Deep Thinking for Creative Writers



Smokey’s Day Off“And remember,” Smokey said, leaning close to the microphone and winking a dark eye. “Only you can prevent forest fires!”Smokey turned from the crowd and entered the headquarters, allowing all traces of amiability to slide off his face. He hated impromptu speeches. He didn’t get any bonus for impromptu speeches.Pawing off his perkily personalized ranger hat, Smokey stomped down the corridor to his office. “Holy smoke, I need that day off,” he muttered as he unlocked the door. Though the humans usually called it an office, Smokey disapproved of that term: it implied that he worked there. Smokey didn’t work there. Smokey didn’t even work. Smokey lounged. Therefore, it was a lounge.Smokey was a very logical bear.With a long, world-weary sigh, Smokey entered the room and promptly curled up on the floor in the pile of fresh leaves that the new intern had gathered that morning. Smokey had worked hard (ordering the intern to paint the walls, haul furniture, go shopping, assemble impossible IKEA rip-offs) to give the office a sleek yet homey atmosphere: deep green wallpaper, polished rocks, and potted plants in the corners. His self-autographed posters hung above the single hard chair that stood grudgingly by the side of the room, daring the occasional unfortunate human to rest his or her buttocks upon it. On the desk, which was merely a formality, sat a small bowl of mints and a large basin of live salmon, still flapping faintly. Snacks for everyone, that was Smokey’s policy.A knock sounded on the door, and Smokey instinctively snapped on a wide-eyed grin. “Come in, come in!” The new intern stuck his pimply head into the room. “Here’s your mail, Mr. Bear, sir!”“Gee, thanks, kid!” Smokey gushed. “Now remember--”“--only I can prevent forest fires!” grinned the kid.Smokey suppressed another growl. He hated when people did that. It was his catchphrase.“Thank you, sir,” the boy went on. “Oh, and I was told to remind you that tomorrow is your day off.” He paused. “Didn’t you just have one, though? Maybe it’s a scheduling mistake.” The boy began ruffling through the papers in his arms. “I can check for you....”“Oh golly! I am sure that is not necessary!” Smokey said perkily, rolling powerfully to his feet, expanding to fill the room. “I’ve not had a day off in quite a while! But thank you so much for your concern!” He smiled widely, allowing the light to play across each and every one of his teeth.The intern’s smile faltered. “Uh, yes of course, of course you’re right, sir. Have a good night, Mr. Bear.” He retreated from the room.“He even cut me off,” hissed Smokey angrily to himself, scraping his claws against the carpet as if it were the intern’s own skin. He began to shuffle through the mail: “Please come visit our elementary school!”, “Please make an appearance at our town hall!”, “Please come to the Westbrook Nature Center!”. He scanned each one for monetary compensation; none was apparent.Smokey dropped them all into the only office machine he used: the shredder. At the end of each week, Smokey drove for three hours to the nearest landfill dozens of miles away, just so he could stand at the edge of that foul sea of noxious garbage, breathing in the smell of human failure. He would shake out the shreds reverently, sending all that reusable goodness hurtling towards eternal rotting in the forsaken landfill. Smokey loved forsaken landfills.Smokey had long known that he was a very special bear who was seriously misunderstood. He knew it from the moment he pushed his mother into the flames of the forest fire and used her charred carcass as a step-stool to the tree branch he was reaching for to lift himself to safety. He knew it as soon as he first greeted the firefighters who had pulled him to safety. “What are you doing--putting the fire out?!” After this initial surprise, there had been some confusion among the rescuers over Smokey’s apparent approval of the flames. Smokey chalked that first mistake up to experience and insisted that he had been in shock at the time. But he learned his lesson: outwardly advocating for wildfires was not going to get him very far. So Smokey didn’t do it outwardly anymore.The day was finally over, and with a sigh, Smokey heaved himself to his feet. Trudging to the front doors, he was once again halted by the imperturbable intern. The boy’s eyes were wide with concern, and slightly more hesitant than they had been several minutes ago.“Mr. Bear!” the intern exclaimed, his sweet, youthful worry knitting his brow into an expressive visage of puzzlement. “Where are you going, Mr. Bear, sir? Is there anything I can do for you?”Smokey smiled. “Nothing at all! I’m merely leaving for the evening a tad bit early.”“Of course, sir.” The boy smiled in return and went on conversationally. “So, how do you like to spend all these days off?”“Oh, you know, just a bit of my own personal fire-watching,” said Smokey jovially, laying a hefty paw on the intern’s shoulder. “A good spokesbear is never off duty!” His claws slipped a bit, catching ever so slightly on the boy’s skin. “Now, run along, and save the forests!”