When my husband moved up here for good in February, he brought with him two boxes of mine that I had forgotten about or assumed were here somewhere. My mother saved every letter I ever wrote, I think, and one box was full of my letters. The other box was full of old photos, mementos, and stories I wrote as a child. When I opened these treasures, I felt almost like I was in the attic of an old relative, recently dead, being tasked with going through what was left behind. I have some experience with this, and it wasn't a bad feeling, but it also didn't feel like this was really me, my stuff that I would leave behind -- or not.
Included in one of the boxes was what may well be my very first short story, written in the year 1948, when I was eight. Interestingly, most of my stories have to do with exploration, going far away, or in this instance deep into the forest. Just for fun, I will translate it here and by doing so, my very first short story will be published on the world wide web. Imagine that!
Little Lisa Little Anna
Little Lisa lived in a little red house by the edge of the forest. Anna was her best friend, she lived in a small cottage a bit into the forest. Anna and Lisa wanted to go a little bit further into the forest, but their mommies and daddies didn't want them to go very far into the forest because there could be very dangerous animals there that they perhaps would think were kind and perhaps they wouldn't come home to mommy and daddy and think how sad that would be if the little girls didn't come home in time for dinner and think if Lisa and Anna would never see mommy and daddy again.
The End. -- IB 1948.
