Josh
Josh's Short Story Page
You'll find a collection of Josh's short stories here.
Here you will see:
Josh's Young Authors Story (won 1st place again this year!)
Then you'll see his speach for the bill he wrote for KYA
Below the bill you will find his short story From West to East (Won 1st Place in KY Young Authors Contest- Gr.6)
A Fork in the Road
By Josh Young
Shadows grew long as the day grew darker. The streets were desolate; less people followed them through the labyrinth that was the underbelly of the city. Among the few, a steelworker trudged through the mounds of snow briskly. A trench coat embraced his body with protection from the biting cold. From under the rim of his bowler hat he scanned the darkness for movement. It was not unlikely for vagabonds to be active as the sun went down.
At the corner of the street was a grim, unkempt building two stories high. Some windows were broken; others had dusty blinds pulled over them. Halting at the maroon door, the steelworker reached into one of his pockets to reveal a rustic key ring. Fumbling with his hands numbed by the cold, he slid a key into the lock and turned it. The man pressed against the door and it came open with a groan.
The steelworker, Servir, skulked across the musky-smelling hall. His boots rasped against the floorboards and up the steep staircase. In silence, he fastened another key in the lock of one of the doors and wrestled it open. As he closed the door behind him, Servir flipped the light switch on. He was standing in a small kitchen area, and across the far counter was a bedroom. A younger man sat staring at him in the wooden chair beside the window.
"Affacio? What are you doing in my room?" Servir probed. He came to stand beside the low bed as he gazed down at his friend.
"I need some help," Affacio explained. "You know I've been working earlier hours at the newspaper stand, right?"
Servir nodded, despite the puzzled look on his face.
"Well, I've began to notice something. The workers at the factory across the road come outside at dawn and act strangely as the sun rises. There are many of them, young and old, and each watches the sky with a strong desire."
Servir was obviously mystified by this. "What are you getting at, my friend?" he questioned.
"Servir, you must understand. I've never seen these workers leave the factory. Every time they come outside, men with guns keep an eye on them. I think they are being held against their will."
The steelworker was nothing less than confounded. Taking a seat on the bed, he waited for Affacio to continue.
"Servir, we have to help them. These people are slaves to the men with guns, I'm sure of it. I thought you might acquire some steel tools for us to use as weapons."
Servir was immediately taken aback. "Assault the factory? What is wrong with you, Affacio?" Rising from the bed, he stormed into the kitchen. "Assault the factory. You are crazy," he said, pointing a spoon at the young man.
Affacio ran his fingers through his long red hair as he pondered his next plead.
"You don't know these people. Hell, you don't even know how many men have guns," Servir exclaimed, setting a kettle on the ancient stove. "Have you even tried to give this thought?"
The younger man opened his mouth to reply, but Servir swiftly raised a hand to silence him. Affacio looked ashamed, and Servir stared at the slumping form.
Servir spoke again, in hushed tones. "Suppose ... suppose you save these people, set them free. What happens after that?" The man stepped toward his friend one heavy boot at a time. Affacio looked up, and their eyes met. One's were filled with determination, the other's disappointment.
"I want to help them. I'm serious about this," Affacio defended. Servir turned away, heading back into the kitchen to check the kettle. "These are human beings. They ought to be free."
Servir shook his head. "You're not thinking of the consequences, my friend. You work across the street; if you attempt anything you can never work at the stand again." There was a strain in the steelworker's voice. "You're putting your life on a limb here. Think, that's all I ask of you. There's a bigger future waiting for you. I know it."
Affacio stood up, a tear coming to his eye as he spoke. "I don't care. This is a great opportunity being bestowed upon us. Greater than you; greater than me." He paused briefly before continuing. "I know we- every person has the potential to be the utmost of what they can be. This is our chance to better the world, and ourselves. I'm taking it."
The younger man stomped towards the door with a passion. Servir was paralyzed; he simply stared as the door swung open and just as quickly shut closed. The sudden screech of the kettle on the stove seemed distant while the image of Affacio replayed in his mind.
The subtle light of dawn tugged at the shadows that slid across the bare floor towards the corners of the room. The light leapt from surface to surface, wall to wall, and gradually did away with the remnants of the night. Servir felt the light playing on his resting eyelids and they opened suddenly. Holding a hand to the window where the light reached through the blinds, he noticed the wooden chair with no occupant.
