Desert Time
by: Amir, 4th grade
In a land of a blue moon and yellow grass, there was a viscous woman, none of which was a robber or any of those sorts; was roaming town. The world at that point had never paused at the environment around it and had faced a future, which in a vile way was blooming, and was caused by a legend about witches.
Every single child had read it as a bedtime story only to have nightmares, and then it was common to have nightmares about witches. Since they had abolished Christianity, Judaism and all the “days of ages” (a quote which they used for old) religions; they used their “purple speckled infant” (a quote which meant new) religion. In Hor Angora Reim the “purple speckled infant” prayer book, it read: The old ones as children, and less a witch comes along, shall dream to gather ones strength.
Anyway, there was a person called Highrye Transforma O’Hara who could tell you every single test for witches, for she had been through them all. She had failed every one. The only thing that made the people “not beaten” (a quote which meant hadn’t given up) is she owned a pumpkin, and in that land pumpkins did not grow.
Ms. O’Hara’s appearance was not an amazing one, but yet not witchy. She had almond-shaped eyes, short cut black hair, (by the way, in those days you didn’t go to the barber, your hair just cut itself.) Ms. O’Hara always wore a purple polo shirt and an apron, caused she cooked, with the pumpkin by her side.
Twas one cloudy day in April, when the MCPSI (Mayor Committee of the Purple Speckled Infant) met at the Grandjon’te Café on 74th street, which was a dilapidated building and was closed about six hundred forty-nine years ago. There had been many witch trials held there; but despite true fact, the MCPSI had always told the people of that very city, that it had been an old car wash. The people were too dimwitted (all except O’Hara) to know that no cars had been around that long ago; so they let it be!
On the exact strike of five o’clock, the MCPSI gathered in the café. A deguylon (a word they used for non-witch) volunteer had opened the café again from five to seven so the committee had limited time. They were meeting to discuss the downfall of Highrye Transforma O’Hara. No witch trial would work like its job in the old days. It was time for the clever idea.
“How ‘bout we put rat juice in
her food?”
“Only in books.”
“Or pour water on her till she
melts?”
“Only in books.”
The discussion went on for about an hour and thirty minutes, and with barely enough time the vice president of the committee perked up and told her idea for O’Hara’s end.
“She owns a pumpkin right? We’ll go out to that Café on Plaza Road. They just put a sign up for new employees. We’ll recommend O’Hara for dessert worker. Everyday there they have only pumpkin pie for dessert we’ll steal the pumpkin she buys from the store and she’ll have no choice but to use her own pumpkin.”
After everyone had agreed, they decided to go to the café on Plaza road the next day.
The third week of April came quickly, and O’Hara got her notification that she had been hired for the new job. It read:
Welcome, Dear Friend of ours to Café Tramp on Plaza Street
You have been hired for Desert Maker. 14 people suggested you. You should feel honored!
A few things you should know:
How to get to café Tramp:
Also we make pumpkin pie everyday for desert. Bring pumpkins! Your work starts tomorrow!
Lovingly,
Café Tramp’s workers on Plaza Street.
There must be some kind of mistake. Nothing massive exactly, but a spelling error. Dessert was spelled with one s instead of two. All kids learned in “scholarvey” a word which in those days meant school, was spelling. It was a very useless subject, but, for the umpteenth time, it was in their religion that spelling was a sacred subject, and should be glanced over very carefully.
But, why in the town, (it was improper then to say world) would people, who worked at the second best café in town make dessert with one s. This perplexed O’Hara and she went to sleep meditating on it.
O’Hara set back in her creaky seat; waiting for the train to lift off and glide next to angles (what are now called birds) in the sky. She took the now torn letter out of her pocket, and read it one more time. But she still pondered why they had made that mistake…….
“So get straight to work, no excuses!” the manager of café Tramp told O’Hara, and with that he slammed the door.
The dessert making room was musty, it had no windows, and it had no clean air in it. But despite these conditions, she went straight to work. The first thing was finding the pumpkin. She had bought one earlier, but it was nowhere to be seen. O’Hara searched every corner of the room. She was a very determined person and stuck with everything. And maybe that was a bad trait of hers. For she had to use her own pumpkin. And that was a huge mistake.
O’Hara’s own pumpkin lie face down on the cutting board, with her knife down right beside it. She was ready for a huge mistake. Carefully, she picked up the knife and rubbed her fingers gently on the sharp blade. A long sigh came from O’Hara’s mouth, but then the pumpkin glowed a transparent light. O’Hara blinked her eyes, and once again it was just a normal pumpkin. “I must be seeing things.” O’Hara said to herself.
But as she lowered the knife and was ready to cut the top off when the pumpkin glowed again. And then an angry face appeared. O’Hara backed up to the counter, the knife still in her hand. The face has a stubby nose, a curved mouth and eyes that looked of a true witch. Nothing compared to O’Hara’s.
“Put that down!” the pumpkin cried, “Or prepare to face the sly movement of death!”
The knife did not move an inch.
“You are a disgrace to your community. You are nothing but a coward if you think about it! You have spent your whole life worrying about me,” the pumpkin continued, his tone of voice rising, “when others need your advice! Put that knife down!”
The knife dropped with a loud clang.
“Think about your past life O’Hara.” The pumpkin said.
She had not been a very good person, only caring about this one pumpkin, and O’Hara knew she had to confess it.
“I give in.” she said, a small tremble in her voice.
The pumpkin spilt in half, and an invisible force pushed O’Hara through the air and she landed in the middle on the two halves of pumpkin. Then with a loud creaking sound the pumpkin slammed shut. No one ever saw O’Hara again.
Police investigated the room where the dessert maker worked for months on end. No evidence of death or any other thing of that sort was found.
And maybe dessert was spelled in the letter with one s instead of two because she was unworthy of the job.
Or maybe it was just a smear of ink.