Late

The box of Nutty Honey Zeros stare at me as I shovel the cereal into my mouth. I really wish that my mother had just bought the brand name Cheerios, but she said we should be saving money. I just really don’t want to fill myself up with Zeros before a big math test. The big Math Test. My brother always said, “Do your best and God will do the rest,” but I really don’t think it counts unless I actually do my best. I should have studied, but I started a Shreck marathon. It really isn’t my fault that there are so many movies. 

I finish my bowl of Zeros before realizing that it’s 8:01 and dashing down to the garage to drive myself to school. The sky is orange because of the wildfires raging a few towns away, and green because of the coming tornado. Normally, I would be quite hopeful, thinking that the natural disasters would cancel school- therefore meaning no math test- but the fire is too far and the tornados too common. There has been one every other day for the past two weeks. 

Today on the freeway, a tornado touches down a few cars in front of me, scattering the contents of a huge truck. It was carrying jam, which was made quite apparent to the rest of us travelers when purple goob splattered everywhere, causing a traffic jam. Yes, I still have energy for puns during this stressful hour. 

Vehicles begin swerving and sliding every which way, their drivers panicked, because in the past two weeks, none of the funnels have ever actually touched down in this city. I join their frenzied mass, my fear exceeding theirs because I’m on nothing but a flimsy motorbike. Regrettably, I do not escape the force of nature, and I am picked up and carried by it’s gusty arms. Next thing I know, I’m hanging from a big red T-crane, two hundred feet up in the air.

“Hey kid!” a window washer calls, “Don’t ya have school?”

I nod, “Yes ma’am! I am running a bit late though, do you mind helping me down?”

So the washer swings in her harness until she grabs me, then swings back to the window with a bit too much speed. I say that because when we bang against the window, the force causes me to topple right out of the lady’s grasp, sending me flying towards the concrete earth of the city.

“Sorry kid! Watch out for cars!” is the last thing I hear before hitting the ground. 

Unfortunately, I hit the ground a bit too quickly and go right through it. What pathetic construction! 

“Shouldn’t you be at school, person?” a sewer rat says to me underground. 

“Yes! I have a very important test and I’m running late!” I say, beginning to grow upset. 

The rat pats my shoe and gives me some soggy granola in an attempt at comforting me. I thank it for its kindness and begin looking for a way back up. After jogging for a bit I find an elevator that the maintenance people probably use to get down here. Once I’m safely inside, I press and hold the upper button before realizing that the button on top is actually pointing down. Who thought that was a good idea?

Clunk, the elevator plummets down at blinding speed, flattening me to the top. After two minutes, it begins to get very hot, forcing sweat out of every pore on my body. Finally, the door opens and I find myself in a very fiery meadow, where a thing of some sort stands to greet me.

“Welcome to Hell,” it says, politely grabbing my hand. 

“Not today, Satan!” I scream, hightailing it back into the elevator. 

Not ever, I think, pounding the real up button about a hundred and fourty times. This sends me shooting upwards, as if I’m on a rocket in a cartoon. After about five minutes of the temperature changing to perfection, the door opens again. This time, someone in white with a trumpet stands before pearly gates. 

“Welcome, good person.” they say, “Take off your shoes for this is Holy ground.”

“Oh, my bad, I’m not ready for Heaven yet, I’m late for a test. But I’ll be back another day!” I call, pressing the down button very lightly. I press it a bit too lightly and end up walking out onto a plane. Too afraid to let go of the rudder, I let WestJet carry me to Canada.

“Eh, sorry man, ya want some poutine?” An airport worker says when they see me sneaking off the runway. 

“No thank you, sir,” I say, “I’m late for my test!”

The worker chuckles, “My, that’s quite the accent ya got there, man. Yer not from around here, eh man? Welcome to Alberta!”

“Thank you sir,” I say with disbelief. My accent is strange?

I’m about to run to the freeway when I catch a sight of the beautiful view. I’ve never seen a city with such lush, rolling hills and blue skies. Sighing, I remember that I have the Math Test, and it’s a long walk to Texas. 

Walking along the road, I catch sight of the sign bearing the road’s name and realize that I must be even more lost than I thought. There’s no such thing as a freeway named Stoney Trail. This is much too advanced for a trail, even in Canada. So I turn away, searching left and right for a way back home. That’s when a moose trots up to me and asks if I need a ride. Good golly, there really are moose everywhere in this country. I nod and it lowers itself so I can get on it’s back. It gallops for a few hours until we make it to my home, where it collapses in severe need of Timbits and noname all dressed chips. I give it a donut hole, hoping that will sustain it until it gets back home.

By now, my test is over and missing it means a zero. I really should have had another breakfast. Slumping to school, I prepare my speech of apology for my tardiness. But by the time I get there, the teachers are telling us that we have a little under fifteen minutes to review before starting the huge Math Test. Puzzled, I look around until my eyes fall on a clock, which reads 8:01.