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Happy pi day

Sometimes, when I feel down, I think of the number pi. To some, it’s just a number, but if you look more into it, those numbers could mean something. Maybe you see a part of your phone number, or your birthday. Whatever you find in there, it’s part of what makes it infinite. Some may be lucky, and they’ll find their numbers closer to the front. But that doesn’t mean it’s the most important part, because if you look at the numbers behind you, you’ll understand that they couldn’t exist without you.

To put it simply, you are part of something infinite, and if you take a moment to look around you, you’ll find a lot of people grateful for your existence.

Now eat a slice of pi.

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Timothy Peppers and the Great October King (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/zQRu4g1EYU Timothy has felt out of place ever since his mother passed away. The stress of her death, mixed in with the discovery of his dyslexia, has made his life difficult. His father, Elias, isn’t the same playful person anymore, and at times, seems frustrated with Timothy. As a result, Timothy decides to run away, but not before being stopped by one of his oldest friends, who takes him through a journey within his garden to find the secret his mother took to her grave…

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Part 2 of Timothy Peppers

“What are crabs, anyway?” The small pumpkin farmer asked before he started crunching on the scorpion’s pincer. The insect fought back by driving its stinger into the farmer’s pumpkin head, but it didn’t seem to bother him. 

“How…?” He tried to shake the hallucination out of his head, but it felt like someone drove a nail straight through his brain and he winced. When he opened his eyes again, he was still there. Not even a foot tall, wiping his face with his overalls, as the scorpion scurried away with a missing hand. Mustering up the courage, he finished his question. “How are you alive?”

            “How rude of you to ask,” He said snippily. “How are YOU alive you redheaded butt face?!”  His voice was British, like someone from Snerly James, which only added to the ferocity of his insults. “I always thought you were strange for a pepper but I never thought you’d murder me.” He picked up the crab apple and threw it at the scorpion, missing it by a hair. “I don’t like high flying exercises.”

            “But I’ve never seen you like this before! You were just a doll sitting on my bed!”

            “Oh, now I get it.” He turned toward Timothy.” You want me to go back to the lifeless watchsquash that looks at you eating boogers in your sleep?” Timothy’s cheeks turned red. “Yeah, that’s right! I know where that finger’s been…don't shake my hand by the way.”

            This doll was really alive. Not only could it move, but it was an eating, breathing, mouthy little jerk. He had grown teeth, he grew tiny little fingers, and he could blink his button eyes.

            Well, eye. He was missing one.

            “What happened to your eye?”

            “Some buggy little drib yanked it off when I was asleep.”

            “…What’s a drib?”

            “A drib? Are you off your socks? You know, those wingy looking jerks with prickly furs all over them.” He flapped his arms to provide the imagery. “Just…look up there! In the murder nest!” He pointed up to a tree on the outskirts of the maze where a dozen crows sat.

At this point, Timothy understood it, for the word drib was what he read in class yesterday, along with many other wrong words.

            “So where are you running away to?” He asked.

           Timothy looked like someone just blew out his candles. “I’m not running away.” He said defensively.

           “Right, you’re going to school, aren’t you? Through the garden? To the forest? To the school of woodcraft and carpentry? Where all the liars go to make wooden noses?” He shook his head. “Hoarder gnomes are better liars than you are. And those are some pathetic beasts.”

           “Hoarder gnomes?” Timothy asked.

           “Look, I’m not playing quenty twestions with you. Where are you planning to go?”

           There it was again, that strange vocabulary that threw Timothy off. Drib? Quenty twestions? Obviously, he meant Bird and Twenty Questions, but why was he saying it wrong?

           “I’m going…somewhere. I don’t know, but I don’t want to go back to school, or home. I just…” Timothy sighed. “I just want to find somewhere that isn’t so…hard.”

