Enter at Your Own Risk!

By Timothy R. Bartlett

Welcome booklovers and adventurers of all ages! You're invited to join the Forest Tree Library and read the 56 short stories within its shelves. From every corner of the mind's eye come fables in the form of westerns, fantasy, espionage or beyond. There is one thing to be careful of! The threshold to the library door is a little higher than norm

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Jun 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648954610

Timothy R. Bartlett

Timothy R. Bartlett of Yorkton, Saskatchewan, Canada is back again! He’s been busy conjuring up new tales to titillate your imagination and senses. He dares you to enter his wild collection of Tree Tales he’s prepared for you! Any takers???

Book preview

One Thrilling Morning!

Melvin woke up as he always did, during the month of April, to go to work early. His clock registered 4:30 a.m. He had to be at the accounting office and go over the accuracy of the firm’s books before the tax deadline of April 30. Tax time always kept everyone hopping and agitated. Melvin was no exception to this insanity.

Priming up his coffee machine for the brain-stimulating brew to come, Melvin stripped off his sleepwear, headed for the shower to increase the removal of the cobwebs strewn throughout his brain cavity. As the water cascaded over his slim and defined body, he slowly and methodically went over his agenda for the day. He was due to be at work by 6:30 a.m. So, he had to leave home by 5:40 a.m. to catch the 6:00 a.m. subway train.

After his refreshing shower, he went to retrieve the local paper outside his third-floor apartment door. Most mornings the paper was waiting for him to pick it up and read. As he opened the door, he saw that nothing was there.

Damn that Mrs. Logan! She stole it again, he thought to himself, I wish she would stop stealing my paper for those damn crossword puzzles. Can’t she get her own paper, instead of stealing someone else’s’? Oh, well, I might as well get another one on my way to the subway station.

Breakfast was simple; toast, two eggs, and a bacon slice, all washed down with two cups of coffee. What a simple meal!

Melvin dressed in a new suit, which he purchased the week before. He couldn’t wait to show it off to Ralph, the company desk clerk. Ralph always accused Melvin of wearing second hand clothes and never having enough money for a new suit. This will show him, he thought to himself while checking his reflection in the hall mirror. Then grabbing his briefcase, he locked his apartment door for the twenty-minute walk to the subway station.

Every time Melvin walked these streets to go to work, he was always presented with various weather conditions and beautiful manicured yards. It was a treat on this morning for a walk. The sun was starting to rise, while birds sang, crickets chirped and squirrels quarrelled with neighbouring squirrels over their territory boundaries.

After seven minutes of walking, Melvin reached the corner of Harvey Street and Second Avenue. Turning right, he headed for the subway entrance just beyond his vision.

This day, compared to others, was a day that gave the impression of going askew. Melvin didn’t notice the differences at first. Everything appeared to be as it should be! So, he continued walking down the street when his body began to give off the first signals of danger.

In the beginning the hair at the back of his neck stood straight out. Then a tingling feeling of anxiety enveloped him from head to foot.

The birds, crickets and squirrels went suddenly silent!

This is weird, he thought as he continued down the sidewalk.

After five minutes, more, he finally heard an unusual sound of someone following him.

Clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click.

Appearing to be a little nerved, Melvin decided to quicken his pace. The sound behind him also sped up.

Clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click.

He stopped.

The sound also stopped.

Silence!

Everywhere was silent!

Looking over his right shoulder, Melvin at first saw nothing out of place. That’s odd, he declared to himself. Making a thorough sweep with his eyes, he still spotted nothing until . . . a shadowy cloaked figure, half hidden behind a fenced yard, moved ever so slightly; like a piece of torn cloth waving gently in a breeze, causing it to shift momentarily. Melvin’s heart jump-started from its calm disposition into an adrenaline rush. Fear gripped him in a strangle hold and sent him spinning around into a full panicking run. Behind him the figure began to follow at a similar pace.

Clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click.

