This was my first attempt at trying to write a story without any conflict (just to see if it could be done), but I utterly failed.
THE END, by H. Green
Once upon a time, in a land dotted with dots and sprinkled with pudding, there was a man. Actually, there were lots of men. They were intermixed with various humans of the “female” gender, and oftentimes, they would get together and make babies, in an effort to perpetuate the species, as well as show their love for each other.
“Look at those dots, son,” said one particular loving father to his son, Fred. “Look at those dots dotting the landscape.” And his waving hand swept the horizon, as Fred looked on in awe.
But what else could a dotted land be dotted with besides dots? It was true. There was nothing.
On one particular day, a gentleman by the name of Father Harris sat at the dinner table with his young family and his wife, who donned a bonnet and roughly nine layers of clothing that helped to insulate heat in the dead of summer.
“So kids, what did you learn at school today? We’ll start with you Cathryn,” he said, motioning to his oldest daughter, who was seated next to him. He was a very fatherly figure, and his motioning actions, which he engaged in quite frequently, were very authoritative, as only a father figure could do.
“I learned about mitosis,” she said. It was an obvious lie.
“What an obvious lie,” responded Harris, with fatherly rage in his eyes. “No one learns about mitosis in one day. How dare you lie to me. Go to your room!”
“Wah!” Cathryn cried, and she fled from the dinner table in tears.
The other children were deathly silent.
“Now,” continued Father Harris. “What did you learn Matthew?” And he motioned to Matthew, who was slightly younger than Cathryn. He was a very clean cut boy, and he wore a straw hat, jeans, and suspenders, as any 14-year-old boy would.
“I learned how to solve a linear equation,” he said.
“Well done, Matthew, my favorite child. Well done,” said Father Harris, with that reassuring fatherly love in his eyes. And he ruffled Matthew’s hair, which was relatively difficult, since he was wearing a straw hat. After struggling with this obstacle for a few seconds, Father Harris removed his son’s straw hat, and then ruffled his hair. It stood firmly ruffled, with bits of Ruffles potato chips scattered here and there.
“What about you, Samuel?” he asked, motioning to the next son, who was 10.
“I learned that you should never talk to strangers,” he said, completely and utterly sincere.
“Really Samuel?” asked Father Harris. “Really? Do you really think that’s an effective method for succeeding in life? How you have failed me constantly. Go to your room!” His voice rumbled and shook the house. It was incredible how he could go from so loving to so enraged in just a matter of seconds.
“Wah!” cried Samuel, and he fled from the table in tears.
This ritual was not uncommon in the Harris household. In fact, it happened every single night.
Mother Harris, who was old, wrinkly, and probably about 30 years older than Father Harris, gingerly nibbled her dinner. What was remarkable, absolutely remarkable, was that the food she was nibbling gingerly was actually ginger. She laughed to herself upon thinking this.
There was only one child left besides Matthew, the favorite child. It was Lucy, the youngest. She was almost six years old. It came down to this pivotal moment.
“And what about you, child?” asked Father Harris, having forgotten her name. “What did you learn at school?”
Lucy was silent for several seconds. The tension built to a fevered pitch. Matthew, Father Harris, and Mother Harris, stared at her, waiting for the answer. Then she spoke.
“I wish…that YOU WOULD HAVE A HEART!” she cried. Then she realized that her answer didn’t make any sense in relation to her father’s question. But it didn’t matter. Not this time.
“No!” cried Father Harris. “No! Not now! How could you! Arggh!!!” He clutched at his chest in agony. “My chest! It hurts! Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!”
He screamed for several more seconds, then he exploded.
Flesh and blood flew everywhere, splattering the walls, splattering the faces of his family, splattering the face of his dog, Max. It was just a mess. One big nasty bloody mess.
After all the commotion of exploding, his children began coming out of their hiding places. First came Cathryn. Then came Samuel. They stood in awe and wonder at the scene. Angels began to sing, very distantly.
Then something stirred in the mess. It was Father Harris. But it wasn’t the exploded dismembered Father Harris. It was the real Father Harris. “My children…” he said, groping blindly about, as he was covered in flesh and blood. Only it wasn’t his flesh and blood. It was the flesh and blood of the fake Father Harris that had kept the real Father Harris locked up in his stomach for 10 long years. Finally, the children would know their one true father.
“Father!” they cried, and they all ran to him and embraced him. It was a heart-wrenching scene. Children united with their father. A father reunited with his children.
Then he turned and looked at Mother Harris, who stood, nodding in approval.
“Hello wife,” he said, with a smile.
“Hello Father Harris!” she cried, and she ran and leapt into his arms. And they made out for three hours, and made their kids watch. It truly was…the end!
THE END
Discussion questions (to be discussed as a loving family unit):
1) Ruffles potato chips? Are you serious? Did they even have those around back then?
2) What the heck is with Matthew? Do you have a sibling that's favorited by your parents? Does it make you mad? Have you ever tried to murder this sibling? Explain.
3) What time period IS this exactly?
4) Explain how we, as humans, tend to do things, sometimes, that cause certain events to happen.
5) Did you think the first time you read this story that Mother Harris was actually Father Harris's mother? You're sick. Explain.
