A Series of Unfortunate Events

[TeenFan]

This topic is for Short Stories.

Story One: Prickly Situation: Part 1.

Ezra is rather industrious and ambitions for a fourteen year old. His lifelong dream is to be on an episode of a Food Network show. He avidly watches every season of Kid's Baking Championship and Chopped Junior. Ezra dreams of running a restaurant someday as head chef. Some
of what he knows about cooking he learned in school. The old Home Economics classes the parents of today's children took have disappeared, replaced with a Health and Nutrition class that is a strange combination of subjects from sustainable farming to the basics of yoga and meditation. The grandparents of today's children would have loved this class during their "Hippy" days of the early 1970s. Still, the cooking part is rudimentary
at best. The rest he looks up online or browses in old magazines and books at the Half Priced Book Store. Ezra doesn't buy the books, but quickly
scribbles notes as he peruses the pages of a book as he stands in the corner of the book store. Why buy the book when you can just copy the info
off the page.

Currently Ezra is focusing his mostly self-taught learning on sauces and condiments. A neighbor's house down the block has a special ingredient
that Ezra must have in abundance to incorporate into a variety of sauces and even jams and jellies, and this ingredient just ripened to perfection. To get this wonderful item, Ezra got up early on a Saturday morning in August to prepare what he needs to harvest the ingredient.

First, Ezra has to find the old wheelbarrow in the tool shed, along with several large plastic buckets. He finds work gloves for gardening. From
the kitchen he seeks out a small and slender serrated edged knife and the cooking sheers just in case. Being in a mid sized town in Texas, the
weather in August is amazingly consistent: HOT. By 10:30 AM the temperature is already past 90 degrees and it will most likely surpass 100 by
mid afternoon. Ezra needs to get going so he can finish the task before the full heat of the day sets in. The t-shirt Ezra has on is already starting
to feel damp and sticky on his body. As he places all the items into the wheelbarrow, he decides to take off the shirt and leave it behind in the
tool shed.

Wearing sneakers and socks, along with athletic shorts made of cotton, not polyester or rayon or any other synthetic material that will destroy the Earth, Ezra pushes the wheelbarrow down the street. Several houses down the block, Ezra stops the wheelbarrow in front of a large two story
house that has a big yard. It's probably the oldest house in the area, an old ranch house back when this was cattle country. Leaving the wheelbarrow on the sidewalk, Ezra steps up to the front door and he rings the bell several times. After a minute the door is opened by a woman
of around 35 years old.

"Yes, state your business," the woman says, as she holds the door partway open, just partway in case she needs to slam the door shut. You never
can be too careful these days, not knowing who or what will show up on your doorstep, and the woman seems surprised to see a young teenaged
boy standing on her porch, a shirtless boy wearing tight gray shorts.

"May I pick your pricklies?" Ezra asks the woman at the door.

"Excuse me, you want to pick my...what?"

"The prickly pears on the cactus in your side yard, ma'am. I got all the tools I need in the wheelbarrow over there by the street."

"Oh, those things," and the woman laughs nervously. "Take all you need. But be careful. That cactus will really stick you. Are you sure you
know what you are doing?"

Ezra nods his head, and even though he has never cut cactus leaves or harvested the purple fruit, he's confident it should be easy.

"I got gloves to put on. I should be okay."

The woman of the house steps out onto the porch, wearing a sundress, no shoes on her feet. The slender shirtless boy is nearly as tall as she is at five foot six inches. The boy's skin is somewhat dark toned, though without the look of being tanned, and his hair is jet black. Though having a darker skin tone, the boy doesn't look Hispanic. Half the town's population derives its ancestry from Mexico.

"What is your name?" the woman asks.

"I'm Ezra. Ezra Abelman. My mom told me your family name is Watkins, but she had to admit she couldn't recall your first name."

During a short conversation, Ezra finds out the woman's name is Sally Watkins. She is the fourth generation of Watkins to own the house, it having
been built by her great grandfather in the 1940s. Ezra told the woman that it just so happens his ancestors came over from Germany in the 1930's having gotten out just in time, as his family is Jewish. Then Ezra says why he needs the prickly pears. He's going to cook up some sauces with
them to use for several types of dishes. Mrs. Watkins tells Ezra to take as many of the pricky pears as he needs, only requesting that a sample of what is made from them be brought over.

"My daughter and I would love to try your cooking experiments using prickly pears," Mrs. Watkins tells the young budding culinary artist.

"Oh, you have a daughter living here. I've probably seen her at school, but I doubt I ever spoke to her. I...uh...I don't really talk to the girls at
school."

Mrs. Watkins laughs, and suddenly she reaches out and grabs Ezra by the upper arms.

"Shy around girls, eh. How old are you? You seem like a strapping young lad to me, full of vim and vigor. And you're cute as a button too."

Mumbling that he is fourteen, Ezra looks down at his feet. He's not used to being addressed this way, not in such an informal and personal manner
by a stranger. Looking down, Ezra wishes he kept his shirt on, wishes he wore something that shows less skin than the tight fitting gray athletic shorts. He was just thinking about how warm it will be as he picks through the cactus, not how he will look to the neighbors or any gawkers
passing by on the sidewalk or riding a bicycle down the street. Looking down, Ezra can see just how much the shorts bulge out in front. These
shorts he started wearing last summer and now they are a bit snug, a little too showy. Glancing back up, Ezra sees the gaze of Mrs. Watkins is focused right on his tummy, or on the legs, or is it on the too tight shorts.