Servir sat up and glanced at the other side of the room, by the kitchen. When he saw the door, the image of his friend sprang up like a camera flash. He stumbled out of bed and hurried to the spot where his trench coat hung. Pulling it over the clothes he had never gotten around to taking off that night, Servir left his apartment.
Adjacent to his door was another identical one, where he knew Affacio lived. His knuckles rapped against it precisely, and he called out as he did so. "Affacio! My friend, have you left for work yet?"
Silence was the answer that came from the other side, but Servir expected that. He would apologize to his friend at the newsstand.
With a newfound pace, the steelworker was out in the cold quicker than he ever was. He did not trace his steps from the last afternoon, but instead jogged in the opposite direction. The remaining snow and slush sloshed under his boots.
He turned the corner and found himself on a long street full of people hurrying one way or another. Falling in step with the crowds, Servir was well on his way to finding his friend. He was anxious and restless to see him, for he didn't want that image of his apartment door slamming to be the last.
Servir took another turn down a much quieter street with wide buildings on each side. He spotted the newsstand's bright blue walls against the grey backdrop of a factory. The steelworker broke into a sprint, panting and sweating as he neared the sky-colored walls.
He was yards away from it when he heard gunshot. Servir spun to catch sight of what had happened, which came from his right. A crowd of pale-skinned, rag-draped men, women, and children huddled around something. A man in a dark helmet and vest parted the crowd with the butt of his rifle. Servir could see a mangled looking body lying facedown in the snow, covered in blood.
Servir stepped across the street and approached the crowd. No one paid attention to him, except the gunman. The man was crouching, but turned and rose, holding his rifle up like a barrier.
"Nothing to see here, sir. You all can be on your way," he encouraged.
The steelworker glanced over his shoulder at the body. A hat had rolled off the head, revealing long, red hair.
"Sir, I'm gonna ask you to leave," the gunman forced. He pressured the taller man with his rifle, pushing it against him.
The steelworker looked at the corpse again, finding the bullet hole in the middle of the back. The scarlet liquid poured out on the snow. He felt numb as he stared down, blankly. Sound melted away for a moment, and all he could here was a heartbeat.
"Sir --"
The steelworker looked up. He gritted his teeth. He balled his fists.
"That's Servir!"
The steelworker's fist collided with the gunman's jaw in a satisfying crunch. The man's eyes rolled back, and he flew into the snow.
Servir stared from the crumpled form, to Affacio's body, to the wide-eyed crowd. Their faces could not be read, but each had a disheartened stare. Servir had to look away, and he looked up at the looming factory, its huge dark windows like great voids. He couldn't see himself, but he did not have to.
Servir knew who he was. He was a man without purpose; a man without life. Real life was unorthodox, and eradicated like a pest. Left was he, the indifferent one.
"No more," he declared. "For what the future holds, I can see clearly."
**************
KYA BILL
For decades, the state of Kentucky has lagged behind the majority of the United States in its healthcare. In many rural areas, there is a lack of doctors and hospitals. A recent report by the Kentucky Institute of Medicine states Kentucky is thousands of doctors behind the national average. We must take action against this problem now before Kentucky falls beyond recovery.
In order to raise the number of doctors working in Kentucky, our bill has created a plan to attract doctors to the state. By offering a deduction of their income tax, doctors are encouraged to come to Kentucky. With more doctors, more people are insured help in their time of need.
Before a new doctor begins receiving their tax deduction, they must sign a contract. In this contract, they decide for how long they want to receive a tax deduction. By being able to adjust the time span, doctors can keep from having to pay the penalty of ending the contract, a $5,000 fine. However, by having a three-year time span as the minimum, doctors are also kept from leaving Kentucky after the contract has been fulfilled. If a doctor continues living in Kentucky after their contract has expired, for once and only once, they may sign a second contract identical to the first. In this, doctors are encouraged to stay in Kentucky for up to a decade.
If a doctor has worked more than five years in Kentucky without ever signing one of these contracts, they qualify for a contract that deducts an even larger percentage of their income tax. This way, no disgruntled, more experienced doctors will have to get the same deduction as new doctors.
In summary, by offering a tax deduction to working doctors in Kentucky, we encourage doctors to come to Kentucky. As a result, more doctors are available to our population and every citizen gains from the outcome.
