Question

Write a story begging like this:
it was late one winter night long past my bedtime. I was still sitting at my desk, near the wide French window. Lazily looking up from my books, it seemed to me that somewhere in the garden the blurring contours of mysterious silhouette were moving quietly among the dark trees. I stoop up check out what was going on...
(120 words- don't count the words given as a begging)

Answer 1

It was late one winter night, long past my bedtime, when Papa and I went owling. There was no wind. The trees stood still as giant statues. And the moon was so bright the sky seemed to shine. Somewhere behind us a train whistle blew, long and low, like a sad, sad song.I could hear it through the woolen cap Pa had pulled down over my ears. A farm dog answered the train, and then a second dog joined in. They sang out, trains and dogs, for a real long time. And when their voices faded away it was as quiet as a dream. We walked on towards the wood, Pa and I.Our feet crunched over the crisp snow and little gray footprints followed us. Pa made a long shadow, but mine was short and round. I had to run after him every now and then to keep up, and my short, round shadow bumped after me.We reached the line of pine trees, black and pointy against the sky, and Pa held up his hand. I stopped right where I was and waited. He looked up, as if searching for the stars, as if reading a map up there. The moon made his face into a silver mask. Then he called: “Whoo-whoo-who-who-whowhoooooooo,”the sound of a great horned owl.We went into the woods. The shadows were the blackest things I had ever seen. They stained the white snow. My mouth felt furry, for the scarf over it was wet and warm. I didn’t ask what kind of things hide behind black trees in the middle of the night. When you go owling you have to be brave.Then we came to a clearing in the dark woods. The moon was high above us. It seemed to fit exactly over the center of the clearing and the snow below it was whiter than the milk in a cereal bowl.The owl’s call came closer, from high up in the trees on the edge of the meadow. Nothing in the meadow moved. All of a sudden an owl shadow lifted off and flew right over us. We watched silently with heat in our mouths, the heat of all those words we had not spoken. The shadow hooted again.Then the owl pumped its great wings and lifted off the branch like a shadow without sound. It flew back into the forest. “Time to go home,” Pa said to me. I knew then I could talk, I could even laugh out loud. But I was a shadow as we walked home.When you go owling you don’t need words or warm or anything but hope. That’s what Pa says. The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining Owl Moon