fictwrig7 Splashing Far From Home

Splashing Far From Home

by Will Wright

Shiny, Sparkly, Flinty and Jagged loved to bask in the sunlight flowing through the shallow water at the edge of Lake Petras. Though they were all pebbles, they each liked the sunlight for a different reason.

Shiny liked the sunlight because it let her reflect a beam of light at little human children who played in the water.

Sparkly reflected sunlight into smaller beams, and sent them through the water in all directions, making pretty patterns on the sunfish and rainbow trout.

Flinty stored the sunlight beneath his dark surface until he was toasty warm all the way through.

Jagged just liked the sunlight. He couldn’t really say why; he just liked it!

The four young pebbles lay in the sand each day from morning till evening. Sometimes they rolled when a boat wave came to shore.

“Wheeeeee!”

They liked boat waves.

When the sun went down each night, Mother Stone, who watched the children through the day, rolled over and nudged the youngsters out of the sand.

“Off to bedrock,” said Mother Stone.

The sleepy little ones drifted off to bedrock, and nestled tight together. Flinty shared the warmth he’d gathered in the sunlight and they stayed snug and comfy. The sandman came, and helped them nod off to land of dreams.

It was a particularly sunny day in the shallow waters of Lake Petras, when the pebbles first met Skippy. Shiny was dazzling a little boy who was trying to catch a trout with his mother’s catch net. Sparkly was sending sparkle messages to the trout, telling the fish where the net was. Flinty and Jagged were watching the game. Everyone knew the little boy wouldn’t catch the fish--even the little boy--but it was a fine way to spend a summer afternoon.

Splash, splash, splash, SPLASH!

“That was four!” shouted a new pebble as he settled down among the others.

“Wow!” said Jagged. “That was something! Are you a magic stone?”

“No,” said Skippy, for that was, of course who the new pebble was, “but some people say I have charm.”

Everyone laughed but Jagged, then Jagged laughed too because he liked to be included.

“So what was that thing you did?” asked Flinty as he shifted to catch more of the sun’s heat.

“It’s called a skip. That’s why they call me, Skippy.”

“Our names are Shiny, Sparkly, Flinty and Jagged,” said the pebbles.

“Skipping looks like fun,” said Sparkly. “Can we all do it?”

“Maybe,” said Skippy, looking doubtfully at Jagged, “but if you’re a beginner, you need a human to help you get started.”

“Like that little boy?” asked Shiny.

“Maybe,” said Skippy again, “if the boy knows how to skip stones. But first you’ll have to get his attention.”

“I can do that,” said Shiny.

Skippy’s skipping had scared the trout away. Trout can be real scaredi-fish when there’s splashing going on. The little boy had put down his mother’s catching net and was looking for something else to do.

Skippy hid himself under a clump of weed, so his new friends would get a chance to have fun.

Now the best rocks for skipping are flat rocks, and Shiny had some layers of mica, so she was a very flat rock. When she reflected the sunlight up at the little boy, he jumped down from the dock and splashed in the water. He picked up Shiny and pulled his arm back.

Then he threw Shiny with a side-armed throw, close to the water.

“Wheeeeeeee!” said Shiny as she skipped one, two, three, then four times! She settled down in the water, way far away.

The boy looked down in the water for more flat rocks. Flinty was mostly flint, which is usually a pretty flat rock. The little boy picked up Flinty and pulled his arm back.

Then he threw Flinty with a side-armed throw, close to the water.

“Wheeeeee!” said Flinty as he skipped one, two, three times! He settled down in the water, far away, but not as far as Shiny.

The boy looked down in the water for more flat rocks. Sparkly was mostly quartz, which is not a particularly flat rock, but Sparkly was flatter than most quartz pebbles. The little boy picked up Sparkly, and pulled his arm back.

Then he threw Sparkly with a side-armed throw, close to the water.

“Wheeee!” said Sparkly as she skipped once, and then twice. She settled down in the water, not so far away, but further than she’d ever been from home before.

The boy looked down in the water for more flat rocks. Jagged was made of granite, which is not usually a flat rock, and Jagged wasn’t flat at all, but he was the only rock left except Skippy, who was hiding, and Mother Stone, who was too big to skip. The little boy picked up Jagged and pulled his arm back.

Then he threw Jagged with a side-armed throw, close to the water.

“Whee--glub!” said Jagged, because he didn’t skip at all. He just settled down in the water, not far at all from where he started.

The little boy looked around, but didn’t find any more stones to skip. He went up to the woods to look for raspberries.

“You can come out now,” said Mother Stone to Skippy. “The little boy has gone.”

Skippy wriggled out from under the weed. “They sure had fun, didn’t they?” said Skippy.

“Yes, they did,” said Mother Stone, “but they’ve never been so far away from home. How will they find their way back?”

“They don’t know their way back?” asked Skippy.

“No, they don’t,” said Mother Stone.

“I didn’t think,” said Skippy. “I’m made of slate, and slate is skipped by people all the time. We always know how to get back home.” He thought a moment. “I know where Jagged landed. I can go get him, and then I’ll go look for the others.”

“Do you think you can find them all?”

Skippy didn’t want to lie to Mother Stone, so he didn’t say yes or no. “I’ll go get Jagged,” said Skippy, and he flipped himself up into the air, and landed on his sharp side so he sank down instead of skipped.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Jagged tumbled home.

“Wow!” said Jagged, “that was fun sailing in the air. I think I almost skipped.”

“You almost did,” Mother Stone agreed. “Did you see Sparkly out there? She landed closest to you.”

“No,” said Jagged, “and I wouldn’t have found my way home if Skippy didn’t come to show me.”

Mother Stone didn’t say anything, but she looked worried. Jagged rushed over to give her a hug.

Click!

“Sorry,” said Jagged, “I didn’t mean to bump into you that hard.”

“Do it again,” said Mother Stone.

“Do it again?” asked Jagged.

“We made a sound,” she explained, “and sound carries under water. Maybe the others will hear it and follow the sound home.”

Click, click, click-click CLICK!

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Sparkly tumbled home.

“You heard the clicking?” asked Mother Stone.

“I did!” said Sparkly, “and I’m so glad, because it was a deeper and darker part of the lake than I’ve ever been in.”

“Let’s click some more!” said Jagged. “Then Flinty and Shiny will hear us!”

“I don’t know,” said Sparkly. “I could barely hear you where I was, and they both skipped farther away than I did.”

Sparkly pointed her facets to color a brown trout swimming by, while Mother Stone thought about the problem, and Jagged tried to think about the problem.

“Sparkly,” said Mother Stone. “How far away can you send those sparkles?”

