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Short Story : A Narrative Story

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I slowly opened the door of our cottage, being careful not to awake Mama. I looked across the stone road and saw the door of Ciara’s cottage slowly open. We meet eyes and join in the middle of our stone path as we start heading towards the village. Everything is quiet this early in the morning, and we don’t wish to disturb that silence, so we are quiet. She looks into my eyes again and starts moving a little quicker, into almost a gallop and turns to face me. “We’ll never make it going this slowly.” she whispers, excitement in her eyes. I let out a laugh, but shake my head with a smile, and she falls back into step with me. It’s too early to be running through the village. We hear a rooster from a nearby farm crow, and almost simultaneously the village around us seems to wake up. Ciara and I start to speed up, until we are in the forest between our cottage and the market. We start to slow down as we reach the clearing. The sun shines through the thick brush overhead and we slowly sit down, letting out a quiet sigh. Relieved that we didn’t run into anyone in the square, we reached our destination and relaxed. We heard rustling in the bushes behind us, but dismissed it since the forest was swarming with chipmunks and wildlife. The rustling continued in the background, like a quiet pizzicato, we knew it was there but it didn’t alarm us. Then, a line of ducklings emerged from the brush, one emerging after the other, like that of a round. We sit there watching the ducklings

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