Writer's Cramp Entry Due 04/21

Word Count: 702

“If you don’t take chances,” said the man in the striped pajamas, “you might as well not be alive.”

Thomas sighed. “But I’m scared, Wilson. Wouldn’t you be?”

The man gave a short chuckle. “No, I wouldn’t be. I’ve lived too many years of my life in fear. It’s a waste of time.”

“Well what do you think I should do, then? Because I’m not about to throw my life away by running.”

“Who ever said you should run?” Wilson dusted himself off and got up from his perch on the doorstep. “Come along now, it’s past your bedtime.” He held out a hand which the the boy hesitantly took. “Your mother would have my head if she found out we were outside at this time of night.”

“She wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let her.” Thomas gave a thoughtful look to the stars before following Wilson inside. They traveled through the kitchen and down the servants hall to their rooms.

“I think you’d be surprised, young man.”

“Wilson, do you think I could go to the moon one day?”


“The moon? What on earth do you want to do up there?”

“Well, eat it of course! That’s the only thing you can do with a moon made of cheese.” The boy’s stomach gave a large growl.

Wilson scoffed. “Perhaps while you feast you’ll discover the man in the moon, as well.” He sighed. “I don’t see why not, Thomas. Like I said..”

Thomas interrupted him, “If you don’t take chances, you may as well not be alive.”

“That a boy.” Wilson patted his head. “Go on now. You don’t want to oversleep tomorrow and Master Silas mad.”

Thomas jumped and hurried to his mother’s cot. “Goodnight!” he called.

“Goodnight, friend.”

* * * * *

The next morning Thomas awoke with the sound of the rooster’s crow and the rising sun. After shaking his mother awake he ran through the servants’ quarters, looking for the old man. “Wilson? Mr. Wilson?” he called, but no one answered.

Finally he ran to an old maid who bent down to his level. “What have we here little one?”

“Miss Martha, good morning,” he greeted, giving her a quick hug. Miss Martha always gave the best hugs. “Have you seen Mr. Wilson?”

“Why, now that you mention it, I don’t believe I have. Perhaps he woke up early and made his way to the fields?”

“That may be so, Miss Martha. I ought to go check.”

“You do that now, Thomas. Let me know if you find him.”

Thomas gave her another hug, wishing her farewell before rushing out to the fields. The fields were Master Silas’ pride and joy, and at the moment they sat waiting to be tilled. The boy held his breath and hoped that the master wasn’t out there. Master Silas hated it when the workers went out early in the morning, especially on Sundays. He was afraid they would steal something, or that the Lord would strike him down for not honoring the sabbath.

Thomas was glad for Master Silas. He was a kind master. He educated his “servants” and gave them food. He clothed them and put a roof over their heads. He was a sensible man, all the others said so, but he had a quick temper.

“You fool!” a deep voice cried over the silence. Thomas stopped, he knew that voice. It was Master Silas, and sure enough he had Wilson by the back of his shirt. “How dare you disobey me?” It took Thomas a minute just to realize what was going on. They weren’t just in the field, they were in Thomas’s designated part of the field. The boy looked down at his blistered hands, the ones that had kept him up last night wondering if he would let his master down. “Just to help this boy?”

Master Silas threw the man to the ground and kicked him a few times before storming off to the house. “Mr. Wilson?!” Thomas cried, running to the huddled man. “What are you doing out here? Doing my work?”

“Thomas,” he croaked. “It’s alright, I’m fine.” He fought to sit up, and Thomas could see how riddled with age he was. “I was taking a chance.”