“A long way,” said Sparkly, “but I have to be careful because light bends in the water.”

“Do you think you could put sparkles on a fish near where Flinty and Shiny went?”

“I don’t know,” said Sparkly. “I could try.” Sparkly stood on Mother Stone so she was closer to the surface, where the sunlight was stronger.

“Is it working?” asked Jagged.

“I don’t know,” said Sparkly.

And then they saw Flinty tumbling home.

“Great!” said Jagged. “Do it again, so Shiny will come home.”

“I don’t know,” said Flinty. “I barely saw Sparkly’s colors on that fish and Shiny was a lot farther out than me. I don’t know if I can even see where she went.” Flinty jumped up into the air to look, and bounced against the steel support holding the dock. Bright sparks flew.

“Can you see where Shiny went?” asked Sparkly.

“Maybe,” said Flinty. “It was a long way away.”

“Why did those sparks fly like that?” asked Jagged.

“Oh,” said Flinty, “that happens anytime I hit something made of iron or steel—-at least when I’m out of the water.”

“Really?” said Jagged, and he jumped up into the air, and banged against the dock support. There was a loud gong, but there were no sparks.

“Did I make sparks?” asked Jagged.

“No,” said Sparkly and Flinty.

“Don’t be sad,” said Mother Stone. “You’re made of granite, and sparks only fly when steel and flint collide. You made a lovely loud gong, though.”

“Do you think my gong was loud enough for Shiny to hear?” asked Jagged.

“Or my sparks bright enough for her to see?” asked Flinty.

“Or my sparkles far enough for her to notice?” asked Sparkly.

“I think,” said Mother Stone, “that you should all three try at once.” So Sparkly got back on Mother Stone and sent her sparkles as far as she could. Flinty helped Jagged jump into the air to make a gong against the support, and then Jagged helped Flinty jump to make sparks.

Sparkle! Gong! Spark! Sparkle! Gong! Spark!

And finally, Shiny came tumbling home.

Throughout the rest of the bright wonderful Summer, Skippy showed each of the pebbles how to keep track of home, as they skipped across the lake. They had wonderful fun exploring all over, and always tumbled home in time to go to bedrock at night.

But they didn’t just learn about skipping and exploring. They learned how to work together, and help each other use their different abilities.

By the end of the Summer, they even helped Jagged to skip.

But that’s for another story.

poemhaus2 Sir Isaac Phishernife

Sir Isaac Phishernife

by Headley Hauser

Sir Isaac Phishernife

Had but one goal in life

Which was fine with his wife

She was not one for strife

Though a very small lad

He heard from his dad

There was much to be had

So he should be glad

Though he would prefer

To seek possion du jour

He put away line and lure

And to his duty made sure

As a young squire

He was urged by his sire

To seek and acquire

More knightly attire

While still a young knight

He was sent out to fight

Any monster or blight

That was fearsome of sight

When the peers did accord

To make him a lord

He gave out from his hoard

Gifts he could not afford

As an earl of the realm

Wearing buckler and helm

He did host the Duke Ghelm

Though the costs overwhelm

When a Duke he was made

To the king he was bade

And before him were laid

Tasks that made him afraid

And then he was prince

No more need to wear chinz

There were whispers and hints

He’d be king not long since

And then golden plate

They did lay on his pate

But he took hold of his fate

"I now abdicate!"

He declared with a jeer

I’ll not be king, duke or peer

But by stream, lake or mere

I will set down my rear

And my tasks now shall be

To lean back on a tree

And with lure, worm or bee

Try to catch two or three

So Sir Isaac and Maam

Live and fish by the dam

And if no fish nearby swam?

They just bake a nice ham

fictbego7 The Crow and the Weeping Man

The Crow and the Weeping Man

by Walter Bego

I was sent by the Emperor to investigate. The two kingdoms involved were provincial, remote from the grand capital. Though some would think the lands too insignificant to trouble him, the Emperor is uncommonly fond of fish.

The Piscane River and the bay it formed at the seashore separated the two kingdoms. It would be a mistake to say they shared the river and bay.

Bountiful was a broad kingdom of many farms. The land was flat and rich. The people prospered in trade of grain, sheep, and cattle.

Plenty was a narrow land, and hilly. There were a few farms on the plain, but Plenty prospered from orchards, clever tradespersons, and fishing in Piscane bay.

The fish of Piscane bay were prized throughout the Empire of the Hundred Kings for their exquisite taste.

The kings of Bountiful felt the fish should be theirs. The kings of Plenty built better and faster ships and kept the fleets of Bountiful from the fishing grounds. The kings of Bountiful raised armies to seize the shipyards of Plenty. The kings of Plenty trained skilled warriors to defend the shipyards. The kings of Bountiful bred large and healthy horses to mount cavalry and join the fight. The kings of Plenty put warriors on small swift hill ponies to rout the cavalry of Bountiful.

Plenty was too small a kingdom to conquer Bountiful. The warriors of Bountiful lacked the skill to conquer the kingdom of Plenty. So it went as it ever had. Neither land ever knew hunger, nor had either known peace.

Keerogan, king of Plenty, had three children. Keener, master of the army, lived in the plain. Kanu, master of the cavalry, lived in the hills. Kinah, mistress of ships, lived on the shore. Each was greatly skilled in their aspect of war. It was the tradition of all the princes and princesses of Plenty before them.

Dorgan, king of Bountiful, had two children. Flanai was mistress of animal farming. She knew all about breeding fat and healthy sheep and cattle. Florgon was master of grain. Florgon knew how to bring the most grain possible from each hide of land.

Though Flanai and Florgon tried to lead the armies of Bountiful, they lacked imagination and daring in battle. There had never been a prince or princess of Bountiful skilled in war.

King Dorgan, as his fathers had done before him, hired mercenaries to defeat Keener, Kanu, and Kinah. They struck at shipyard, plain, and hills, hoping to isolate and defeat one of Keerogan’s heirs. Whether they struck at Keener, Kanu, or Kinah, the other two would bring relief in time. No matter how well-laid the plan or strong the army, the royal leaders of Plenty were equal to it.

"If only I had such sons and daughters," King Dorgan lamented, "I would have my just victory."

No one remembers the Crow arriving at Plenty. He might have been there for some time. The Crow is good at avoiding notice. Always dressed in gray, the Crow keeps his face covered when in public. Many claim to have seen the Crow’s face. Unfortunately the descriptions differ. Most agree that the Crow is short to medium height and slight of build. Some say the Crow is an albino with blood-red eyes. Some say that he is Ethiopian and dark as onyx. I’ve also heard that he’s the most ordinary of men, unremarkable in every way. One report says the Crow is actually a beautiful woman with auburn hair and green eyes. If that’s the case, her beauty must have faded long since. The Crow has walked the earth for many years.

