Song of Craig

Song of Craig

Part 1

         Satron sat at his desk in the ice cold room of depression in which he habitually taught students.  He was engaging in his usual favorite activity of decapitating talking vegetables.  Before the deaths of the vegetables they often prayed to his enemy, God.  This made Satron very angry.  As he was taking a paring knife to a presbyterian carrot, two other beings of evil entered the room.  One was Mr. Brigs, or as he was known in the early 20th century, Josef Stalin.  The other was an odd creation combining a venomous spider and a blue crab.  Satron took his preferred form as a robotic version of the devil. 
         “Well gentleman,” he said, “and mutant” The spider/crab hissed.  “I believe we all know why we’re here.”
         “Actually, no,” the spider/crab stated, “I have no idea why you called me while I was writing an off-topic rant that I could give at an awkward time in the middle of my fifth period class tomorrow.”
         “What? Didn’t get the memo?” Brigs mocked.  “We’re going to finish the student Craig Lewis.”
         “And where is the boy now?” the spider/crab asked, ignoring his colleague’s condescension. 
         “He is in a long, boring conversation with McKinley,” Satron answered. 
         “Then let’s move in and crush him,” Josef Stalin suggested. 
         “You try to capture him, we have work to do,” Satron commanded. 
         At this moment Jesus, who knew what they were talking about despite not being anywhere near them, decided that he needed to save Craig Lewis, and so he went to God. 
         “Hey dad, we seem to have a problem,” he said.
         God sighed, “What is it?”
         “Satron and his underlings are going to kill Craig Lewis.” 
         “I’m sorry, who?” God asked, bewildered. 
         “Uh, you know the walking billboard who can’t hear anything over the sound of how awesome he is,” Jesus replied.
         “Hm, doesn’t ring a bell,” God commented.
         Jesus proceeded to utter a series of random noises in a very good imitation of the teenager in question. 
         “Oh yeah, that kid,” God said. “Well, I’d like to do something but… non-interference and all that. Let’s just have that new angel, Jeff, send him an incredibly vague message.”
         “Eh, works for me,” Jesus replied. 

Part 2

         Craig Lewis ran down the hallway with a plant/dog and a walking oxymoron following him.  They ran into a classroom and closed the door fast behind them.  The Supreme Dictator of the Free World, the oxy-moron previously mentioned, peeked out the window in the door to watch the pack of thugs run down the hallway after a prey, which was hiding in the opposite direction of their charge.  Craig meanwhile looked around the room and realized to his surprise that he was in the presence of Mr. McKinley who is arguably the most talkative teacher alive today. 
         “Ah, good morning Mr. Lucas, Mr…,” he said.
         “Actually, it’s Lewis, and this is the Supreme Dictator of the Free World, and it’s like, five o’clock,” Craig corrected him.  “And out of curiosity, have you seen my math book?  I’ve been looking for hours; it’s been a bizarre afternoon.”
         McKinley answered with a long, drawn out, uninteresting, irrelevant, unrelated, slightly nauseating, and quite possibly drug-induced tale which put both the Supreme Dictator of the Free World and the plant/dog to sleep. 
         “What about you, how was your day?”  McKinley asked. 

2:27 EST just outside John Glenn High School

         Craig walked across the bus lane to John Glenn’s parking lot.  As he moved towards his car, he heard a voice shout behind him. 
         “Hey Craig, there is a pop quiz in Satron’s class Monday.  You got your book?”
Craig, realizing that he in fact did not have the book, ran back over the bus lane to the school, narrowly missing one of the buses.  He was about to enter the school when he heard a voice shout out in anger behind him.  He turned around to see the middle-aged man, who felt the need to conduct pedestrian traffic at the end of the day run towards him.  He was a lifeless man, not in the sense that he was dead but in the sense that he had less of a life than the writer of this story. 
         Craig sighed, “Hey could you yell at me later?  I’ve got to go.” 
         The man got angrier at the lack of respect, which was typical from students whom he falsely accused whenever the heck he felt like it.  He turned into a large troll-like beast. 
         “I’ll take your head to Satron!!!”  it screamed. 
         Craig reacted quickly, running into the crowd as the Satronic minion, threw students aside looking for him.  Craig thought for a moment.  How can I get rid of him?  Then Craig saw it; dangling from the horn which had sprung from the head of the more boring man was a ball cap.  As the creature screamed in rage, Craig crept behind it, stepped onto a bench and launched himself into the air, grabbing the hat.  He landed in a roll and tossed the hat into the path of a moving bus.  The creature screamed in rage and ran out into the path of the bus to retrieve the hat.  Both the troll and the hulking mass of cheap materials (the bus) were large, but the momentum of the bus was superior and the troll was thrown five yards and abruptly turned back into its human form. 
         Taking his opportunity, Craig ran into the school.  Quickly, Craig bolted into the east wing of the school and up a flight of stairs to where his locker was.  He entered the combination which, for any thieves who may be reading, is the combination 12 37 56 92 81 for locker 103282085032.2.  Opening the door he scanned the mess of paper, books, and many less sanitary things which housed a dozen or so very advanced civilizations of incredibly evolved bacteria. 
To his dismay, the math book was not present.  I must have left it in Mr. Brian’s room.  He walked down the hall to Mr. Brian’s classroom.  He opened the door to see a chaotic mess which rivaled even the darkest recesses of the bottom of his locker.  In the center of the chaos was a creature which I have previously mentioned, a hybrid of a plant and a dog.  It was clearly very young and barked at Craig in a high-pitched yap. 
“GET DOWN!!!!” shouted a voice. 
Craig turned to see that the speaker was Mr. Brian himself, cowering behind his desk.  Craig ducked and crawled over to where his teacher sat. 
“What is going on?”  Craig asked. 
“It’s a new creature I’ve bred.  It is the combination of a plant and a dog, that’s why it has those leaves layered like that instead of fur and it’s green,”  The teacher whispered.
“That’s very fascinating, but why?”
“Because it is cool,” Mr. Brian answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 
         “Fair enough. Did it create this mess?”  Craig inquired.
         “Yes, it’s the first of fifty to finish its first growth cycle.  It’s quite a handful.”
         “It’s a puppy, Mr. Brian.  That should be obvious,” Craig pointed out.
         “Well I know that now! Can you help me out?”  Mr. Brian requested
         Craig thought a moment.  “Does it use photosynthesis or cellular respiration for energy?”
         “It uses both processes; each makes up about half of its energy production,” Mr. Brian answered.
         “Okay, I know what to do. Creep over to the light switches and when I say ‘now’, turn them off.”
Craig crept around the other side of the desk to see the plant/dog munching on a piece of paper on the counter under the windows in the back of the room.  He kept low to the ground approaching the windows.  When he was a few feet away, the creature noticed him and growled.  Quickly Craig lunged at the window and closed the blinds.  Then he grabbed the creature. 
         “NOW!!!” he shouted.
         The lights flickered and then went off as the creature squirmed in his arms.  After a few minutes Craig shouted to Mr. Brian,
         “Okay, he won’t be much of a problem any more, you can turn them back on,” Craig said.  “I’ll keep an eye on this one for you. Just worry about the other forty-nine.”  Craig added.  “And out of curiosity, have you seen my math book?” 
         “No, I’m sorry,” Mr. Brian said.  “See ya later.” 
         Craig set the plant/dog on the ground, and surprisingly, it followed him.  All of a sudden, another teenager, this one in a cape made out of a blanket and a fake cardboard crown, came running into view. 
         “Craig, come with me, they’re after you!!!” he shouted. 
         Craig followed the outlandishly dressed teenager. 
         “Who are you, and what are you talking about?”  Craig asked. 
         “I’m The Supreme Dictator of the Free World,” the boy answered.
         “Okay, now what are you talking about?”  Craig asked again.
         “A bunch of thugs out to get you,” the Supreme Dictator of the Free World answered. 
         Sure enough, as Craig looked back, three large teenagers were chasing him.

