The Return of Mrs.Whatsit

The Return of Mrs.Whatsit

It was a dark and stormy night.

 “I can’t do this!” Phoebe exclaimed to her teacher.

“Why so? You haven’t read more than the first page!”
The teacher peered sternly at Phoebe over her spectacles. “Any book starting with such a melodramatic sentence as, “it was a dark and stormy night,” cannot be worth reading!” Phoebe stamped her foot stubbornly on the classroom floor, the Mrs. Hatwist standing over Phoebe.

 “A Wrinkle in Time is one of the most incredible books… I will assure you. Personally, Mrs. Whatsit is my favorite character. Plus, you may find that you have something in common with Meg.” Mrs. Hatwist’s eyes glimmered as she inspected Phoebe head to foot.

Phoebe had scraggly, greasy, dull hair that hung over her enormous glasses. She was lanky in stature, and pimples covered her face.

“Meg better be awkward and insecure then! Otherwise she is nothing like me!” Phoebe exclaimed passionately.

Mrs. Hatwist smiled softly and placed the book back in Phoebe’s hands. “I think you may find reading this book....very interesting…”

With that, Mrs. Hatwist left Phoebe all alone with the book. With a sigh, Phoebe plopped into her seat, and hesitantly opened her book.

“Goodbye class!” Mrs. Hatwist opened the classroom door and students poured into the hallway rowdily.

“Huh?” Phoebe cried with a start. “Where did everyone go? What!”

Mrs. Hatwist smiled at Phoebe. “You were immersed in reading! Look! You devoured the whole book!”   

“Well…” Phoebe admitted sheepishly, “I guess you were right about A Wrinkle in Time. I don’t get it though!”

“What?” Mrs. Hatwist questioned.

“That IT is still in the universe! That IT still has earth in IT’s dark tendrils! That IT could still destroy the universe! Meg’s universe” Phoebe yelled, becoming out of breath after her powerful exclamation.

“And your universe too.” Mrs. Hatwist murmured.

“What!” Phoebe cried.

“Phoebe, IT is real, and not just in Meg’s universe. We need warriors like Meg, Charles Wallace, Mr. Murry, and Calvin. Sadly, they passed away a long time ago, and IT is still out there.”

There was no response from Phoebe, only a long, drawn out gasp.

“We believe that you can fight the darkness, and end the shadowy reign of IT.” Mrs. Hatwist explained.

“Who are you then? Who is we?” Phoebe finally found her words long enough to question Mrs. Hatwist.

“I am Mrs.Whatsit. I chose to be in the form of a teacher to seek out young ones to be warriors. I had fun coming up with my name, rearranging the letters of Mrs.Whatsit to form Mrs.Hatwist.”

“Wha….What!” The information was too much for Phoebe to process.

“So dear, aren’t you ready to journey? To tesser?” Mrs Whatsit reached out her arm to Phoebe, as phoebe took it reluctantly.

“I guess.” Phoebe sighed in an overwhelmed sounding voice.

“Then let’s tesser!” Mrs.Whatsit exclaimed. Desks became nothing as the room rippled around the pair until time swallowed them whole.

Robert, My Boy

Robert, My Boy

A nervous woman stood across the street apprehensively waiting. “Come on Bill! I can’t wait much longer!” She cried, her belly bulging out under her maternity shirt. An anxious man scurried out of their subaru and held open the hospital door for the hysterical woman.

Hours later, the couple emerged carrying a screaming bundle. “Bill, this is life changing!” The overjoyed woman cried. “I just… time goes so fast, and I want the best for my baby Robert.”  Robert. The name Robert ran fast and clear as a shallow stream through my mind. Robert. Although the name seemed as tangible to me as catching wind in a jar, I loved it just as much as the elated mother seemed to.  When the overwhelmed couple left, I felt alone, until they returned six years later.

“No Daddy! I don’t want to go to school! You can’t make me!” A stubborn six year old stamped his foot, scattering autumn leaves into the brisk air. A chunky green scarf bundled the crying boy, and an elmo backpack lay on the ground, abandoned. “Robert, school will be fun, you’ll make lots of friends!” Robert’s dad said calmly. I wanted to embrace Robert, tell him how wonderful school would be, but all I could do was stand impassively watching Robert’s father drag him off to school.

Many years passed. Robert made friends, passed elementary, and middle school. I adoringly watched Robert develop from his first friend to his first girlfriend. However, Robert ended up with the wrong crowd one night, and made a mistake I would forever remember.  

It was dusk, a horde of teenage boys descended onto the street carrying spray paint. They laughed when they saw me and painted their names on me. I would have run, but my stony stature prevented me of doing so. After they left, one name stood out across my chest in red paint: ROBERT.

Years later, Robert carried a suitcase down the street, his parents in tow. “Good luck in college,” His parents began to tear up, watching their son leave.

When Robert was out of college and business school, he trotted down the street ostentatiously, and idea forming in his mind. “Yes, yes, that would be the perfect place to build my business.” Robert looked critically at me. “But that old grimy wall has to go first.” The reality of what Robert said, sunk into me, but I made sure to be mentally ready for my final day.  

When the construction crew arrived, I stood placidly looking Robert in the eyes steadily. I wish I could have told Robert,“Whatever makes you happy, my little boy Robert. If this is what you have to do to succeed than do as you must. I cherished watching you grow up, and if you think I have served my purpose, than I shall calmly go,” but alas, I would go neither poetically nor calmly, because at that moment an iron wrecking ball crashed into me, blowing my bricks into a million smithereens.