Glancing back, Melvin noted that the hooded figure stood about seven feet tall and ran on what looked like four hairy, narrow, spindly, spider-like legs. It seemed to run in an awkward trot-like fashion and progressively loosing distance the more he ran on.1

Looking ahead, Melvin knew he would make the subway tunnel within three more minutes.

That’s when the silence took over a second time.

Looking back again, the shadowy figure was gone. Melvin slowed down and then stopped. While breathing heavy, beads of perspiration began forming on his forehead; he scanned the avenue both ways and saw nothing. As for his body, the klaxon sirens raged, increasing the intensity of their warning signals to keep moving forward.

Melvin didn’t take any chances, he bee-lined straight towards the subway tunnel when he was struck on his right ear by a whooshing sound, combined with a high-pitched vibrating E tone. The force of the wind sent him tumbling to the ground, putting a few tears in his new suit, while a searing hot pain came from his right ear lobe. Staggering onto his feet, he felt his right ear and found dark blood trickling down his fingers. He must continue the last two-minutes of the run, to the top of the subway staircase entrance, opposite his approach.

Without regard for his personal safety, Melvin gripped the upper hand railing and swung his whole body over the railing, to the stairs below. As he did this feat, a second whooshing sound and vibrating E noise, flew across the spot he was last at. When his feet touched the stairs, Melvin lost his balance and tumbled in circular summersaults to the landing below.

Dizzy from the somersaulting, he got up as quickly as possible, only to realize he twisted his left ankle. Got . . . to . . . keep . . . moving, he coached himself onward. He breathed heavily, sweated profusely, and hobbled painfully forward down the next set of stairs to the locked gate system ahead.

Behind him and coming slowly down the stairwell was that irritating sound again! Echoing off the tiled walls, with a slight, quivering ambiance to that . . . clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click melody.

This locked gate system was a combination of bars, rotating grated doors, coin activation machines and a counter unit, which kept track of people using this service. The bars and doors filled the height of the whole hallway and anchored into the concrete floors and walls. Throwing what lose change he had in his pocket into the coin collector, Melvin made it through the locked gate and sprinted hopefully to the safety beyond. Not wanting to hang around to see what continued to pursue him; he headed towards the subway platform on the next lower level. Upon his arrival to this area, he was still trying to catch his breath.

That’s when he heard the high-pitched shrieking laughter of the shadowy figure; as it rattled the iron bars violently, indicating its desire to continue its pursuit but was halted. The creature was angered! It couldn’t reach its prey. The reinforced iron bars and gates held it back.

Finding a bench to sit on, Melvin shook violently at his bizarre experience. Who or what is that? Why is it following me? What’s going on? his mind queried.

Seeing the men’s washroom was not to far away, he entered it to freshen up, stop his bleeding ear, clean his blood-stained shirt collar and calm down his racing heart.

Melvin left the washroom twenty-seven minutes later. He stood halfway from the platform edge, waiting for the subway train to arrive. It was going to be there any minute and hopefully provide the escape he needed.

Then he heard that irritating, loud sound again of clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click.

Oh no. Not again! How the hell did it get in here?

Turning around, Melvin faced the shadowy figure, not twenty feet away from his position. It was cloaked in a hooded monk outfit with tattered, ragged edges hanging off and around its’ four legs. The hood was pulled up over its head obscuring most of its face. He could not see any facial features, just two long exposed green scaly arms and gnarled bony hands, with five-inch black razor-sharp claws. Off the left claw, two of the nails had dried dark, red blood.

Melvin’s heart raced into super high gear. But his body froze in place, unmoving, in morbid terror.

The creature sensing Melvin’s hesitation crouched down on all four hairy legs and sprang forward the twenty feet, shrieking with shrilled terrifying laughter. It knocked Melvin off his feet and onto his back. Both slid across the newly waxed floor, eventually coming to a stop with Melvin’s head, neck and part of his shoulders hanging off the platform’s edge.

