Aidan

by Obi in London

Now, this is called Angelo but re-storied,it is a new Chapter Book. But on KidPub it shall be known as Aidan! I guarantee this will have a long run as I have prepared most of this in advance!

Aidan, Chapter One
by Obi Elliott

Aidan Day trudged on his journey back from school, the dust rose like little sepia clouds under his feet and then swept along in the weak summer draught. He had a slightly tattered leather satchel slung over his left shoulder and a blade of brittle straw-yellow grass between his teeth. His olive green blazer was rolled up at the sleeves and his shirt was furrowed and un-tucked. His little brother Colin Day sprinted towards him from behind and slowed to a gentle saunter beside him. He panted heavily and showed Aidan a sky blue feather, as he opened his fist.
He panted heavily and explained after catching enough breath to speak. “This is a feather of the extremely rare navy robin,” explained Colin excitedly.
“Wow!” mocked Aidan sarcastically.
“Whatever,” retorted the nine year old, “but this is worth at least ten pounds to the museum. They don’t have any of these.”
“Yeah, while you get your ten quid every bird feather you get every month or so. I’ll be doing weekly shows with Angelo.” Laughed Aidan without turning around to see the feather.
“Shut up,” whined Colin, “ I don’t see what’s so good about a stupid fox with a silly name like Angela or Angel…………….”
“Angelo!” corrected Aidan angrily, he called down quickly and ruffled his murky blond hair.

Aidan glanced at his hefty brass watch and replied. “I’m teaching him to do tricks and stuff. He knows out to do flips and jump through hoops.”
“You treat it like a circus freak!” argued Colin.
“Since when is Angelo an ‘it’ Colin?” snapped Aidan quickly.

Colin blushed red and hung back a little. They were approaching the forest, the last league of their journey home from school. They reached the fringe of the petite forest, the alders and oaks towered above like giants forts. The two brothers had ventured a few metres into the shallow forest when they heard the watery prattle of a babbling stream. Aidan crouched near the stream and took a sifter from his pocket, he had once found a wedge of gold in there. Occasionally he checked for another, he sifted and searched for ten minutes and soon Colin grew impatient.
“Hurry up,” he yelled finally, “you check here every other day and you find nothing. Its just a big waste of ti-“
“ Says the idiot who chases birds all day,” replied Aidan coolly.

He lifted up the sifter and dried it with a deadened dock leaf, and placed it back in his satchel. He reached in his satchel and pulled out a solid bronze notebook, ornate and hand made by his uncle Breck. He recorded the state of the stream in literature then performed a quick sketch. He then took a lush leaf and stuck it into the book with a square of translucent tape.

“Why do you do that?” asked Colin puzzled, his embarrassment had been conquered by intrigue.
“I’m making a diary of this stream,” replied Aidan, “this stream is mine you see.” He pointed at the flag smugly made out of linen and bore vertical stripes of black, green then white.
“How does that make it your stream?” asked Colin promptly.
“Well you see I discovered it, so marking it with my flag makes it mine,” he said cleverly, “this diary not only proves my ownership but gives me a better understanding into the nature of Day Creek.”
“Day Creek? Cool name!” said Colin excitedly, “why don’t you pay this much attention in Maths?”
“Eh, Maths doesn’t get ya famous does it. Does Maths get your name on a book cover, or title you as the composer of a symphony or get your masterpiece in Tate Modern? No!” responded Aidan passionately.
“Ok, ok!” said Colin quickly, “just a joke.”