Soon after the Crow’s arrival, the war changed. Keener, Kanu, and Kinah now attacked Bountiful instead of waiting to be attacked. They did not attack the armies of Bountiful. Instead they attacked a single farm. They scattered the peasants and loaded grain and beasts into Kinah’s ships. Then they burned the buildings and fields.

There was still great wealth in Bountiful, but as the attacks continued, there was also something new, people who were poor and hungry.

Dorgan sent his armies to stop the raids, but Kinah’s ships were faster, and the armies of Bountiful arrived to find stunned peasants and scorched farms.

"Why do you attack our farms?"

"For generations, you have attacked our lands. We are only doing the same."

"But we have always attacked your soldiers and sailors, not your peasants."

"Our soldiers and sailors make us strong. Your farmers make you strong."

"But you take our food. Our people are hungry."

"Give them food from the markets. You have more than enough."

One morning as the watch opened the gates of Plenty, one among the crowd did not enter the city. He sat outside the gates in the dust and wept.

"Why are you weeping?"

"I mourn Keerogan, the king."

"But the king is alive and well."

The weeping man would not respond, but sat all day in the sun weeping. He did not stop when the gates closed at sundown. He could be heard throughout the city.

Keerogan arose the next morning short of sleep and patience. He called for his son, Keener, leader of his infantry.

"This weeping man," said the King "must be silenced. Go outside the gates and tell him to stop."

"If he refuses, should I arrest him?"

"What, and bring his noise inside the gate? No, you have a sword. If he won’t be silent, make him silent."

As Keener left the throne room, the Crow appeared. "Keener will not stop him."

"Why is that?"

"The weeping man weeps for you. After he has wept for four days, you will die."

"I will die?"

"As a judgement for the evil you have done to the peasants of Bountiful."

"But you advised me to burn the farms in Bountiful. You should be the one to die"

"Perhaps, but you are the king. The deed is yours."

When Keener returned to the throne room, he laid his sword before his father the king.

"Why is it I still hear weeping? Did you not tell him to stop?"

"I told him, Father, but he kept weeping."

"Why didn’t you stop him with your sword?"

"I tried, Father. Each time I brought my sword down, he wasn’t there. Never before have I missed my mark in battle. He didn’t move, but my sword did not go where I directed it. I do not know why."

"Then he will learn the consequences of this weeping. Today you and Kanu and Kinah will burn not one farm, but two."

"But Father, we cannot load the grain and beasts of two farms on the ships. If we return for the extra, the army of Bountiful will be waiting for us."

"Then burn what you cannot carry."

So that day the children of Keerogan burned two farms. They slew half the beasts and burned them along with half the grain. Two more families joined the poor and hungry in Bountiful.

The weeping man continued to weep. He wept all day long and through the night. His voice could be heard throughout the city of Plenty.

The king arose the next morning with as little sleep as the night before. He called for his son Kanu, the commander of his cavalry.

"This weeping man," said the King, "must cease his noisemaking. Go outside the gates and make him stop."

"My brother Keener says a sword will not kill him."

"You have your lance. Make him silent."

As Kanu left the throne room, the Crow appeared. "Kanu will not silence the weeping man."

"And how will the weeping man be silenced."

"When you die."

"Perhaps he would be silent if I killed you."

"That would silence me, but not the weeping man."

When Kanu returned to the throne room, he laid his lance before his father the king.

"Why is it I still hear weeping? Why didn’t you stop him with your lance?"

"I tried, Father. Each time I charged him, he wasn’t there. Never have I missed the mark in battle. He didn’t move, but my lance did not go where I directed it, nor did my horse strike him. I don’t know why.

"Today," said the king, "you, Keener, and Kinah will burn three farms instead of one, and all you cannot load in Kinah’s ships you will slaughter and burn.

So that day the children of Keerogan burned three farms. They slew two thirds of the beasts and burned them with two thirds of the grain. Three more families joined the poor and hungry in Bountiful.

The weeping man continued to weep. He wept all day long and through the night. His voice could be heard throughout the city of Plenty.

King Keerogan did not sleep that night. In the morning he called for his daughter, Kinah, mistress of ships.

"This weeping man steals my sleep and my peace. Go out and make him stop."

"My brothers tell me that neither sword nor lance will kill him."

"You have your arrows. Go and make him silent."

After Kinah left the throne room, Keerogan looked for the Crow. He was not to be found.

"Perhaps he has fled. He brought this upon me. It is well that he is gone."

Dorgan, king of Bountiful, sat at dinner. Four more farms were ruined that day. Too many of his people sat at his gate begging. His son Florgon said the land would recover next spring. His daughter Flanai thought the herds could rebuild in a year or two.

These efforts would be useless unless he could find a way to stop the raids.

"Do not fear, King Dorgan"

"Who are you?"

"Some call me the Crow."

"They say you are responsible for these attacks."

"But I am here to help you now. King Keerogan will be dead in the morning."

"Even if what you say is true, a prince or a princess will rule in his place. What is there to stop them from continuing the destruction of my kingdom? We won’t last through the winter."

"You will if you do as I say."

The moment King Keerogan died, the weeping man went silent. He stood and walked away from Plenty. Though the people mourned their king, many were grateful to see the weeping man leave.

Keener, Kanu, and Kinah met with the elders and agreed they would choose a new king or queen three days after the burial feast.

The day before the feast, Bountiful attacked the land of Plenty. Ships attacked Kinah’s fleet as they traveled down the Piscane River. Though she sent for aid from her brothers, relief never came. The attack was not strong, and she was able to drive away the enemy without their help.

She returned to find her shipyards burned and many of her workers slaughtered.

"The ships attacked here?"

"Not ships, Princess, but horsemen."

"Why didn’t my brothers come to your aid?"

"The horsemen carried Kanu’s standard."

Keener, Kanu, and Kinah honored their father at the burial feast. Kinah did not return Kanu’s greeting. Kanu did not greet Keener, and Keener did not greet Kinah. Shortly after the ceremony, the accusations began. Nobles, merchants, and craftspeople trembled as the three left the hall to return to ruined homes. There was no king or queen of Plenty. Each child of Keerogan raised forces instead of voices to make the claim.

There was war in Plenty from mid-Summer till harvest. Not soldier nor sailor nor horseman could prevail. When the skilled fighters were dead, Keener, Kanu, and Kinah coerced the peasants to take up arms and continue the fight. There were few able-bodied peasants left when the forces of Bountiful came across the bay killing those who resisted. The princes and princess united at the end against a common foe. It was too late; they died together.

