Sarah Kane is 12 years old and lives in Inishowen, Co Donegal. She is a member of This Writing Thing, a writers’ group based in Derry and the north west. She is home schooled and loves reading and writing. She writes stories and poems. She loves discovering new words and using them in her pieces. She enjoys drawing and the dramatic arts.
My paws glide through the damp forest floor, underbelly gently touched by morning dew that dapples sleek ferns. They drown in every leap I take. Trees spread across the horizon, and I hear a pheasant chirping from a snug spot in the undergrowth. The wind blasts against my pelage, and with each graceful leap, my heart pounds in my ears. Thump, I tumble through marshland, faint barking from a two-leg’s garden as grit from a monstrous vehicle that soars ahead washes the curb. I flinch, yet my movement does not cease.
I’m fleeing from a home I knew, bringing precious life along this ominous and unknown landscape, my auricles keen and wary for predators. Thin, graceful trees line a hill, a deep forest within. My whiskers twitch with excitement as I bound forward, eager to leave this life of confinement behind and birth new life inside a snug cave lined with delicate bedding.
Daylight no longer blinds my vision as I venture forward for trees cluster together, forming secure shade for forest life. Yet light seems to escape through layers of leaves and starts to dance across my view, painting shrubbery, teasing slumbering beasts with its warm touch. I follow a path, worn from travelling creatures before me. As it starts to narrow, I feel my flank being touched by shrubs and bushes alike. This unknown path I follow leads deeper and further into the dark and strangely graceful forest.
I let a sigh, my maw agape and yearning for nourishment. My nostrils flare scenting a nearby vole that lurks ahead. My heart pounds, urging my body to give in. I drop, bunching my muscles together, as I creep forward to take my prey. I’m eating for more than me after all. With a careful scan of my surroundings, I propel myself into the air, leaping atop the unsuspecting victim. I carry it in my mandible, burrowing beneath a log. I eat my fill, then curl up, tail swaying in the crisp leaves that lie beneath me. I drift into a slumber and await the young that will soon come and meet me.
One thought on “Sarah Kane”
What a very very talented young writer!!