Here is a little snippet from The Cake Stall Kerfuffle. Please keep in mind that this is the first draft. Any constructive comments appreciated! Also, please remember that all text and most pictures are mine and are copyrighted and I assert my rights as the author.
Muffled sounds filter in through the warm, soft cocoon. I
Squiggle and squirm deeper into my hidey hole, and wiggle my toes in a sleepy
kind of way.
‘Oh, I really don’t want to get up!’ I groan into my doona
cocoon.
Wham! A heavy blow hits
my tummy which makes it impossible to pretend I am a butterfly any longer.
‘Gilbert, you are an evil evil dog from the land of evil’, I
grumble as I throw off my doona and glare at the sandy coloured, big dog now
sleeping at my feet. ‘Valoura, do you want food?’ comes a shout from somewhere
in the distance. Instead of replying I jump up and run to my desk to examine my
ant farm, feeling very excited and holding my breath with anticipation. I can
see tiny larvae wriggling about and can’t help but let out a giggle of glee.
I root around on the floor of my bedroom looking for some
jeans and my favourite t-shirt – it has a cat wearing sunglasses on it. The cat
T is a bit smudgy but I don’t care as I fling it over my head, shaking out my wavy
auburn shoulder-length hair which I like to keep loose.
Then I take off, speeding out the door, I fling myself at
the staircase, and slide all the way down the dark oak banister until I hit the
faded blue tiles at the bottom, which is what I do every morning. It’s quicker
that way. But waiting there is my sister Celia with juice, cereal and pancakes.
Smash! Food is airborne. Celia hits the extensive collection of boots, coats,
umbrellas, dog leads, filthy toys and a cassowary shaped canister situated near
the front door. And me? I sail past shooting Celia a cheeky grin – until I hit
something tall, lumpy and grumpy.
‘Why must I put up with constantly being assaulted by you
Valoura Karuna?’ Aunt Stacey spits as she lifts herself from under my crumpled
body.
(Just in time) the door bell rings, it is loud and shrill
like a cockatoo with its tail caught in a chainsaw and Bastian, my little
brother answers it. We hear ‘it’s Billy’ and then the slam of the door and the
rattle of a scooter on the path outside.
‘ Well, that’s Bas off for the day,’ I sing happily, Bastian
is never home much, which suits me fine as sometimes he can be a pain in
the…you know what I mean. Poor Celia is still stranded on the island of our
doorway debris so I help her get to her feet and head off to get my cleaning
supplies.
Why would an eleven year old girl need cleaning supplies?
Because I am always, always
in a kerfuffle.
