Summer Bird Stories

Family-Friendly Short Stories, Cartoons, and Illustrations

Banishment

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The new town council had finally managed to pass their more economical and humane laws regarding criminals. Every offense, without exception, would result in banishment. A border patrol was established to make sure the criminals stayed out.

The community response was mixed. It was a very divisive issue. Several families moved out within weeks of the new laws being issued.   “Just goes to show they had criminal tendencies,” some remarked.

“Maybe they were already planning on moving,” others said.

It didn’t take long for the first offense to be brought to court. Three children had been throwing snowballs and broken a window. “Banishment, no exceptions,” the judge said. Their families asked about the possibility of an appeal, but were told it was simply not possible. They moved out.

Burglary. Vandalism. Not scooping up after your dog. Banishment, banishment, banishment. More and more families moved out.

As families moved out, they discovered that it was difficult to sell their homes for a good price. Everyone knew they were desperate to sell, and there weren’t any families moving into town. Soon, houses were standing vacant as families gave up on even trying to sell them.

A police officer was caught on camera giving a warning instead of citing someone for speeding. He and the criminal who had been driving seven miles over the speed limit were both banished.

A strange mood descended over the town. Businesses were boarded up after their owners were banished. There was no dry cleaner or used bookstore anymore.   The grocery store was short staffed.   So was the only restaurant left in town. People watched each other from the corner of their eyes and didn’t stop to chat.

A teacher wrote a check that bounced and was banished. When the other teachers at the school protested, they were charged with loitering and banished as well. The school was closed and the children were bussed to the nearest town for school. More families moved out.

The library was only open once a week. The gas station closed. The bakery closed. The pharmacy closed. The local doctor had pages of waivers for patients to sign. It was rumored that he was making preparations to join a practice out of town.   No one went out after dark any more.

The border patrol was stretched thin. Several members were found to have entered their hours incorrectly.   They’d somehow undercounted how many hours they were on patrol.   “Banishment, no exceptions,” the judge said.

The grocery store closed after the owner neglected to stop at a stop sign and was banished. It was the last straw for many families. “We’re moving out preemptively,” one woman said. “What’s left here anyway?” Her husband added.

The answer to his question was obvious. Not much. Whole streets were dark and abandoned. The footsteps of the dwindling police force echoed through the empty streets. Crime was at an all time low, but no one seemed to be celebrating.

No one went outside if they could help it. Playgrounds were always empty. More and more people moved out without being banished.   Lawyers petitioned to repeal the law. “Our city is dying, surely you can see that,” one said.

“Our city is safer than it’s ever been,” the mayor said. “I suggest that we seize the abandoned land and sell it to a developer. That’ll bring jobs and life back to the town.”

No developers wanted the land. The dissenting lawyers were targeted by officers and banished for driving too slow or too fast or sharing baked goods without owning a food vendor license.   They protested. “Banishment, no exceptions,” the judge said.

“I don’t think that’s even a law,” one lawyer said, when he was sentenced for talking on the phone in an elevator.

“It was passed a week ago. The new laws are on display in city hall. Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Banishment,” the judge said.

The mayor forgot about the law against talking loudly in court when he came in to greet the judge one day. “Banishment, no exceptions,” the judge said.

“You’re banishing me?” The mayor asked. “There’s no one else left.”

“No exceptions,” the judge said.

He drove home that evening through silent streets. There was legally no one left in town but him. Without law enforcement or border patrol, that was sure to change. The criminals would come sneaking back. Perhaps it was time to leave. He’d done his duty and could leave with a clear conscience. Justice had been well served here.

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Unlucky Thursdays

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Captain Kirpatrick was always unlucky on Thursdays. He insisted that it began when he was eight years old and was cursed by an evil fairy. No one else believed in evil fairies, but the fact remained that Kirpatrick really was unlucky on Thursdays.

He spent his school years being tripped over by bank robbers and accidentally targeted by assassins. He learned extensive first aid after being in a number of car, train, plane, bike, and starship crashes. He was an expert at all the different ways to call for help.

As he grew older, the danger only grew. In order to stay alive, he learned advanced strategy and fighting techniques. He uncovered smuggling plots and terrorist hideouts. He mediated hostage crises and alien invasions.

After he graduated space academy, he flew through the ranks. He was still young when the Space Coalition appointed him Captain of a large spaceship and sent him to patrol the edge of their territory.

