Highly Commended Story - A Lost Friend

“A Lost Friend” by Irene Klapper, Barkley Elementary, USA, is the Highly Commended story in the junior category of the first biannual Short Story Contest 2019.

Irene Klapper is ten years old and lives in Phoenixville, PA where she goes to Barkley Elementary School. She has two cats named Pop Tart and Bernie. She plays the violin in the Reading Symphony Junior String Orchestra and is a member of the Barkley Earth Club. When she grows up she wants to be President of the United States.

A Lost Friend

I stopped walking home from school and looked up at the bright and sunny sky.

“It’s nice out today, Daddy!” I cheerfully exclaimed.

“Yeah I guess,” he said looking more solemn than normal.

As soon as my house came into view I darted up the stairs and though the front door. I tossed off my polka dot backpack and kicked off my rainbow shoes.

“Shane! Shaney! ”I screamed as I started up the stairs to find my little kitty. I stopped in my tracks and spun around. My dad’s eyes were filled with tears.

What is going on? I thought.

“Boot, come here.” My dad said.

I dragged my feet down the stairs and across the rug to the cozy gray couch. I angrily sat down and said to myself, ‘This will be over and then I will go see Shane.’

“So how was second grade today, Boot?” Dad asked looking nervous. I could tell something wasn’t right and became inpatient.

“What’s going on, Daddy? Tell me what is going on!” I demanded and looked into his eyes which were begging to leak. “What!” I screamed as I stuck my face up to his. “What!”

“Shane”, he whispered.

“Is he going to die?” I muttered

“He is gone”, he said. He turned around and stared out the window. He seemed to be looking a thousand miles away. My eyes started to water as I thought about yesterday.

“Shane won’t eat.” My mom had mumbled as she worriedly spoke with the vet on the other line of the phone.

“A cat would not starve himself”, the vet explained.

I lifted the water bowl and Shane lazily thumped his head over to lick from the bowl. I stared at his blue bed as his skinny body rested in it. I looked at his one brown spot, which to me was a symbol of hope for his survival.

My memory shut down as I slowly moved my face to the end of the couch. I wiped my eyes on my shirt and peeked out from the couch arm to see Hugo, my brother, strolling causally in. Mom followed closely behind, head down.

“Does he know?” I quietly asked, wiping my eyes.

“Yes,” Mom said as she lifted her head to look at me.

‘Same age as Hugo’, I thought looking at Hugo, my four-year-old brother, ‘Shane was too young to die.’

“Shane is dead! Shane is dead!” I heard coming from my little brother, racing in circles around the living room.

“He does not understand,” I thought out loud.

I lazily grabbed a tissue and dragged myself to the kitchen to get a snack. I saw my dad approaching me wearing a white flannel shirt and blue and green striped tie.

“Even though he is gone,” he sadly said to me “he will always be with you.” I smiled as I pictured Shane in front of me with a mouse. That night I dreamed of Shane. For weeks. Months. Little memories will keep him with me forever.