            The pumpkin farmer looked him up and down, and tiny-stepped to Timothy’s side and sat on his foot. “I don’t mean to offend, I only know what I know. I woke up next to my mother and father pumpkins only hours ago, and that I could finally move. And you know what? They didn’t say a word to me! I’m still trying to figure life out myself. Like, where do I go to the bathroom? Can I even do that?”

            “You have parents?” Timothy asked incredulously. “Wait, we only have orange pumpkins…and those aren’t your parents.”

            “Are you saying I’m adopted?”

“Well, not by pumpkins, but my mother made you.”

The pumpkin doll looked up at Timothy curiously at the mention of his mother, as if he was searching his face for something. He got up from his foot. “Look, you don’t want to go through the garden. It isn’t safe here. Go home, Pepper.”

           “Go home?” He laughed. “The garden is a part of my home, and I’m not afraid of a couple of flowers.” he leaned over the doll, “Least of all, you.”

           “Feelin’ sparky now, are we?” The doll smiled a big toothy grin, but in place of teeth were pumpkin seeds. “Alright, I’ll take you on a tour of the garden you’ve never seen before.”

           “Never seen before? I’ve lived here my whole life! I know everything about this place.”

           “Says the dunce who tripped.”

           I’m sure you can feel the embarrassment in that statement, or better, the whole situation. Timothy, who is five times bigger than the doll, is getting quipped left and right, losing an argument, to a doll with a fruit for a head.

           Laughable.            “I don’t need you to get where I’m going.” Timothy spat as he began to walk away.            “You won’t be able to reach the Chollylemans without me…or your mother’s moon garden” said the doll in a low tone.

           Timothy stopped in his tracks. “Moon garden?”

           “Yeah, I figured you didn’t know about it. But I s’pose you don’t need me to find it.”

           He stared at the tiny pumpkin farmer. “And you said you’d take me there?”

           “For a price. I need my eye back, it’s very important. If I don’t get it back…I’ll look ridiculous.” He said with a frown.

           Timothy pondered this for a moment. He never knew his mother was hiding a garden. And what is a moon garden? He had to know.

           “..What should I call you?” Timothy asked.

           The doll stretched the straps of his overalls, pointing at the buttons with his index fingers, revealing the letters P and F. “I can’t read, what’s it say?”

           “P and F, because you’re a Pumpkin Farmer…at least that’s what my mom wrote” Timothy replied.

           “Oh, so is that it? That’s too boring. Pee….Eff…..PF. PIFF! Yes, I like that. Call me Piff!”

           Timothy chuckled, “Fitting. Both you and your name are missing an eye.”

           “…I don’t get it,” said Piff.

           “Well, either way, Piff, it’s nice to formally meet you.” Timothy shook his hand and turned towards the murder nest. He looked where the murder perched like a mafia ready to rob a jewelry store, and in the middle stood the godfather crow, at least twice their size. Ruffley looking bird with its chest puffed out, eager and hopeful for a snack. Timothy was always told not to climb this tree because of the fence that stood underneath it. If he fell, this story would be very short. 

He swallowed his fear and a dozen pair of eyes were set on him as he took his first steps to the tree. Luckily, it would be easy to climb. The roots were gracious enough to give him a boost. The tree itself seemed it had been weathered for generations, for there were cracks all along the side that he could slide his fingers through, and he was just light enough so that the bark wouldn’t rip.

When his head peaked the brim of the tree, he heard outrage, a riot of cawing and bloodthirst. Timothy looked at the crows to find the button eye, and he saw that, to his luck, it was under the foot of the godfather. It was smiling at him, daring for him to take it. None of the crows were attacking him. Maybe that’s what he wanted.

With a deep breath, he lunged at the button. He was successful, but he had also grasped the godfather’s talon. The mafia cried violently and rose from the tree. Even the godfather, which made Timothy lean away from the tree and…

…Fall, with the alignment of spears reaching towards him below.

But, with luck, his hand was still latched onto the talon of the crow, and his flapping made him glide right past it and slam into the bushes. It hurt, but lesser than a gate would.