King Dorgan took the riches of Plenty. He took the ships of war and commerce. He took the fruit from the orchards and grain from the fields. He took the beasts from the pens and the mountain ponies. He made slaves of the few craftspeople that remained. The old, the very young, and the crippled he left with nothing.

"We need food, mighty King."

"Your people took our food, now we take yours."

"How will we live, mighty King?"

"That is not my concern."

I arrived when King Dorgan returned to Bountiful. There was no sign of the Crow. Someday I will capture him, and he will answer for his crimes.

There was nothing I could do for the survivors of Plenty without King Dorgan’s cooperation. The king would not be moved.

The fleets of Bountiful were already fishing the Bay of Piscane. There will be fish on the Emperor’s table. He had no reason to be concerned.

As soon as I knew the facts, I left Bountiful to make my report. The Emperor is not known for his patience.

And I did not wish to hear the weeping man again.

fictbego3 Betty Gattis

Betty Gattis

by Walter Bego

Betty Gattis pushed the point of her notebook’s spiral binding into my thumb, drawing blood.

"That hurt?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Thought so," she said. Then the bell rang.

I left my books on the cafeteria table and went round the corner to the boys’ room. Eddie Franklin made to dump his cigarette in the urinal until he saw who I was. If I had been a teacher, he might as well have taken a drag. He would have been caught either way. I ran water on my thumb and wondered if I should rub the gritty powdered soap into it. The soap dispenser was caked with brown crusty soap stalactites. I decided against it.

"What you do to your hand?" asked Eddie.

"Betty Gattis," I said.

"You too?"

I didn’t answer. I had less than three minutes to get to algebra, and my books were probably getting kicked all over the cafeteria by now. I pulled a paper towel and wrapped it around my thumb.

"See ya," said Eddie as I left.

I only ever saw Betty in study hall, and only if I went to the talking study in the cafeteria instead of the quiet study in the library. Mom wasn’t thrilled that I didn’t get my homework done at school anymore, but like usual, as long as I didn’t say anything, she gave up on it after a while.

The first time I got the nerve to sit next to Betty she ignored me. A senior was telling her about his car – a ’70 mustang that he bought with mostly his own money. Betty didn’t seem too impressed, but she listened for a while. The senior went on about his "beauty," and Betty stood up like she was headed to the bathroom. The senior kept talking, as Betty stood behind him. Then she bent down and grabbed the back legs to the senior’s chair. She stood, pulling the back of the chair with her, and sent the senior sprawling head first into the table.

"What the…" said the senior from the floor, stopping before uttering the word that would earn him certain detention.

"Mister Ward," said Coach Fox, looking up from his training equipment catalog, "is there a problem?"

The senior, who must have been named Ward, ‘cause Coach Fox was pretty good with names, sat there on the floor for a second until it was obvious that Betty wasn’t going to put his chair back down for him.

"I just fell, Coach," said the senior, getting up to chorus of giggles across the cafeteria.

"Alright," said Coach, going back at his catalog.

Betty, back in her seat with no senior to torture shifted her attention to me. Her eyes were just normal brown, but something about them made me warm all over.

"You don’t talk much, do you?" she said.

I shrugged.

She nodded her head.

From then on, that was my seat – there next to Betty in F period study hall, and no power in heaven or the Archendale School Board could drag me from it.

fictmcfa4 Anna's World

Anna’s World

by Stanley McFarland

Anna didn’t know why her teacher said the sky was blue. It wasn’t blue, it was gray – gray like the steam the came out from under the bathroom door when her mother showered in the morning. Anna pulled on her braid and fiddled with the bungee until she could see it in front of her. She walked to the window and stared up into the sky, then held the blue bungee up to compare.

“It’s gray,” she said to no-one.

“Anna,” said her teacher, “would you go back to your seat and draw your picture of the sky, please?”

“Yes, Miss Petrovsky,” said Anna.

Jacob Finnerman had three blue crayons under his arm while he colored with a forth. Felice Reader reached under Jacob’s arm to get one, and he grabbed her finger and bent it back.

“Ow,” said Felice. “I’m tellin’”

Anna took the burnt umber from the crayon box and drew the dark bellies clouds have when they’re about to rain. She streaked the tops of the cloud bellies with silver and flecks of gold. She didn’t finish the clouds. Instead she took the gray crayon and pulled at the paper wrapping.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” said Felice, who was making her sky purple because Jacob had all the blue crayons. It was pretty – much prettier than Jacob’s hard scribbled blue, but it wasn’t real.

“I want to color with the side,” said Anna.

“But then you ruin the crayon for the rest of us.”

“Let her,” said Jacob. “It’s just the gray crayon. Nobody likes the gray crayon.”

“But you don’t have to use the side,” said Felice. “See, you just turn the crayon like this and make light marks.” An even light purple field magically appeared under Felice’s hand. She was good with crayons.

Not for the first time, Anna wished she could like Felice. She didn’t care about Jacob; he was just a boy, but it would be nice to have a friend like Felice who could color so well.

“I don’t think I can do that,” said Anna. It didn’t matter. The paper was off the crayon now. A wide shaving of paper lay by her elbow along with little bits of crumpled paper she’d picked off with her fingernail. Anna stared at the little pile. She wanted to draw it instead of the sky, but Miss Petrovsky didn’t like it when Anna didn’t do as she was told. Anna wanted to take the pile home and draw it there, but things always looked different at the apartment than they did in school.

Anna moved the side of the gray crayon across the whole paper except for one corner. She was going to put the sun in that corner. Then she changed her mind and covered the corner too. The sky was big, and the sun was small. The sun didn’t have to be in her picture.

Anna went into that place where everything went away as she worked on her sky. She used white, yellow and flecks of brown and black to fill out her clouds. She made a white double streak with a tiny dot in front to show an airplane flying across. She thought about putting in geese. She liked the way geese flew together, but she wondered whether geese would be happy in her picture. The airplane didn’t care.

“Where’s the sun?” said Miss Petrovsky.

Anna started. She hadn’t noticed her teacher come behind her.

“It looks a little gloomy,” said Miss Petrovsky.

Anna looked at the two other pictures on the table. Jacob’s drawing was of a very blue sky – deeply scrawled, and a round yellow sun with yellow spokes. Along the bottom was a dark figure. It might have been a man.

“It’s Batman,” said Jacob. “I wanted to do Superman, but the sky was already blue, so he wouldn’t show up.”

Felice’s drawing was very pretty. She had butterflies in a cluster. It looked like they were climbing up into her light purple sky. Felice’s looked so real that Anna imagined the butterflies could feel it.