The Last Book

The Last Book

If this was the last book in humanity would you treat it any differently?  I imagine you are sitting in class thinking, “It's just another book,” and maybe it is. Maybe this is the most boring book you have ever read! But just maybe, this is the most important book in existence, and you are its powerful keeper.

This is the story of a simple book that changed someone's life forever, and it all began a long time ago in a kingdom far far…...“Get up you lazy serf!” Birtle awoke abruptly from the heap of hay in the barn to the screeching voice of his lord.  “Yes sir,” Birtle groaned. Birtle slumped out of the barn, brushing mud off his threadbare pants, humming a tune, “Off to work again, given no pay again!” Birtle wandered into the dry crackly field and started picking weeds, talking to himself as he went along. “A man lives on a island, an island having their survival weigh on BOOKS! A child is born, who wants to see a book more than anything in the whole world, yet he is put to work on farm, while most serfs construct books…!” With that Birtle yanked a weed out of the ground so hard he toppled onto the ground and on to….”A BOOK!” Birtle hollered to no one. Birtle tore open the book with a vivacious energy that was completely new to him, and viewed the title, running his grimy hands across the leather spine. The title read “The art of everything.”  Birtle leafed through the thick papyrus pages, struggling to make sense of the strange symbols on each page.  He could, however, figure out what the colorful drawings on the pages were conveying, and as he was doing so, a horde of frightened villagers ran past Birtle, screaming, “Fire in the village, fire, fire!” Without a second thought, Birtle grabbed the book and followed the villagers into a nearby marsh area.

Hours later, when the dead and living were counted, the king, lords, villagers, serfs, and Birtle gathered in the charred village.  The king rose solemnly in the crowd and spoke, choking on each word, “Our people are dead, our houses are gone, we have no food, and most of all, every last book is gone.” The villagers murmured sadly in a hushed tone, “Sage, sage, tell us what to do.” An old cloaked man arose, and croaked, “I have seen a prophecy, where the one who has the last book in this village, fate’s chosen leader, is declared...the rightful king!”  With that everyone started chattering, until Birtle rose, the book clutched in his hand. Silently, all kneeled at the foot of Birtle. At once they began to cry, “Lead us serf, turned into a king, lead us!” So, opening the book, Birtle began to lead his people.

The Last Moringa Flower

The Last Moringa Flower

“Tell me a story about before the earth dried up, and before life faded!”  Chirped a young boy, sitting on a hard slab of wood in a small, earthen hut. Shakily standing over a boiling pot of water, was a withered old woman. “Alright, Vihaan.” The old woman agreed with a forlorn look in her wrinkled eyes as she began the story.

“Quite a time ago, when the trees grew bountiful fruit, flowers burst from rich soil, and life bloomed everywhere, there lived a prince named Aarav, who lived in a kingdom in the Himalayan foothills.  Everywhere Aarav went, nature followed.  It was legend to all that Aarav carried the power of life.  There was a kind girl in a nearby kingdom named Moringa, who was as beautiful and delicate as a velveteen rose. One day, while Aarav was on a trip to her kingdom, she caught his eye. Instantly they fell in love, and for awhile life in the kingdom was as plentiful and beautiful as ever. In Moringa’s honor, Aarav created a beautiful flower named moringa.  

Despite good times, and Moringa’s love for the prince, she missed her family dearly. Moringa begged Aarav to let her to see her family, but Aarav refused, saying that if she left, he would die of heartache.  Of course, like any sensible person would, Moringa thought Aarav was lying, and left immediately, only pausing to pluck one moringa blossom from a tree.  Within the hour of her departure, dreary clouds covered the kingdom’s sky like a shroud.

Eventually, realizing Moringa was gone, the prince whispered his last words, “nature’s balance can be disturbed by the smallest ant to the largest lion,” as he lay on the bed, dying of true heartache. Instantly, the kingdom grew as dry and lifeless as anything could be, and stayed that way until this day.”

The story’s spell was broken as the old woman revealed a shriveled flower in her palm. She looked Vihaan in the eye and croaked, tears running down her wrinkled face, “This is the last moringa blossom, and I am Moringa.”

Nearly Human-Short story

Nearly Human

The loss. So sudden. Looking up through the crack in the jagged ice at my loyal dog team waiting for me to resurface. Drifting in and out of consciousness through the frigid water. Falling through hazy recognitions. My dog team waits.  Through the foggy frost blue water, I can view my huskies’ soft almond shaped eyes. I grasp their gaze tightly. I’m not ready. Not ready to let go and fall into the endless abyss of death.

“Here Duke!” My owner affectionately calls to me. I awake abruptly, curled up in a soft dog bed.

It has been a year since I had fallen through the ice in the middle of a dog sledding race, and drowned in the icy water, ending my life as a human.

Next to me in an identical dog bed, is a white, black, and mahogany colored basset hound, with soft floppy ears, and short stubby legs.  “Here Chester!” My owner calls to the basset hound. Chester yawns, and hops out of his bed, tail wagging, paws thumping. I stretch out my long legs, covered with white fur, and jump on my owner, barking in his face in my high pitched puppy voice.

As much as I love my owner, I cannot help but be jealous of his biped abilities that I once had.

My owner sets down a bowl of dog food next to me. I step away from the bowl in disgust, as Chester joyfully gobbles his food and mine. Even though I’m a dog, a majestic Siberian husky, I refuse to eat dog food. “Do you want to go for a walk?” My owner questions, and my ears perk up. My owner clips the leash to my collar, and heads out the door.

I am greeted outside by a sheer, scintillating, fresh layer of snow. As I bound ahead of my owner I savor the snow flying beneath my feet, and the wind blowing through my fur.  Although I cannot race with my dog team again, I can fly through the snow, and settle with being nearly human.   

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