The Edited Tales of Ennisway

While the entirety of The Tales of Ennisway provide inspiration to the inhabitants of That Fair Land, a few of the tales so impacted the Land, that they were made national holidays.  

One such event, the Great Seating Scare, is celebrated annually on September 3^rd, and as with most holidays, many particular traditions have arisen around the festival.

On this day, you will find most of the population sleeping in, then awaken by Amazing Grace played on the bagpipes thrice.

For breakfast, everyone feasts on cheese and meat sandwiches. Bakers of That Fair Land have become particularly renowned for preparing the most delicious meat and cheese sandwiches you will ever delight in, specially for the festival.   

Contests and games of all sorts are played later in the day, the particular favorite being a race to who can roll to the finish line first.

In the evening, while smaller towns would simply have readings of survivor accounts, the cities will almost always bring in one survivor of the Great Seating scare or one of their descendants and have them present their testimonial. It is one of the most important parts of the festivals, and inevitably leaves most of the city in a pious uproar.

But for both small towns and large cities, the tradition remains, even to this very day in That Fair Country, that the festival climax takes place when a fair and beauteous girl, selected by the town, presents a dramatic reading of The Great Seating Scare.

This dramatic chapter from Tales of Ennisway never fails to put tears into even the most hardened hearts of school masters and mistresses. You will often see mothers pressing their little ones closely to their bosom, fathers holding their school aged children more tightly, friends grasping friends.

Below, we present the original manuscript, unblemished by time or space, not only as a word of caution, but also as an inspiring, heroic tale of bravery and the impact one small action can have on an entire nation.   

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It is early.

The bright sun reappears after taking a hiatus for three days.

My alarm – Amazing Grace preformed with bagpipes – goes off.

I snooze it.

My alarm – Amazing Grace preformed with bagpipes – goes off.

Again.

I snooze it.

Again.

My alarm – Amazing Grace preformed with bagpipes – goes off.

I turn it off and sit up in bed, my eyes still closed fast.

Why is breakfast so necessary?

But then I roll myself out of bed, take a shower and dress in the clothes I had prepared the night before. I usually prepare clothes the night before, because I’m too groggy in the morning to make the momentous decision of what I shall array myself with for the day competently.

I trek my way to the Mensa, only to find that I had dragged myself out of bed ten precious minutes earlier I needed to be up, for all of the meats and cheeses needed for a quick and fulfilling breakfast sandwich are gone.

Well, all the good meats and cheeses, anyways. I don’t like salami, or the weird holey cheese that make up the last remnants of a once bountiful tray of food.

So I end up with a simple roll with cinnamon and sugar.

You’d think that would appeal to someone who gets headaches if they don’t have enough extra sugar, but after five days of eating the same breakfast, the cinnamon and sugar roll gets old. Fast.

After a rather disappointing breakfast, I arrive at my classroom for history, and then take my seat.

And this is where it all went horribly askew.

No one realizes the gravity of the situation immediately.

Even I do not see the problem at hand right away, my keen powers of observation dulled from sleep.

Students filter in, chattering, laughing, blissfully unaware of their imminent danger.

A student sits next to me, and other students follow, taking their cue from the sitting places of those already in.

I make small talk with the student next to me, priding myself on my expert ability to do so.

Suddenly, my keen powers of observation are jolted awake.

Why is that girl sitting across from me?

That girl was not supposed to be sitting there.

Her place is supposed to be the seat in front of me.

Why is she not sitting in front of me?

My eyes, Ethel and Myrtle, scan the room.

I notice that there is only one row of seats in front of me.

My mind reels, quickly taking in the reality of the situation.

I was not sitting in my spot.

I was sitting in the row in front of my spot.

The teacher is almost finished assembling his PowerPoint, glorying in the triumph over his dastardly computer.

The students are settled, with their books and pens, bright eyes and cheery at the thought of what exciting new adventures the teacher will whisk us away on today.

Everyone is happy.

But I know it will not last.

Not unless immediate action is taken.

The choice rests with me.

I can make a stand and cause a few minutes of short, but intense pain to my comrades.

Or.

I can let the poor mortals live for an hour, perhaps two, in blissful ignorance of the fact the seating arrangements are incorrect.

But then they would have to deal with the unthinkable, unimaginable pain that follows from the realization that one was NOT sitting in one’s seat for the previous class period.

I have seen, with my own eyes, victims of such tragedies.

Some have eyes full of anger. You can see the rage spinning in their eyes, slowly driving them mad.

Others have sad, terribly sad eyes. Their mind, a perpetual prison, as the moment plays over and over again.

The worst ones are the ones with empty eyes. You can literally see their soul being picked apart.

I make my choice.

I cannot live with myself if I do not take action and attempt to save the souls of my comrades.

I make my stand.

(to be continued)