Reviving old literature. Thanks Gareth, and dedicated to Ern.
PART 1 – In which the protagonist is introduced
Once upon a time there lived a young boy named Billy. Billy was five years old. He had blond hair, brown eyes and a cheery disposition.
Today was Billy’s first day of school. Because of this, Billy was very excited. “It’s my first day of school!” he said happily, as he skipped along the pavement holding his mother’s hand. “I’m so excited!”
Billy’s mother smiled down at her son. “Now, now, Billy,” she said, “calm down. We’re almost there.”
Billy continued to frolic in joy and delight. The brightness of his smile blinded a nearby mosquito, which fell to the ground in shock and was squashed by Billy’s foot. But Billy was too excited to notice.
“It’s my first day of school!” he repeated joyfully.
“Indeed it is,” Billy’s mother said proudly. She quickened her pace to match her son’s.
When they finally arrived at school, Billy rushed to his first class, leaving his mother waving wistfully behind. He sat down at the front of the classroom and waited.
And waited.
After five minutes the whole class had arrived. Most were sitting trembling at the back. “Come on up here, children!” said the teacher in a friendly voice. “I won’t bite, you know!”
So the children (apart from Billy, of course) moved cautiously to the front. Billy beamed at them. They stared uncertainly back.
“Today we’ll be doing a little bit of art,” said the teacher cheerfully. “I want you to use these crayons” – she pointed to some crayons – “to draw this apple.” She pointed to an apple. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
There was a pregnant pause. The children shuffled their feet.
“Yeah! That sounds great!” said Billy happily. He grabbed some crayons and started drawing. The other children stared.
A large bead of sweat formed on the teacher’s head. She had never encountered a class quite like this one. “Come on, children,” said the teacher in an encouraging tone. “Look at” – she checked her roster – “Billy here. See how fun it is for him?”
Billy beamed again. The other children nodded slowly.
The teacher sighed. It was going to be a long day.
To be continued…
PART 2 – In which the stage is set
Billy skipped down the pavement, a smile affixed on his face as he hummed to himself. What a great day at school! he thought. He broadened his smile and widened his stride.
What a great day at school! he thought again. He flailed his arms about in gladness. The children walking home with him shuffled away nervously.
Eventually Billy turned down the street to his house, waving goodbye to the other children, who smiled uncomfortably back. He scampered along the pavement, pushed open the gate, rushed down the pathway and burst through the door, colliding with his mother who had come to greet him when she had seen him outside.
“Hi mom,” he gasped, and promptly raced up the stairs. His mother blinked. She closed the door delicately and went back to chopping broccoli.
Vegetables, Billy’s mother reflected, are much easier to understand than little boys.
Meanwhile, Billy had raced back down the stairs and was rummaging through the pantry. Billy’s mother was drawn to the racket. She looked at the mess and sighed.
“What are you doing, Billy?” she said.
“I’m looking for a fruit,” he said.
Billy’s mother raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said. “Why is that?” Inwardly she was ballooning with excitement. Goodness, she thought, my boy is growing up! Asking for fruit to eat, I’ll say!
“It’s an assignment for school,” Billy said. “I have to draw a fruit.”
Billy’s mother didn’t respond. She was enraptured, her hands clasped together in front of her starry, vacant eyes.
“Uh, mom?” said Billy. “You ok?” He went and fetched a stool to stand on, and then climbed on it and snapped his fingers in front of his mother’s face.
“Wha?” said Billy’s mother, looking wildly around. “Oh… oh. Yes dear, I’m fine.” She smiled. “So which fruit would you like to eat?”
Billy blanched. “Jeez, mom!” he said. “I’m not gonna eat a fruit! Eeeew! I just need to draw it for school!”
Billy’s mother deflated. “Oh,” she said weakly. “Right, of course.”
“So?” Billy said. He crossed his arms and tapped his right foot.
Billy’s mother recovered swiftly. “How about an apple?” she said.
“We did one in class today,” Billy said. “I want something special.”
