An Old Story

This was written by a girl I used to know when I was 12. I haven't seen her for a long time (obviously), but I found this when I was looking through some old papers this evening, and it made me laugh. ~~~~ "Woody, The Boy Who Looked Like a Broom" by Daphnie Once upon a time (about three weeks ago) there lived a little boy named Woody. Woody was a very unusual boy, for you see, he happened to look like a broom. Woody didn't have any feet, or hands or even a real mouth. He had only a tiny painted on mouth. And everybody thought Woody was just about the nicest broom boy around, because he was always smiling. One day Woody's mother called him into the kitchen. "Woody, dear." His mother said lovingly. "Would you please go to the store for me, I'm all out of matches and I need some desperately." "Sure mom!" Came back Woody's muffled voice through his red paint smile. Woody's mother phoned the store owner, Mr. Moo, and told him that she would pay him later for the matches Woody was to pick up, and Woody was on his way. Once there, though, Woody found that he had a small problem. As he had no real arms, he had no way to carry the matches home. He decided that he would ask a passerbyer to help him carry his matches. A pretty young lady walked around the corner. She was wearing a small black dress with a white apron. She stopped when she saw Woody and nearly peed her pants. "Excuse me, Miss," Woody said turning slightly on his bristles to face her. "I was wondering if you could help me. You see, my mother sent me to pick up some matches from the store, and I have no way of carrying them home." "Geezum crow! You're a broom!" Cried the lady. "No, no, I'm not! I just happen to look like one. And that's my problem. You see, I have no real feet, or arms, I don't even have a real mouth!" "If you don't have a mouth how can you talk?" "Never mind that for now. Will you help me carry my matches home, please?" The lady thought it over for a minute and then shook her head. "I'm sorry little boy, but I can't. You see it is I who needs your help." "I don't understand." Woody said. "Well you see, I'm a maid and my vacuum cleaner just broke. I was on my way out to buy a new one before my boss see's how messy the house is and fires me. But now that I've found you, I won't be needing a vacuum." "You mean...?" "That's right! C'mere!" The lady made a grab for Woody but he was too quick for her. He swept himself away around the corner, turned back, stuck his bristles out and tripped the lady. When she was safely knocked out on the floor, he went back to the store. "But I still have no way to get my matches home." He mused to himself. "Perhaps I should ask someone else." Around the corner came a small old man. He looked tired and hungry. He walked up to Woody and took a good look. "Land sakes! Will ya look at you, boy!" He said. "Excuse me kind sir," Woody said to him. "But I was wondering if you could help me. You see my mother sent me to the store to get some matches, but I have no way of getting them home." "Hyup." Said the old man. "And, well, you may or may not have noticed that I look like a broom." "I think I noticed something like that." The old man said. "And as such I have no real feet, and no real hands. I don't even have a real mouth!" "Well, If you don't have a real mouth, how can you talk?" "Never mind that now!" Woody said smiling against his will. "Will you help me carry my matches home?" The old man shook his head instantly. "Oh, no sonny. I'm afraid I can't do that." "Why not?" Woody whimpered. "Well, you see, I'm a very poor old man and I just ran out of fire wood. I was on my way to the store to spend my last cent on some wood, but now that I see you I guess I won't have to." "You mean...?" "That's right my little house warmer!" "But it's the middle of summer!" Woody cried. "I'm very sensitive! Now git over here!" The old man made a grab for Woody but Woody was too quick for him. Woody flew around the corner. When he turned it, he quickly stuck his bristles out and tripped the old man. With the old man lying unconscious on the ground next to the Young Lady, Woody went back to the store. "But I still have no way to get the matches home!" He said aloud. "I suppose I'd better ask one more time for help. I'll ask this next person coming around the corner." The next person to come around the corner was another man. This one, Woody decided, must have been in the sun for too long, because he was all red! He also had horns, hoofs and a tail. The red man walked right up to Woody and looked him up and down. "I say," he said. "But mightn't you be a broom, old chap?" "No, I am not a broom." Woody was beginning to get a little bit impatient with the people he had met today. "I just look like one." "Jolly-good!" The red man beamed. "I was wondering if you could by any chance help me. As you've already noticed, I look like a broom, and as such I have no real feet or hands. I don't even have a real mouth." "Well I say, old bean," The Red gent inquired. "If you haven't a real mouth how on Earth do you speak?" "NEVER MIND THAT!!!" Woody screamed with all his might. "I say!" The red man recoiled. "Will you just please help me carry my matches home? Please?" Woody panted, out of breath. Yelling at someone when you don't even have a mouth is very tiring. "Oh, no, dear friend, I'm afraid I can't do that." "Oh, good Lord, why not?" "Oh, please don't bring HIM into this, old chap." The red man pulled out a pipe and stuck it in his mouth. "To answer your question," he said around the pipe. "I, in case you haven't noticed, happen to be the Devil. But you my good man, may call me Satan." "This is not a good day for me." Woody sighed. "You see, while in Hell, some of my little Demons accedently broke my pitch fork, and I was on my way to pick up a new one, when I ran into you." "But I'm not a pitch fork!" Woody implored. "Oh, I know that, old chap, but you're so much more economical! After all, you're free!" Satan flung his arms open, a large grin on his face. "B-but I'm not dead!" "Oh, well, that rather puts a new spin on things doesn't it? Well, then I suppose I'll just have to go on and buy my pitch fork." The Devil sighed in defeat. "You mean it?" Woody asked wearily. "Well, of course I do." Satan said exasperated. "I may be the Master of Eternal Damnation, but I'm still a gentleman. And a gentleman always plays by the rules. Unfortunately, the rules say you have to be dead to go to Hell. I tell you, what fun is it to be King of the Underworld when I can't even invite over the people I want too. You should have seen the fuss HE put up when I had Tony Danza over for a few days. Ha! You think I live in Hell? Just try living with HIM when HE gets in a snit!" Satan said pointing towards the sky. "Snippy, snippy, snippy!" He said walking away. "See you soon!" Woody waved at the strange red man as he disappeared in a cloud of sulfur. "Well, I still have no way to get my matches home. What am I going to do? I'm certainly not going to ask for anymore help from strangers." Just then the store manager, Mr. Moo came out of his store. "Hey boy!" Mr. Moo called. "What you still doing here? Why you not home now?" "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Moo." Woody apologized. "But you see I haven't been able to figure out how I'm going to get my matches home. You see I have no real feet or hands. I don't even have a real-um...forget that last part." "Oh! Why you not ask for Mr. Moo's help? I help you!" Mr. Moo went inside for a moment. When he came out, he had a piece of tape with him. He used this tape to stick the matches to Woody's neck. "Now you all set!" "Thank you Mr. Moo!" Woody cried and was on his way. "I don't know," Mr. Moo said scratching his head as Woody walked away. "Was it just Mr. Moo, or did that boy look like a broom?" ~~~~ I remember this was originally a play, and the ending involved Woody's mother setting him on fire with the matches because she was so annoyed with his broomlike appearence. I miss that girl.