September 12th, 2006

The Chocolate War

It all started with little Harry Beasly, the most irritating kid on Winchester Avenue. Harry Beasly is not your average nine-year-old kid. His thick black hair curls slightly at the tips of his ears and small freckles scatter across his nose accentuating its abnormal size. His dark eyes glisten with mischief, not giving any warning as to when he might strike next. Harry has a love for chocolate and it shows through every pound caked onto his chubby cheeks.

I, on the other hand, am quite the opposite of Harry. My long golden hair shimmers in the sunlight and every step is handled with care. I glide across the sidewalks like a feather stirring on a lake. My purpose for this long, gracious walk to the neighboring houses is to sell fifty boxes of chocolate. The money will be used for my entry fee to the state pageant I so desperately want to enter. Each year Gloria Hart has worn that precious, glittering tiara. Four years in a row, I have been first runner up, but this is the year that I will win!

I was pondering which dress I should choose, the blue sparkly one or the yellow silk as I was strolling to Mrs. Baker’s house. Tapping my clipboard with a steady beat, I decided that I would go with the yellow silk. That is when I heard it. The familiar cackle coming from behind one of the large topiary bushes lining Mrs. Baker‘s well manicured lawn. I stopped immediately and whipped my head to the side. I heard it again. The sickening laugh that makes me twitch with annoyance.

“Harry Beasly! You step out from behind the bush right now! Does your mother know you’re out here?” This time the chortle erupted from his thick belly and echoed through the bush. Slowly a thick leg appeared from behind the bush. Then his heavy cheeks, smeared with creamy chocolate. The shorts he was wearing seemed to be encased with every lump of cellulite on his meaty thighs. The results of every candy bar he had ever eaten.

“Harry, go home. I don’t need any trouble today.” I resumed walking to Mrs. Baker’s front door. It was three quick knocks until the door opened with a slow squeak. Harry followed and stood beside her flowerpot to the right of the door.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Baker. Can I interest you in some delicious, smooth chocolate? I’m trying to gather money for the state pageant that I wish to enter.” At this, Harry’s eyes glittered. I could almost hear the evil voice in his head perking up at the mention of chocolate.

“Why yes, I’d love some chocolate! Oh, I hope you get into that pageant, dear.” The elderly woman said.

“Thank you Mrs. Baker, I appreciate this greatly.” I exclaimed, with a cheery smile. Walking from her doorstep, I checked off Abigail Baker’s name from my list of possible candy buyers.

“I want to help,” said Harry.

“No”. I replied, sharply. Harry waddled after me, inhaling air at extreme rates. “Well, why not?” He whined.

“I don’t need your help, Harry. This money is for me and me alone. If I have, you help me then I’d have to pay you and then I wouldn’t get into the pageant. The answer is still no.” Harry huffily walked up to me and swung his leg out to kick me. He missed and fell to the ground. I laughed at his young stupidity and kept walking. Calling out over my shoulder, “Go home, Harry!”

The rest of the day went so smoothly that after I got into the routine I hardly noticed what I was doing. I found myself back at my house just as the sun was setting. Before I tucked myself into bed that night, I decided to check on the fifty boxes of chocolate waiting to be delivered the next morning. I opened the garage door, squinting to see into the dark, cold space. To my absolute horror, when I flipped on the light switch all fifty boxes were open. The room was littered in chocolate wrappers. I could see my tiara shatter into pieces in my mind. My only hope of finally beating Gloria Hart had been murdered by the one thing that threatened my perfect life. There, lying in the center of the disaster in my garage was Harry Beasly. A peaceful smile on his wicked face as he slept, unaware of the life he had just ruined.