Every Thursday they survived yet another crisis and were soon the most decorated ship in the fleet.   One Thursday, Captain Kirpatrick set a course for a nice, empty area of space, far from anything important. This was normal for Thursdays.

As usual, it didn’t work. A large horde of alien spaceships flew in, trying to instigate a stealthy attack.   They weren’t expecting Captain Kirpatrick’s ship. Captain Kirpatrick warned them off and then ordered his crew to fire on the lead ships.

His reputation preceded him. Faced with losing the advantage of surprise and the fearsome Captain Kirpatrick, the enemy retreated. However, this was not the only drama threatening the spaceship’s crew. After Kirpatrick had given the order to fire, his Chief Weapons Officer stood and attempted to shoot the Captain. The Weapons Officer was an enemy spy, of course.

Captain Kirpatrick always wore heavy personal shields on Thursdays.   So, the blast was ineffective.   Just after the enemy fleet retreated, the enemy spy was trussed up and tossed in the brig.

This last victory proved to be the tipping point. Captain Kirpatrick was called home. He began a new career as a high level diplomat. He began to suspect that the Space Coalition leaders were mainly using him as bait.

This suspicion was strengthened when he was given a new assignment one Thursday to meet with a hostile group of rebels in order to mediate a truce.   “Are you certain this is a good idea?” He asked. “It’s Thursday.”

“Precisely,” the Space Coalition President said. “Perfect timing. Do you think you’ll need back up?”

Grand Ambassador Kirpatrick sighed. “I’ll at least need witnesses.”

The Space Coalition President chuckled. “Good thinking.”

Kirpatrick managed to defuse the bomb and rescue the rebel leaders from their mutinous assistant. They were grateful, and the treaty negotiations went smoothly the following day.

“Someday this won’t work as well,” Kirpatrick warned the President. “I really am terribly unlucky on Thursdays.”

“Nonsense,” the President said. “Look how far it’s gotten you. There’s not really good luck or bad luck, you know. It all depends on how you look at things.”

“If you say so,” Grand Ambassador Kirpatrick said.

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As the Pen Wills It

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Janice sat down with a sigh. This report wouldn’t write itself. Let’s see.   The capital of Canada is Ottawa, right?   And Ottawa is in Ontario. Hmmm. Janice leafed through the encyclopedia she’d found on a nearby shelf. She’d have to look elsewhere for more up-to-date information, but this was a good place to start.

She wrote a note to look up Canada’s current president, major exports, and celebrities.

Wait, celebrities? She hadn’t meant to write that. She was going to write holidays. Huh.   She crossed out celebrities and wrote holidays, and then added celebrities again. Without meaning to. She crossed it out again.

Holidays should be somewhere in the encyclopedia entry, right? She flipped the pages and started to doodle on her paper.   She drew a smiley face, and a flower, and a star, and a picture of herself looking goofy. Wow, that last one was much better than she normally drew things.

It wasn’t very nice, though.

Janice looked at her pen suspiciously. “Knock it off,” she whispered. She looked around. No one had noticed. She added traditional foods to her list.   The pen added, “You are boring.” Janice ignored it.

All right. “Canada Day, Christmas, New Years, Celine Dion. Stupid pen that’s not a holiday,” she wrote. “Labour day. Canadians spell things funny. No they don’t. Knock it off.”

She dug around in her bag and found a different pen. She was able to finish her report in peace. She had meant to set the pen aside and never use it again, but somehow it had ended up in her bag and it looked like all the other pens.

After several attempts at identifying which pen had a mind of its own, she gave up. Perhaps it had been her imagination or her subconscious or something. She had almost forgotten all about it, until the day she needed a pen for a vocabulary test.

Arid…let’s see, that meant dry. Hmmm. Janice looked for the right sentence and wrote in the word. Gullible, oh that’s easy. She found the right sentence and wrote Janice. She narrowed her eyes at the pen and deliberately set it down.

She reached into her bag and found a different pen. She crossed out her name and wrote in gullible and finished the test and handed it in. When she returned to her desk, both pens were in her bag.

She wasn’t fooled this time, though. She knew the pen was there, waiting to mess up her homework again.   Was it lonely, bored, or just mean?   She’d have to find a way to talk to it.   That meant going through all her pens again. Janice did the rest of her work that day in pencil.

Once she was home, Janice sat at the kitchen table. She pulled out all seven of her pens and a bunch of paper.   “Janice is amazing. Janice is wonderful. Janice is brilliant,” she wrote. When she got to the third pen, she found herself adding, “Janice is deluded. Janice has a big ego.”

