One day there was a boy. He was a race car driver. Or he wanted to be
one. He was only 7 years old you had to be 18 to drive a car or get your
licence. 14 years later. Now he can drive a car. He was so happy that he was
able to drive a car. He was still a little sad because he drove a porsche
but he wanted to drive a race car. A couple of years later he found out that
you had to race with other people if you buy a race car. One year later he
was in the grand prix. He was racing against cars number 7,8,9 and 10. His
car was number 1. He always thought a race car would be bigger. He became a
champion. He had won the grand prix. He got the biggest trophy he had ever
seen. It was the first racing trophy he ever got. His dream had come true.
He had won the grand prix. He retired because all he wanted was a racing
trophy. He put it on it`s own shelf. He was so proud of himself. He had
never got a trophy before. He went to his garage to work on his porsche. One
of his tires were flat. He worked for almost 10 days on his porsche. He
painted it red. He bought new doors, new hubcaps, and a new steering wheel.
His car purred like a cat. It hummed along. He liked his new porsche.

The End.

Ryan--age 9

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