Bio:   Sarah Pride is a 20-year-old history major who, during periods of extreme stress, will spew out a few thousand words of fiction. She enjoys reading stories of women and girls learning about themselves and about relationships, but she doesn't like to write them. She prefers to make people laugh, scratch their heads, and read her stories again.

A Proper Lack of Imagination

by Sarah Pride

"What if the sky wasn't really blue?" asked Bernard, lying on his back in the grass and staring up.

"It is blue," said Julia, who was reading a fashion magazine, "so don't be ridiculous."

"No, really," said Bernard, "what if we thought we knew what 'blue' was, but really it was different for every person? How would we ever know?"

"We wouldn't, so why bother?" replied Julia.

"Julia," said Bernard, rolling over to look at her, "do you not have an imaginative bone in your body?"

"That's a stupid term," said Julia. "Bones do not have imaginations."

Bernard looked at her for a second, then stood up.

"What if I were really an axe murderer?" he asked.

Julia turned a page.

"Then I should think you would be off putting axes out of their misery," she said, "but instead you've brought me here, alone, for an afternoon picnic."

Bernard reached into the back seat of the car.

"Look what I found," he announced. He paused for emphasis, and his eyes glinted—"an axe!" He pulled it out and hefted it experimentally.

Finally Julia paid attention.

"Oh really?" she asked. "How splendid! You can cut us wood for a fire, and we can drive back to town for some marshmallows. I feel in the mood for s'mores tonight."

Bernard stood by the car holding the axe rather stupidly. He took in a breath halfway, and let it out again. Then he moved toward a nearby small tree, eying it with a practiced gaze.

Halfway there, he stopped and turned around.

"Julia?" he faltered.

"What?" she murmured, engrossed in an article about "The Perfect Jeans For Your Frame."

"You see, I've never chopped a tree before, and I'm not sure I know how."

"Oh for Heaven's sake!" she barked, plopping her magazine on the grass and jumping to her feet. "I'll show you."

She pulled the axe from Bernard's fingers, and with a few deft strokes the tree was down. Bernard squeaked once, then was silent, and when she was done Julia shoved the axe back into his hands. He stood by the fallen tree, looking lost.

"Well, what now?" asked Julia.

"We can't go to town for marshmallows because all the air is out of the tires," Bernard said.

"So it is," she said, checking them. "They're all shredded. We must have driven over something sharp. Well then, you'll have to walk."

At that, Bernard raised the axe again and moved toward her.

"I don't want to walk to town," he said.

"You don't?" said Julia. "I will have to go myself, then."

She set off down the road at a brisk pace. Bernard watched her go, axe still raised. After a minute, his arms fell limply, and he looked from the axe to the fallen tree.

"Actually," he said. "I think she's right. This would be a good evening for s'mores."

He began to chop the tree into firewood.

 

©Sarah Pride