Krista Fletcher attends Westlake High School.

Gaping at the towering prison walls, he envisioned the daunting challenge. Scaling the wall would be merely the beginning of his elaborate escape. He’d have to pass the vicious hounds unnoticed, as they paced the prison boarders waiting to raise alarm and give chase; travel on foot through vast barren land surrounding the prison, to reach the white frozen sea; cross the immense sea, to climb the enormous mountains that rose high above its edge. Then, he’d be no more than an arm’s length away from the reward. Clutching the prize, he’d retrace his steps, because this expedition wasn’t only for him, but for his younger brother, imprisoned as well.

His faith momentarily faltered. The wall seemed too tall, the journey too long, but he had to do it; his brother couldn’t take the risk, and there was no one else. Mustering his strength and courage, he started up the wall. The climb was difficult, and there were several times he nearly lost his grip, but he reached the top and descended the other side.

A sliver of hope grew inside him. Now, he had to escape the hounds. Edging along the wall, he worked his way toward the lifeless land. It didn’t take long for him to reach the wall’s end–so close to freedom! As he stepped past the final corner into the open, barking erupted from behind; he was on the run.

He sprinted through the desolate land surrounding the prison. He continued on over the glacial sea, despite the numbing discomfort in his feet, pressing forward to the base of the mountains. The hounds were long behind. He ascended. Half way up the mountain the prize was in view. He extended his arm as far as he could, stretched his fingers, almost there…

Someone grabbed him from behind, tearing him away just seconds before reaching the reward. He let out a startled cry and began to flail his arms. He had been beaten.

“What are you doing out of your play pen with your hand in the cookie jar?” his mother scolded, “Climbing the cupboard is not safe.”

Walking across the icy cold kitchen linoleum, and across the shaggy brown living room carpet, his mother set him down in a children’s pen with his one-year-old brother. As she put him down, two black puppies appeared and nipped at her heals begging for attention.

“There, that’s better.”

She smiled and left the room, trailed by the energetic pups. He sighed as she went, turning to look sadly at his brother. There would be no cookie for either of them.