I sell items which are associated in some way with my stories. The story-copyright is not for sale.
Duncan's little, yellow schoolbag was full up. It was full with his drawing of a plane. It was on a great, big white sheet of paper, and Duncan had to roll it so it wasn't creased.
The plane was ever so high up in the sky. You could see little, short people and very tiny houses and trees at the bottom of the paper. His mum was there, but you couldn't tell because she was so small and far away.
Round the plane, there were pretty birds flying. Duncan was good at birds. He liked doing feet, so they all had huge feet with laced-up shoes, just like his. He had drawn all the feathers: it took ages.
The plane had a great, big engine on each fat wing. Out of the engines came stars. Well, you can't draw smoke. There was a giant window at the front, and Duncan was the pilot. You could tell it was Duncan, because he wore his I-Was-Brave-At-The-Dentist's sticker.
The plane had a row of wide, round windows. Duncan's friends were in the windows. There was Nathan with his orange hair, Pamela doing a handstand and Billy with his sandwiches. Miss Taylor was there too because she liked planes.
Duncan nudged his mother and held up the picture. She turned her face to Duncan and then went on looking out of the bus window.
“Yes, dear,” she said.
He folded the picture six times, so it was very small, and poked it into the bottom corner of his bag. He looked at his mother's little, red, shiny handbag. “Are there any sweets left?” asked Duncan.Copyright © 1991 LS
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