“An orange?” Billy’s mother said.
“Not original enough,” Billy said.
“A banana?” she said.
“Not colorful enough,” Billy said.
“A grape?”
“Not big enough.”
“A bunch of grapes?”
“Too complicated.”
“A grapefruit?”
“Too big.”
“A strawberry?”
“Too cute.”
“A durian?”
“Too spiky.”
“A kiwi fruit?”
“Too furry.”
“A rambutan?”
“What the heck is that, mom?” Billy said exasperatedly. “Forget it. You’re not helping.” He stormed up to his room to sulk.
Billy’s mother sighed. Still doesn’t know what’s good for him, she thought, and chopped more broccoli.
To be continued…
PART 3 – In which a mystery is revealed
Billy’s eyes were fixed upon the fly buzzing around his head. Ever so slowly, he brought up his electric fly-swatter and positioned it just so… and swung wildly.
He missed.
The fly-swatter hit the coat-rack, which toppled and landed on the bed, which wobbled, causing the basketball to bounce upwards, allowing it to be caught in the ceiling fan, which nearly malfunctioned, nonetheless resulting in the basketball being eviscerated, causing basketball shreds to fly everywhere, knocking over the table lamp, the plushie toy, and the alarm clock. The alarm clock fell to the ground and a battery rolled out, squashing a nearby caterpillar which would later be the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe. Thus humankind never discovered the true meaning of life. But that is another story.
Eureka! Billy suddenly thought. I know! I’ll draw a passionfruit!
Billy was energized by his new idea. He raced down to the fridge and searched its deepest, darkest recesses and finally found what he was looking for – a shiny round passionfruit. He hugged it close to his chest. Billy grabbed a few crayons and a piece of paper and started drawing.
And drawing.
Billy drew the passionfruit for the whole night. And when he went to bed he had dreams of shiny bathtubs flying through space, with singing passionfruits scrubbing themselves inside them and an orange caterpillar bounding across the moon.
The next morning, Billy was in school bright and early. He smiled widely around the classroom until he realized it was empty. So he smiled at the whiteboard, and the tarantula, and the colourful posters.
Ten minutes later, Billy folded his hands and continued smiling.
Class started another half-hour later. By this time the other children had filed in. They quietly seated themselves at the front, although those nearest to Billy looked tense and apprehensive, and those farther away looked relieved. Billy thought this was strange.
“Alright, class!” said the teacher jovially. “Who wants to show me their homework assignment from yesterday?”
“Oooh! Me! Me!” yelled Billy immediately, waving his hand in the air.
“Okay, Billy,” said the teacher, shooting him a disturbed glance. “What have you drawn?”
Billy produced his work with a proud flourish.
“Oh, very nice, Billy,” said the teacher pleasantly. “But… what is it?”
“It’s a passionfruit, ma’am,” Billy said. He flourished his drawing again for good measure.
The students froze. The teacher froze. “Wh-wh-what did you say it was?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“A passionfruit, ma’am,” Billy said again, with emphasis. He beamed proudly.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the teacher’s face turned red and blotchy with anger. “Passionfruit?” she shrieked. “PASSIONFRUIT? HOW DARE YOU SAY PASSIONFRUIT?“
She put her hand on her chest and took a deep breath to calm herself down. “Go immediately to the principal’s office,” she said. She ushered Billy outside the classroom and hastily slammed the door.
Billy was bewildered. He didn’t know what he had done wrong. So he trotted merrily along the hallway until he realized that he didn’t know where the principal’s office was.
Billy scratched his head. He scratched his chin. He also scratched the back of his neck because it was itchy. He then decided that he would just have to find the principal’s office.
Billy wandered and wandered and wandered, until finally he came upon a smooth brown-black wooden door that looked different to all the other doors. “Prin-ci-puls of-ice,” he read from the gold-embossed letters at the top. “Yep! This must be it!” he said happily. He pushed open the door.
The principal was a large, balding man with three double-chins, coarse hairy hands and a big (but friendly) red face. At this moment he was working on solving a difficult logistical problem on his computer. But he turned towards the door immediately when it opened.
