Creative Writing: Guns Don T Cry

Once upon a time, long ago in the frozen north, there was a village. Every winter when the days grew short and the nights grew cold and dark, the wolves would come, growling and biting and clawing at the meagre wooden walls of the village. Every year the wolves came, and every year the villagers huddled in their homes and grew sick and hungry and cold, until one year they decided that something had to be done. They held a meeting in the town hall, the only building that had enough wood left for a fire. They talked and talked for many long hours into the night, but no one knew what to do. At long last a young boy came forward. “My mother is sick and my brothers are hungry and my father is gone,” he said. “I will put an end to these wolves”. And the

After considering him for a long minute, the old man agreed to help, but said that there would be a price for saving the village that the boy would have to pay. Remembering his sick mother and hungry brothers, the boy readily agreed. Leaving the room, the old man returned shortly with a package of brown paper which he handed to the boy. Giving the boy a place by the fire to sleep, the old man went to bed. The next morning the boy thanked the old man, who bade him good luck and sent him on his way. Beginning the long walk back, the boy grew curious and opened the package. Inside was a rich fur cloak, pure white. Gaping at it, the boy suddenly despaired. How was a cloak supposed to save his village? Suddenly feeling very tired and cold, the boy pulled out the brilliant fur cloak and wrapped himself in it. As soon as the hood slipped over to his head, he collapsed to the ground, asleep. When he awoke hours later, it was dark, but not like it had been before. The boy could see clearly, much more clearly than he had ever before. He could smell the snow and his village and the animals in the woods. He barely felt the cold