Congratulations to Delores Topliff who won the March writer’s Challenge with her delicious story “The Mountain’s Children”  (Challenge: Give us an argument!)

“Let her go!” Raymond Young Bear shouted, running forward, fists ready. The scrappy Indian youth had been walking Vancouver, Washington’s Main Street, killing time, past Shumway Junior High, where he should have been enrolled, when he heard the girl’s shrill screams for help. Racing behind the front brick building, he found three white teens pushing a young white girl against a wall, forcing her down, slapping her. She screamed again, eyes pleading, until someone clapped a meaty hand over her mouth.

The biggest kid saw Raymond coming. “Scram, Indian. Or you’re next!” They punched the girl’s belly, making her drop, fencing her against the wall with their legs. Her shrieks sounded like the dying rabbits Raymond caught in snares near the reservation.

“Let her go!” Raymond commanded, running faster. White girl or not, they wouldn’t do this with him near.

When the two nearest guys jumped him, he knocked their heads together, dropping them like bowling pins. The third whirled to knee Raymond’s groin, smashed his mouth, tried to gouge his eyes, but Raymond was quicker. Battered and tasting blood, he hammered the big guy’s head.

His hands grabbed this enemy’s throat, squeezing his windpipe, cutting off air. Though smaller, Raymond hung on until the big guy sagged and fell as Raymond heard the girl scramble up and dash away.

Yes! Run far, he urged with satisfaction. Lights flashed as police sirens neared and car tires squealed to a stop.

“Break it up,” officers shouted, leaping from their cars while engines died. Raymond’s hands still squeezed the guy’s neck until officers pried his fingers free, kicked his legs out from under him, pushing him to the ground, face scraping the cement. “Stop, Young Bear! You’re through. You want to kill him?” Both officers jumped on Raymond, pulling his hands behind his back, snapping on cuffs.

“Stupid cops,” Raymond taunted, twisting his head to see.

“It’s them, not me!”

“Right. You’re an innocent bystander. Like last time.”

“Aarghhh. Didn’t you see…?” He struggled to rise, but officers held him down. Raymond heard ragged wheezing from his biggest opponent sprawled nearby, saw that kid trying to rise, wobbly.

“Let me help.” The tall officer gave the big kid a hand.

“Th-thanks, officer. Glad you came. That’s one bad Indian.” The older youth panted, holding his neck. “Nearly killed me.”

“Could if I wanted,” Raymond spat, his obsidian eyes dangerous slits.

“Snake eyes. Look, he’s got snake eyes.” The big kid backed up.

“You came close, Raymond,” the tall officer said, stepping between the injured youth and Raymond. “Lucky someone heard the ruckus and called 911.” He turned to the big kid. “We know Raymond. This isn’t his first time. What got him started tonight?”

“Don’t know,” the big kid said, wide-eyed. “My friends and I came to play basketball. This kid ran up from nowhere and started pounding us, no reason. He’s crazy. Don’t know if he planned to rob us, or Red Power stuff, or what.” The big kid massaged his neck.

“He’s totally wild—lock him up.”

“He gets that way.” The short officer nudged Raymond with the metal tip of his shiny black boot. “What’s your version, Chief?”

Twisting his head to see first the officer’s boot, and then his knees, Raymond struggled to rise but fell back, air swooshing from his lungs. “Ughhhh… No basketball. They forced a white girl against that wall, smashed her face and belly, pushed her down. I heard her screams and ran. Stopped ‘em cold. She got away. Find her,” a triumphant smile flickered across his face. “She’ll tell you.”

“You need a better story than that.” The short officer laughed.

“Streets are empty, nobody around. Just two guys punched silly with you standing over them strangling the third. Try legal sports—I’d put money on you.”

Raymond stared him down. “Fat pig.”

“Mouthy Punk,” the short officer muttered, his stinging slap snapping Raymond’s head back.

The biggest teen rubbed his neck. “He had that coming, officer.

Besides, what girl? You’re smarter than that. G-Glad you came.” He fished a dirty handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped Raymond’s blood from his fingers. “He hurt me. You maybe saved my life.”

Thank you Delores for a fabulous entry!

 

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Current Writer’s Challenge: March

In 700 words or less…

Give us a great Marriage PROPOSAL!

If you’ve written a Marriage PROPOSAL, less than 700 words, we want to read it!!! The winner will be posted on the Sunday Blog, May 6th, and will be recognized in the monthly MBT Chalktalk!!

In addition, all participants will be entered in a drawing to receive their choice of the MBT workbooks!

Submit your story by April 29th on the MBT Writer’s Challenge Page in the Team Member Locker Room.

 

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PS  –  All entrants recieve 49 points, and the winner of the challenge earns 210 points from the Booster Club. (Earn points to receive gift certificates to use in the MBT store!)