“Ah!” he said genially, eyeing his diminutive visitor. “A student! What may I do for you, my lad?”
Billy was happy to see that the principal was so friendly. “Well sir,” he said, “I was in class, see, and-”
“Wait!” the principal interrupted. “Your name is Billy, am I right?”
Billy was surprised. “Why, yessir, it is,” he said. He beamed at the friendly principal.
“I met your mother just yesterday! What a coincidence!” the principal chortled.
“Haha, yes, a cons-dense!” Billy said happily.
The principal laughed. Billy laughed. A bird chirped gaily outside.
“Anyway, back to business,” the principal said, suddenly serious. “What were you trying to say?”
“Oh, right, yessir,” Billy said, remembering his manners. “I was in class and I showed the teacher my drawing of a passionfruit and for some reas-”
The principal cut Billy off. His three double chins convulsed in shock. His large red face turned purple. “D-d-did you just say” – his voice dropped to a whisper – “passionfruit?”
Billy nodded vigorously.
The principal gasped. “Passionfruit?” he cried. “PASSIONFRUIT? HOW DARE YOU SAY PASSIONFRUIT? That’s it! I’m expelling you, you insolent little brat!” The principal lifted his bulky form from his chair, opened the window and single-handedly threw Billy out.
“And never come back!” he yelled, slamming the window shut. Angry spittles of saliva rained all over Billy.
The principal took a deep breath to calm himself down. When he was sufficiently relaxed, he returned to his game of Solitaire.
To be continued…
PART 4 – In which the tone of the story darkens
Billy was stunned. His lips trembled. His eyes began to water.
“Wh-wh-what’s wrong w-with s-saying p-p-passionfruit?” he sobbed. A sparrow flying above him choked in shock and fell to its death in a water fountain.
Billy wailed pitifully. He ran down the pavement all the way home and burst through the door and dashed into the kitchen and buried his wet face in his mother’s apron.
Billy’s mother was worried, since the school day wasn’t over. She wondered what Billy was doing at home. “Billy,” she said placatingly, “What are you doing at home?”
Billy sniffled. “I g-g-got expelled!” he cried. His mother gasped.
“Expelled!” she said, thunderstruck. “Why, this is outrageous! How could you have been expelled?”
“I d-d-dunno,” cried Billy. “I w-was j-just explaining t-t-to the p-principal that the t-teacher w-w-wanted us to d-draw a p-p-passionfruit and th-then h-mmmmrrrrrffffffff!” Billy grabbed at the hand that was clapped to his mouth.
Billy’s mother looked livid. She cast her eyes around furtively. “What did you just say?” she hissed.
Billy was petrified. “P-p-passionfruit?” he said tentatively.
“Passionfruit?” Billy’s mother spluttered. “PASSIONFRUIT? HOW DARE YOU SAY PASSIONFRUIT? Up to your room at once, young man! Wait until your father hears about this!” She shooed him angrily from the kitchen, slammed the door at took a deep breath to calm herself down.
Billy trudged sadly up the stairs and into his room. He started to cry again. “I d-d-don’t understand!” he sniffled. He hugged his bruised plushie toy.
A tribe of passionfruits appeared out of nowhere in front of Billy and sprouted evil grins. They built a fire and began dancing around it, chanting and murmuring in low voices. The passionfruit with a white-feathered headdress brought out a dead sparrow and placed it on the fire, saying a fervent prayer to the fruit gods. The smell of burning flesh filled the air…
Billy was awoken from his stupor by the sound of the doggy-flap in his door being pushed open, admitting his cold dinner. He ate slowly and miserably.
BANG! Billy leapt backwards onto his bed as his door was blasted clean off its hinges. The dust settled to reveal a monstrous, muscular form.
Billy’s father stalked into the room. He slammed his thick arms onto the posts of Billy’s bed. His voluminous mustache quivered. A large purple vein pulsed on his forehead.