Melvin’s only instinct now was to fight back if he could, so he struggled with the creature’s firm scaly vice-like grip. The hooded creature never let go. A fifteen-inch black and red spotted, forked tongue slithered across Melvin’s face, tasting its prey. Its rough texture left a disgusting, slimy film behind, while purple irises glowed through black reptilian iris slits. The creature’s breath resonated a vile odour that made Melvin’s stomach churn violently. He almost lost his breakfast right there and then.

It was now, that bright lights filled the entire terminal. The creature and Melvin both simultaneously stared up at the on-rushing subway train, whose screeching brakes indicated a stopping at that platform location.

Leaping off its prey at the last second, the creature let go of Melvin and vanished with its high-pitched shrieking laughter.

Melvin cringed in terror; his sea blue eyes wide open like dinner plates at his own impending death; he didn’t realize the creature had let go of him. Unable to move from his spot, he screamed audibly, only to have the screeching brake sounds of metal against metal drown out his cries and . . .

Screaming loudly and sitting bolt upright in bed, Melvin’s alarm clock jolted him awake. Sweat streamed from every inch of his body, saturating his pyjamas and bedding with perspiration. For a few seconds, he was uncertain as to where he was or what was going on. When the cobwebs vanished completely from his traumatized grey cells, he realized he awoke from a major nightmare and was still in his bed. Slowly relaxing all his tense muscles and calming down his heart and nervous system at the same time, Melvin shook his head and began chuckling to himself.

Well, I guess it’s time to get up! he stated out loud to no one.

Priming up his coffee machine for the brain-stimulating brew to come, Melvin stripped off his wet, sticky sleepwear and headed for the shower. Before his refreshing shower, he went to retrieve the local paper outside his apartment door. Most mornings it was waiting for him to pick it up; with the few exceptions when Mrs. Logan stole it from him.

As he opened the door, there it was.

Ah, Mrs. Logan didn’t snatch it this time!

Closing his apartment door, he went to the dining room table to leave the newspaper there. He barely paid much attention to the cover story and returned to the bathroom. The main cover story was titled: Bizarre Creature Terrorizes Our Beloved City - Some People Have Died of Fright! The subtitle below the main heading read: Unidentifiable Creature Attacks People without Due Cause.

Just to be sure he checked to see how much damage was caused to his new suit. Upon opening the closet doors, he could see it was still inside the men’s store bag hanging on the closet hook. Looking inside, he found no damage to it at all!

Strange, he thought to himself. Shrugging his shoulders in confusion, he returned the bag to its spot, closed the closet door and went for his wash, puzzled.

As the water cascaded over his reddish hair turning it a darker shade, he slowly and methodically went over his agenda for the entire day. He was due to be at work by 6:30 a.m. and he had to leave. . .

Then a date flashed passed his mind’s eye as he saw it on the newspaper. Of course, he exclaimed aloud. The newspaper was a Sunday Edition. Right on! I don’t have to work today!

After his shower and wrapping his lean body in a long, dark bathrobe, Melvin opened the dining room window a half-inch, to get some spring fresh air circulating into his apartment. He decided to make a larger breakfast for himself this fine morning and read his paper leisurely.

The front-page chronicle sent chills rippling up and down his spine. It described how 19 people had been attacked in the past two weeks. Three of those people died of heart failure while in bed!

Those attacks were done in a similar manner like my nightmare, Melvin said to himself.

Shrugging off the ripples of fear running along his spine, Melvin opened his paper and read the other pages instead. He sat down at the kitchen table to eat one slice of toast, some hash browns, three pieces of bacon, and two eggs over easy. Everything was finally washed down with one cup of coffee.

What a superb breakfast!

As half an hour past, sipping on his next cup of coffee leisurely, Melvin continued to read his Sunday Edition. He almost missed the strange sound echoing throughout the street and alleyway walls below. When his brain finally registered to his ears to listen, his head shot up from his paper. Starting unhurriedly and then progressing rapidly, the fear returned and rippled constantly throughout his entire body for the third time that morning.