“Where’s the sun?” Mrs. Petrovsky asked again.

Anna pointed to Felice’s picture. “Right there,” she said.

fictmcfa6 King's Gambit

 

King’s Gambit

by Stanley McFarland

I was still young when the king first summoned me. Our nation was small, and it was not too outrageous that a monarch might call for an obscure but promising member of his diplomatic corps.

Of course I was nervous as I arrived at the palace. The chamberlain said nothing to me; he merely beckoned and I followed, past the reception chamber, into the royal apartments, and finally into the king’s study. The king was there, staring at a map the way I’d always imagined kings did.

The chamberlain shut the door behind me.

“I want you at your best,” said the king. “How do we accomplish that? Wine? Tea?”

“Tea, Your Majesty,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even.

There was a brazier in the corner, and the king filled a tin pot with water, and put it on to boil. He pulled a teapot and two cups from a high shelf, and a canister from a lower cupboard. The king motioned to a table on which was a chess set. There were two chairs at the table.

“Sit,” he said, “and shut your eyes.”

I did as I was commanded. I could hear the king setting up his tea tray.

“As precisely as you can,” said the king, “tell me how far it is to the door by which you entered.”

I counted the steps in my mind. “Four and a quarter meters, Your Majesty.”

“What color is the teapot I brought down from the shelf?”

“It is white… an ivory white, with the royal crest,” I answered.

“Are the pieces on the chess board set correctly?”

“Nearly, Your Majesty,” I said. “The white king and queen are reversed.”

The tin pot whistled. “Then open your eyes, and correct them,” said the king.

I opened my eyes and resisted the temptation to measure the distance to the door behind me. The teapot was ivory white, and the king and queen were reversed. I corrected them as the king poured water into the pot. Then he sat opposite me, and moved his king’s pawn to the forth rank. It was a standard opening move. He motioned for me to play.

For an hour we drank tea, and played a challenging game of chess. I almost forgot I was playing a man who could have me executed with a single word, until I looked at the board and realized that the king had left his queen exposed. I studied at the board. It wasn’t a gambit. He had made an error, one that was not obvious three moves earlier, but was apparent now.

Should I take his queen? He had said that he wanted me at my best. Did that mean my best game of chess?

I took his queen.

The king seemed unaffected, and continued the game for the remaining eight moves before I checkmated him. Then he looked me in the eye. There was no irritation or congratulation in his glance. “I’m sending you to Brussels,” he said. “There, you will meet a man named Pierre Dupard. You will be given papers and an appropriate diplomatic title. Dupard will assume you are a spy. You will spend three days in Brussels, observe everything, come back, and report what you’ve seen.”

I waited for more instructions. What was I supposed to look for? Was Dupard an enemy, or an ally? The king said nothing more. He rang a small bell, and the chamberlain entered. The chamberlain beckoned, and I followed him out of the palace.

“I was concerned,” I told the chamberlain. “The king left his queen exposed. I didn’t know if I should take it or not.”

The chamberlain led me on silently. I tried again. “I didn’t know if the king minded losing at chess.”

I didn’t think the chamberlain was going to respond to either statement until we reached the palace door. “I have never known His Majesty to win a game of chess,” said the Chamberlain, as he shut the palace door.

I went to Brussels, and met Dupard. Dupard clearly thought I was a spy, and used several tricks to get me reveal what I was there to do. As I didn’t know myself, there was nothing I could reveal, but Dupard’s comments and questions brushed on a number of interesting topics.

Two days after returning, I was summoned again. Again, the king made tea. He asked me many questions about my trip as we played chess. He made a fatal error which I pounced on, and I defeated him again.

He gave me another assignment. This time he was more specific. He wanted me to assess our trade minister in Bonn – to see if he was open to bribery. I successfully bribed the trade minister, who was then dismissed from his post the day after I beat the king at chess for the third time.

For two years, it was always the same. My assignments and debriefings always took place with the king, always over a cup of tea and a game of chess which I won.

I began to wonder. I knew the king intended to lose each game, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t the superior player either. Each game he got my best, but I had little idea about his abilities. It was a small matter, but I wanted to know. Was my king brilliant, or limited?

In University we occasionally played what we called fool’s chess. The idea was to force your opponent to beat you. It was a chancy thing to play such games with a king, but I had known him two years, or at least I had spent a great deal of time with him for the last two years.

The game was a farce, and I couldn’t help chuckling to myself as blunder followed blunder. The king acted as he always did, asking me questions about my last assignment, offering me more tea, and reliably making the worst possible move. It seemed certain to end in a draw when the king resigned. I felt a surge of victory, as strange as that seems.

He looked me in the eye, as he always did when giving me my next assignment. I tried to keep my expression dignified.

“You will not play in such a fashion again,” was all he said, and he rang the bell.

I was not summoned again for three months. In the interim, I discovered a few things about how I was perceived in the kingdom. There had been talk – some of it jealous, some of it fearful about my access to the king. Now that I was obviously out of favor, people who had shown me courtesy and respect in the past openly mocked me. It was a revelation. How could I have been so keen an observer for the king, and not seen how I was seen?

When I was summoned again, I played my best chess. I sipped tea, answered the king’s questions, and received my assignment after once again, checkmating the king.

For two decades I did the king’s bidding. He grew older, as I came into my prime. The subtle blunders that he made in each game became more apparent. The reasons for my assignment, and the meanings behind the king’s questions became more apparent as well. Perhaps I was improving, growing in my understanding of chess and statecraft. Perhaps the king was aging. He no longer stood so straight when he reached for the pot. In recent years, I noted that the pot and cups were moved to a lower shelf. The tea was already out of the cabinet before I arrived.

It was that way when I was summoned this morning. The king and I played as usual, but his blunder came earlier in the game. I had a commanding lead in material, a rook and two pawns. I worried about the king. If his game was deteriorating so, how soon before the kingdom would suffer.

The king’s move was like a lightning bolt. It didn’t seem that way physically, the king’s arm moved slowly, as he captured my bishop with his knight. It didn’t seem a particularly good move; his knight was unsupported, and its loss would further expose his queen.

And then I saw it. There was nothing I could do to change it. He would checkmate me in five moves. I looked up at the king.

For the first time in twenty-three years, a tiny smile appeared at the corner of the king’s mouth. “It’s my game, I believe,” he said. Then he looked me in the eye. I tried to put my loss behind me, and focus on the assignment the king was about to give me.

The king reached into his pocket, and pulled out a packet, sealed with his ring. “You break the seal here, in this room, just before sunset,” he said.

