A is in Our Alphabet Soup

Amber and the Airship Apples

Amber's story begins on a quiet, sunny afternoon. She had set off on a walk, letting the warm breeze blow through her hair. After a while, she found a soft patch of wildflowers and stretched out to enjoy the day. She took a deep breath and could smell cinnamon. She imagined her grandmother baking apple pies.

As she tilted her head back and stared at the sky — her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

There they were—hundreds of apples, bobbing gently in the sky, glowing like little lanterns. Some were red, some golden, and some shimmered as if plucked from a dream, glittering like gold. But they weren't floating on their own — rows of apple trees were growing in the air.

Amber sat up in shock. A flying orchard?

Then, a gust of wind tossed her hair, and she heard someone call out, "Come on! Let's have some fun!"

At first, she heard a low rumbling, but then—an enormous wooden airship emerged from the clouds. Its massive sails fluttered like butterfly wings. Ropes dangled from the ship's hull, and workers swung through the air, plucking apples and dropping them into large golden baskets.

Amber had never seen anything so magical in her life.

"Hey, you there!"

She turned to see a boy about her age clinging to one of the ropes. His smile was warm, but his clothes were nothing Amber had ever seen. He wore a vest covered in tiny clockwork gears — each spinning and clicking.

Noticing her stare, he let out a soft laugh. "My heart is different from yours. I have gears — turning and turning to keep me going."

Before she could reply, he let go of the rope, landing lightly in front of her.

Amber rubbed her eyes. Was she dreaming?

The boy reached for her hand and gently placed his fingers against hers. His blue eyes were kind, and his smile was bright. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "You're not supposed to be here," he said. "How did you find the orchard?"

Amber hesitated. "I don't know. I just followed the smell of cinnamon. It was everywhere."

The boy's eyes widened. "Ah! The harvest has begun. That's the scent of the Cinnamon Crisp Apples—they only grow once every hundred years."

Amber's mouth fell open. "One hundred years?"

The boy nodded. "And we're short on pickers. You want to help?"

Before Amber could answer, the wind shifted. Dark clouds rolled in, and the apples shivered on their branches.

The boy's grin faded. "Oh no," he murmured.

Amber followed his gaze. In the distance, a storm appeared to be growing. The clouds were very dark.

But it wasn’t the storm that frightened Amber. It was what she saw inside the swirling clouds — purple figures with gossamer wings and yellow glowing eyes darting between the trees, their long, spidery fingers reaching for the shining apples.

"Sky thieves!" the boy gasped. "They'll take every last apple if we don't stop them!"

Amber clenched her fists. She didn't know anything about floating orchards or airships—

But she wasn't about to let a bunch of thieves steal the magic.

She grabbed a rope, her heart pounding.

"What do we do?"

The boy grinned and tossed her a small silver gadget.

"We fight back."

*****

Ending 1 (A Victory)

Amber aimed the gadget and pressed a button—Whoosh!

A gust of wind shot from the device, knocking the nearest shadowy figure off course. It tumbled backward, hissing as it disappeared into the storm.

She and the boy swung into action, dodging between the trees and blocking the thieves at every turn. Every zap of the wind gadget sent the shadows scattering until, at last, the clouds broke apart.

The apples glowed brighter — each one sparkling beneath the golden sun.

The storm had passed. The sky thieves were gone.

The boy clapped her on the shoulder. "You saved the harvest! You're one of us now."

Amber grinned, gazing out at the floating orchard. She'd never forget her day in the sky.

Ending 2 (A Mystery) -

Amber lunged forward, trying to grab the rope—

But before she could, the storm rushed in.

The boy's voice echoed through the wind—"No! Stay back!"—but it was too late.

The shadows swooped down, wrapping around Amber like mist. She struggled, but her limbs felt weightless. The last thing she saw was the golden apples flickering in the distance before—

She was gone.

The following day, a gust of cinnamon-scented wind swept through the trees. The airship was nowhere in sight. And neither was Amber.

All that remained was a Cinnamon Crisp Apple, sitting on the fence post—glowing softly in the morning light.