Five o’ Clock, McKinley’s classroom

         At that moment, the angel Jeff came down from heaven and began to stomp loudly on the roof above their room. 
         “What could that be?” Mr. McKinley asked.
         “I believe it’s a message,” the Supreme Dictator said as he woke up.  “in binary.”
         “You can’t tap binary,” Craig said.
         “Shhhhh,” the Supreme Dictator of the Free World whispered.  “It says, ‘They’re coming, flee to Mr. Fusilier’s room.’” 
         “That’s vague,” Craig commented.  “Even so, we should probably leave.” 
         “Right, because you should always listen to a vague series of noises being tapped on the roof in binary,” The Supreme Dictator of the Free World sarcastically commented. 
         “YOU CAN’T TAP BINARY!!!!!”  Craig shouted as they left. 

Part 3

         Mr. Fusilier looked up in surprise as Craig, Plant/Dog, and the Supreme Dictator of the Free World entered his classroom. 
         “Hello boys, want some candy?” he said gesturing to a bowl of M&Ms.
         Both walked up and took out a handful of the candy and sat munching for a moment. 
         “So what is going on?”  he asked.
         A half hour later they had explained it entirely. 
         “Hey, Supreme Dictator, how did you know those thugs were coming after me?”
         “Well, I was down in the cafeteria getting a soda when I heard them talking. They’d just been ordered to find you by some guy they called ‘The Troll,’” he answered.
         “Ah, so Satron has it out for you, eh Craig?”  Mr. Fusilier asked.  “He seems to be sending all his minions after you.” 
         “Why would he do that?” Craig asked. 
         “Why not?  Attempting to kill random students is half the fun of being Satron,” Mr. Fusilier replied. 
         “Well, I’ve got to find my math book before I can get out of here,” Craig said. 
         “You hang here,” the Supreme Dictator of the Free World commanded.  “I’m going to go look around for it, in the mean time we’ll need help.” 
         “I’ll make some calls,” Mr. Fusilier said. 

30 minutes later

         The Supreme Dictator ran into Mr. Fusilier’s room panting hard.
         “The book is in the cafeteria,” he said.  “But they’ve got everyone in there, Stalin, Spider-Crab, the troll, as well as several students. Even Satron himself is down there.” 
         “Tell everyone to meet me at the cafeteria.  I’m going to get my math book back,” Craig said to Mr. Fusilier. 
         He left the room and walked down the hall toward the cafeteria.  When he reached the cafeteria, he found small clusters of angry people facing each other. 
         “Come quietly and the others will not be harmed, Craig Lewis.” Satron hissed as he noticed Craig. 
         Before Craig could even respond, his allies attacked.  Mr. Brian stood nearby with forty-nine plant/dogs of various breeds, that charged into the fray first and attacked the enemy.  Mr. Fusilier pulled out a pile of flaming pop-tarts and began hurling them at the spider/crab, causing it to flee in pain.  Mr. McKinley was dodging blows from the troll while literally talking it to death.  The Supreme Dictator of the Free World chased Josef Stalin around, wielding a metal yard stick like a sword.           
         Just as Craig was about to personally attack Satron, Satron was leading his forces in an unorganized retreat. 
         “I thank you all for your help,” Craig said to them.  “Hey, Supreme Dictator, one last thing.” 
         “What?” He asked.
         “Where is my math book?”
         The Supreme Dictator of the Free World motioned to a book sitting on one of the tables. 
Craig grabbed the book and left the school

THE END