story whimsy

By Angie Bromeland Mason quietly walked down the hallway. It was an understandable and appropriate thing to do, given that Mason’s literacy tutor lived two doors down. He hadn’t exactly been enjoying their studies lately. But sure enough, Miss Violet’s door opened just as Mason got to it. She just happened to be leaving for her meeting with the apartment association. What luck. “Why, Mason! How nice to see you,” she said with a smile. Mason smiled back nervously. “Hi Miss Violet, ma’am,” he said. He really hope he wouldn’t be snagged into an extra lesson. “You can walk with me to my meeting,” Miss Violet said. “Tell me. How many pages have you read this week?” Mason sighed. “I’m not exactly sure, ma’am,” he said. It wasn’t inaccurate. He hadn’t been recording the number of pages he’d read. But he also knew there weren’t many pages to record. “Well I certainly hope the number of pages you’ve read is greater than the number of minutes you’ve wasted on media,” she nagged. ...

By Angie Bromeland Frankly, we should have known better when my big brother Elliot offered to bring Shandi and I drinks. He’s not usually that thoughtful. And he really loves pranks. So we definitely should have known better. Instead, we were just thankful to have a cool drink after our game of tag outside. Shandi was the first to notice. I guess I was drinking so fast that I didn’t notice. Shandi must have known to be careful. She only took a sip and then said, “My water stinks. Doesn’t yours, Monica?” I stopped drinking, and that’s when I noticed my water kind of tasted like pickles. It kind of smelled like pickles, too. I was linking two and two together in my mind. I filled in the blanks, and then realized… “Vinegar!” I said. That’s what the smell and taste was. Vinegar. Just like in a jar of pickles. From around the corner, we heard Elliot trying to muffle his laughter. I was really mad now. Nothing rankles me like someone messing with my food or drink. “Grrr,” I...

By Angie Bromeland Josa sat on the slate floor, drafting a painting. There was plenty of seating in the library, but she always chose the hard floor. It made an excellent table for all her papers. She liked to spread them out.  Josa was wearing her favorite pleated skirt, and it spread out like a fan around her. She leaned against the wall and looked up thoughtfully. “An iris!” she suddenly thought aloud. She blushed at her outburst and looked around nervously. No one was close enough to hear. “Phew,” she whispered. Lately, Josa had been enjoying painting flowers. She planned to give four or five paintings to her mom’s best friend, Jayne. Even though they weren’t actually related, Jayne was like an aunt to Josa. She even called her “Aunt Jayne.” Josa had already sketched a rose, a daisy, a tulip, and even lilacs for her. An iris would go with the collection perfectly. After Josa sketched the iris, she looked at her drawings with a satisfied smile. This would do. She v...

By Angie Bromeland Minnie and Myrtle were twin witches. They lived in a camper, deep in the woods. Their witch friends all asked why they didn’t build a cottage, but Minnie and Myrtle liked their camper just fine. The door made a delightful “squeak” each time it was opened. It pleased them very much. One day, their mail possum delivered a flyer. “What’s it say?” asked Myrtle, whose eyesight wasn’t as keen as Minnie’s. “There’s going to be a contest for best witch’s brew!” Oh, goodie!” squealed Myrtle. “What’s the prize for the champion?” “It says here the prize is a pet of your choice from Witchy Wares. Their owls all look so splendid,” Minnie said dreamily. “I’ve always wished for a sleek black cat,” Myrtle said. “I think I’ll try to win.” Minnie was glad for her sister. She would be happy to help her win. There was a week until the contest, but Myrtle started her brew right away. Soon, the brew brimmed over the top. So when Myrtle looked away, Minnie let some leak o...

By Angie Bromeland Willow the bullfrog lived in the grassy glades of the forest. One morning as she finished her song, she noticed the color of things were fading. That’s when Chester the beaver swam by. “Good morning, Willow!” he waved. “Chester, oh Chester,” Willow called to him. “Where have all the colors gone? Why is the world turning dull?” Chester stopped swimming and sat up. “Whatever are you talking about?” he asked in confusion. “Oh don’t you see? The golden petals of the black-eyed Susan are curling up and fading away. The grass is going dry, and even the wild rose has turned from red to pink. Why?” Chester was wading into the shallow water at the edge of the lake.   “My dear friend, don’t you know it is fall? And that fall comes every year? And that every year the colors fade and go away and are covered with an invasion of snow until it warms again in spring and the colors can return?” Chester’s many abilities didn’t always include being patient. Willow...