"My daughter, Vidalia, will be along sometime soon. She spent the night at a friend's house, not far from here. She's also an enthusiast about
cooking. Vidalia will be so happy to meet you."

[Themarble]

Can't wait to see wjat turn of events transpire here. I'm super excited. I have a theory that those shorts will get a bit messy shortly.

[GeekGuy]

looks like this is building up nicely. looking forward to more.

[TeenFan]

Prickly Situation
Part 2.


Armed with all the tools he needs to get the job done, and verbal permission to harvest the prickly pears, Ezra parks the wheelbarrow next
to the row of medium height cactus plants. This species has very broad and round shaped pads that are six to eight inches across. The purple
fruits are found along the edges of these pads. Getting at them is not easy. The pads are covered in thorn clusters. Even the little fruits have
small thorns all over them, hence the need for gloves. Several plants grow in a row next to a chain link fence. Ezra should be able to get all he needs without having to work the far side of the plants that push up next to the fence.

In addition to getting the pears, which are not actually pears but seeds in the round fruit of the cactus, Ezra has permission to cut several of the fleshy pads of cactus. In Mexican cooking, pads of this cactus are called nopales and are used in a variety of dishes. Ezra plans to ask his dad to buy a cooking blow torch to burn the needles off of the pads, then the cactus can be safely cut into strips and cooked. The pears have an intense sweet
flavor and can be used for making desserts.

It doesn't take long after starting work for the sweat to begin dripping down the forehead and getting into the eyes. It's nearly noon, and the heat
is building up. Ezra has to be careful how he stands, careful in how he bends over to slice off the pears. Any false move, any loss of balance could
result in falling into the cactus bush. Ezra has a close call, when a skateboarder comes flying down the sidewalk. Skateboards make noise, so Ezra
knows a kid on a skateboard is coming along up the sidewalk. The skateboard goes past on the sidewalk just fine, but the elbow of the kid hits
Ezra on the backside, right on the butt, as the kid goes by. The small amount of force generated nearly caused Ezra to fall forward. Fortunately,
Ezra had hold of a branch of the cactus bush with a gloved hand and was able to brace himself.

"Hey, watch where you're going," Ezra shouts at the skater, a boy of around 12 years old.

"Stay off the sidewalk you asswagon," the skateboarder shouts back.

"You imbecile," Ezra responds, as the kid moves out of hearing range. "Why are skateboarders such jerks?" he asks out loud, and with nobody
there to answer that question, Ezra gets back to work.

Half an hour goes by. The first plastic bucket is filled and the next is started on. The work is exhausting, bending over at odd angles hurts the
lower back. One has to move slowly and carefully. Several times Ezra feels the pricks of thorns against his forearms just beyond the protection of
the gardening gloves.

"Hello, what are you doing?" comes a voice behind him.

Ezra is bent over, reaching down for a fruit on a lower pad of cactus, when he hears the question. The voice sounds like that of a girl. Perfect timing, bent over with his butt up in the air when a girl comes by asking questions. Ezra stands up and he turns around.

Based on the sound of the voice, Ezra expects to see a girl, and that is what he sees when he turns around. The girl is the same age, maybe a
little older, and she has on a halter top and shorts. The girl has long blond hair that has no curl to it at all. The girl is smiling, and she has braces
on her teeth. But the girl is not all that is behind Ezra on the sidewalk. The girl has a leash in her hand, and at the end of the leash is a ferocious looking dog. Ezra knows more about garden vegetables than he does dog breeds, and all he can discern is the dog is of the big and ugly variety.
The dog is as mean looking as the girl is sweet and pretty.

"Oh...I'm just picking prickly pears. The lady at the house said I could."

The girl looks Ezra over, looks him up and down. Ezra again wishes he had a shirt on. He's not embarrassed about how he looks, but standing as he
is wearing nothing but the too tight athletic shorts makes him a little uneasy. Meeting a girl is not what he planned to do today, certainly not a girl as nice looking at this. Meeting a girl's big and menacing guard dog is also not on the to do list.

"This is my house. You must have talked to my mom," the girl says. "I'm Vidalia. I think I've seen you at school."

So this is the daughter of the owner of the house. Mrs. Watkins mentioned a daughter, and that she might be showing up some time soon. Ezra, remembering his manners, yanks off the glove on his right hand. He then reaches out the hand to greet the girl.

"Hi. My name is..."

Ezra has no chance to finish the greeting. The big, bad, ferocious and ugly mutt of a dog takes exception to reaching a hand toward his mistress.
Barking and lunging forward, the head of the dog comes dangerously close, the jaws snapping, saliva gleaming off the deadly canines and their
sharp points. Ezra steps backward, the muzzle of the beast coming within mere inches of the front of the gray shorts. With the back foot stepping
down from the sidewalk, Ezra loses his balance. His momentum can't be stopped, and Ezra screams out in surprise as he goes down on his butt on
a thick lower part of a cactus plant.

Ezra screams out a second time, more in pain than from surprise, as he feels the pricks of dozens of needle points breaking the skin barrier
from his upper legs to the lower back.

Ezra looks down at himself, seeing he's basically sitting on the base of a cactus bush, a branch of that bush sticking up in front of his shorts. Then looking up from his half-seated position, the horrible dog still tugs at its leash, still wanting to tear him apart, and the only thing saving him is the hand of the girl on the leash. The girl holding the dog looks on in total surprise.

"OH NO. I'm so sorry. Hold still, Ramrod...hold still...now sit," the girl says, as she yanks the dog back. The dog, Ramrod, moves back a couple steps. With the dog under control, Vidalia looks down at Ezra.

"Are you okay? I hope you're okay."