The Writing Pen

By: Sarah, 4th Grade

 

          “Mama I’m gonna fight in the war!” My big brother said while coming in the door. It was 1941, six months after the Pearl Harbor bombing and America had just started fighting in the war.

           “You’re what?” Mama asked astonished.

          “I’m fighting Mama, fighting in the war,” he replied.

              “But why Billy, you’re just a writer, how can you do any good in the military?” I asked puzzled.

              “I’m going to write everything down and make it a book,” Billy remarked.

              “Why can’t you be a journalist and write for a newspaper while you are there?” my big sister, Mary asked.

              “Cause’ I just don’t want to witness the war. I want to experience it.  I want to feel it so I can give an accurate description in my novel!” Billy said proudly.

              “A novel!” my little brother Johnny said amazed. He could barely even read and wanted to read a novel, so he could be smart like me.

              “You are not goin’ cause’ I’m not lettin’ you,” papa said.

              “I'm eighteen and you said it yourself I’m old enough to make my own decisions. So I’m going!” he declared.

              “Don’t go Billy,” said my younger sister Nellie.

              “Sorry, but I’m going!” Billy yelled and stomped to his room.

              “Papa what are you going to do? You’re not gonna let him go are ya?” my older brother Mikey asked.

              “Yeh George, what are we gonna do?” my mama cried to my papa.

              “He’s going! It’s his decision.” My Papa yelled.

              “Out of all of our children, why my baby Billy?” My mother cried.

              Mama’s right, out of all twelve of us why Billy, I thought. Billy is my favorite brother and I love him dearly. I’m not letting him go to war, I thought again. I then went to his room.

              “Billy, you’re not going! Out of Ray, Debra, Larry, Judy, Mikey, Molly, Mary, Johnny, Nellie, and Richie, you are my favorite,” I said naming all of my ten siblings.

              “Really Natalie?” Billy asked. I nodded yes.

              It’s gonna get to his mind and he won’t go, I thought

              “Oh Billy, don’t let this get to your mind,” I heard him whisper. “I can’t back down Nat I’ve already signed up,” he said.

               “When are you leaving? Where are you going?” I asked.

              “I am going to Germany in three weeks at 3:00. After a slow dance,” he answered.

              Three weeks came and went very quickly. Two hours before Billy left for Germany the phone started to ring.

              “Hello, this is Natalie," I greeted.

              “It’s Laura; can you come and play at my house?” Laura asked.

              “Sure,” I said without thinking about Billy.

              I was having so much fun with Laura. We made paper dolls, played hide in go seek, and played dress-up. I soon lost track time and when I looked at my pocket watch, it was 3:45! “Laura I have to go!” I yelled as I sprinted to the nearest door. “Where’s Billy?” I asked as I panted heavily after running the whole way to my house.

              “Oh sweetie, he left already.” Mama said sadly.

              “Nooooo!” I cried.

              “Oh, I just forgot he went to that dance thing.” She remembered.    

              “Can I go?” I asked.       

            "Oh sweetie, it's only for soldiers, their wives, and girlfriends," Mama said.

              "Can I go to the park? It will help me get my mind off Billy," I lied. I was really going to go to that dance no matter what.

              I soon arrived at the gym where the dance was and tried to find Billy. "Billy!" I yelled as I spotted him with a girl I suspected to be his date. I rudely pushed her out from my brother’s hands. "I needed one last dance," I said as I hugged him tightly.

              "Ya, know what ya said about me bein' your favorite brother, well I was thinkn' about it and I realized that your my favorite sister and that's why I want to give you this," he said as he gave me a maroon pen with words on it that said:

              Bill Charles Brookes.

         "Wow! But Billy this is only for writers like you and Grandpa gave this to you and he was an amazing writer," I said glancing at the pen. 

              "That's right, only for writers just like you and that's why it's called the Writing Pen," Billy said.

              "What? Billy, I'm no writer," I said confused.

              "Stop kiddin' around, you know the story that ya gave me.... oh what was it called, oh yeah, Elephant's Ears." he remembered.

