mother's skirt; my mother, hands pressed tightly against her lips, her face white with terror.

r saw my father on his knees, looking toward the heavens, . screaming, and then Crest. r made a final lunge for him, and then black . overcame me. r slipped in and out of consciousness for a week. When r finally woke up, I thought, "What a terrible dream!" I tried to ron over, but I felt white fire in my stomach. r groaned in agony. "So it wasn't a dream?" I whispered. My vision blurred, then cleared. My mother came toward me and pressed a cool damp cloth against my forehead. My father gently touched her on the shoulder-, and she stepped aside. "Son?" he said gruffly, "How are you?" "I've been better." I managed a feeble laugh. "I'm sorry." His voice cracked, "So sorry ... " My po's voice trailed off and he began to cry. That sight startled me, but I had to be strong now. "It's all right," I said in a. soothing voice. "Everything will be okay." He gulped, and my mother stepped forward, "Jon, your father has something he wants to give to you." Pa looked at my mother doubtfully, and she gave him a gentle push toward the door. He returned a few moments later carrying a bewHdered Crest, and delivered him right into my arms. From the on, not another bird was shot; not f?r food nor for profit nor for pleasure. r was finally able to explain to my father what I really wanted to do with birds; I wanted to take pictures of them in their natural glory. I think my father finally understood, because for my birthday gift, I received a camera, and a.card inscribed with the words: "Mayall your dreams come true."

MaryA.G. Embery First Place Short Stories, Grades 6-8 College of William and Mary Writing Talent Searan

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