Playground Hero

((Here is the beginning of my short story for my Introduction to Writing Children's Literature. It's supposed to be a picture book, but luckily my professor isn't requiring us to include pictures. In other words, it's meant for ages 5-8.))

At the age of seven, Toby had more energy than any other kid in his class. He did everything with enthusiasm. In the morning he would spring out of bed, hop around his room as he got dressed, and then race down stairs to gobble up his breakfast.

            “Chew before swallowing, Toby.” His mom would say with a laugh.

            At school he was always the first to raise his hand, and he was so detailed in his work that he was always the last to finish. He loved learning and going to school, but his favourite activity started when he got home.

            Every day at three o’clock, Toby would turn the TV on to his favourite show about knights and heroes. Using an empty paper towel roll as a sword, he copied the knights’ movements exactly. Cut to the left, cut to the right, up, down, diagonally, crash!

            “Toby, did you break something?” His mom called from the other room.

            “No!” He said quickly as he used his foot to brush the broken vase under the couch.

            “Are you sure?” She asked as she entered the room.

            “Maybe.” He looked down guiltily.

            “You know, a knight never lies.”

            “It was an accident.” He said quickly as he glanced toward the sofa then back to his mom. “Knights don’t get grounded either, right?”

            From then on all breakables were kept away from Toby and the reach of his sword.

            As the months passed and Christmas got closer Toby knew exactly what he wanted to ask Santa for. He always got what he asked for at Christmas and hoped it would be no different this year. On December twenty fourth, Toby went to bed dreaming of long gleaming swords with jewels in their hilts and noble knights upon pure white steeds that pranced through the snow.

           

            The next morning Toby woke up at six and tip toed down the stairs.

            Squeak… Squeak… Squeak… went every step until he reached the bottom. Tucked into the corner of their living room was the Christmas tree, and under it Toby spotted a long, thin present. His fingers twitched in excitement and he ran back up the stairs, squeaksqueaksqueak and into his parent’s room.

            “One more hour.” They told him, and he moped back downstairs.

At exactly seven o’clock, Toby was allowed to open his presents. He reached for the long thin one first and tore it open. Inside was a foot long wooden sword. The edges were blunt and there was not a speck of colour on it, but he grinned from ear to ear and ran around the house waving his new sword around his head.

            “Don’t hurt yourself!” His mom called after him, but of course he wouldn’t. He was a knight, and knights never hurt themselves with their own swords.