T'was a dark and stormy night while 99 year old Granny Binkly was sitting quietly at home... knitting. Granny Binkly was a nice, self-composed, little old lady. She allocated her time to the following clubs: the Florida bridge club, Florida Knitting Society, the Orlando Tea Association and of course the American Pickled Tomato Club.
George was walking down Evergreen Terrace on the way to Granny Binkly. He was cold and drenched with rain. He had lost all the feeling in his cold bony fingers. He searched endlessly for number '49'. He felt like giving up but he knew his employer would not be happy if he did.
George was a collector of sorts. He was going to visit Grandma Binkly to get a prize that had evaded him for many, many years.
"Knock, knock." Echoed the old door.
The loud thud startled Granny Binkly. She quickly got up and bolted to the door as fast as any 99 year old granny could.
"Who is it?" enquired Granny Binkly.
"A friend," replied George.
"Come in," was Granny's response.
"I am sorry, I can't say I remember you, my memory just isn't what it used to be. Would you like a cup of tea?" asked Granny Binkly.
"Ohh, yes please! Do you have anything herbal?" asked George.
"Of course I do. Do you think any member of the Orlando Tea Association would not? It would be an insult to the entire association (all five of them)!" replied Granny Binkly.
"Thank you, mmmm, strawberry, my favourite." said George.
"Here at the Orlando Tea Association, we try." Said Granny Binkly.
"You know, I have to admit an auxiliary reason for coming besides having the best damm cup of tea in years." admitted George.
"What do you mean?" demanded Granny Binkly.
"Well, I am not quite sure how to put this. I am not who you think I am." said George.
"Well, I am very confused." said Granny Binkly.
"Umm, golly gosh this is hard for me to say. I am the collector of souls." said George.
"You have to be more specific." said Granny Binkly.
"I rely on death to put a roof over my head." said George.
"You own a funeral home?" asked Gramma Binkly.
"God Damm it woman, I-AM-THE-GRIM-REAPER! I have to go around collecting souls to survive. But you wouldn't believe the dental plan I get. Your soul has evaded me for 99 years. Now I must declare it mine." said George the Reaper.
"You worship Satan?" asked Gramma binkly.
"You are making this so very difficult for me. I just tried to be a good Collector of Souls (sniff, sniff). I can't do it any more." wept George.
"There, there, it's all right. Don't blame your self for your eternal damnation," said Granny Binkly.
C.H., Grade Six
Upper Canada College Preparatory School
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