusted. He thought ‘How could they do this; well if I can’t be with Missy, I don’t want to live at all!’

He jumped up into the wagon, and grabbed every writing utensil he could find, and his journal, then jumped out as his parents yelled at him to get out. He did not stop once out of the wagon, he ran as fast as he could, for as far as he could.

No one went after him. He ran and ran. Nothing could stop him. He did not care if he dropped dead of exhaustion, or attacked by animals or Indians, if he could not be with Missy, he did not care.

(October 1st 1851)

I have been on the run for a long time now, not sure how long; I don’t really even care anymore. I have not needed to scour for food or water, it some how comes to me. I can’t stop myself from eating or drinking, so I do it, if the heat of this desert don’t kill me, I don’t think I will ever die. There is not much to write of, even less in the future. I don’t plan on ever leaving this desert…

Matthew trudged on, one foot in front of the other; very slowly. He had made a goal, to make it to the stone slab only a few feet away. He felt death coming, he hated the way it mocked him, showing him death and then denying it. Finally, he had made it to the stone slab; he then used all the energy he had to pull himself onto it. He did not plan to get back off of it. He gave a sudden jolt when he realized he was not the only one up there.

"Just go, don’t try to save me, I only want to die. I have been here since the morning. I am close,” the girl said weakly.

“Don’t worry, I have come here to die as well. I will join you,” he told her.

“Well, if we are going to die together, mind telling me your name?” she asked.

“I am Matthew.”

“Mine is Roberta, I once loved a guy name named Matthew. Oh, but don’t call me Roberta, I prefer Missy,” she said.

After all the words they had said sank in, they both jolted upright. They stared at each other; touch the other’s face to make sure it was real. They wiped all the dirt off each other’s face, and then kissed. They both were beyond happy; they have never been more content to see the other than just then.

When they finally separated, Missy asked, “What happened? That letter said that you were killed, that is what forced me to run away.”

“My parents lied, they discovered that we were writing letters to each other.”

“ My parents also discovered the letters just before I got the one from your parents. They threatened to tie me up in the wagon, so that is when I decided to run away, they never saw the one that mentioned your “death”,” she said.

They kissed again, “Missy, we need to get out of this desert.”

“Yes. Oh and Math. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

(October 1st 1861)

Dear reader, this is my last entry for my journal, the story of my life is over, now is the time to live from what I have done. Missy and I made it out of that desert, and we found some relatives of hers, where we then grew up together. We now own a ranch about 5 miles west of Sacramento. We have many stories, but there is one that we love more than any other. Back on the prairie in 1851, where we fell in love in the bright, golden sunset. We were two people, brought together by two wagons.