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Short Writing : A Short Story

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Bedstraw, Pignut, Eyebright and Hop sat on the chair in the Chalk Pit. Alexander munched on a hobnob as he told them what to do. 'I need you to talk to Catkin. You must tell him he’ll be rescued soon. Just a few more hours. But before that, he must spy for us around Seashell Bay; the village, the harbour, the houses, the people. Tell him to watch out and not get caught. He is vital to our mission!' He wrote the word VITAL in block capitals on the chalkboard and underlined it several times. 'Wy wol,' gurgled Hop. ‘That’s right, Hop. Vital.’ Once he finished, the Sprigs sat in a circle. They grasped each other's hands, and with eyes closed tight, they sprig-spragged to another time and place. Their plump bodies swayed from left to right as their thought-waves went back eighty years in the past. Right back to 1939. ‘Spfft!’ Catkin was asleep when the sprig-sprag came through. He lay on his tummy with his bottom stuck high in the air. His chubby arms cradled an old teddy he'd found in the attic. He snorted and turned over. 'Leave me alone,' he grizzled. 'Spfft! Wake up, Catkin,' the voices echoed in his ear. The sprig-sprag pierced his sleep. He opened one eye, then the other, as the message penetrated his mind. Catkin was almost a year old. He did not have a hat made from petals like the others. Instead, he had a head full of sandy-blond dreadlocks which twisted and curled in corkscrews to his shoulders. Pollen sprinkled the air like moon dust every time he sneezed. He was the
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