Hello...

Can you believe it! I have NOT fallen off the face of the earth. 


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.