By Angie Bromeland Callen was very aggravated. He had a story to write. He knew he could illustrate it, but he couldn’t write words, yet. He tried hard to concentrate on the sounds to write the name of his book: Power-Man. But when he handed it to his mom, she read, “puraman,” so he knew he had it wrong. Sometimes it was so irritating to be 5 years old. “How about you dictate the story to me, instead?” Callen’s mom asked. “Dictate?” he asked. “Yes! You just tell me what to write,” she said. Callen didn’t hesitate to hand his mom his pen. She listened carefully as Callen told her what he wanted on each page. He knew all about periods and exclamation points and when to use uppercase letters. Soon, they were finished with the last page. Callen sat back, pleased. But when he closed the book, he saw that he hadn’t yet made the cover. He really   wanted to do the cover himself. But how could he write if he couldn’t spell? His mom saw him puzzling. “I have an idea,” she to...

By Angie Bromeland “Is it time yet, Mama?” Trina asks. “Yes, girls. Hurry to the radio.” Trina and Marcy squeal with delight and scamper to the radio. Trina coaxes their cat, Posy, to come cuddle with them. It’s time for one of their favorite weekly broadcasts, called “Great Hoaxes.” The radio show is all about stories of giants and other creatures that probably aren’t real. The girls had tuned in each week for the past month. The last time, they left off right at the climax of the story. Tonight, they would find out if Willard meets the abominable snowman or not!  The radio announcer begins: “We last left off when Willard was walking on a moonlit night and saw something huge out of the corner of his eye. Was it the abominable snowman? Let’s find out.” The story continues: “Willard goes back into his cabin and waxes his skis. He pets his dog goodbye, and leaves. Willard feels nervous. The night is quiet and still. He follows the twists and turns until he gets to a hill. He c...

By Angie Bromeland Waylon sat on the back of the hay wagon using a piece of hay as a toothpick. “I’ve got stuff stuck in my teeth,” Waylon said as he picked.   “That’s what happens after eating corn on the cob,” Marvin replied to his roughneck friend. “Now hop down here and help me again.” Waylon plunked the piece of hay on the ground and hopped off the wagon. The two men were digging holes for fence posts to make the horse pasture larger. Marvin plunged his shovel down into the earth, and the men heard a clunk. “What was that?” Waylon asked. Marvin looked confused. “Beats me. Sounds like a chunk of bedrock.” He dug some more, and again they heard the chinking sound. Waylon used his shovel to clear away more dirt, and then two men crouched down to see what the shovel was hitting. “Sheesh, is that what it looks like?” Waylon asked in amazement. “Buddy,” Marvin started, “we could be on the brink of a great discovery here.” Quickly, Marvin and Waylon used their sh...

By Angie Bromeland The old playhouse was nearly caved in from all those years of being forgotten. But when Bruce and Kate arrived at its doorway, the playhouse seemed to sigh with relief. It sensed a new life was coming. It would be much easier to survive another winter if it was treated with care once more. Bruce and Kate were both thinking the same thing. They looked at each other and smiled. “Let’s get to work,” they said together. They couldn’t wait to make this little forgotten playhouse their own. Moss and lichen covered the windows and the roof sagged. Kate and Bruce peered inside. Sunlight streamed in through the open door. “It isn’t safe with the roof like that,” Bruce said. So he and Kate gathered long, sturdy sticks. Bruce used his knife to cut pieces of twine and tie the sticks together. Then, they stood the bundled sticks in the middle of the playhouse, pushing the ceiling back where it belonged. “Did your Mom pack us any snacks?” Bruce asked. Kate shook her head....

By Angie Bromeland The brave surfer stood in the ocean cave, watching the waves. Finally, he walked into the water holding his board. He laid across it and paddled into the ocean. For a while, he sat on top of his board with one leg on either side of it. He counted the seconds between the waves. He imagined the water crashing down over him. He was already planning to return to this spot tomorrow. That’s when he knew he had become a slave to surfing. He smiled at the thought. “Youth have found worse ways to spend time,” he thought aloud. Finally, it was time. He paddled farther out in the ocean, and as a wave rolled beneath him, he jumped to his feet on the board. He stretched his arms out like an eagle. And he flew. He flew with the wave for 23 seconds until it crashed over him. He held his breath as he plunged under the water, and then bobbed to the surface again. He knew if his mom had seen that, she would have said, “That was a close shave.” But he was safe and having the time...

