My fifth graders have begun writing allegorical stories, and I’m joining them. We’ve identified issues we feel strongly about, and we’re crafting short fiction to serve as metaphor for the problems we’d like to solve.
I’m not ready to give away my issue, but perhaps you can identify it – or at least some traces of it. I’ve just got the bare beginnings, so now I have the unfortunate task of moving the plot forward.
Send mojo.
Here’s my excerpt:
It started on an ordinary day in the settlement of Juventa, a town nestled in an isolated valley among the foothills of the Cogora mountains. The people had lived there since well before anyone could remember.
If you visited Juventa, you might think it was an ordinary village. You’d see people living in simple thatch huts along stony walkways. You’d see gardens full of fruits, vegetables, and ornamental flowers. You’d see fields and farms and a central square with a marketplace.
But Juventa was far from ordinary. You see, some towns run on solar energy. Some towns run on coal or gas. Juventa ran on the power of its children. Their imagination was so strong and powerful, it was enough to keep lights on and machines running.
If you asked a Juventan why, exactly, they ran on children instead of coal or gas or solar, they’d shrug their shoulders and tell you that’s how it’s always been, since well before anyone could remember.
And it was on this ordinary day that Greta got up, had a simple breakfast of porridge, put on her blue and grey uniform, and made her way to the factory at the center of Juventa. It was, by far, the largest structure in the settlement, a brown, two-story brick building with thick chimneys emerging at the center.
“Hey, Greta. Nice clothes. They one of a kind?”
Greta rolled her eyes and turned to face her best friend Milo, dressed in identical fashion. “Ha, ha,” she retorted. “Nice joke, Milo. You just think of that one?”
Milo shrugged and said, “Can’t help being so hilarious. He’s here all week, folks.”
We’re ALL here all week, thought Greta dimly. Every week. Every. Day.
Soapbox: The Way I see Things 