            "But it wasn't any good," I said.

              "It was....."

              "All soldiers please report to the plane," the man on the intercom spoke and interrupted my wonderful brother.

              "I'll send you a letter every week and if I don't you'll know something had happened to me, I LOVE you," Billy good byed.

              He waved as he left for the plane; I felt tears come down my face. I ran home and started writing with my Writing Pen, but I didn't right just anything, I wrote a story about my brother called A Writer in the War. I then realized that my hand was for brother. My hand wasn't really for him. I was just using my hand to write the story for him.

              The first week after Billy left was tough. Every day I would sit by the front door of the house and wait for a letter. I waited on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday........

              "DING! DONG!" the door bell rang.

              "Telegram for Natalie Ann Brookes!" a man said outside of my door.

              "Thank you," I said as I slammed the door behind me. I ripped it open and read:

              Dear Nat,

I hate this place. I want to go home so badly. However my story is turning out to be great. How are you doing? I miss you dearly. Have you've been writing with the pen? Write Back!!!!!!

With love and care,

Billy

       After reading his letter I got some paper and the Writing Pen and started writing.

              Dear Billy,

       I'm doing great. I'm also writing with the pen. I'm writing a story for you, hopefully you'll enjoy it. Write Back!!!!

       Love Ya,

Natalie

The next week I received a letter from Billy that said:

       Dear Nat,

Way too tired to write in cursive. My hands ache from holding a dumb gun all day. How was your day? Mine was horrible. Four people in our troop got shot and killed! At least I wasn't one of them. How is your story coming along? Mine is doing great, I had a man named Allan read it and he said it had very accurate description. Write Back!

         Love Ya SOOOOO Much,

Billy

I then got a piece of parchment and the Writing Pen and started writing:

         Dear Billy,

Finally you are not writing in cursive!!!!!! I am sorry to here about the deaths. My story is going to be great and you'll love it for sure. That is great about that guy reading it. It was just what you wanted! Write Back!

Love You More Than EVER,

Natalie

          The next day the door bell rang.

              "Hello, I'm very sorry," A man said holding a telegram.

              Wonder why he's sorry? I thought. I opened up the letter and read:

              Dear Family Of Bill Brookes,

I'm sorry to say that your beloved family member has gone missing in Germany. He may be dead.

With The Deepest Sympathy,

 

Landon R. Walters

              "Oh my goodness!" I screamed.

              Weeks and weeks past and I kept the letter a secret. I knew he was dead for sure. I could feel it in my heart. He should not have gone, I thought. Day after day I worked on my story. The only reason why was because when I was younger I remembered Billy saying the pen was good luck.

              That night I had a very odd dream about Billy. Billy was yelling and screaming. He looked thin and he looked sick.

              "Help!" he yelled. He said help over and over again.

              "BOOM!" I then heard a huge explosion and scream.

              "NOOOO!" I yelled as I rose up in my bed. Right then I knew he was dead.

 

              That morning the door bell started to ring I opened it and I saw not the mail man, Billy! "BILLY," I yelled. My whole family came in after hearing me. I glanced down at his leg. It was bandaged up and he was on crutches. His face was the worse part; he had so many bruises that you could not keep count. The worst part on his face was on his eye. It looked as though someone ten times bigger and stronger than Billy had just punched Billy in the eye has hard as they could.

              "What happened to your leg," Johnny asked.

              "There was a bomb and I got caught in it," Billy answered.

              "Did you finish your story?" Molly asked.

              "Pretty much!" he said happily.

              "Can your old Papa read it," Papa asked.

              "I'm sorry but me and Nat have to trade stories," Billy said as he gave me his story. I gave him mine. After reading his story I said,

              "Ya know that Writing Pen is lucky and I dreamed that you got hurt in Germany. I thought you were dead for sure. So the pen really is lucky," I said

              "It is only lucky for true writers like," Billy said. I hugged him tight.

              For the rest of my life Billy and I had a special bond, but it wasn't just a brother sister bond, it was a writer's bond and it was all because of the Writing Pen!

The End

        

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