Then the shaking began, his sea blue eyes widening, sweat streaming down his forehead. His bladder emptied itself onto his robe, the chair, and the floor. He thought, No! This can’t be happening! Not Again!

Getting up, Melvin headed over to the windowsill. Opening the window wider, he leaned out to examine both sides of the street. From three stories, up, he saw nothing. Not a single soul. Not even a shadow was moving during this twilight period.

All that he heard was that terrifying, high-pitched shrieking laughter, reverberating throughout the streets and alleyways. The laughter was accompanied with that ominous sound of . . . clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click!

Need to Fly High

All of us have gone through this kind of training at one time or another. We start off with a lack of confidence and fear of displeasing our parents by means of failure. The training we receive sometimes comes from one or both of our parents. Depending on one’s family, there are times when even the older siblings teach the younger one’s things to assist them through life. No matter where or from whom such education derives from, we can and do eventually conquer our fear of failure on those occasions.

Holding the back of the seat by the young lad’s side, the boy’s dad continued to encourage his five-year-old son on the successful techniques needed for success.

Almost holding his breath, the lad was ready for this challenge again. He had failed before and had the scraping marks on his knees and arms to prove it. As if giving a nod of approval, by breathing out a puff of air, he placed his foot on the left, hard, black rubberized platform and pushed it downwards.

The father lightly jogged beside his son, continuing to encourage him. The dad kept saying he was a big boy now and could do the task at hand.

As the boy tried hard to keep his balance, he worked his right and then left platforms diligently. His excitement and enthusiastically beating heart, pounded with anticipation of a possible victory. He worked laboriously at controlling the wobbly, thick wheels and metallic frame. He yearned to not fall over and disappoint his dad again like the last three tries.

I know I can do this, the boy thought.

After ten feet or so, the dad, unknown to his son, let go, and continued to encourage his boy. He bellowed out to his son that he could do this.

The son continued to pump with his small legs, trying more diligently to keep his balance.

I will do this’ he encouraged himself.

Then, the magic as if on cue, took place.

First, all parts of the machine he rode, stopped wobbling. The boy sensed the beginning of his balanced equilibrium with the machine, the ground and himself.

The second event, the lad never flew over the steering mechanism, landing on solid ground, injuring himself like the last few times.

He continually gained more confidence, with each push of his feet.

Then shouting out a Whooping cry of joy, the boy realized, I’ve done it! I’ve done it!

He stopped. Looking to his right side, he couldn’t wait to inform his dad of his successful achievement. But his father was not beside him.

A small amount of panic struck him. He turned his body around at the waist, searching for his father. He found his dad standing thirty feet up the farm lane, waiting in anticipation of the results. Feeling relieved, the boy manually turned the whole apparatus around and quickly tried to retrace his distance, back to where his dad stood.

Again, there was the momentary wobbling of the machine. Relying on his newfound courage to stabilize his center of gravity, the wobbling effect subsided six seconds later.

Upon reaching close to his father’s side, the boy jumps off his new bicycle and leaped into his father’s waiting arms. Excitedly he claimed he had done it; he could now ride a bicycle without the training wheels. Caught up in his son’s enthusiasm, the father spun his boy around in the air, commending him for being a big boy and joined in the victory yelps that followed.

Yes, that was his son’s day of success!

If that lad had wings, he would have soared with the eagles.

He just needed to fly to the highest heights of joy . . . unbounded!

Rebel Retribution

Without advanced warning, several small missile bombardments slammed into the space vessel’s left side. Spinning on its starboard side at an awkward +37º angle and -18º pitch, a klaxon alarm rang out its annoying screams of agony throughout the vessel’s interior.

Scrambling to their feet with minor cuts and bruises, the space crew managed to stagger back to their posts. The worse for wear was the ship’s captain. He had a two-inch gash across his forehead from losing his balance and hitting the corner of the ships counsel.