“PASSIONFRUIT?” he roared. “PASSIONFRUIT? HOW DARE YOU SAY PASSIONFRUIT!”
Billy’s father stepped backwards, closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself down. He licked his lips. Then his eyes snapped back open to reveal angry dark pupils.
Billy whimpered. “I’m sor-”
“SHUT UP!” Billy’s father bellowed. “NO EXCUSES, YOU LITTLE INGRATE! I feed you, I clothe you, and THIS IS HOW YOU…”
Billy’s father coughed. He spat a morsel of murky yellow phlegm onto the floor. “Out,” he breathed angrily, pointing to the door. “Get out of this house. You’re no longer my son.”
Billy burst into tears. His father stomped out of the room.
Five minutes later Billy left the house, still sobbing, with a small backpack slung over his shoulder and a plushie toy clutched in his white, trembling hand.
To be continued…
PART 5 – In which Billy gets help from an unexpected source
Billy dragged his feet miserably along the pavement. Shadows surrounded him. A bat flitted silently overhead, quietly camouflaged against the dark night sky.
Billy walked past the grocery store, the post office, the public library, and the toy shop. Every door was shut, with hard golden doorknobs glistening in the wet drizzle that had just begun to fall.
Billy didn’t know where he was going. He sighed and cast his gaze around, squinting through the rain until his eyes came to rest on a high, gaping archway on the opposite side of the street. Small droplets of water crawled down the black lettering lining the curve of the arch. “Can-del-stick Park,” Billy read. He steeled himself and trudged resolvedly across the street.
Billy’s feet padded across the rough grass in the park. He spotted a rickety wooden bench and wandered over towards it. A dirty pile of rags decorated one side of the bench. Billy set his backpack down on the other side.
The pile of rags shifted.
Billy screeched and jumped.
The pile of rags sprouted a pair of gnarled, waving hands. The palms were facing outwards appeasingly. “Nonono,” came a muffled voice from within the heap. “Don’t run away.” A head popped into view.
The head was dark and wrinkled, like a prune, with a few stray white hairs sitting on top. A large, bulbous nose sat jauntily on one side of the face. The mouth was grinning madly, cracking apart its dry, chapped lips and exposing a set of crooked yellow teeth. A pair of jet-black eyes glittered in Billy’s direction.
The pile of rags stood up. It was a tramp.
“Don’t get many visitors at this time of the night, usually,” muttered the tramp to himself. “In fact,” he said, eyeing Billy, “I daresay you’re the first! What brings you here, my lad?”
Billy didn’t know whether to feel terrified or relieved. The emotional stress became too much to bear. He broke down crying.
“Oh, nonono,” rasped the tramp frantically. He patted Billy’s head in an awkward fashion. “Don’t cry, now, don’t cry,” he said.
Billy wailed. “Everyone h-h-hates me!” he cried.
“Oh, dear,” said the tramp. He chewed worriedly on a long fingernail. “That can’t be true, my lad. Whatever would make you say something like that?”
“It’s t-t-true!” sobbed Billy. “First I g-got exp-p-pelled, and th-then I g-got d-d-disowned!”
“Oh, I say!” said the tramp, scandalized.
“And I s-s-still d-don’t know wh-what I d-d-did w-wrong!” cried Billy.
The tramp scratched thoughtfully at his head. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “Tell you what, son,” he said, eyes squinting appraisingly at Billy. “I know of a certain someone who can answer all your questions. Why don’t you go ask him for advice? I reckon he’ll be able to help you out!”
Billy stopped crying. “Really?” he said excitedly.
“Oh, yes,” said the tramp, bobbing his head. “He happens to be” – his voice lowered to a secretive whisper – “a wizard. Quite famous, if I do say so myself.” He winked at Billy.
“Wow! Cool!” said Billy. “I’ll see him first thing tomorrow!”
