The Bickering Sisters

There once were two lovely young girls, sisters in fact, who lived in a spacious abode that seemed, too often, to close in around them. They were two of four daughters, not the golden-brown edge ones, but the soft, fair-haired, middlest sisters, mixed and squeezed together so much that they couldn’t get along. In fact, they bickered constantly.

Kou-Kou_by_Georgios_Iakovidis

They bickered near, they bickered far

They argued things trivial, humdrum, and bizarre.

“I’m sick of your manners,” one would often yell.

“I don’t like your meddling or dubious smell”

The other undaunted, her resentments would list

And sometimes erupt in a tirade of fists

Finally the lady of the manor (the loveliest, fairest maiden in the land) had had quite enough. She threatened, cajoled, and punished the two sisters. In frustration, she assigned them chores in the hopes of building teamwork. The clever mother’s schemes worked…but only for a season. For the enmity between the two sisters had grown as great and thick as their noble father’s ample chest hair.

He, the master of the house, was wise on his own account and took action to solve the embarrassing bickering once and for all. He tied the legs of the two sisters together with red silky ribbon, telling them to write down ten things each admired in the other. Only then would the ribbon be removed and their freedom attained.

He congratulated himself on his shrewdness and saw to the other important tasks of the manor, little knowing that the two cunning sisters conspired against him. Each composed a flowery list detailing their own most praiseworthy virtues, swapped scrolls, and beckoned their father back to their dungeon. So pleased was he that he released the two fair girls immediately with a tender kiss on each brow.

He boasted to his lovely wife in their bedchamber that night and wondered at how she could possibly resist his dashing charm. While choruses singing praise echoed inside his swollen head, the lady heard the familiar bicker, bicker, bicker from the other side of the door. The master and fine lady gave up! Would the two sisters ever be confidants or were they doomed to dwell in the moat of antipathy ever after?

Alas, one fine day, something came into their hands that brought the two together better than any silk ribbon ever could. It was warm, imaginative, and likable to both parties. They loved this thing, pondered it, and discussed it non-stop. Oft in the evenings, side by side they could be found on a blue, fluffy throne doing nothing but soaking up the enjoyment of this thing…together. Yes, together.

An amazing light shone over the humble manor – the light of peace.

What was this wonderful thing of harmony, you ask? What could it possibly be? It was a book, then another, and another. It was literature that bound their squabbling hearts and imaginations together.

The lord of the manor, a brilliant novelist in his own mind, felt it important to pay tribute to one of the tomes that brought reconciliation to his home. To celebrate Divergent’s theatrical debut, I give you Virgil’s take on one of the wonderful works that put hatred asunder.

Not coming to a theater near you….

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Artwork By Georgios Iakovidis (1853-1932)
Imitation Artwork yet unclaimed

A Wayward Egg

“Mr. Creech, I suppose you know why you are sitting on the other side of my desk…again,” said Principal Conley gravely.

Virgil opened his eyes wide with feigned surprise and answered as innocently as he could, “No, sir.”

“It seems that an egg was thrown in a certain restroom – the boys’ restroom. This fact was brought to my attention by Harvey Heckles moments ago. As we speak, the egg is running down the porcelain tiles, creating a large mess that Mrs. Pritchett will be forced to clean up, unless I can find the guilty party.”

egg

“That’s awful, sir,” Virgil uttered, while managing a curse of the Heckles under his breath. “But why did you call for me?”

The principal felt it best to pause and let the absurdity of the question settle. He gave the doe-eyed trouble maker his best intimidating stare while rising to his feet. “Mr. Creech…did you or did you not bring one dozen eggs to school this morning to participate in a science experiment?”

“Why, yes sir,” the boy replied. “But me and Henry used ‘em all up.”

“You used them all?” countered the principal as he began to pace.

Without a flinch, Virgil answered, “All of ‘em.”

“I have it on good authority from Ms. Singer, that you only required eleven eggs for your experiment.”

“Yup, we used all eleven,” Virgil said with a merry feeling that this was working out quite well.

“Mr. Creech,” asked the principal sternly. “Do you know how many there are in one dozen?”

“You just said eleven.”

“No, I most certainly did not.”

“Not to be difficult, but you said we used eleven.”

“Correct…”

“So there must be eleven in a dozen on account of that’s how many I brought,” interrupted Virgil. “If that’s all you need me for, can I get back to class now? We’s got math lessons comin’ up. We just started division and I…”

“There are twelve in a dozen, Virgil Creech! Twelve!” screamed the man as he lowered himself and rested his hands on his knees to get a good look into the boy’s eyes. “So, tell me – what happened to that last egg?”

“Like I told ya before, we used the whole dozen.”

“What did you do with the remainder?”

“Usually I put it beside the answer. Only I get those wrong mostly because I’m not too good at division,” Virgil explained. “Ms. Singer says…”

“The remainder of the eggs, boy!” yelled the principal. “The scraps! The shells! The remnants!”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Principal Conley,” replied Virgil coolly. “I put the shells and stuff on top of the garbage can because I was afraid they would get to smellin’ if I dumped them inside and Mrs. Pritchett didn’t get to the trash ‘til tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you kind,” mocked the principal. “If you put them on top of the can, who do you suppose threw them against the wall?”

“I’m not telling you how to do your job,” began the boy. “But if I were you, I’d check out them Heckles twins. They’re an awful lot of trouble, especially that Horace.”

“Get out!” demanded the principal, pointing to the door. “Get out, now!”

“You want me to tell one of the Heckles to come down here? Like I said…”

The principal’s head fell into his hands in utter frustration.  “Just Go!” he begged the boy.

Virgil promptly obeyed, letting go of a mischievous grin only after the door closed behind him.

This story is a work of fiction.

The events described herein may or may not have happened to a particular blogger who may or may not have taken eggs to school for a sixth grade science experiment. Should this have been a real event, it is unlikely that the perpetrator had Virgil’s wherewithal to escape punishment, if any of this actually happened.

image credit: Jorge Barrios