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From West to East
The depths of those woods seemed to engulf the sunlight, leaving the plains before them dark and dreary. Not far from there an alert village stood right on the rough waters. Every inhabitant was on edge; this was not a place of leisure. They had a purpose, and any person there wished it would be over.
"You are ready for this, Greg. I know you won't let us down." The commander was pale and hasty; He wanted it over just like everyone else. Their struggle could end in a few weeks, for better or for worse.
"Don't worry, Sir. I'm sure we'll make it through." Gregor placed a hand bogusly on the shoulder of the squire beside him. Kenton shrugged him off; he didn't need that man getting hold of him. That had happened too many times before. He was ready to become a knight and leave the wretched outpost forever. It wasn't home.
The commander, unknown to the two before him, could care less about the relationship between Kenton and Sir Gregor. As long as the squires got trained he would let anything happen. "So you understand? This forest is the only thing between you and our legion camped around Tomtas. Once you relay our status to them they attack immediately."
Gregor nodded. His clear-steel chain mail shone like the white washed walls of the desert home he once had across the ocean. He missed that place dearly. Yet, he risked his life every day to keep it safe, regardless of whether or not he would see it again. At least, that's what he told himself.
While those men stood saying their farewells, Kenton turned to the woods. His five years as a squire all lead up to this. The enemy was strongest at Tomtas, and it was the only thing holding the Kingdom from taking the foreigners.
Kenton always felt this was his life. He had no father, and his mother was dead inside. In early times she couldn't take care of him, so he ended up in the arms of those knights. They taught him, trained him, and gave him hope. This was his chance to prove he was a knight!
He was abruptly pulled from the daydream with a jerk at his already torn tunic. Gregor pulled him over to the shade of two maple trees. The commander was gone, and they were left alone. Greg pulled the squire's face close to his own.
"Listen Kent, this is dangerous stuff. The real thing. We need to get serious, am I clear? You will listen to what I say." He dropped Kenton from his grasp as if he were an unwanted piece of fruit, rotten and foul. The knight stalked off through the dark gate the trees conceived as. He glanced back, and a scowl spread across him face. Kenton followed behind him, and they left.
Every couple of minutes they would tread over a patch of dead grass, and it would crunch under their feet. It made Kenton wince as if pain was torturing him. He had always felt in danger, or unsafe. It ate away at him in the night, but he refused to tell anyone.
"So what are your plans?"
Kenton looked up from the ground. It was only himself and Gregor, without another soul among them. The trees rattled in a cool autumn wind.
"Answer me." Greg hinted his annoyance with a sharp tone.
"What'd you ask?"
"What are your plans after you become a knight?" Gregor restated.
Kenton pondered this for a second. "Well, I guess leave for the mainland, and maybe I'll find my father."
Gregor swallowed air to reply, but said nothing. Yet, he halted, allowing for Kenton to catch up. As the squire strolled towards him a single arrow raced past his right arm, coming from the trees. It came close to Greg's shoulder, barely missing by inches. He swerved to face Kent, eyes full of worry. Grasping him by the arm, he dived forward and pulled Kent with him. Suddenly tens of arrows burst from all around them, creating a whirlwind above the comrades.
Kenton followed Greg's lead, and they both inched forward to the shelter of a rose bush. Greg pulled from his pack an iron dagger, and handed it to Kent. "Protect yourself, and stay close." With that said they both got to their knees and braced themselves to run.
Without warning Greg threw himself into the open, like a rat attempting escape from a snake pit. Kenton followed, a bit more delayed, but courage. His own running paled in comparison to Greg's quick sprint, even when the knight had heavy steel armor holding him back. Kent's dark black hair flew everywhere, as if it had come to life. Up ahead, Gregor had met a challenge. His long blade was unsheathed and facing someone behind a tree.
An arrow skimmed across the back of Kent's shirt, creating a large rip from his shoulder diagonally to his waist. He knew not to get distracted by it, or the arrow would hit him next time. No, he just kept on dashing forward. The tree before him began to rattle, and from the highest branches leapt a strongly built man in brown robes. He hurdled from the tree expertly, and landed behind Kenton. The squire stopped for a second, but decided to run. There was no use facing an enemy he couldn't beat. It seemed it would be forced on him, though. Further on past Kent more strange men appeared from behind an old oak. They wielded spears, sharpened and dangerous. Kent held his tiny dagger before them and felt weak and susceptible. Out of nowhere, an arrow came flying at Kenton. It tore across the bridge of his nose, sending throbbing pain through his head. He placed a hand over his face, feeling the hot sticky blood try to seep through his fingers.
