A Friendly Favor Gone Wrong

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"I will not release crickets in the classroom," Mitchell wrote, for the one hundredth time. He put his pen down and shook his hand to release the cramp after so much writing. 

"If you've completed your task, you may go." Miss Gibbons said in her sonorous voice. "Let this be a lesson to you, young sir. I expect no further hijinks going forward."

"No, Miss," Mitchell mumbled, hurrying to put the stopper back in the inkwell and gather up his satchel and his books. 

Outside the schoolhouse the wind was picking up, blowing fallen leaves and bits of twigs and dried grass in tiny tornados along the path home. Mitchell plodded along, following his usual circuitous route that wound from behind the schoolhouse through the orchard, around the churchyard, and across his father's fields to eventually come out behind the family farmhouse just beside the well. 

It was this well, or rather, the Sprite that lived within it, that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. It was waiting for him now, perched on the edge of the stone well. Mitchell dropped his eyes, hoping he could sneak past it unnoticed, but it spotted him and launched itself into the air to flutter around his head like an overgrown butterfly. 

"Hello, friend!" It chirped, settling on his shoulder companionably. Mitchell stopped walking. "No," He said, his voice sulky. "You're not my friend! You and your swarm of crickets got me into terrible trouble today with the school teacher." 

"But, I thought you said you wanted school to be more lively, less boring?" The Sprite cried, feigning surprise, although Mitchell was sure he'd heard it try to quash a giggle.

"Well, yes, I did say that. But dozens of crickets emerging from my satchel wasn't what I meant, and I think you knew that."

This time the Sprite chuckled audibly. "I did, Friend. I'm sorry, but I simply couldn't resist! I won't do it again, I promise."

Mitchell made an exasperated noise and shrugged the Sprite off his shoulder and resumed walking. 

"Let me make it up to you, Friend." The Sprite fluttered around him in a looping circle. 

"No, thank you!" Mitchell said firmly, as he ought to have done the first time the sprite offered to do him a favor.

Sprites might be friendly, but they were definitely not friends, he knew that unequivocally now. He'd let the sly creature trick him once, but not again. He continued on into the house and firmly closed the door on the Sprite’s pleas.

The next morning Mitchell was relieved to see the Sprite was not at the well when he left for school. With any luck, it was busy taking care of domestic tasks in its watery abode and didn’t have any time or attention for bothering him today.

Mitchell played crack-the-whip in the schoolyard with the other boys until Miss Gibbons rang the bell, ushering them inside. He took his seat, still red cheeked and breathless from the intensity of the game, and unbuckled his satchel to take out his reader.

As Mitchell opened the satchel a bright blur of movement exploded from it. Before Mitchell could react, he saw the naughty Sprite grab Miss Gibbons’s parasol from behind her desk and begin whacking students with it randomly. He already knew, from painful experience, that only he would see it was the sprite. Everyone else would say they saw him doing it.

Mitchell slid down in his seat, but not before Miss Gibbons pinned him with an angry glare. He could already feel his writing hand cramping in anticipation.

#MagicalRealism

#FlashFiction