...the legacy of mr. blob...

This is a surprisingly good short story that I wrote in fourth grade. It is presented here in its original form. Prepare to be amazed!!


The Legacy of Mr. Blob

Nature absolutely astounded Mr. Blob. From the smallest flower to the tallest tree. From the tiniest insect to the largest elephant. Mr. Blob went through more rolls of film a week than you can imagine, just taking pictures of all the flora and fauna he saw. He had names for every plant or animal in his pictures. He was most happy out in the wild with his camera and magnifying glass.

But he was not satisfied. Mr. Blob was lonely. He didn't mind it when he was busy, but in the evenings it really got to him, He wanted someone he could tell stories to. Because Mr. Blob had many stories. Many wonderful stories, for Mr. Blob had been to many wonderful places.

One day when Mr. Blob was out exploring, he heard someone crying. He followed the sound until he found a clearing. In the clearing there was a girl with her head down on her knees. She was sobbing as if her heart would break. Mr. Blob came over to her and asked,

"Are you lost?" The girl nodded.

"Would you like to hear a story?" Mr. Blob asked gently. The girl looked up through her tears.

"Yes, please." So Mr. Blob launched into a long and wonderful story about India. By the time Mr. Blob finished the story she had dried her tears.

"What is your name?" Mr. Blob asked.

"Lucinda."

"My name is Mr. Blob." Lucinda smiled at this, because Mr. Blob was far from a blob. In fact, he was as skinny as a toothpick.

"Well, Lucinda, it certainly was nice meeting you. But we should get you home soon. Your mother will be worried." So Mr. Blob and Lucinda went to Mr. Blob's house. After Lucinda's mother came and picked her up, Mr. Blob sat thinking about Lucinda. She was a good listener. He wished he could see her again and tell her stories.

The next day his wish came true. As soon as school was out Lucinda and her friends were outside his gate, begging for stories. Mr. Blob welcomed them happily into his house and began to tell stories. This went on for several years. In August of the year that Lucinda was a junior in high school Mr. Blob called all the children around him.

"My dears, I have run out of stories, I have no more to tell you." The children's hearts were heavy with sadness as they left that day, but none were as heavy as Mr. Blob's. It was like a rock in his stomach.

That winter Mr. Blob got deathly ill. He was miserable, not just with pain, but he missed his friends. He thought that they had forgotten him, but he was wrong.

The next day Lucinda paraded in, carrying a large pot of warm broth, Next to her were her little sister sister Alice and toddler brother Jamie. Alice had a bowl and Jamie had a spoon. Following them were all her friends, each carrying a colorful, nature get well card. Lucinda set down the pot and served some of the broth into the bowl Alice handed her. Giving the bowl to Mr. Blob she said,

"Give the nice man your spoon, Jamie." The solemn way the little boy handed Mr. Blob the spoon was so funny that Mr. Blob had to laugh. Then he tried to thank Lucinda, but she was firm.

"Don't talk, eat." The other children were setting their cards on any flat space they could, until finally the room looked like the jungle itself. By the time they left they were all a great deal happier.

Mr. Blob never got better, but as he lay dying, surrounded by his friends, he said, "Mark, take the goldfish. Johnny, you Thomas, Jenny and Rosa, divide the pictures. Ronny, take my magnifying glass and my camera. Alice and Jamie, you share the stuffed animals. And Lucinda I give you my house and my journal." And with that, he closed his eyes, smiled, and then he died. He died a happy man, with his friends around him.

Lucinda took his death the hardest, and locked herself in her room for a month and would not eat nor drink. She finally came out, after deciding that he would want her to live a long, full life, and would want her to move on to other things. This she did, but she never forgot him or the stories he told for as long as she lived.