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| Photo by Ben Stark |
Once upon a time there was a squirrel named Pipkin. Pipkin lived in a tall, tall tree in the middle of a forest. He was a lonely squirrel, but one day he received a visitor…
An ivory-billed woodpecker flew in from somewhere in the forest. He dug his talons into the tall, tall tree and began to hammer the outside of Pipkin’s house with his beak.
Kook, kook, kook.
When Pipkin heard the knocking he immediately put on a pot of tea and stuck his head out to see who was there. “Hello, new friend,” said Pipkin. “Would you like some tea?”
The woodpecker ignored Pipkin and continued to peck the tree, his crest a blur of red.
“Excuse me,” said Pipkin, “you can stop knocking now, I’ve answered the door.”
The woodpecker stopped abruptly and shot Pipkin a steely glare, ”I’m not knocking, you see. I’m searching for treasure. For I am A Mighty Pirate.”
“Oh, I see,” said Pipkin quietly. “What kind of treasure do you hope to find in my tree?”
“If my beak is correct, which it always is,” said the woodpecker, puffing up his chest, “this tree is filled with delicious, golden caramel corn, and I must have it.”
Pipkin pleaded, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in for some tea? Just for a little while? I’m awfully lonely.”
The woodpecker pondered the idea for a minute. He looked at Pipkin with his shiny black eyes, then back at the tree, then back at Pipkin, then again at the tree, then continued pecking furiously.
Pipkin retreated to the inside of the tree. For a long time he listened to the kook, kook, kook of the woodpecker pecking the outside of his home. Eager for company, he thought about how he might approach the situation differently. Finally, Pipkin stuck his head back out of the tree.
“Excuse me!” said Pipkin.
The woodpecker stopped. ”What now?”
Pipkin lunged at the woodpecker with a sharp stick, impaling him through the stomach and out his back. A stream of red sprayed the bark on the tree as Pipkin yanked the woodpecker inside.
As Pipkin pulled out the stick, blood and plasma oozed onto the floor. He looked the bird over for a minute and said, “Sorry for the fuss.”
He arranged the woodpecker’s lifeless body in a chair at his tiny kitchen table. He grabbed the kettle and poured hot water into two tea cups. He set one in front of the bird gleefully.
“Sugar?” asked Pipkin.
Silence.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Pipkin with a grimace. “So glad you could join me.”
THE END.
Ben Stark is a creme egg who does computery things, amateur photography things, YouTube things, and sometimes donates bad writing to underprivileged online magazines.
