Jasper and the Borrowed Ending — Every evening, after the hallway clock gave its dusty click-click-click, Jasper climbed onto the fattest cushion in the reading loft and saved the last chapter of his adventure book for himself. Read the full story →
Every evening, after the hallway clock gave its dusty click-click-click, Jasper climbed onto the fattest cushion in the reading loft and saved the last chapter of his adventure book for himself. He liked the hush, the warm mug smell from the shelf, and the way his round glasses made every comma look important. Until one day, a silver moth stepped out of the margin and sneezed a sparkle onto the word “castle.”
“Pardon,” said the moth, “but the lampwicks are starving.” Because of that, Jasper lost three whole sentences to the moth’s tiny scissors—snip, snip, snip—and the hero suddenly marched into a “____ with seven turnips.” Because of that, Jasper had to whisper new words into the blanks, sillier ones, so the moth could carry the good sturdy words to the lamps above the shelves. Nobody saw him trade “victory,” “bravery,” and “secret door” for “pickle,” “wiggle,” and “soup.”
At last, golden light bloomed over every book spine, and the moth bowed with pockets full of rescued words. Jasper kept the ridiculous ending and laughed so hard the cushion puffed. If you spot his open book, you may catch the place where a castle almost became seven turnips after the clock’s dusty click-click-click.
