Hey! Here is a new story that I have already written out. I wrote a story about the Oregon Trail for school, and I revised it to fit the Kickin' It gang. It is all in Jack's P.O.V, and it'll be VERY different from anything else you have read. VERY AU, No KICK, but should be interesting, humorous, and informative. Enjoy!
"Jack!" my mom called, "have you done your homework yet?"
I rolled my eyes and continued to play my video game. "Nooooooo, not yet mom!" I shouted, annoyed that my mom was distracting me.
I heard my mom stomping up the steps, the spiral staircase creaking and groaning under her weight. No, my mom is not fat. Our stairs are just really old and they sound like an old lady standing up from her rocking chair when even I walk on them. Just then, my mom appeared in my doorway, watching in disapproval as I finished demolishing the skeletons on level 4 of "The Ghost's Graveyard." One of the upsides of being an only child is that my parents pamper me with everything a 15-year-old boy could want. The game was just released today, and yet, thanks to my dad, I have had it for a week!
"Jackson Michelangelo Brewer! Turn off that video game right now and don't start it again until you are finished with your homework!" my mom yelled angrily.
Unfortunately, yes, my middle name is Michelangelo, like the famous painter. But if you EVER call me that or tease me about it, I'll punch you straight through to Cleveland! "Awwwww, mom! Can I just finish this level? I'm almost done," I whined.
My mom's eyes narrowed dangerously. She scowled. She marched into my room. "Do you want to be grounded, young man?" my mom warned. I may be a black belt in karate, but my mom can be extremely scary when she wants to be.
"Ok, ok," I sighed, holding up my hands in defeat. Pausing the game, I shut off the TV screen in my room. I walked over to my book bag and pulled out my homework. "Only one assignment today, mom," I informed her, "I have to write a report on the Oregon Trail."
"Well, hop to it, and maybe after dinner I can help you," my mother offered.
Sighing, I sat down at my desk. As my mother walked away, I started reading about the Oregon Trail. "The Oregon Trail is a 2,000-mile historic east-west wagon route and emigrant trail that connected the Missouri River to valleys in Oregon. From the early 1830s, the Oregon Trail and its many offshoots were used by about 400,000 miners, businessmen, settlers and their families, ranchers. . ." Staring at the page in front of me, I started to daydream. I wonder what it would be like to travel the Oregon Trail. . .
"Jack! Jerry! Kim! Time to load onto the wagon, kids!"
My mother, whose long black hair was tied up into a tight bun, waltzed by, her long skirt swooshing as she climbed onto the wagon with baby Milton, who was only thirteen months old. I helped boost my 8-year-old brother Jerry onto the wagon, and once he was safely up, I lifted my 6-year-old sister, Kim, on as well. Kim immediately sat down beside my mother. As I was climbing onto the wagon, our terrier, Rudy, jumped on beside me.
"No, Rudy!" my mother scolded the dog, "you need to walk alongside the wagon, not ride in it with us. Bad dog!"
Giggling, Kim repeated, "Bad Rudy!" and pushed him off the wagon.
Pa hopped on the front bench seat of the wagon. He snapped the reins. He shouted "Gi'yup!" The oxen started moving. After a few minutes, I turned to my mom, who was nursing Milton.
"Mam, I'm bored," I whined, "Can I hop out and walk along the wagon with Rudy?"
"No, Jack, I think it would be better if you help Kim study her words. Right, Kim?"
"I'm learning how to spell! C-A-T, cat!" Kim exulted.
"Great job, Jazzy," I smiled, "How about I teach you your words for one hour, and then you can play with Mam while I walk with Rudy. Ok?" I aimed the words at Kim, but stared pleadingly at Mam.
"Fine," Mam consented, "but only if Pa agrees."
For the next hour, I tediously tried to teach Kim how to spell her name, as well as mine, Rudy's, Jerry's, and Milton's. "No, no, no!" I sighed, exasperated, "The "M" has two humps, the "N" only has one! Try again."
Finally, the one hour was up. I glanced at my mother, who was talking softly with Jerry.
"Kimmy-Cub, great job on your letters!" Mam congratulated her, "Why don't you sit by me, and I will tell you and Jerry a story!"
I slid off the back of the wagon and whistled through my teeth. "Rudy! Here boy!" I called, and Rudy bounded through the shifting underbrush. I reached down and patted him, and then tied his lead rope around his neck and to the groaning wagon. Running up to my father, I shouted, "Hi, Pa! Can I sit up there with you?"
Pa leaned over and stretched his hand out towards me, and I grabbed it and swung onto the wagon bench. Sitting there in silence, I beheld the beauty all around us. Birds swooped through the trees, whistling and chattering at their playmates. Squirrels ran along the ground collecting nuts, and then hurried off to stash them in their trees. The tree branches swayed gently in the wind, whistling whenever a large gust blew around them. The oxen plowed ahead at a steady pace, crushing anything in their path. Rabbits hopped along the path. Behind us, my sisters, brother, and mother all sat in the wagon that we had bought with the money from our house. It was a sturdy, wooden wagon with an off-white leather top. Clean and reliable, the wagon had only been used once. I noticed the sun setting, and the sky was tinged a bright red. Suddenly, the wagon lurched to a halt. Pa turned to me.
"Jack," Pa began, "can you find that deer hiding in the bushes?"
I scanned the bushes on the side of the path and noticed a doe grazing. "Yes," I whispered.
"Take the rifle and shoot it," Pa instructed me quietly.
I picked the rifle up from where it lay between us on the seat. I lifted it, slowly, oh so slowly, and aimed. BANG! The doe fell to the ground, and I smiled smugly in victory. My old friend Eddie had taught me how to shoot straight. I could probably shoot a fly from fifty yards away!
"Excellent shot, son," Pa complimented me, "You are a great straight shooter; you could probably shoot a fly from fifty yards away! Now, why don't you hop down and drag the body over here."
"All right, Pa," I consented. I hopped down from the wagon and grabbed the doe's legs. While Pa and Mam were talking, I dragged the doe over to the wagon and heaved it onto the floor of the bench seat. I hopped back onto the bench.
"Pa," I tapped him on the shoulder, "I fetched the deer. Now what?"
Pa turned around and snapped the reins. "Now," he smiled, "we continue to the designated meeting place. We are traveling to meet up with a wagon train, and the meeting place is only about a mile down the road."
We continued for another half-hour and then stopped. On the left, a huge clearing was inhabited by several wagons. We pulled into the clearing as well, and my siblings and Mam hopped down from the wagon. We immediately hurried to work. While Jerry and Kim were off playing with the other children, Pa and I cleaned the deer. Mam then placed it on a spit and hung it over the shared fire in the middle of camp. After we had eaten dinner, we all lay down to sleep. The stars twinkled overhead. The remains of the fire cast dancing shadows on the wagons. The milky, creamy, crescent moon shined down on us. As I drifted off to sleep, owls hooted and a lone coyote howled in the distance.
So what did you think? R&R, and I'll update soon!