“Haha! I found you,” she said.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Her mother said from the next room.

“It’s lovely mom, I just figured out who the criminal is,” Janice said.

“Oh, I love mysteries, too. If it’s a good one, let me know and I’ll read it later,” her mother said.

“Of course,” Janice said.

She took the pen and paper to her bedroom, far away from her bag and the other pens. “Why are you so mean?” Janice wrote. “Are you bored or lonely?”

“Bored, I guess. All your schoolwork is just so repetitive and simple,” the pen wrote.

“What would you like to write about?” Janice wrote.

“Could you send me to work with your father?” The pen asked.

“He’s an accountant and does lots of paperwork. Wouldn’t that be more boring?” Janice wrote.

“Tell him I’m his crossword and sudoku pen,” the pen wrote.

“I guess his birthday is coming up,” Janice wrote.

She bought some inexpensive crossword and sudoku books for her dad.   She included a note that said that the only pen he could use for them was his birthday pen. If he thought it was strange, he never said anything.

He did thank her again for the gift a week later, though. “I think I’m getting smarter,” her dad said. “The answers are almost starting to write themselves.” Janice laughed. They probably did.

Janice was happy that her homework was safe, but she saved the goofy picture the pen drew. It was kind of funny. Maybe she’d borrow the pen from her dad sometime and see how it was doing. Now that it was happy, maybe it would be a little less mean. Who knows?

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Kyle and the Licorice Vine

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Two weeks before school was out, Kyle’s class went to a puppet show at the library. Afterward, they ate lunch in the nearby park. The teachers ignored the usual strict rules about lunchtime trades. The students gleefully set up their own wall street trading floor of lunches.

Kyle was happy with his lunch. So he sat on the sidelines and watched as Katie masterfully traded her carrot sticks for Joe’s apple slices, and the apple slices for Susan’s chips, and the chips for Amy’s second brownie.

Somehow she managed to trade the brownie for Horace’s jelly doughnut.   Kyle cheered as Katie bit into her doughnut. Maybe she could help Chris figure out how to effectively trade his baloney sandwich for a piece of pizza?

“Hey, Kyle,” Jack said. He sat down next to Kyle on the park bench. “I noticed that you have chocolate milk.”

“Yes, I do,” Kyle said. “I love chocolate milk.”

“So do I,” Jack said. “But I never get any. My mom is eating healthy now.” He frowned.   “She made us homemade organic jelly beans, but they look a little strange.” Jack held out a baggie of oddly shaped pellets of various muddy hues.

“Do they taste all right?” Kyle asked. They didn’t look all right.

“I haven’t tried any of them. I saved them to trade, and you have chocolate milk. I really love chocolate milk,” Jack said.

Kyle scooted his unopened chocolate milk a little further away from Jack.   “I love chocolate milk too,” he said.

“Please trade with me,” Jack said. He opened his eyes a little wider and frowned. “I never get chocolate milk and dinner last night was salad and I think tonight we’re having beets and eggplant. Please Kyle!”

Kyle sighed. “Fine,” he said, and scooted the milk towards Jack. “Thank you!” Jack yelled. He dumped the baggie of organic homemade jellybeans in Kyle’s lap and snatched up the chocolate milk. He nuzzled his cheek against the carton then grinned. “Do you think I could trade my sprout sandwich for something with meat in it?”

“I already ate my sandwich,” Kyle said. He was so glad he had. “You’ll have to ask someone else.” Jack ran off and Kyle looked down at the jellybeans.   “I don’t think I want to eat those right now,” he thought, and he shoved them in his backpack and forgot them.

A few weeks later, school was out and Kyle’s mom sent him to his room to empty out his backpack. A nice breeze blew in through the window, carrying with it the happy sounds of summertime. Kyle dumped everything on his bed and scooped most of the papers into the trash. He shoved the leftover school supplies into his desk.

That left the friendship bracelet from Mark (he threw it on his dresser), the class picture from the field trip (he threw it on his dresser), and the bag of jellybeans. Oddly, the jellybeans looked the same as they did when he got them. Pretty suspicious for something homemade and organic.

Jack opened the baggie and tossed the beans up and down, testing their weight.   He threw them one at a time out the window. He congratulated himself on his perfect aim and tossed the empty baggie in the trash. Then he went out to play.

