Connor Williamson
Stories (2)
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Site 23
I could never forget the first camping trip I spent with my father at Campsite 23. I learned so much about who he truly is, and I learned a lot more about myself as well. On that first morning on the first day, I woke up before he did to the sound of birds chirping above our tent. I look over and he’s still dead to the world. He doesn’t usually sleep in but now we’re on vacation and he’s earned it. So, I spend the next 20 getting up as slowly as I can; pulling on my clothes a few inches at a time, and when I unzip the tent I do it in bursts that last a few seconds, so I don’t wake him up. I zip, then look over my shoulder to make sure he’s still sleeping. Then zip and do it again. Repeat until there’s enough room to slip my leg through and leave the tent; we’ve probably all done it. And when I finally managed to crawl out of the tent and step into the early morning air, I just breathe a sigh of awe and relief when I look around at the world. This is exactly what my dad and I were looking for in a campsite. Beautiful trees with the scent of sap and pine needles. The sun had just started to rise, sending a golden wave across the site. Big Gull Lake was the perfect choice; its waters are a mirror glowing pink in the early morning light. I wish I could take a snapshot of this in my head, so I never forget it. My father and I had worked all summer so we could afford to live; my Dad has been driving trucks for a job for the last thirty years, and he’s been to cities all over the world. But there’s nothing he loves as much as being out in nature. And I feel the same way. I’d been saving to go to Toronto for university in the fall, and I really did feel ready to go, but not before I got to be out in the woods for a little while and make the most of the time I have to do nothing.
By Connor Williamson4 years ago in Families
Dusk Town
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Duskal is a town built by people, and for people as my father always says. My great, great grandfather founded this town, and every generation after him spent their lives surrounded by what we call the Burning Mountains which glow orange with the heat of the sun. I roll over in my bed and look out my window the same way I do every morning. The Burning Mountains almost completely circle the valley; they aren’t really mountains though. Just rising mounds of sandstone that we call Clockstone, a mineral that changes colour with the energy around it. Since Duskal is always hot, Clockstone is usually glowing orange like the sands of the desert. But one time I saw one of the mountains get hit with lightening in a storm, and it was glowing bright blue all night. These rocks keep all of the heat swirling around, like Duskal is a vegetable inside a bowl of Kickling broth Mom used to make that boils everything perfectly. The sun has started peeking through the cracks in the mountains, turning the clouds bright orange and red. The day will only get hotter from here. I’d love to just sleep in since I’m not working at the quarry today, but I promised Aiken I’d help at the ranch and there’s no time like the present. I keep looking to the clouds over the desert as I start getting up, when suddenly a large creature makes its way through them and begins its descent towards the town, flapping its huge wings and kicking up a storm of sand. Dragons. I rush to the window and stick my head out to get a better look as it lands before the entrance to the town and releases a large package that it had held in its claws. This dragon’s neck reaches above the highest building in town, and we’re using it to deliver packages. I’ve always wondered why dragons only just started coming to Duskal. The desert isn’t much of a place for humans, but it seemed perfect for dragons. You have to wonder what it says about my great grandpa if he’ll build a town in a place where even dragons won’t choose to go.
By Connor Williamson4 years ago in Fiction