Not many people even noticed the ship leave port this afternoon. There was nothing particularly interesting about the old man in workmen’s clothing that got on it. I don’t suppose anyone bothered to see that his hands were smooth - not a callous on them. It’s a detail I would not have missed, not after spending half my life as the king’s observer.

The open packet lies on the tea tray. The king’s abdication and his instructions have been extracted. The old chamberlain was my witness. He gave me the ring is now on my finger. My coronation is tomorrow.

There was a particularly promising young woman I noticed at the bureau of taxation. She’s misplaced. She didn’t show the slightest surprise when they announced the king’s abdication in my favor. I’ve already summoned her.

I reverse the white king and queen on the board, and stare up on the cabinet. I wonder what we’ll be drinking tonight, wine, or tea?

poemmcfa0 The Bunny

Note:  This poem appears in Confessions of a Protestant.

The Bunny

by Stanley McFarland

 

His body is too small to hold down his legs

So

The bunny hops

poemwrig1 Merlin and Nimue

Note:  This poem appears in Salt for the Journey.
 

Merlin and Nimue

by Will Wright

Merlin and Nimue were playing jacks

Merlin was cheating

Without magic he could never get past twozies

If Nimue minded

She didn’t show it

She was a natural at picking up things

Merlin was proof of that

Merlin asked if she knew the date

Somewhere in the first decade of the twenty-first century, she thought

Merlin figured that was close enough

For the thousandth time Merlin asked her

“Are you death?”

“No”

She replied

 

"Death can get to twelvezies"

fictwrig7 Fall of Brother Moon

Note:  This story appears in the Chapbook Salt for the Journey.

Fall of Brother Moon

Lie back Granddaughter, and I’ll tell you a story before you sleep.

There was a time long ago, when the Earth was much different than it is today. It was before the time of the wolf, eagle or bear. There were no seas or mountains. The Earth was flat and the rivers wandered across the land. The first ones walked the Earth. Some among them stood as tall as the lodge pine. When they walked, the Earth shook.

The Earth still remembers. You can ask her if you like.

All things worked for these, the first ones. The floods came in the spring each year. Tall grasses grew and became feed for the herd beasts. The herd beasts brought many young and covered the fields. These herd beasts were food for the tearing beasts, but because the Earth was so fruitful the herds did not decrease.

Above the Earth were two watchers that guarded and kept the balance for the Earth and her creatures: Brother and Sister Moon.

Brother and Sister Moon helped the Earth to spin. They drew the Sun’s light by day and gave it back for the night wanderers. They locked the Earth waters in cisterns, and gently moved the fresh surface water, so that the rivers ran with life.

They made music in the passing of the night. Brother Moon sang to Sister the songs of the stars, and Sister Moon played for Brother the music of the wind. Even the tearing beasts paused from their feeding to hear the music. They knew, as did all creatures, that the music of Brother and Sister Moon was the music of life.

The white snake did not love Brother and Sister Moon. His prey could see him in the moonlight, and escape. Their music was not life to him. Instead, it was a reminder of his empty belly. Though he cursed the Moons, the power of his curse was feeble, for all other creatures blessed Brother and Sister Moon. Brother and Sister Moon prospered and were happy.

The white snake knew that his spirit did not have the power to change the way things were.

So he used his wits.

One night, Brother Moon was singing the song of a new star. The star was not really new. It was very far away and its birthing song had traveled long to reach him. The song of birth burst from Brother Moon, a song both eternal and new.

The snake spoke to Brother Moon.

“Why should this new star be so much greater than you?”

Brother Moon laughed. “I would not think to hear such a question from you, White Snake. You hide in your hole in the Earth. Why should you care about the greatness of those so far above you?”

It was not polite for Brother Moon to belittle the white snake so. Brother Moon knew he was being rude, but he did not like the snake.

“From my hole in the ground,” said the white snake, “I hear your songs each night and listen as your sister plays the winds. You may think you are great to make the music of life, but I don’t agree.”

“And why is that, little crawler?”

“Because, Brother Moon, the music is not your own.”

Brother Moon pondered these words. The white snake was hateful to him, but Brother Moon wondered if the words might be true. Brother Moon did not send his own light to the Earth; he only reflected the light of the Sun. The waters he stirred were not his waters, but the Earth’s. The songs he sang to Sister Moon were not his own, but what he heard from stars so far away.

He had looked down on the white snake as a weak creature that hid in holes in the ground. Compared to the first ones that stood as tall as the lodge pine, the white snake was little indeed.

Was he not little compared to the Sun, the stars, and the Earth?

Brother Moon stopped his singing.

“My brother,” said Sister Moon, “the west wind blows across the plain. I send it through the trees and across the waters. Will you not sing your song?”

“I have no song,” said Brother Moon. “That music is the glory of others, and not my own. I am small and weak like the white snake. I am too ashamed to sing.”

“You are not small,” Sister Moon replied. “Though the Sun and stars and even the Earth stand greater, that does not make us less. We must serve our purpose. The earth creatures wait for us to stir their waters and to sing life to them.”

“They can get their life from the Sun,” said Brother Moon. “He has far more to give than I.”

No matter what Sister Moon said, Brother Moon would not sing. Without the songs of Brother and Sister Moon, the Earth’s water grew stale. There was drought in one place, and flood in another. Grasses failed, and feed fell short for the herd beasts. The tearing beasts searched for prey to hunt, and found none.

The white snake was not satisfied. He spoke to Brother Moon.

“You think withholding your song hides your shame? You are still small. The light you shine does not compare to the Sun. If you shone in the day, the Earth would not notice your light.”

Brother Moon considered the snake’s words. His borrowed light was weak. It could not compare to the light of the Sun.

Brother Moon wrapped himself in darkness.

“My brother,” said Sister Moon. “The Earth is in darkness. It is your phase to shine. Will you not shine your light?”

“I will not shine,” said Brother Moon. “It is a weak light and a humiliation to me. I have darkened my surface, and I will hide here.”

So the Earth’s night was very dark. Beasts could not find their nests and lairs, leaving their young hungry, unprotected, and comfortless. There was chaos across the Earth, and much sorrow.

Though his surface was dark, the Sun’s light still shone on Brother Moon. He stored the light, and grew hot.

The white snake hunted and became fat in the darkness, but still, he was not satisfied. He spoke again to Brother Moon.

“Brother Moon,” he said. “You stand so far away from the Earth to keep the Earth waters in their cisterns. The Earth creatures see you as small. The Sun, though much farther away than you, looks as great in the sky.”

Brother Moon brooded about the white snake’s words. “I am too small,” he thought. “I will approach the Earth and appear larger, so that the creatures of the Earth will not suspect how small I am.”

Brother Moon drew closer to the Earth.

