Here is a story I wrote for school. Enjoy! :)
Charlotte’s
Dead
“Where’s
Papa going with that ax?” Fern asked her mother as she was washing dishes.
“Out to the pig-pen,” Mrs. Arable answered.
“Some pigs were born last night.”
“But why does he need an ax, Mama?”
Fern worriedly queried.
“Well dear, um, one of the babies is
not quite up to average.” Seeing the look in Fern’s eyes she decided to just
tell her the truth. “He is going to have to kill it because it is too weak,
small, and won’t amount…” Mrs. Arable said.
Fern made
a small shout, grabbed a dish rag, dropping it on the way out of the screen
door. The screen door shut with a loud crack. Mrs. Arable sighed and picked up
the dishtowel.
Fern
grabbed onto the back of her Papa’s shirt.
“No
Papa!! Don’t kill the innocent pig! It’s done nothing to you.” Her father came
to a stop. Slowly he turned around and looked into her eyes.
“Darling
it’s the best for it.”
“Death
isn’t the best for anything.”
“I’m
doing what I know is right.”
“But
Papa you...”
“Go
inside now Fern.”
A few
moments later Papa walked into the kitchen with a defeated look on his face. “Okay
Fern, you win.” Fern squealed in excitement. “But we will be selling him to
your Uncle Homer.” Fern’s face dropped.
“What’s
the down face for? At least I let him live!”
“Thank you Papa.”
Shortly
after breakfast Papa called up Homer Zuckerman and asked him if he would like a
pig for only six dollars. Homer agreed and came by to pick him up later that
afternoon.
“My! That shore is a tiny pig. Maybe
I can fatten him up.” Zuckerman said. Fern’s face glowed at the thought of the
pig being a normal size. What she didn’t hear was, “I doubt he’ll live long.”
“Oh I almost forgot to tell you. His
name is Wilbur,” Fern announced with a grin on her face. Homer knew that it was
bad to name an animal, especially when it was a runt.
“Um...okay. Are you sure you want to
name it?” Zuckerman cautiously asked. Fern looked sternly at him. Homer turned
around, picked up the pig and put it gently into a basket; all the while Fern
was scrutinizing him with her stare.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you later,”
Homer called out of the window of his truck. When he got home he put Wilbur
into a little corner of the barn, where there was fresh hay and a trough so
Wilbur could eat. Wilbur was next to the goose pen.
Weeks went
by in Wilbur’s pen without any company and he was not improving at all. He
spent most days moping in the corner and was prone to coughing fits. Homer was
considering just doing away with him. The decision was getting more urgent
because the slop put into Wilbur’s trough would rot and stink and attract rats.
Three
weeks into owning Wilbur, Zuckerman decided to go on and get it over with. Stepping
outside, the porch door creaked. Letting it slam shut, Homer breathed in the
fresh air. He noticed that the barnyard was eerily quiet. With the sun rising,
the rays of light made the lightly dewed grass sparkle. Any moment now a horse
would start neighing, a cow would moo in almost perfect harmony, and Wilbur
would be standing with his feet spread apart and start coughing. Whistling a
tune, he strolled toward the barn. He fed all the other animals before he fed
Wilbur. “Here piggy-iggy-iggy!” Homer shouted. Peering into the dark enclosure Homer
had to blink a few times in order for his eyes to adjust. A cold pink lump lay
in the far corner not moving or breathing. A rancid, half-eaten rutabaga lay
near his left ear.
“Oh
man. Fern is not going to be happy. Well, might as well and go get my shovel,”
Homer muttered to himself. Walking out of the barn to get the shovel, he walked
into a spider-web. A large gray spider fell to the ground and Homer promptly
squished it with his boot.
Moral: Rotten rutabagas can alter your destiny.
