AN ADVENTUROUS CONTEST through the eyes of a child

Beth Revis, has a magical blogsite. She writes and has a book Across the Universe ready for publication in Spring 2011. She's also decided to giveaway an ARC signed copy of her debut novel.

For a chance to win you must share an adventure story.
There's still a few days left to enter. Closes October 20th.

(Did you notice the Rubin Vase illusion of the faces within the nebulae in the picture left?)

Congrats to Beth, too.

Also submitted for WriteEditPublish March 2014

From a child's POV
High Street Adventure by Madeleine Maddocks.

Mummy holds my hand, tightly, as we hurry down the high street.

“We must get to the shop before it closes” she shouts into the air.

We dodge between the people walking towards us. I am pulled along by my arm. A man’s scratchy tweed jacket brushes my cheek. The smell of old tobacco fills my nostrils. A handbag bobs and bashes my head, its shiny surface cold and unwelcome against my mousey brown curls. All around us people seem to be rushing somewhere. Even the cars in the road seem to be in a hurry. I try to look ahead of me, but I am brushed and jostled from every direction. Mummy says this is called the evening rush hour, when all the people are going home. The sight of a tiny little dog catches my attention. Its eyes are wide and panicky as it dodges everyone’s feet.

“Oh look at that doggy, Mummy!” I shout up at her, but my voice is lost in the hum and roar of the traffic.

The air is thick with a bitter tasting smell. A piercing siren suddenly splits the air, accompanied by a screeching of tyres and hooting of horns. The lorries and cars and trucks and buses all seem impatient and angry. There is no time to stop. A large, hairy man steps into the road, as a pushchair heads towards us. Mummy drags me out of its way just in time. We catch a glimpse of one another; the little boy in the pushchair grins at me, peering through his heavy, blonde fringe. His mouth is smeared with chocolate. Crisp crumbs fleck his T-shirt. I stare back uncertain; there is no time to smile back. We hurry on and I wonder what we will have for tea, as I look at shoes. Old, worn shoes; shiny, new shoes; clean shoes; muddy shoes. I try to look at my own feet and almost trip. Mummy pulls my arm.

“Pick up your feet, Madeleine!” she scolds.

I hear our feet clacking against the pavement. My bright, pink sandals flap loudly against the concrete, not quite in tune with Mummy’s clip clopping high heels. The marching beat of the people around us drums loudly and methodically in my ears, competing with the chatter of voices. We walk on, my arm aching with the pace. The smell of burgers and chips wafts towards me from an open doorway.

“We’ll have some of that nice salad for tea.” I hear Mummy’s voice pronounce.

My stomach gurgles its disappointment. I startle as someone coughs beside my left ear. A lemony snail trail splats on the dull concrete in front of us. I stare at it and feel sick. We reach the end of the busy road and turn left. Suddenly the madness has stopped. There’s only Mummy and me in this quiet side street. We walk in through the open doorway. Into the welcome silence of the pet shop to buy my first gerbil.