“Good show, good show, my lad!” chuckled the tramp. “See that gate over there?” He pointed to a gate at the other end of the park. Billy nodded. “That’s the south gate of the park,” the tramp continued. “All you have to do is go through that gate, cross the street, climb up the hill and press the knob on the trunk of the biggest tree. That’s where the wizard lives, that is,” said the tramp, nodding wisely. “He’ll answer your questions.”
“Awesome!” said Billy. “Thanks, Mr. Tramp!”
“No problem,” winked the tramp, as he limped slowly away. “Cheerio, my lad!”
“Bye!” yelled Billy, waving vigorously. He smiled happily to himself and settled onto the bench, falling quickly into a contented, dreamless sleep.
To be continued…
PART 6 – In which trials are met and overcome
Dawn arrived bright and early, as it usually does. A swallow fluffed its feathers and cawed a greeting to the red-tinted sunrise, before gliding away on a cool morning breeze. All was peaceful and quiet in Candlestick Park.
Billy opened his eyes blearily. He looked around. He sat up. “Wha…?” he said. His hands patted confusedly at the rough woodwork of the bench beneath him.
“Bed?” he murmured. He patted the bench again. “No… not bed. Uhmm…”
Billy scratched his head sleepily. “Room?” he muttered, looking from side to side. “No room? Uhhh…”
Billy’s hands reached out. “Bobby the bear?” he said. His fingers curled around the soft plushie toy. He sighed in relief. “Bobby the bear…” he repeated, smiling contentedly.
It took a moment for Billy’s brain to kick into gear. He jolted upright. My drawing… the teacher… passionfruit… the principal… passionfruit… mum… dad… passionfruit… the tramp… the wizard… the tree…
The wizard! Of course!
Billy jumped into action. He dashed across the grass, ran through the south gate of the park, stopped, looked left and right, crossed the street, climbed up the hill and pressed the knob on the trunk of the biggest tree.
Exactly three seconds elapsed. Suddenly, a deafening chime, akin to the roar of ten thousand angry lions, reverberated through Billy’s skull. The trunk of the biggest tree split open with a resounding crack to reveal a jagged, ten-foot-tall archway. Looming in the archway was a snarling white-furred monster of enormous proportions.
The hairs on the back of Billy’s neck stood on end.
The monster growled. Its thin purple lips spread slowly in a toothy grin, exposing cruel fangs. A pair of yellow-tinted eyes, dark as poison, glowed eerily in Billy’s direction. It stomped heavily forward on large, clawed feet.
Then it raised a hairy paw to brush a speck of dust off its tuxedo.
“Hello,” said the monster pleasantly. “My name is Albert. How may I be of service?”
Billy remained rooted in place. His eyes had glazed over.
“Um, hello?” said the monster, waving a paw in front of Billy’s face. “Anyone there?”
Billy didn’t move.
“Oh, dear,” said the monster, sighing audibly. “I truly fail to understand why I am forced to do this every time.” He produced a large bucket of water and sloshed it over Billy.
Billy sputtered. “H-h-h-hi Mr. A-A-Albert,” he said, shivering.
Albert beamed in delight. “Why hello there, young one,” he said cheerfully. He spread his massive arms wide in a gesture of hospitality. “Welcome back to the land of the living. What may I do for you?”
Billy took a deep breath to calm himself down. Any monster in a tuxedo, he reasoned, is likely to be less than dangerous. He stopped short as a thought struck him. Or completely insane.
Billy took another deep breath. That didn’t really help, he thought. But he steeled himself nonetheless. “Is there a wizard here, Mr. Albert?” he asked tentatively.
“Oh, I’m afraid not, Mr.-” Albert paused. “… May I have your name, young master?”
“Um, it’s Billy,” said Billy, crestfallen. The tramp had lied to him.
“Terribly sorry, Billy,” said Albert. “The wizard is away on business at the moment. It is my sad duty as his butler to inform all appointment-seekers to come back tomorrow.” He patted Billy’s shoulder apologetically.
Billy’s eyes lit up in joy. “So there is a wizard!” he said ecstatically.