He rolled out and he swore he could hear the crow cursing as it flew away. He looked at his hand, and with glee, he saw he had won. He had the button!

He walked over to Piff and handed him the eye.

“How will you put it back on?” He asked.

“Like this!” He held the button up to his face, and orange gooey strings flew out and strung through the holes of the button, and snapped it into place.

“What the heck was that?!” Timothy repulsed.

“Pumpkin guts!” He said amusingly. “Beautiful stringy pumpkin guts!”

Grotesque. “So, where are we off to?” asked Timothy.

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Hallelujah to the thresholds we hold dear,

To never fly, planted through the roots of our infidelity

Sipping on the morning dew of the prodigious nation,

Hand over heart,

Spear over child,

And we’re hungry for more.

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Faded in a distant shore

Gold resplendent, evermore.

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Timothy Peppers and The Great October King

Part One: Humiliating Day

“Hurry up and die!”

          Eccentric. I know he is, but I wouldn’t want to spend a Friday stumped under the roofline either, looking at a slowly decaying garden. Fair skin, hot suns…father, that sort of thing. Weathermen are liars anyhow. Almost a perfect day, but he can’t get a win out of it which is why he’s telling plant life to choke itself.

           Oh, I suppose I should explain that.

           It's almost September equinox. Summer is supposed to be over, yet it lingers like a hangnail that won't fall off. You can almost see the scratch marks of fall trying to force itself in, but life is holding on in this garden. The tall kempt trees shimmered with its leaves in the sun, not one falling, and the maze garden hadn't turned a different shade yet either. All that lay on the cobblestone porch were bits of grass. And little Timothy Peppers loved fall the most, hence why he wants it to hurry up and die.

           His squeaky little voice rustling across the garden can make him seem a little odd, and sometimes annoying, but you have to work with me. Give me a chance to defend him, because the kid really isn’t all that bad, he’s just a little bumpy in the brain, you know? I’ll spare you the details, but his father is in the foyer speaking with his teacher on the phone.

           “He’s…” He sighs so exasperatedly that you can almost see smoke come out of him. “We discussed this, he’s dyslexic. OF COURSE HE CAN’T READ IN CLASS YOU IGNORANT FOOL!” Elias Peppers had anger issues that made volcanic eruptions look like an ant’s temper tantrum. With losing an election and switching Timothy to homeschool, this guy was severely overstressed.

           Timothy poured his attention back to the garden. He missed the days when he and his parents would run through the crunchy leaves, carve pumpkins, and harvest all the unique flowers that his mother would order from all over the world. Her favorite was the Chollyleman, which she had to travel to Greenland to acquire. Not all their flowers produce seeds if they can’t bloom, so they’re on the brink of extinction, but his mother was able to score one flower before they became truly exclusive. I’ve never seen one bloom myself, so I apologize for the lack of detail.

           I would strongly advise you to avoid this garden at all costs. I would love to say more, but Timothy is getting bored, which is where our story truly begins.

           He stood up from the porch and turned around to his father, who had just finished vocally wrestling with his phone. “Father, when can I play in the garden again?”

           His father turned at him, as red as a dodgeball, and said under frustrated breaths, “I’m sorry but not right now. I’m waiting for our…” He paused, took a deep breath and continued, “I’m waiting for our gardener to come clean it up. There are vines growing, one of the trees is uprooting, the grass is too thick. I have to see if any of the vegetables are even salvageable. It’s just not safe, okay?” He pointed at him with a hand straight as a blade.

           Timothy brought his gaze down to the floor, disappointed and muttered, “Yes sir.”

           Elias turned back towards the front of the house and his old leather jacket crunched as he ran his hands through his thick black hair. The slender giant was slowly beginning to cool down. This altercation with the teacher may cost him a dip in the pockets, but he can’t let his son go without an education.

           And with a small plea, Timothy stated, “But I can be extra careful…?”

           “Timothy, not right now.” He retorted, his heart rate increasing.