By Angie Bromeland Anika loved to stroll alongside the fence by the cow pasture. She could count fenceposts all afternoon. But mostly, she loved watching the cows. Some were jersey brown, and two were black, but most were black and white Holsteins, which she always thought looked like cows in a storybook. The group of cows were so mild and mellow, they always made Anika feel calm. She loved to hear their low bellow, though they were usually silent. A few cows wore bells around their necks. Each bell sounded a little different, but each was beautiful. Usually, the cattle just grazed on the grass, or lumbered around lazily. But sometimes, Anika would see one roll in the dirt, and it always surprised her to see the huge creature move like that. Even the smell there in the pasture was soothing to Anika. The lush, sweet grass mixed with the scent of clover plants. The cattle’s leathery scent drifted in waves. The rich dirt beneath her feet wafted to her nose. When it all mixed together, a...

By Angie Bromeland Drago the dragon laid on the moss, sunning himself. His scales shone brightly in the sun. With his large body and noble face, Drago looked quite stunning. He was what one might refer to as handsome. It was spring, which was Drago’s very favorite season. He disliked snow in his claws, and summer was so hot it made his scales itch. But in spring, the moss grew spongey, the days grew longer, and the flowers grew more delicious. What’s that? You did not know that dragons ate flowers? Well, suppose I tell you a secret. Drago does. He does not like hunting animals, for he hates to see fear in their eyes. Drago took a long nap on this spring day. When he was done resting, he stood and shook himself off. Even his wings quivered. One wing quivered so very much, it knocked a bluebird’s nest right out of a tree branch. “Oh dear, do pardon me,” Drago said to the mother bluebird. Drago made sure the eggs were safe in the nest, and then placed the nest back on the branch. The m...

By Angie Bromeland The gulls yelped at the young bull when they first saw him. Never had they seen such a creature so near the shores where they flew and lived. But the bull didn’t mind the gulls in the least. Instead, he continued to explore the area in his steady, controlled manner. It wasn’t long until a week passed, and then a month. Still, the bull was there by the shore. After so long, the gulls were no longer surprised by his presence, so they stopped screeching at him at last. The bull, as it turned out, had escaped from a trailer when he was being moved to a new ranch. He didn’t like how crowded and full the trailer was. And he especially didn’t like the symbol of a bull’s skull painted on it. He could tell it was sunny and bright outside, and he just needed to get out. So when the truck slowed, the bull pushed and pulled at the door until he could squeeze out. The other animals never even noticed. There wasn’t any pasture on which to graze, here at the beach, but the bull...

By Angie Bromeland   “I just love mums,” said Mrs. Beasley as she watered the flowers in her apartment window box. Suzanne sat in the kitchen, where she was eating a fat slice of white bread with raspberry jam. “My thumbs aren’t the greenest, but even I can keep mums happy,” Mrs. Beasley chuckled. Suzanne loved her afternoons at Mrs. Beasley’s. She always learned something new. From the first time they met, Mrs. Beasley told Suzanne that she shuns the idea of talking to children as if they aren’t intelligent. That made Suzanne smile. “Now, Suzanne, here’s a lesson,” Mrs. Beasley began. “The word ‘mum’ is actually short for a much longer word: chrysanthemum! But I suppose ‘chrysanthemum’ is too hard to say, so they’re more commonly called mums.” Suzanne nodded to show she understood. Her mouth was still full. Mrs. Beasley kept on talking.   “People think leaves are the best part of fall, but I think autumn’s mums are even better. It’s nice to have a splash of color on...

By Angie Bromeland The sea brooded after the storm. In the scrub that grew along the shore, a sea turtle, snake, and crocodile crept around. The sea turtle said to the crocodile, “Why do you always smile?” The crocodile replied, “I suppose because I can always find something to eat. I don’t go hungry.” This made the sea turtle nervous, and he tucked himself into his rubbery shell. The snake then came slithering by. “What’s all this hubbub? Where’s Turtle?” he asked. “He’s just brooding,” said the crocodile. “I think he fears I’ll eat him. But I was just ribbing him, of course.” The sea turtle popped his head out of his shell. “What a cruel thing to do! Your teeth gleam even in the darkness.” The crocodile laughed. “I was just blabbing. I knew you had a full belly, yourself. After all, I could see you grubbing for squid when you dove into the sea.” The sea turtle looked surprised. “You can see beneath the surface?” “No,” the crocodile shook his head. “I was swimmi...