The rouge men edged ever closer to the squire, raising their spears in unison. They smirked with triumph, but one tribesman held an expression of true fear. He collapsed on the ground, and Gregor slid his sword from the man's back. Kent watched as he took out the other two in three swift strikes. Kenton couldn't help letting out a defiant, "Yes!"
Greg obviously didn't feel the same. He pointed behind Kent, and the squire realized the tribesman from in the tree was still there. Whirling around, Kent through the miniscule dagger in the rouge's direction. It pierced his robes just below the collarbone, sending him reeling back in agony. That wasn't stopping him though. With one hand on the bloody wound and another holding his spear, the rouge ran at the squire awkwardly.
"Kenton, take the sword!"
Kent reared around to meet Gregor's blade, soaring at him. He barely grabbed the sword, but once he did he was amazed. It seemed to send waves of fresh energy down his arm, renewing his stamina. It became more of an extension of his arm; it felt so natural. He turned to face off against his enemy in combat.
The injured rouge openly stabbed at Kenton. The squire parried it and retracted for a more powerful attack. Droplets of scarlet blood flew around them as the two warriors engaged with such sudden movements. The tribesman came closer, a bad mistake. Kent lashed out, swiping the sword between the man's ribs. He cried out in despair, which became an abrupt gasp as his last breath left him.
Kenton pulled away from his victim. The clearing was silent; their assailants had fled. Yet, there was a distant pounding ¼ they were coming back. Wiping the blade on a root of the oak tree, Kent handled the blade gently. Gregor snatched it from his hands.
"Kent, stay close. I hear a river nearby. There's a, uh, checkpoint, you could say."
The squire was puzzled. No thanks or congratulations? That was Greg for you, even when Kenton though they had bonded in battle.
What was across the river? Nevertheless, he followed Gregor though the thick undergrowth of ferns and brambles. They scratched at his skin and irritated the squire.
The knight was right, there was a river nearby. Kent watched as a small pebble floated upstream, carried uncontrollably by the current. It hit a mount of mud sticking out of the surface, and stuck there. It gave Kent a weird familiar feeling.
"Kenton, come on. There's a ford somewhere this way we can cross." Greg seemed quiet as the trekked on. Kent couldn't help but wonder what troubled him.
"Greg ¼ what's across this river?"
The knight in steel chain mail stopped. He ran his fingers through the short red hair that covered his head. Then he turned away from Kenton and began to cross over the river.
"There is an old memory buried in this wood," he muttered, chocking back a sob. Kent was almost afraid to ask now.
Along the river, opposite the way they came, the two of them stopped by a fantrum tree. Old writing was carved into the trunk, but it was illegible. The ground among the roots was loose and dug up. Gregor wiped it away with his heavy boot revealing a stone slab.
"This is the grave of Anthon." Gregor sat down beside it and motioned for Kent to do the same. "You see, when the knights before us came here, they fought for the land. To capture the peninsula they had to push the enemy back to the mainland, past this forest. It was a desperate time, and they made a last effort to push the enemy back. That was the Battle of the Forest.
"One of the greatest knights fighting was Anthon. He had been my trainer when I was a squire. He passed that sword you used down to me before the battle."
"What happened in the battle?" Kenton asked, though he thought he knew the answer.
"It was a noble fight. They forced the enemy to the outskirts of the forest, near Tomtas. They practically won, but took it too far. Anthon was naïve, and let it get the better of him. They tried to take the city, but its walls held the attacks. We had to retreat, and Anthon was killed as the enemy chased us into the forest. He was buried here."
The two were silent. Kent felt worried about Gregor. He seemed really depressed.
"He would've been a great mentor and father to you, Kent." Greg sighed.
Kenton turned to Greg. "Wait, Anthon was my father?!"
"Yes, the sword should be yours..."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?!" Kent got to his feet and placed his hands over the bandage he had wrapped around his nose. "I can't believe this!"
"Kent, I didn't want you hurt-"
"Hurt! I know who my father is now, for heaven's sake!" Kenton took a minute, and calmed down. "He was a great man, Kent. You should be proud." The friends said nothing else that night, and settled around the tree to camp. Whatever lie ahead, Kenton was ready. He felt fulfilled, knowing now he carried on the legacy of a great father.
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