           “But I don’t want to be in the house all the time! If I could just have one day where we can play like we used to-”

           Elias turned quicker than a badger prancing on an earthworm, “I SAID NOT RIGHT NOW!” he boomed across the foyer, so loud that his mustache almost flew off.  

           The shock made poor Timothy’s eyes flood with tears and he ran up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. His father has never been this angry before, and lately, Timothy was believing he may be the cause. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, and sadly I wish I never had to say, unwanted. He threw his shoes into his closet and he thrust himself onto the bed and he cried his tiny little heart out.

           I suppose I can fill you in now while he’s wailing. Don’t worry, I can tune it out. Timothy was always a bright kid. He primarily watched wildlife documentaries and studied herbology with his mom and had dreams of becoming a “Life Preservist.”. He was taken out of school for almost a month, though, when his mother passed. She was always sick, and I guess the beast finally brought her under. Timothy couldn’t read as well anymore and became despondent. He sometimes mixed up his letters, and when he was looking at a book, they all jumbled together and had some sort of word-like fog over it.

           Today was his first day back…as you can see, it didn’t go very well. Elias had warned the teacher but she paid no mind to it, thus resulting in Timothy’s embarrassment. Today was also supposed to be his family’s festival tour of the garden maze since it was the first day of fall…thus resulting in Timothy’s sadness. His room was already decorated for it. He had a string of pumpkin and bat lights all along the top of the walls, plastic and ceramic skulls on his bookshelf and desk, and a thick comforter on his bed with an autumn leaf pattern.

           On the corner of his bed sat a small handsome pumpkin doll. He had buttons for eyes and his head was a stripe pattern of creamy white and swamp green, with a long curvy stem. He wore blue denim overalls and a maroon sweater underneath, with one green hand and one white. And finally, two brown boots tucked into the overalls.

           It stared at him as Timothy cried. After a time, he felt it’s lifeless eyes boring into his skull, and he looked back at the doll with contempt. “This is the worst season ever.” He said, tears still welling in his eyes. “I’m broken, my family’s broken, and I can’t stop…” He stopped himself. Looking out the window, he saw the moon hovering above the garden “And now it’s too late to play ANYTHING!”

          He looked back to the doll. “I never wanted you anyway…” He grabbed the pumpkin farmer, opened the window, and aimed at the moon. It flew across the courtyard and into the maze. Then he tore down his lights, his decorations, and shoved them all in a box far back in his closet. Hopefully, he thought, I’ll never see it again.

           After a humiliating day, he removed his school day clothes and put on his light blue checkered pajamas and went to sleep.

           That night, he dreamed of his mother taking him into the maze. She still had hair then, orange like his, but hers was long and curly and resembled the color of autumn leaves. It was dyed, but she made it look so natural. Her freckled cheeks were almost flying off her face as she gave him a big warm smile. She blipped his bottom lip, which made a cute little popping sound and said something to him but he couldn’t hear the words. Then the scene changed. Her hair was gone, her face was pale, and she was in a wheelchair. “Come push me…” she asked, but her voice sounded reserved, almost like a megaphone with a pillow stuffed in it. Timothy shook his head. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to push her. Then her eyes rolled back and she began to float out of her chair.

          He woke up screaming, sweating, panting. It was like his face was covered in slime, but he saw that he left his window open, which let in the hot and stupid summer air. He closed the window, stripped down to his underwear, and sat in front of his box fan on the floor to cool off.

          It was daylight already, but he felt like he didn’t get a single bite of sleep.

          Elias ran in with a concerned look, “You okay son?” he asked.

          Timothy wiped the fear from his face and said, “Yes, I’m okay. I just had a bad dream.”

          “Yeah me too.” His father relaxed and leaned against the doorway. “So I noticed you fell asleep pretty early. I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean…” he faltered.

          “It’s okay dad. I understand.” Timothy stood and gave his father a hug.

          “Cheese and crackers.” He swore like a man. “Did you sweat all night?”

          “I accidentally left my window open,” Timothy admitted.