“My brother,” said Sister Moon. “You stand too close to the Earth. You draw the Earth waters, and the heat you have gathered warms the Earth’s ice. You must move back with me.”

“No,” said Brother Moon. “I am through with my shame. I am small, but to those upon the Earth I will appear great. Now with my heat, I can burn like a star. I’ll make the night so bright, the Sun’s light will seem weak before me.”

And filled with heat, Brother Moon began to burn. The sky was full of fire. The white snake hid in his hole and the tortoise in his shell. The crocodile hid beneath the waters, and the lizard beneath the rock. But the first ones began to perish, for they were too big to find hiding places from the fire.

Seeing that he was now a star to the Earth, Brother Moon came closer. The embrace between Earth and Moon became too great.

Brother Moon fell.

As he fell, he burned brighter still. “Now, I am the greatest star of all,” he cried.

He crashed into the Earth.

Brother Moon fell so deep within the Earth that he ceased to be himself, and was lost. The Earth’s cisterns burst, and the polar ice melted. Water poured across the Earth. Land separated from land, drifted apart, and crashed together again. Mountains stood where herd beasts once grazed. The fire of Brother Moon drove deep within the Earth. Fountains of burning rock rose in a circle, marking his grave. Waters, now free, covered Brother Moon.

The Earth, in its turmoil, saw calamity birth calamity. The waves of heat that scorched the land sent billows of smoke that blocked the Sun. The surface of the land cooled, and mountains of ice moved across the Earth, crushing everything in their path.

Sister Moon, in her grief, did not play the winds. She did not reflect the Sun. She did not direct the Earth’s waters.

She wept.

She wept for an age and half an age upon the grave of her Brother. The waters that covered Brother Moon became filled with salt from her tears.

The tortoise, though small among the creatures, was the wisest. He spoke to Sister Moon.

“Sister Moon,” he said. “The Earth needs you to play the winds, and to move away this smoke. The Earth needs you to stir the waters, and to make them fit for life. The Earth needs you to move in your dance, to balance the land and the new seas.”

“I am small,” said Sister Moon, “I am not the Sun, or a star, or the Earth to do such things as you say. It is too late, anyway. Leave me. The first ones are gone. I cannot bring them back.”

“You are Sister Moon,” said the tortoise. “It is your purpose to do that which you were created to do. You are neither greater nor less than you need to be. Though the first ones will not return, new life will come to the earth.”

“I grieve,” said Sister Moon. “I watched my brother fall from the sky. He lies beneath a sea of my tears.”

“You are right to grieve,” said the tortoise. “Your pain is great. Still, you are needed.”

There was nothing in Sister Moon’s heart that wished to shine. There was no desire to bring life from the waters. There was no song for her to play on the winds.

But she was needed.

And so, Sister Moon danced to balance the Earth. The great ice found its place to settle. She played the winds and moved the smoke away. She stirred the waters. New life joined with the tortoise, snake, crocodile and lizard. There were no creatures as tall as the lodge pine, but many different creatures. Each creature suited to an area of the Earth’s surface.

The Sun’s rays now warmed the day and Sister Moon’s gentle light helped the creatures find their nests and lairs at night.

Still, one day each month, Sister Moon mourns her brother. The sky remains dark. You can hear her sighing in the west wind.

So, my granddaughter, sleep has come for you, and I speak to your dreams, so you will remember long after I am gone. Remember that you are, as you are, for a purpose. Never let the jealous and bitter make you ashamed or feel small. The Earth needs you. Though times of mourning will come, do not fear them. Sing your song. Join with Sister Moon, and all creatures, in the music of life.

fictwrig6 Pickle's Christmas Wonder

Note: You may have seen Pickle’s Christmas Wonder in the Bethlehem Writers Group anthology - A Christmas Sampler. Here is an earlier version that includes the elves, Hollydo, and Hollygo. You might find errors. It hasn’t been proofread. - WMW

Pickle’s Christmas Wonder

by Will Wright

Hollydo the elf held a bunch of cloth, stuffing and plastic in her hand. That was all she had until she pulled the last stitch to tighten the last seam.

That’s when it became a teddybear.

“Hollydo!” shouted the elf (which was how she got her name), “you are now a bear and your name is Pickle.”

The little bear opened his eyes and looked at the elf. “That’s right,” said the bear. “I’m Pickle!”

Hollydo put pickle on a Hollygo’s cart with the other new bears.

“I’m Pickle,” said Pickle.

“I’m Thistle,” said Thistle.

“I’m Taffy,” said Taffy.

“I’m Bowser,” said Bowser.

“Bowser?” said Pickle, Thistle and Taffy, because as even new bears know, Bowser is usually a dog’s name.

“That’s who I am!” said Bowser.

“Hollygo!” said Hollygo (which is how he got his name) and he rolled the cart to bear school.

The North Pole has the finest bear school in the world and Pickle, Thistle, Taffy and Bowser were very excited to learn all about being a bear – not just a regular bear, but a Christmas bear! Buddy Bear was the teacher of bear school and he had been a Christmas bear when he was new. Santa made Buddy the teacher because his friend Lynn read to him every story there was about Santa and the North Pole.

You see, bears, no matter how smart they get, still need their people to read to them.

Pickle, Thistle, Taffy and Bowser learned how to bring sweet dreams and to keep the bed bugs from biting. They learned how to turn a smile into a giggle and a giggle into a laugh. They learned how to soak up tears and turn them into love.

And they learned about the Christmas wonder.

“Every year,” said Buddy, “each boy or girl who believes in Santa gets one Christmas wonder.”

“Is it a warm feeling?” asked Pickle.

“Is it a funny tickle?” asked Thistle.

“Is it a happy sigh?” asked Taffy.

“Is it something to eat?” asked Bowser.

“It can be anything,” said Buddy, “though I never heard of one that was something to eat. As Christmas bears, it is our job to wish the best Christmas wonder possible for our boy or girl.”

“How do we do that?” asked Pickle.

“We do it,” said Buddy, “by wishing what’s best for our boy or girl, no matter what – even if it’s not good for us.”

“Even if it’s not good for us?” said Pickle, Thistle, Taffy and Bowser.

“A bear is unselfish,” said Buddy. “That’s why Christmas bears love so much.”

It was the hardest thing that Pickle learned at bear school. How do you want something for someone else even if it’s not good for you? He almost didn’t take his pie ursa bearra diploma at graduation.

“Don’t worry,” said Buddy Bear. “The secret is love.”

Hollysort led the new graduates to Santa’s great hall where there were many toys, puzzles, candies and treats waiting for Santa to decide where each gift would go.

