Check your own competition’s rules first. Some ask for a folktale, some for a story you wrote, and all of them have a time limit.
The Buffalo Who Would Not Cross
Easier words. About two minutes told slowly.
Every morning, a boy named Tum walked his buffalo to the river. Every morning, the buffalo crossed the river to eat the sweet grass on the other side.
But one morning, the buffalo stopped. It stood at the edge of the water and would not move.
Tum pulled the rope. The buffalo did not move. Tum pushed from behind. The buffalo did not move. Tum shouted. He sang. He promised it bananas. The buffalo looked at him with its big, slow eyes, and did not move.
“You lazy animal!” said Tum. “I will cross by myself and show you there is nothing to fear.”
He put one foot in the water. Then he saw it. A long, gray log was floating near the bank. And the log had two yellow eyes.
Tum took his foot out of the water very, very slowly.
He walked back to the buffalo. He put his hand on its warm neck. “Thank you,” he whispered. And the two of them went home the long way, over the bridge.
That night Tum told his grandfather. The old man laughed. “A buffalo cannot talk,” he said. “So when it tells you something, listen.”
The five beats
- Tum and his buffalo cross the river every day.
- One morning the buffalo will not cross.
- Tum pulls, pushes, shouts, and decides to go alone.
- He sees the crocodile.
- He thanks the buffalo, and his grandfather gives the lesson.
Grandmother’s Umbrella
Middle. About two and a half minutes told slowly.
My grandmother had an umbrella that was older than my mother. It was black, with one broken rib, and it opened only if you hit it twice.
I was ashamed of that umbrella. When she walked me to school in the rain, I walked three steps behind her, so that nobody would think it was ours.
One day the sky turned the color of a bruise. The rain came down so hard that the road became a river. My friends had bright new umbrellas, pink ones and blue ones. The wind took the pink one first. It flew over the temple wall like a bird. Then the blue one turned inside out and broke in half.
And there was my grandmother at the school gate, small and calm, under her ugly black umbrella. The wind pulled at it. It did not move. It had seen forty years of storms and it was not afraid of this one.
She did not say a word. She only lifted it a little higher, to make room.
Four of us walked home under that umbrella. My friends held on to my grandmother’s arms, and I held the handle.
She is gone now. The umbrella is mine. It still has one broken rib, and you still have to hit it twice. I would not sell it for all the pink umbrellas in Thailand.
The five beats
- The narrator is ashamed of the old umbrella.
- A great storm comes.
- The new umbrellas fly away and break.
- Grandmother makes room under the old one.
- The narrator keeps the umbrella, and is proud of it.
The Boy Who Sold the Rain
Middle. About three minutes told slowly.
In a dry village there lived a boy called Kla, who was clever and knew it.
One hot season, no rain came. The rice turned yellow. The farmers looked at the sky all day, and the sky looked back with nothing to say.
Kla had an idea. He climbed the hill behind the village, where an old jar stood under a tree, and he came down shouting. “I have caught the rain! It is in a jar on the hill. For ten baht, I will let a little out over your field.”
The farmers were not stupid. But they were tired, and tired people will buy hope. One paid. Then another. By evening Kla had a bag of coins, and a very bad feeling in his stomach.
That night he could not sleep. He climbed the hill again to look at his empty jar. And while he stood there, feeling smaller than he had ever felt, something cold hit his nose. Then his ear. Then the whole sky opened.
It rained for three days. The farmers danced. They carried Kla through the village on their shoulders. “The boy who caught the rain!” they sang.
On the fourth day, Kla walked from house to house with his bag of coins, and gave every one of them back.
“But it worked!” said the farmers.
“No,” said Kla. “It rained. That is different. And I would like to be able to sleep.”
The five beats
- A clever boy, a village with no rain.
- He says he has caught the rain in a jar, and sells it.
- He takes the money and feels sick about it.
- The real rain comes and he is a hero.
- He gives the money back and tells the truth.
The Lantern Maker’s Daughter
More to act. About three minutes told slowly.
Long ago, a lantern maker had a daughter named Dao, who was afraid of the dark.
This was a problem, because lanterns are sold at night. Every evening her father carried his lanterns to the market, and every evening Dao stayed home, with every lamp in the house burning.
One night her father did not come back. Eight o’clock passed. Nine. Ten. The road to the market went through the forest, and the forest was as black as the inside of a pocket.
Dao stood at the door. Her knees were shaking. She took the smallest lantern in the house, a paper one shaped like a fish, and she stepped outside.
The dark was full of sounds. Something went crack. Something went hoo. Dao wanted to run home. Instead she held up her little fish, and she said, in a voice like a mouse, “I am not afraid of you. I have brought my own light.”
She said it again, louder. Then louder still. And she found that the dark did not come any closer than the edge of her lantern.
She found her father sitting by the road with a twisted foot and forty lanterns he could not carry. Together they lit every one. And the people of the market town saw a river of light coming out of the forest, with a small girl walking in front.
Dao was still a little afraid of the dark, all her life. She just never again let it tell her where she could go.
The five beats
- Dao is afraid of the dark.
- Her father does not come home.
- She goes into the forest with one small lantern.
- She speaks to the dark and keeps walking.
- She brings her father home, and the fear no longer rules her.
Chosen one? Go to day one.