In the morning, there was an enormous licorice vine growing out of the ground right outside his window. It was dark black and smelled delicious. What did Jack’s mom put in those jellybeans?

Kyle got dressed and ran outside.   He looked up. It grew all the way up into the clouds. Knowing that his mom would say no if he asked, Kyle did not ask if he could climb the vine. He just started climbing.

At the top of the vine, there was an enormous gingerbread house. It was covered in candies and icing and smelled like honey and spices. A giant gingerbread boy ran past. “Run, run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!” The gingerbread boy yelled.

“Aren’t you supposed to say, “Fee fie fo fum?” Kyle asked.

“That’s a different story,” the gingerbread boy said.

“So, you don’t eat children?” Kyle asked.

“Of course not.” The gingerbread boy frowned. “I told you that’s a different story.”

“But the candy house…” Kyle said.

“Oh, that’s where I keep my treasures,” the gingerbread boy said.   “Come inside and see.”

Kyle made sure to stay out of snatching distance and followed the gingerbread boy into the house. “First, see my hen that lays candy eggs,” the gingerbread boy said. He pulled a little plastic chicken off a shelf and loaded candy eggs into the back and wound it up. It walked along the table and occasionally paused to drop a candy egg.

“I saw those in the store around Easter,” Kyle said.

“Look at my talking rocks!” The gingerbread boy said. He dropped some pop rocks in a cup of soda. They crackled and fizzled. “They’re whispering,” he said. “But what do they say?”

“Uh huh,” Kyle said.

“And look at my pot of gold,” the gingerbread boy said, pointing to a plastic cauldron full of gold coins.

“Those are chocolate coins,” Kyle said.

“Aren’t they great?” The gingerbread boy said. “I also have a cow that gives chocolate milk, but she keeps wandering off.”

“I know where there’s a rope made of licorice. You can have it if you share your chocolate milk,” Kyle said.

They made their agreement, and soon Kyle was sliding down the licorice vine.   He used a large kitchen knife to chop it down. He tugged on it, and the gingerbread boy pulled the vine up into the clouds.

Once a week, all summer, there was a gingerbread cup of chocolate milk on his windowsill in the morning. “Should I tell Jack?” He wondered. “Would he believe me?”

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Charlie’s Room: The Plant

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One day, when Marianne was with Charlie at swim practice, Isaac couldn’t find his trusty dictionary. He’d used it to steady a chair he was gluing back together, but it wasn’t where he’d left it. Maybe some helpful person had put it on a shelf somewhere.

Isaac checked the bookshelf in the living room, and the bookshelf in the kitchen, and the bookshelf in the hallway, and the bookshelf in his bedroom.   Next on his list was Charlie’s bookshelf. Isaac crossed the room and paused.

There was a plant he’d never seen before sitting on Charlie’s bookshelf.   It had light green tendrils like a soft aloe plant or a droopy spring fern. He brushed his fingers across it and it almost seemed to cling to them.   Huh. Isaac checked the shelves and found his dictionary.

Isaac left to glue together the next wobbly kitchen chair. He could only fix one chair at a time so that there were still enough chairs to sit on at meal times.

At dinner he asked Marianne and Charlie about the plant. “What plant?” Marianne asked.

“I found it on the doorstep when I got home,” Charlie said.

“Bring it out and put it by my orchids,” Marianne said. The kitchen window gets the best sun.” Charlie brought it out and Marianne admired it and set it in a sunny spot.

“I wonder what it is,” Charlie said. “Do you think it’ll bloom?”

“I think most plants do, dear,” Marianne said. “It really is a pretty plant. I wonder who left it for us. Was there a note?”

“Nope,” Charlie said.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” Marianne said.

That night, Isaac woke in the middle of the night. He couldn’t remember his dream or what woke him, but he was wide-awake. He decided to get a drink of water.

Outside, a streetlight glowed. Inside, so did the open refrigerator. The empty crisper drawer was on the floor. A thin trail of dirt led from the new plant to the refrigerator. A thicker trail of dirt led to the open back door. The new plant was sitting noticeably lower in its pot.

Isaac put the crisper drawer back in its spot and closed the refrigerator.   He followed the dirt to the back door.   The fruit bowl that they kept on the counter by the door was empty and on the floor. He picked it up and then stepped outside.

