The Good Scissors

The Good Scissors



“I’ve lost them. I’m in deep dutch now.” Julie lay on her bed, trying not to cry.

“What’d you lose?”

“Mom’s bestest scissors, Jane. I had them outside. I was cutting some flowers with them.” She rolled over and now cried for real.

“The ones with the black handles? You’re pretty stupid, those scissors aren’t supposed to leave the sewing room. And you cut flowers?”

“Yeah…”

Billy came into our room. “What’s all the noise about? I can hear you two all the way in my room.”

“Get out! You aren’t allowed in here.” Julie jumped up and pushed him out to the hall.

“How much is it worth if I tell you I know where some scissors are?” Billy yelled from the behind the closed door.

I ran to the door, pulled him back inside our room.

“Spill it, you little worm. What’s this about scissors?”

“Well, maybe I found some shiny scissors with black handles in a garden that maybe belongs to someone’s mother, maybe they belong in someone’s mother’s sewing room, and maybe if they are missing that someone will be in big trouble.”

Billy smiled at us. I twisted his arm.

“Ouch, that hurts!” Billy yelped a bit too loudly.

“I’ll hurt you more if you don’t tell us where those scissors are at. Julie lost them. Give them back.”

“What’ll I get if I do?”

“We won’t tell Mom you were the one who left the Bible outside in the rain.”

Billy pouted, Julie sniffed back a few more tears, I stood firm.

Just then Mom stuck her head in our room.

“What’s going on? I hear commotion. You monkeys up to something?”

“Nope. Just discussing life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

“Doing your homework? Good. Anyone seen my good scissors?”


W/C 300