“Hollysort!” said the elf (which is how she got her name). “Today you learn the name the boy or girl you will go to on Christmas day!”

Thistle went to a girl named Chrissy. Taffy went to a girl name Danielle. Bowser went to a boy named Spike. Pickle was happy for his friends but was sad to see them go.

“Now,” said Santa, “This next list if for a boy named Willie. Willie is three years old and he believes in me.”

“That means he gets a Christmas wonder,” said Pickle to the candy cane next to him.

“Shush!” said the candy cane. “I want to hear this!”

“On Christmas,” said Santa, “Willie will get Pepper the candy cane, Loopy the lollypop, Pickle the bear and Reginald the fire truck.”

“My boy’s name is Willie!” said Pickle.

“He’s my boy too,” said the candy cane who had shushed him before. “But Willie’s getting a fire truck. That just means I’ll end up in a candy dish and you’ll collect dust under the bed.”

Pickle didn’t think that Pepper was very friendly.

“Oh don’t mind him!” said a lollypop behind him. “He’s just an old stick in the mint.” The lollypop hopped over Pickles’ head and then balanced on his stick. “I’m Loopy,” he said.

“I’m Pickle,” said Pickle. “It is very nice to meet you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Loopy. “I’ve never met me before.”

Pickle decided that Loopy was a little confusing, but he was a very friendly lollypop.

“Clang clang clang,”

There was a big red toy fire truck behind Pickle. It was one of the biggest toys in Santa’s hall – even bigger than most of the tricycles. “My name is Reginald,” said the fire truck. “If your name’s Pickle, hop up on my running board and hang on!”

Pickle did just that and Reginald sped off so fast that Pickle’s cloth ears folded back in the wind.

“You’ve got a good grip,” said Reginald. “That’s a good thing, cause I think we’ll be doing this a lot when we get to Willie’s house. Clang, clang, clang!”

“Hey! where’s the fire?” Pepper grumbled as they circled around him.

“That’s not much of a Yule spirit, Pepper,” said Loopy. “Are you sure you’re a candy cane and not a mis-shaped sour ball?”

Pickle very much liked riding on Reginald. He was a very fine fire truck, so big and fast and pretty. “Willie is very fortunate to get such a wonderful toy,” said Pickle

“Yeah,” said Loopy hopping up and down on his stick. “Willie will be crazy about him. He’ll be Willie’s Christmas wonder.”

“Yeah,” said Pepper. “Willie will wonder why Santa even bothered bringing us.”

“Douse that kind of talk!” said Reginald. “Christmas is supposed to be fun. Willie will have fun with all of us!”

“But Loopy is right,” said Pickle. “You’re sure to be Willie’s Christmas wonder.”

“I know you can sure lick me,” said Loopy.

“I don’t care what’s Willie’s Christmas wonder,” said Reginald. “I just hope that he likes to have fun – and go real fast! Clang, clang, clang!”

Hollypak, the elf walked up with a big sack.

“Hollypak!” said the elf, (which is how he got his name.) “It’s time to go in Santa’s sack.”

“The sack’s too small,” said Pepper. “Reginald won’t even fit in there by himself.”

“It’s a magic sack,” said Hollypak, and he picked up Reginald and threw him inside. Reginald didn’t stick out at all, but Pickle could hear, “clang, clang, clang!” coming from inside.

Pickle thought that Santa’s sack would be dark and crowded, but it wasn’t like that at all. There were more toys than he could count inside and everyone was singing Deck the Halls and Jingle Bells. Pickle found Thistle, Taffy and Bowser, and the bears sang in four-part harmony like they learned at bear school.

When they got to Willie’s house, Santa pulled Pickle, Pepper, Loopy and Reginald out of his sack. He hung Pepper on the Christmas tree. Then he put a big bow around Reginald together with a sign that said, “to Willie from Santa,” and put him in the middle of the room. Then he put Loopy and Pickle side-by-side at the top of Willie’s stocking.

“That looks just about right,” said Santa.

Pickle looked at the room. Reginald was so big and shiny. Willie would never even notice Loopy and him at the top of the stocking.

Santa clucked Pickle under the chin and it made the bear laugh.

“That’s better,” said Santa. “Now remember Pickle, you have a job to do.”

“I’m supposed to wish for Willie to have the best Christmas wonder.”

“That’s right,” said Santa.

“But Santa,” said Pickle, “Reginald will be Willie’s Christmas wonder and Reginald said he doesn’t even care. He just wants to have fun and go fast.”

“That’s Reginald’s job,” said Santa. “But Christmas bears have a different job and you’re a Christmas bear. Remember what Buddy taught you and you’ll do fine.”

So instead of feeling sorry for himself, Pickle started wishing. He didn’t worry about anything else – even if he ended up under the bed collecting dust. All that mattered was that Willie have a great Christmas wonder. It didn’t matter if that wonder was a funny tickle, a happy sigh, a warm feeling or something to eat. It didn’t matter if the wonder was a big shiny fast fire truck that went clang, clang, clang. What mattered was that Willie’s Christmas wonder was a wonderful wonder.

So all night long, Pickle wished and wished and wished some more, until sunlight came through the window and he heard little feet on the stairs.

“Oh boy!” said Reginald, “we’re going to have fun!”

“Fun?” said Pepper, “Like having a Christmas tree light melt my stripes all night?”

“Oh look,” said Loopy. “He just came around the corner. He’s so cute! I’m a sucker for him already.”

And Pickle looked across the room at three-year-old Willie with his bright eyes and curly hair and something happened inside. Pickle’s little bear heart started beating and wouldn’t stop.

And each little beat said, “I love you.”

Willie ran across the room, jumped over the big new fire truck and pulled Pickle out of the stocking.

“You smiled at me,” said Willie. “Mommy, the teddy-bear smiled at me.”

“That’s because it’s Christmas,” said Willie’s mother, whose name was Lynn. “Wonders happen at Christmas – especially with Christmas bears.”

That night, Willie’s mother, whose name was Lynn looked in on her little boy. He was hugging Pickle the bear tight. A silly lollypop looked down at the two from the bedpost. A shiny new fire truck was resting at the foot of the bed. It needed the rest. The truck had gone fast and had fun all day long.

Willie’s mother, whose name was Lynn went back down stairs and gathered up the candy canes and put them in a candy dish – even one whose stripes looked like they were melted and then she sat down and put her head on the chest of her oldest friend. She listened for his heart.

Each little beat said, “I love you.”

“Did you have a good time with Santa at the North Pole?” she asked.

“I did,” said Buddy, “but it’s good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home,” said Willie’s mother.

“And thank you for my little boy’s Christmas wonder.”