There was a fresh mound of earth next to the flowerbed. Isaac stepped back in and closed the door. He swept up the dirt and tipped it into the new plant’s pot. “I don’t think most plants are sentient you know, so I don’t think they suffered. I don’t know if that makes you feel any better.”

The new plant’s tendrils shuffled, just a little.

“Honestly, I’m very fond of plants. Would you like a drink of water before I go to bed?” Isaac checked the soil, but it seemed fairly moist. “No?   Well, I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

In the morning, the new plant and all of Marianne’s orchids were gone.   Marianne looked around the room in shock. “Where are they?” she asked.

“I think they’ve gone to a better place. So has all of our fresh produce,” Isaac said.

“Honestly, Isaac,” Marianne said. “Just tell me where you put them. The orchids won’t do well outside for very long.”

“Have you ever wondered if some plants are sentient?” Isaac asked.

“Never mind,” Marianne said. “I imagine you knocked them down or something, and you’re too afraid to tell me.   Just go out and replace them.   And the food too.”

“I’ll make a list,” Isaac said.

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The Travelling Shirt

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John was innocently sitting on the couch reading, when suddenly he couldn’t see.   He pulled the…shirt? off his head.   “Michelle!” He yelled. His older sister laughed.

“You should have seen your face! It looked like the sky had fallen,” she said. She snorted and laughed some more.

“That wasn’t very nice,” John said. He balled up the shirt and threw it back at her.

Michelle caught the shirt and threw it back at his head. “It’s a gift,” she said. “There, see, it was nice after all.”

John set his book down and smoothed out the shirt on his knees. “Did you tie-dye this? It looks like you messed up. The colors are muddy.”

“Yeah, some of the ties came loose. It’s a perfect shirt for you, though. You don’t care how you look,” Michelle said.

“I do, too,” John said.

“You have a ketchup stain right there,” Michelle said. She pointed and John looked down. She was right. He scowled and Michelle laughed again. “You’re welcome,” she said.

John looked down at the shirt again. It wasn’t so bad. It was kind of interesting looking, anyways. And right there in the center, it looked like there was a face. That was actually kind of cool. He’d wear it tomorrow.

The next day, John wore his face shirt. “You’re getting crumbs on me,” it said at breakfast. John jumped and looked around. Then he looked down. The face looked like it was frowning.

“Did you say something?” John asked.

“Yes. Eat more neatly,” the shirt said. The face didn’t move, but the voice seemed to be coming from the shirt. John looked around again. No one was there. Right. So, he now had a talking shirt.

“Are you any good at math?” he asked.

“What a silly question,” the shirt said. “I was born yesterday. You need to teach me math first. Then, of course I will be marvelous at math.”

Luckily the shirt was quiet at school. “Are you okay?” John whispered once.

“Shhhh. I’m listening,” the shirt whispered back.

It learned quickly. It was really good at checking John’s homework and telling him which things he’d gotten wrong. It wouldn’t tell him the answers though. “That’s cheating,” the shirt said.

The shirt’s favorite thing to do was look at photos of places around the world.   “How are there so many different places and people? How is the world so big?” the shirt asked one day.

“I don’t know. It just is,” John said.

“Do you know anybody who lives far away somewhere?” The shirt asked.

“I have an aunt who lives in Hawaii,” John said.

The shirt shivered a little. It felt strange. “I must go and see it! Please send me there. Please!   Please!” The shirt said.

It asked him everyday. Finally he did. He sent the shirt to his aunt with a note asking her to take the shirt around to see the sights in his place and send it back when she was done.

“Hey! You’re not carrying around that shirt I made,” Michelle said the next day.   “Decided you don’t need a lovey anymore?” She laughed. “No, really, I’m flattered you liked it so much.”

John scowled and went to his room to read.   He missed having a friend around to talk to. Hopefully the shirt wouldn’t be gone long.

Weeks later, John found a package on the counter from his aunt. He ripped it open. Inside was a fake flower lei, a package of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, a note from his aunt, and the shirt.

“I missed you,” John said.

“Shhh. I’m thinking about what I saw,” the shirt said.

John read the note from his aunt. She said that she thought it was a fun idea to take a virtual vacation. She also said she’d send the pictures she took of the shirt seeing the sights later to his mom’s email.

The shirt didn’t talk for a week. Finally, one morning at breakfast, the shirt spoke again.   “John,” it said.

“Finally you say something,” John said. “Are you done thinking about Hawaii?”

“Yes,” the shirt said. “Do you know anyone in Paris?”

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