Each one is truly a gem. Some are already as finely cut as a Jane Austen novel, while others need a bit of handling before we can see that they're diamonds in the rough.
This story by Lukas (3) is a perfect example of this realization:
A person got a box and threw it over a head. And then a talking peach came. And then a talking book came. And then a door came and smashed the window. And then a ghost came and it got a hammer and smushed the mud. And then talking car came. And then a tack. Chair came. And then a hammer smashed a door into little pieces. Okay, the wood came and smashed the door into cats.
At first it read like a story of just one damn thing after another, then it dawned on me that this isn’t prose at all. It's much better read as poetry:
A person got a box and threw it over a head.
And then a talking peach came.
And then a talking book came.
And then a door came
and smushed the mud.
And then talking car came.
And then a tack.
And then a hammer
smashed a door
the wood came
And smashed the door into cats.
Lukas tends to sprawl out beside me as he tells a story, his eyes casting aimlessly over the ceiling. He knows to pause while I write and I think that’s why I only noticed the rhythm of his storytelling as I’m transcribing it.
On the other hand, I never miss Thomas’ (3) rhythm. He sings his stories to me:
The builder broke a bottle
Broke the ceiling; the peeling
And then talking; walking
A talking tool comed.
Here’s another one:
Not pushing on my chimney chin chinny.
Ghost said, “Broke that chimney.”
The ghost broke it.
The little pig broke his whole house.
Six mighty machines.
(Holy cow! I didn’t even notice him counting along.)
Or how about this one from Annabelle (3):
“Ga Ga Goo Goo Ga Ga Goo Goo,”
that’s what a little girl said.
“Goo Goo Ga Ga,” said no one – only a banana said that.
“Ga Ga Goo Goo,” a monkey said that.
“Ga Ga Goo Goo,” no one said that.
And Anjali (3)
A bird fly on your head.
A bird fly on your head again.
A bird fly on a paint go and a tree.
And a bird fly on the top of the school.
A bird eat a leaf.
And they all
The leaf fall down on the ground
so the bird can eat.
And I think this one by Jarin (4) is sublime:
There was a bad dream in my bed.
I slept in my bed.
I slept in my bed for a long time.
I got up out of my bed.
Then I thought it was day time.
More to come . . .