A "Walter Mitty" Re-telling

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Commercial Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is based off a story in English class, in the 11th grade. It comes from a story we read in the infamous "Lit" book, written by Walter Mitty. I'm not gonna say what story I read, only because it might make you research the author to find out what this was all about. It's my take on it or some such, of the 'basis' of the story. The whole 'intention'. I totally made something else into it.

Submitted: June 28, 2008

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Submitted: June 28, 2008



The fat boy was sitting on the ground, his back rested up against the oak tree's trunk, as if he had the 'privileged necessities' of a pillow and blanket, in utter repose. Relaxation. He had chocolate stained all over his skin-tight T-shirt. Those beady brown eyes were in half-mast, those lids threatening to fall completely at any given moment, the groping hands of drowsiness seeking to fully snatch him up and drop him into sleep.

But, something overcame him, for, suddenly, he picked up a pair of 10 lb. dumb-bells, each of them thrust into the air with ease. Pushing up, and then bringing them down, he maintained such a motion for about 3 times, in reps of 15. Breathing just a little bit heavier, he set the dumb-bells on the ground, his personal trainer yelling with approval and encouragement,"Well done!"

In giving you the details of this story, I must confess. That scene was a complete and utter lie...for, those dumb-bells weren't bells at all! They were two Twix candy bars, now let loose from the boy's pudgy hands, that mass of flesh having melted to the bars in his grip. That personal trainer? That was the squirrel that witnessed it all, its 'tsk-tsk-chukkit-fwip' having been misleadingly translated into 'well done'. Don't shoot the messenger. I'm just relaying the news.

And so the story goes on...

The kid nodded his head in answer to whatever it is the squirrel offered, a mysterious comprehension scrawled over the boy's face and buried deep within his chestnut eyes. With sweat all over and around the boy's mouth, Little 'Normie (Enormous), wiped his face with his hand, attempting to mop up the perspiration; he did nothing more than spread it all around. Growing tired, STILL - AGAIN - he shook his head and yawned.

Okay. I must hold the telling of this story yet again. I...have lied. AGAIN! STILL! I only ask that you forgive me as I relay to you the facts: That sweat? It wasn't sweat at all. It was chocolate. Chocolate, and more chocolate. If any passerby happened upon him, they would have seen it all over his face. So yes, I lied. I fibbed. I'm only trying to help the boy. I'm sure, in your eyes, he looks like a slob. In every sense of the word. And so...I digress - again, still....

Little 'Normie somehow stood to his feet, gathering all his clothes and exercise equipment and...stuff; or tried to...for it was too much stuff; it kept slipping from his arms once he compiled it all. After quite some time, he finally decided to leave some of his clothes and exercise equipment...and stuff, behind, that no-good trainer standing off to the side, doing nothing. The trainer probably had it in his mind that he was probably helping the young lad, making him work; excuses tended to often sound reasonable and true in your own ears. And so the did, in the trainer's. And so, with a sigh, and another shake of the head, the boy grabbed up what he could, tucking things into his elastic-banded pants, stuffing some into his socks. He wedged some under his armpits, brought his arms in close to his body. He tossed them onto his shoulder. He pushed them into his ears, clenched some in between his teeth. All things gathered (as well and as much as could be), he waddled his way home, down that "yellow brick road" and 'over the hills' and 'through the mountains', till he finally reached home. His 'home-sweet-home'.

Okay, okay. You probably have already figured out by now. I have lied. Still. Again. Still and again. Yet and still. This shall be my last time; I assure you! Those clothes and exercise equipment...and stuff? It was all types of candy, from butterscotch to peppermint. From Snickers to York Peppermint Paddies. In trying to maintain some vague idea of a good image for the boy, I must break tragic news to you. On his way home, down the yellow brick road, and through the mountains and yadda yadda yadda, any and all who saw him would have probably laughed silently, if not outright, for the boy looked like Candy Land personified, what with his gumdrop skin and Peppermint Patty mouth. Lord help him!

All in all (reputation, reputation, remember??), one could say he was a health nut. Or, on his road to better health. One can't fault him for that, no? GULP, you have found me out, yet, again, and still...for the last time! He wasn't a health nut. But, his health was definitely nutty. Poor guy.

Oh, and I must not forget those items that he left behind. His clothes, exercise equipment...and stuff. They were strewn all about the place -- shirts and socks and books and dumb-bells, et. al. And right at the edge of it all, still 'tsk-tsk-chukkit-fwip'-ing, still motivating -- the squirrel. The trainer.


--I regret to inform you that I may have exaggerated a bit. Exaggeration's different from lying, right? \"\" Strewn all over the ground was not clothes, exercise equipment...and stuff. No. Strewn all over the ground was wrappers, and foils and plastics. This piece of candy. That piece of candy. Uneaten. Whole. Empty. OK, there. You happy? You satisfied? Hmph. I was only trying to do a good thing, you see. Without thinking about what others are thinking about the good thing that I'm doing. Yes, that makes sense. lol.


Okay...I lied.

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