Will someone shut off that damn annoying noise, bellowed Captain Thrace.

A female crew personal responded and the klaxon went silent.

Who shot at us and why, the captain asked rhetorically. How badly have we been hit? Damage reports! ordered the captain.

A medical personal on the bridge began attending the injured after she bandaged the captain’s forehead. All areas of the vessel began slowly filtering through their damage reports except Chief Engineer, Darby Stockman.

Another surprise attack sent the USS Manko spinning violently with greater speed at a new -60° yawl and creating a stronger gravitational field. The crew worked hard to stop their vessel from spinning; they used thrusters to slow down and eventually slowed the rotation.

Captain Thrace shouted into the intercom, Chief, are you there? Chief! Darby! Where are you man? Give me your status report.

The scientific research vessel, the United Star Ship (USS) Manko, NCC 777 - listed to the port and rotated very slowly on its Z-axis. Severe damage could be seen on the left warp engine and parts of the main hull. Sparks, jet streams of frozen water particles, a few dead crew member’s bodies, along with pieces of metal, drifted in all directions into outer space. This attack on a human star vessel was unwarranted and unnecessary. Whoever executed this ambush did a major disabling job of the ships forward momentum.

A scratchy reply came over the communications system, I’m here, sir! I had the wind knocked out of me. Checking damages now sir! There was a twenty second pause. Ship’s portside warp drive, destroyed in weapons attack. The starboard one is still functioning at full capacity, but it will only get us home at half the light speed we need. Some decks of the ship have minimal damage and are repairable, while a section of the saucer has been completely obliterated. What is your orders, sir?

Can this vessel be combat ready in fifteen minutes? We may be in for another surprise assault. It’s obvious the V’garis don’t want to negotiate peace talks nor join our United Federation of Planets. All they want is a fight and I’ll give them one!

Sir, our orders from HQ . . . Darby started to state.

I don’t care what our orders are! the captain shouted. Things have changed because of this outright insult and unwarranted attack.

Thrace thought, we should fight them back, at least once, to show we don’t like their negotiations. Or would it be better, to retreat for now, and return later with a full armada?

He made his choice, Get this ship battle ready, Lieutenant! That’s an order!

Aye, aye, Captain! I’m on it. I’ll have a more accurate report for you in a few minutes, replied Darby. After clicking off his internal communication system, the engineer nearly lost his balance. This was no time to collapse into unconsciousness from his injuries. One needed clarity always. The V’garis would return to do more damage, like a hit and run tactic or destroy the USS Manko completely.

Wiping blood from his lacerated cheek, the twenty-four-year-old, dark haired engineer ordered all repair crews to their stations and begin repair procedures immediately.

Assessing the damage and what was still functional, the Chief Engineer found that main lasers were operational. The only catch was: the phasers could only be fired at intermittent intervals, like one shot every three-minute period. If too much emphasis were put on these units, without the cool down intervals, the lasers would permanently burn out, leaving the Manko vulnerable. As for the photon launcher tubes, there were some damages, but the repair time would take eighty-five minutes.

On the bridge of the Manko, several bruised individuals worked feverishly to assess all problems being reported on. Reports flooded in from all decks of the space vessel. As a slim, seven-foot giant with brown eyes, Captain Thrace weighed all his options.

Can we get visual?

Yes, Captain. We’ll have visual in one minute, replied his female security officer.

When the main viewing screen crackled to life, nothing but stars were noticed. Checking all around the vessel, the security officer finally found the enemy ship traveling away from them. It was heading to a nearby green-shaded planet, orbited by four different sized and camouflaged metallic moons.

Captain? Darby here!

What’s our situation Lieutenant Stockman?

Phasers are operational, but at three-minute intervals of constant use only. Any more time than that and we’ll lose them for good.

All right. Anything else? queried Thrace.

Yes sir, there’s more.

Let’s have it, Lieutenant!