Albert looked affronted. “Well, of course there is!” he said. “I would be plum out of a job otherwise, wouldn’t I?” He crossed his arms and grumbled to himself. “Foolish kids… always think they know everything. It’s all the same. All the same. Hmph.”
Billy jumped up and down to regain Albert’s attention. “Hey!” he yelled, waving his arms at the butler. “Hello?”
Albert looked up irritably. “Come back tomorrow,” he snapped. The archway slammed shut.
Billy took a moment to digest this. “Alright,” he chirped happily, to no-one in particular. He climbed down the hill, stopped, looked left and right, crossed the street, ran through the south gate of the park, dashed across the grass and returned to his wooden bench.
He spent the night in the park.
The next morning, Billy was up bright and early. Today he would see the wizard! Today he would get his answers!
Billy jumped into action. He dashed across the grass, ran through the south gate of the park, stopped, looked left and right, crossed the street, climbed up the hill and pressed the knob on the trunk of the biggest tree.
Three seconds elapsed. A deafening chime resounded, and the archway split open. Standing in the archway was a refreshed-looking Albert.
“Ah, hello, Billy,” said Albert, smiling affably. “I was wondering when you’d drop by.”
Billy was bouncing up and down in anxiousness. “Can I see the wizard now?” he begged. “Please?”
Albert’s face fell. “I’m afraid I must deliver more bad news,” he said regretfully. “You’ve just missed him. He’s gone on another business trip and won’t be back for another week.” Albert patted Billy’s head comfortingly. “Awfully sorry,” he said.
The archway slammed shut.
Billy was crushed. “Okay,” he murmured, “I’ll come back in a week.” He trudged down the hill, stopped, looked left and right, crossed the street, plodded in through the south gate of the park, and made his way across the grass to his wooden bench.
He spent another week in the park.
One week later, Billy was up bright and early. Today, at last, he would understand why everyone was so mad at him for saying passionfruit! Today he would solve the mystery!
Billy jumped into action. He dashed across the grass, ran through the south gate of the park, stopped, looked left and right, crossed the street, climbed up the hill and pressed the knob on the trunk of the biggest tree.
Three seconds elapsed. A deafening chime resounded, and the archway split open. Standing in the archway was a well-groomed Albert.
Albert gazed apologetically at Billy. “Billy,” he began, “I’m afraid the wizard has left again, on yet another business trip. Popular man, you know, lots of clients and such.” He patted Billy’s head sympathetically.
Billy’s lower lip quivered. His body shook. He burst into tears. “Not again!” he wailed. He hiccoughed pitifully.
“I am truly sorry, my lad,” said Albert, grimacing. “The wizard will be returning in a month. Perhaps you could try coming back then.”
The archway slammed shut.
Billy turned miserably away from the trunk of the biggest tree. He trudged down the hill, stopped, looked left and right, crossed the street, plodded in through the south gate of the park, and made his way across the grass to his wooden bench.
Sitting on the bench was the tramp.
“Ah, Billy!” the tramp said brightly. “Fancy meeting you here!”
Billy mumbled a despondent greeting in return.
“What? No cheery hello for an old friend?” prompted the tramp.
Billy sat down dejectedly on the opposite side of the bench.
“Hm, suppose not,” said the tramp. “I must say I’m a trifle disappointed. I didn’t think you’d give up this soon.”
Billy snapped out of his stupor. “What did you just say?” he demanded.
“My lad,” said the tramp seriously, his black eyes glittering. “You didn’t really think that a famous wizard lets just about anyone consult him?”
Billy shook his head confusedly.
“But you have, in fact, passed the test,” said the tramp with a wink. “Well done, if I do say so myself.”
Billy nodded jerkily in thanks. His eyes widened in comprehension.
The tramp reached under his tattered gray rags with a gnarled hand and pulled out a long wooden staff. In a flash he was clothed in elegant robes of wizardly purple. He winked again.
“Come on up, Billy,” he said warmly. “We have much to discuss. Albert is preparing tea.” And with a swirl of dazzling stars the wizard vanished from Candlestick Park.
To be continued…
