A Very Short Fairy Tale

“It’s time to leave this ivy-covered castle,” it said.

“But… tenure…” she whispered.

“The Ogre of Winter will soon be upon us. You must be gone!” it boomed.

Her loyal elves helped her pack and carry her treasured texts and magical papers to her carriage. “We each have to leave after four years,” they said in their squeaky elf voices. “You have been lucky to have had thirty whole years.” 

“Lucky?” she thought darkly.

“That’s kind of open for discussion,” she replied, trying to sound flippant but thinking about the knowledge wars, the destruction wrought by power-mad sorcerers, the desolation created by the greedy folks known as “footballers” who sucked away all the gold & silver she so desperately needed for her tools. 

“Actually… I t’s probably a really good idea to get out of here now, before things gets worse,” she declared.

The wizards and witches offered a party. “What’s the point?” she wondered. 

“Thank you, but I must find a place to be before the Ogre and his cold, snow, and misery descend upon us,” she said. And she left the castle, just like that. Not even a glance back.

“Now. How to begin?” she thought.

She went to the zoo and asked the big cats (they like hot climates after all). “Where should I go to be warm and avoid the dreaded Ogre of winter?” All the lions, tigers and panthers discussed her question at length, and concluded: “We believe Africa is too far away. We can not help you.”

She asked the creatures of the sea, but they quickly responded: “There’s no place warm enough for the likes of you down here. We can not help you.”

So she turned to the sky, expecting little from those soaring and drifting so high above her. Woodstorks, Spoonbills, Herons and Owls circled overhead, squawking, hooting, and crowing excitedly. She wondered what the heck those kinds of birds were doing in Ohio. “We know just the place,” they declared. “We will help you. Seek our spokesbird, the Pelican, and she will tell you where to go.”

“How do I find the Pelican?” she asked.

“Yo. You did research for a living. Figure it out,” said the owl.

She consulted her sacred maps, mysteriously known as “The Google,” and, concluding that the Pelican must be in the south, set out on the path known as Seventy-Five. Why this path had a number rather than a name is unknown, but seemed to her to be akin to the ID “numbers” on her Aetna card that are actually composed entirely of letters.

“There will be someone or something evil that will try to prevent my journey,” she thought. “This is a fairy tale, after all. I wonder who or what it will be? I must be ready!”

She gathered her tools, all of her gold and silver, her treasured texts and magical papers and readied herself for battle. She also retrieved her beautiful cat Willow who, throughout the long journey to come, would merely howl, for hours and hours and hours and hours…. “Beautiful, and useless,” she sighed.

“I can do this,” she then thought. “After all, I have an award for teaching, and a pair of silver coasters, emblazoned with the name of my castle, that were awarded at the time of my departure and whose purpose I have not yet determined. Let’s do this!” she said to the cat, who looked both worried and aloof, maintaining her cat-ness. And off they went.

She stopped at inns along the way, and found adequate sustenance, though it was often at places proclaiming they had mysterious “Golden Arches.” She concluded these must have been metaphorical, or simply a lie. There was definitely no gold there. She marveled at the dare-devil antics of fellow drivers, wondering why more of them were not dead beside the road.

But… surprisingly, there were no genuine obstacles. “Is there no use for my award, or for my ugly silver coasters?” Willow howled. A driver swerved in front of her. She was ready for battle, but nothing happened. 

“Can it really be this easy?” she thought.

“Yes!” a bird-like voice replied. “Welcome to Paradise. Let me show you around…