Photon launchers will not be ready for another hour or so. Two Impulse engines are totally fried. Another one is running at one-fifth the power and could burn out soon if not shut down. The last impulse engine is functioning at 88 percent capacity only and we don’t want to damage it. As last resort, we do have maneuverable thrusters. I’m stopping the ship’s rotation as we speak.

The USS Manko stopped spinning in space and stood still.

The gravitational field generators are running at half strength right now. It will take two weeks to repair these delicate babies. Captain, we can still return home on the right warp drive, if we keep it under Warp 2.85.

Thank you, Lieutenant. Pondering over the engineers’ report, the captain weighed his options, carefully. Then a plan formed in his mind. It was a clear as crystal. He looked around at the expectant faces of his bridge crew, who awaited his orders. He requested interior ship communications.

To all personnel this is your captain speaking. We are going to fight the V’garis vessel, which instigated this unwarranted attack on us, without provocation. Keep a sharp eye out for any tricks they may use. Prepare for battle stations. Captain Thrace out!

Red lights aboard the vessel lit up, Red Alert signs flashed, while different sirens wailed their noisy trumpet blasts. When all personnel were at their posts, the siren sounds and Alert signs ceased, while the red lights continued glowing. All positions were ready and battle mode was in place.

To the navigator, Helm - follow that vessel, ordered the captain.

Aye, Sir! replied the young yeomen.

The Manko began forward momentum; on it’s one operational impulse engine. Trying not to burn out this single unit, the captain ordered usage at a 50 percent level. The slowness of speed would give the Manko 135 minutes to reach its target. It also gave the allotted time needed for the engineers to repair the photon launching tubes.

Keep alert everyone, encouraged the captain.

When the USS Manko was forty minutes from its intended target, the communications officer spoke up. Captain, I’m getting weird communications from the planet ahead.

Communications? What’s being said? Who is talking to whom?

The communications are from the planet and are directed to the vessel ahead of us, sir. I’ll put it through the universal translator and speaker system, sir!

I want all of the whole ship to hear this information. Make it a ship wide broadcast! ordered Thrace.

The communications indicated that the V’garis vessel had no rights whatsoever at shooting upon the human vessel. The captain of that vessel claimed all rights and falsely made unfair accusations about the Manko. The V’garis commander of headquarters refused to accept this low-ranking captain’s explanation and ordered the removal from his command. The captain refused to comply. The headquarters commander then accused the captain of treason. The commander pointed out to the captain that he acted of his own accord and not by headquarters’ protocol. He and his crew were to be treated as rebels and ordered to surrender their vessel immediately to the nearest spaceport. If he refused, he and his crew would be destroyed.

Without waiting for the destruction order, Captain Thrace of the United Star Ship Manko ordered his vessel stopped. Which it did? All aboard the Manko continued to listen to the V’garis conversations that ensued.

Sounds like we walked into a family feud of some kind, stated the Caitain Science Officer.

It sure does, agreed Captain Thrace.

Tension mounted. Heated words continued to be exchanged. Sometimes the translator could not always keep up with what was said and it left blank spots.

Then the strangest thing happened. The smallest moon opened fifteen or so tiny dimples. Out of these dimples came a volley of fast-moving projectiles. Beam weapons joined the fight and aimed at the rebel V’garis ship.

This pointy-eared captain of the rebel ship was no dummy. With the ability to anticipate his opponent’s next move, he returned a full volley of missiles back to the small moon. Changing course, the rebels sent another volley to selected places on the planet below, along with energy beams to knock out surface surveillance and radar type equipment.

Captain? This is the Chief. The photon tubes have been repaired and are operational, again, sir.

Thank you, Lieutenant! We’ll wait and see what happens here first, stated Captain Thrace.

Explosions erupted everywhere as if at once, causing the Manko crew to cover their eyes from the bright flashes of light. Then more missiles and beam weapons exchanged. The fight lasted a full hour before the captain of the V’garis vessel was caught broadside and destroyed.