          “Oh, I’m sorry bub.” He rubbed his son’s cheek with his palm and thumb. It smelled of his peppermint soap. It was nice and cool. “By the way, the Principal called me last night. He said you could enter a special needs class to help adapt to your condition.”

          “Oh…” The embarrassment still stung from the previous day. “That’s good. I can’t wait!” He said as excited as he could.

          His father smiled warmly. “Thanks for being so understanding. We should go get some ice cream later!”

          “Yeah!” Timothy cheered.

          His father began to leave the room. “I know this is still a sore subject because it’s hard for me too, but I have to ask,” Father’s face was hidden from the doorway, and his voice was low, “Have you seen your mother’s wheelchair?”

          The thought of the wheelchair immediately brought him back to the dream. He shook it out of his mind, and replied, “No, I haven’t seen it.”

          There was silence for a moment. “No worries, son. I’m sure it’s somewhere.” He came back into the room, planted a kiss on top of Timothy’s head, and left.

          I am not going back, Timothy thought. The embarrassment was too much for him, and he didn’t want to be a burden any longer.

          He redressed himself in an orange tee with black horizontal stripes, a pair of tan cargo shorts, and grey tennis shoes with a green stripe.

          I know, he didn’t even shower before. Gross, right?

          He emptied his backpack of books and stuffed in some spare shirts, pants, a few pairs of socks, a handful of granola bars he had tucked away in his closet, and an extra pair of shoes. Before sneaking out of his room, he grabbed a bamboo walking stick and a picture from his wall of him and his parents, smiling playfully in the garden.

          The door sounded like a hungry cat as it creaked open. He peeked down the hall to his father’s room, whose door was slightly open. Elias was on the phone with someone. Probably his secretary. Then he tip-toed to the top of the staircase and slowly walked down, trying to be as light as he could without also leaning against the wobbly rail.

                When he reached the foyer, he could hear that his father already had his favorite cartoon on the television “The Great Adventures of Snerly James.” He could smell bacon, blueberry bagels, and warmed maple syrup waiting for him in the living room, and it made his stomach grumble like a mouse pining after some chocolate.

          He paused for a moment and thought Where am I going? When it came to family, this was it. He turned around to the French double doors to his father’s extravagant garden. Lush and full of life, and far out past the maze was a humongous field of green hills and tall trees. I know I don’t want to be here.

                He truly wasn’t thinking logically and sometimes I wish I could have turned him around. He opened the doors and slipped into the garden. His father wanted diversity in his backyard, so part of the garden had vegetables, like corn and pumpkins and carrots, and part of it was flowers, like daisies, roses, and tulips. In between the two was a circular fountain that had four otters across from each other, spouting water between their teeth to the top level of the fountain, which then trickled down to the bottom. Just a few steps away encompassed the rectangular maze that stretched over fifty yards and was twenty-five wide.

          Timothy knew the path to the gate, but as a surprise to him, some of the decorations from last year were still up. There were cow skulls embedded into the grassy walls, terrifying portraits of regular people with ghastly faces. No, I don’t just mean ugly people. And spiders, real and fake, were everywhere.

          It tugged at his heart because this was what they did every Halloween. He didn’t want to look at it, so he hefted his walking stick, kept his head down, and ran through the maze. This was his home, I could do this with my eyes closed.            Confident, right?

TRIP.

          He opened his eyes and saw gravity pulling him in for a hug, but first, it politely kissed his forehead. You know those cartoons where when someone gets hit in the head, rubber ducks start to float around their noggin? That’s kind of what Timothy was seeing at this point.

                Crunch crunch.. “I think you rather deserved that.” He heard someone say.

                Timothy slowly opened his eyes. He expected to his father, or even the gardener, but when he turned skyward, he saw no one.

                “You’re thinking too tall.” He turned to the right, and there he saw his pumpkin doll leaning against the wall, pulling a scorpion with a chewed up tail out of a crab apple. “Is this why they call them crab apples?”