Philip Hassey
(Creative Writing) Composition 2
It was a Sunday like any other Sunday. Mrs. Harper told us a story about some great Bible hero, and she told it long and boringly. She told us how great Abraham was. She said he was a man of great faith. Dan told me that he didn't think much of Abraham. I told Dan that even if I did think anything of Abraham, it wouldn't be because of Mrs. Harper. Mrs. Harper cast a look at us from across the room, "Are you paying attention to this great story, boys?"
"Yes, Mrs. Harper," we responded in unison, "We always listen to your ever exciting word."
"That's very good, boys," said Mrs. Harper, "Do you two remember what our memory verse is?"
"Yes, Mrs. Harper," we responded again, in an increasingly annoying voice, "2 Corinthians 3:13, 'We are not like Moses, who would put a veil over his face to keep the Israelites from gazing at it while the radiance was fading away.'"
"So, boys, what great thing did you learn from that verse?" asked Mrs. Harper.
"We learned that God loves everyone," Dan and I Sunday school answered Mrs. Harper.
"Very good," said Mrs. Harper, "Boys and girls, I hope you heard that, because that's very important. God loves everyone. He would never do anything bad to anyone. Isn't that great," no it's not, we thought to ourselves. Especially not since she was going to be talking about Abraham marching around in the desert wastelands for the next half an hour.
A half an hour later, Dan and I awoke from our day dreaming to find that Mrs. Harper was just about wrapping the story, "Isn't that great," she closed with.
"You know what would be great?" asked Dan.
"What?" I asked.
"If we skipped church this morning and did something fun," so we did. We skipped church. Mrs. Harper drove us to it, if you ask me. A painful hour and a half with her would drive anyone to skip church.
We had never skipped church before. Dan was a P.K., he wasn't supposed to do that sort of thing. My dad was pretty high up on the ladder too. But we did, we walked right out of the front door. Marched right across Main street and into the park.
"What now?" I asked.
"I don't know," said Dan. We walked further into the center of the park. Where we noticed a very large and fairly deep puddle left over from last nights storm. We looked at each other for a brief moment, and then tore off a good portion of our Sunday clothes, and tossed them aside before we dived into the muddy water.
We basked in the muddy water. We splashed and played in the water. We threw mud around, and swam around. We frolicked freely in the puddle.
Then far away we could hear our names being screamed. Within a few seconds, they weren't so far away any more. We could see our mothers in their nice spring dresses charging towards us, waving their arms in the air, shouting at us, "What do you think you are doing?"
It seemed to us to be a rhetorical question, so we just sat their in our mess. Their faces were radiating at us, but they weren't radiating God's power. Pure motherly anger was being emitted from every part of their bodies.
Mrs. Harper probably would have thought it was great. Mrs. Harper didn't think much, did she.
