The+Good+Deed

 Everyone seemed to be constantly doing good deeds. At least, everyone except me. Even when I was just taking a stroll around the block, I would see others helping senior citizens carry their plastic bags or guiding a lost child back home. As a member of the Girl Guides, we believed in doing one good deed every day. However hard I tried, I barely made it once a week. There seemed to be no little old ladies to help across the road, nor any crying child I could pick up after a fall. One day, my chance came, But in a different way than most would expect.   There was an orphanage two blocks away from my house. I just happened to pass by the rusty gates and saw a wind beaten piece of paper that was miraculously still attached to them by a single piece of tape. Upon further examination, it turned out to be an appeal requesting some entertainment for the children living there. Now, if there was one thing I was accomplished at, it was writing a story. I decided then and there, that I was going to write a story and read it to them.   I sat at my desk later that afternoon, staring at a piece of blank writing paper, which prior to now only bore my name and the day’s date. It seemed that I had an exceptional case of writer’s block. Tears of anger began to well up in my eyes, threatening to fall. At that point of time, I was ready to slam my head upon the wooden tabletop in frustration or perhaps, to try and jolt an idea into my brain that was currently void of thoughts. I wanted so immensely to be able to help, not sit there helplessly like I was doing now.   Then, the door swung open and my father stepped into my room, no doubt checking on me to see if I was doing my homework. The instant he noticed my teary eyes, he asked, “What’s wrong?” his voice full of reassurance before giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze at the same time. “I want to help the children at the orphanage, but I’m so incompetent, I can’t even write a story!” Tears were beginning to snake down my cheeks as I slumped forward onto my desk in defeat. A pair of comforting arms encircled my torso and pulled me back into a sitting position, tenderly wiping the tear drops that stained my face, “Tan Ai-Ling, don’t you dare throw in the towel! We both know that you can write an epic tale if you just put your mind to it.” With those revitalizing words, he left me with a smile on my face as I sat to work, newly inspired.   The following day, I sat in the midst of a sea of children, all anxious to hear the story that I had written for them. They were staring at me intently. I could tell from their gaze that they were expectant, wanting no less than what they were promised, a wonderful story. I sincerely hoped that they had not noticed my legs quivering slightly as I plastered a smile on my face and began to read. The children moved not an inch, clinging onto my every word as if it were a lifeline. At this observation, I relaxed considerably, an unsuppressed grin forming. I knew they were enchanted by my story. “And the couple rode the majestic stallion into the sunset, bound by love forever. The End. “ An awkward silence followed and I started to worry. What if they hated my story? Then, a sudden storm of clapping and cheers broke out. A sigh of relief escaped my lips, glad that the moment of suspense had passed.   I clutched my story protectively against my chest as I rose from the seat. I longed so much to be able to keep the story that all my hard work had been spent on. My mind however, protested, telling me that this was exactly what I had worked so hard for, to make the children happy. I knew this was inevitable, so I handed my story to the caretaker of the children, telling her that she could read it to the children anytime. A man I had not noticed rose from a chair at the back of the room and approached me, “That was an outstanding story. I was wondering if I could have your permission to publish your story in a book.” I stood there, mouth agape. “I…I would be <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; msofareastfontfamily: 'Times New Roman'mso-ansi-language;"> honoured .” I could barely keep my excitement contained. “Right then, I’ll be making a copy of your story. You’ll receive 3 percent commission, would that be enough?” I almost had tears in my eyes then and could do nothing but thank him as he left to make a copy of my story. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; msofareastfontfamily: 'Times New Roman'mso-ansi-language;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; msofareastfontfamily: 'Times New Roman'mso-ansi-language;"> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; msofareastfontfamily: 'Times New Roman'mso-ansi-language;"> The second I stepped into my house, I darted towards my father and gave him a bear hug, “I wrote such a great story that someone is going to publish it in a book.” My father had a twinkle in his eyes. “What did I tell you? I knew you could do it.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I gave him a second rib-cracking hug. Now I knew, that it always pays to be kind.
 * __ Good deeds __**