The Gardens Dead A Memoir By: Maksymiljan Kwapinski
I dedicate this memoir to my little friend and his familly. I hope I ever see you again.
It was a normal Saturday morning and I was pouring my cereal in the bowl. I wished for the treasure, the most precious thing ever. The cereal stopped pouring. Then it happened. The treasure was falIing into my bowl when my mom grabbed it and threw it into the garbage. “Nooooooooooooo!” I yelled in disbelief. “Maks, it’s only trash. You would only play with it for five minutes anyway,” mom replied with a smile. I knew better than to argue. I thought, that’s what always happens, it’s unstoppable. As I watched the cinnamon flow in the milk I enjoyed the rest of the cereal. Even though I did not get my prize. It still was delicious, no matter what. As I went to brush my teeth, I thought what will I do today? I went to my room to play with my Legos. Suddenly, I heard Jagoda, our housekeeper, shout, “Quickly, come down stairs!” told us to come down stairs.
I freaked out and, step by step, ran downstairs. The creepy voice of the stairs always gave me a shiver. When I jumped off the last stair, Jagoda was standing next to the window. This is the moment I remember like my own pocket. It was the time when there were no more icicles on our roof to take down and lick. No more snowmen to build. Jagoda was just standing there motionless like she just saw a ghost. “Jagoda what happened?” I worried. “Look,” she pointed out the window. But then I saw the king of our country, an eagle. He was all brownish black, yellow beak and furious black eyes. So I stood there with Jagoda in amazement. I looked at him and I saw he had a broken wing. I felt miserable for him it must’ve been hurtful. He was on top of the snow mountain we made of the rest of the snow. He looked proud and brave. Though he was
staring at us like we were enemies. I felt fear and sadness as I saw him standing there in the cold. Jagoda ran to the kitchen, picked up the phone and called Bogdan, our right hand, and told him what happened. “Bogdan come quickly we need your help,” panicked Jagoda. “Boys Bogdan is coming.” As soon as he came we dressed up and looked if there is more eagles in are garden. We walked in a slalom around the puddles of left over snow. I jumped on one another of the puddles with joy. When we got to our grill place we saw it. We found the next generation of the eagle. But there was a problem; all of the eggs were all destroyed and eaten. The only thing left was the leftovers of the yolk. “The person or thing who did it must still be here,” murmured Bogdan.
I felt the salty tears rolling down my cold cheek. We picked them up and walked on. Later on we found another of the marvellous creatures but sadly it was dead lying next to bone breaker. That’s what we call our tree we always fall off. The eagle was covered with blood. “Wait,” Bogdan shouted. He was standing still as a statue just his eyes rolled around looking for the intruder. “Did you hear that,” Bogdan whispered. “But what,” I replied. “Stay still,” Bogdan Ordered. Meow a cat jumped out of the bushes at the dead eagle. It tried to rip it apart. But we went to action. I threw a stick at it and ran it until it hid itself into the bushes. Then it strikes again but this time it did not reach its goal Bogdan blocked it with his arm and threw it away. The cat put itself up and ran as fast as it could to its territory. Then I realized it was not a normal cat it was the cat of the mysterious neighbours who never
gave anything that fell into their garden. Then I looked at our garden it looked like a battlefield. We called the zoo and told what happened. As they were coming we buried the mother and her eggs with the nest. We have hidden the coffin so the cat would not find it, it was behind are bushes. We put a cross there gave them a moment of silence and went away. When the zoo police came they said that this eagle was one of the rarest in Europe. Since now we can see are little king in the zoo somewhere. I hope the bodies are still there in the backyard laying in peace. I felt like I was losing someone I knew for years and actually I knew him for like 40m. Was the cat the murderer? If not we will never discover the truth. From that day we would go to check on the dead. We sometimes see the black cat spying on us. He would walk in circles on the fence of the two gardens. What will happen to them after? How should I know? Itâ€™s not my job to know now.
A breath taking story. A 8 year old boy and his right arm Bogdan, solving an animal murder in their garden. And it all started from an normal Saturday morning. About the author:
My name is Maksymiljan Kwapinski for friends Maks/Kwapcio I am 13 years old born on April 11 1999 I live in Warsaw Poland. I am a normal kid from ASW. I play tennis and soccer those are my hobbies. But I love to paint sumi paintings. And sometimes I write stories. Illustrations: Beata Owerveter and Scott Burn from Flicker.com