Thrace was astonished at the firepower this class of alien had at their disposal. There was no way a human vessel would last more than five minutes. Feeling sick to his stomach, Thrace was about to order a new command, when the commander of the planet contacted him.

When the commander appeared on the view screen, his horned owl looks disturbed the Manko crew. The large, yellow owl eyes seemed to bore holes into a person. Where hair would have been located, colourful feathers covered the entire head, except the eyes and beak.

Speaking with a crackling avian voice, an apology was offered. The commander then invited the humans to be his guests.

Accepting both the apology and invitation, with scepticism, Captain Thrace flew the Manko in slowly to the space-dock location provided by the V’garis, on the third largest moon.

The crew of the USS Manko were treated like kings and respectable dignitaries.

Negotiations went smoothly.

Today the V’garis have joined the United Federation of Planets and cooperates in space exploration with their human counterparts.

A School Outing

Remember class, stressed the teacher, we’re going out to see several sights around our underwater city. Please stay close to your classmates and don’t wander away! Now, let’s line up in two rows. Bring your pencils and note books also!

Groaning and moving with deliberate slowness, all the teacher’s students left their desks to form a dual short line at a leisure pace, along the one wall of the classroom. The assistant teacher was here to assist with the little ones and took up the end of the seaweed rope.

To speed up their slow progress, the teacher’s fish lips moved as she clapped her side fins together, Quickly now! No dawdling or the bus driver will leave without us. Make sure you all take hold of the seaweed rope with one hand and follow me to the bus.

When the students were finally lined up in place, the teacher tilted her head sideways, back, and forth as if scrutinizing the whole group. When she was satisfied, she allowed a small sigh to slip passed her protruding lips. Then a small bubble popped out of her mouth and floated away unnoticed by everyone in the classroom. That’s better, she said quickly straightening her head up.

Follow me to the bus in a quiet and orderly fashion! We have a lot of places to visit today and we will take lots of notes, she declared with a broad smile on her narrow face and bulbous eyes. You never know! We may have some of this information on the final exam! So pay attention class and follow me.

Many more groans quietly escaped the student’s lips, with their heads tilted downwards, as they left the classroom, clutching in one fin the seaweed rope.

Swimming in an orderly manner out of the coral doors of their school and into their waiting flat-backed crab transportation, the entire classroom of minnows set off to explore and learn new things about and around their coral reef community.

The Question!

Young Anthony was an athletically built seventeen years old. His handsome squared face, high-ridged brows, long mousy brown hair, and piercing reddish-brown eyes, made him the possible catch for the senior prom. The only thing stopping most girls from asking him out on a date was the fact he loved mathematics and the various sciences. This put him at odds with them and stigmatized him into the categories of a nerd or a geek. To make matters worse, he wore glasses from time to time!

Tony wasn’t bothered by the girls’ viewpoints nor their classifications about him. All that mattered to him was based on one question, who will go with me, to the prom? Like most male teenagers his age, asking a young lady to the prom was the problem. Nervousness would slither over his entire body and he would shake like a leaf in the wind. Another reason for such morbid dread was that the lady’s response would be a possible ‘No’ answer. Yet, despite his trembling, Tony had one young lass in mind to ask. He had three weeks to ask her, so there was urgency in obtaining that answer.

Dressing in his finest casual clothes, Anthony headed over to the local mall that Saturday morning. As he walked, he held his head high with confidence and couldn’t wait to ask Sally Upstart to be his prom date. With each step, he grew increasingly confident, while slowly losing his fear.

At the mall, Anthony searched everywhere for Sally. He finally found her chatting with three other girls from school. All of them were sitting in the food court, sipping milkshakes, laughing while deep in animated conversation.

Travelling to the bottom of the down escalator, Tony cleared his throat, smoothed out his new clothes and walked toward the girls. When he reached their table, the girls stopped talking and waited for him to speak.

Sally, would you be my prom date? he questioned in a suave manner.

Without glancing up, she stared at her friends, confidently smiling, for about fifteen seconds.