“Y-yes sir,” mumbled the kid, looking slightly pale and more than slightly confused. He paused for a moment, glancing from Smokey’s claws to his warmly grinning muzzle and back again. Then he turned quickly and disappeared down the hallway.Smokey smiled, a real smile this time. Smokey loved days off.Most people, in fact, 99.432 percent of the total American population, living and dead, believe that bears cannot whistle. The remaining .568 percent are no longer among the living.Bears can, in fact, whistle. But bears save this skill for moments when they are unconditionally, exuberantly happy.Smokey was whistling. More specifically, he was whistling “Disco Inferno” as he picked his way meticulously around the perimeter of a large swath of woodland, carefully soaking each and every leaf, twig, and branch in his path with a healthy splash of gasoline.Bears can even sing when they are excessively, outrageously happy. Smokey had been hiking around the hill all morning, enjoying the sweetly tweeting birds and the fresh spring flowers that he crushed underpaw. He had already come across two rabbit warrens, a dozen squirrels, and several owls, foxes, and snakes. The woods were alive today.Smokey sang, because he was about to change that.“Burn, baby, burn--DISCO INFERNOOOOO!” he bellowed in what he imagined was a terribly melodious wail, splashing another final wave of flammable chemicals over a flowering bush. Now, the circle of gasoline around that unfortunate patch of land was complete. With great ceremony, Smokey capped the gasoline and changed tunes. The opening bars of “Light My Fire” filled the air and Smokey struck a match, breathing in the smell of fresh earth. He dropped the match.Flames blossomed instantly. Smokey had done a thorough job with this one: the roar of the fire increased every second, racing along his trails of fuel and leaping from leaf to leaf until the whole sky was hot and blinding. Smokey gave himself a few meters of safety from the flames, close enough that he could still enjoy the heat, then leaned back to admire his handiwork.No human seemed to have thought this through, but Smokey was no human. No, Smokey was a goddamn bear and he could use his infallible bear logic to manipulate any problem. It was all very simple: if people paid attention to fire prevention, then they were careful with their fires and gave money to the cause and bought the posters and stuffed animals and pencils and hired him to speak for money that he would not make if there weren’t those devilish fires around requiring public awareness.Humans, as Smokey knew well, were only inclined to pay attention to something if it either was on fire, or slapped them several times across the face whilst simultaneously screaming “Did you hear what Miley Cyrus did?!” (The slapping is often optional.) If there were no more fires to worry about, no one would be hiring Smokey for any more visits.At this point Smokey switched into “Streets of Fire” and wondered for a sad, brief moment if such a lovely titular image could ever come into reality. It seemed a shame that he had to keep these beautiful burnings away from where the best damage could be done--in cities and populated areas. Now, that would get attention, wouldn’t it? But secrecy was key.No, Smokey didn’t always like living a lie. But he did appreciate that it was a profitable lie.“Uhh ... Mr. Bear? Sir?” A small, terrified voice behind Smokey whispered.Smokey turned. “You again?” he said, incredulous. Then he grinned. “Well, I don’t believe it!” “What on earth are you doing?” hissed the intern, watching in horror as several squirrels, cowering over their nut stashes in a vain attempt to shield them from the flames, turned instantly into chestnuts-and-squirrels-roasting-on-an-open-fire. Smokey, inspired, considered switching songs again, but decided against it.“Oh, just enjoying my day off!” Smokey grinned again, shifting his weight and crushing a brittle, blackened log underpaw. “What are you doing here? That’s the real question, isn’t it? Let’s see, does anyone know the answer?” Smokey looked around at the imaginary audience of drooling five-year-olds with which he was best acquainted.The boy took one look at the glint in Smokey’s eye and moved, ever so slowly, backwards. “Uh, I had just realized that your day off isn’t ’til tomorrow, sir, read the calendar wrong, sir, I went to your house to let you know, sir, but I saw you driving away and thought I’d follow you before you went too far out of your way, sir!” He paused for a moment. “You drive mighty fast, sir.”Smokey let out a jolly laugh which was lost in the roar of the flames and shook his head. “Oh no, I’m sorry--that’s not the right answer! What are we going to do about this?”The intern laughed shakily, continuing to edge away. “Well, sir, I’ll just let you enjoy your day!”“No, won’t you stay and enjoy it with me?” asked Smokey innocently, advancing on the intern. “It seems like you need a day with your ol’ pal Smokey, since you got my question wrong. I can teach you everything you need to know!” The fire was gaining speed, sucking in the air all around them. “No!” screamed the boy. Instinctively, he added, politely, “No, thank you, sir.” He hesitated for a moment. “Are you ... whistling?”Smokey, overcome with the hilarity of the situation, doubled over with laughter for a long moment, leaving the puzzled intern to stare in shock. “Mr. Bear, are you all right?”With a final hoot, Smokey straightened and grinned hugely. “Sure I am! But you know what?” He lunged forward and managed to snag the wailing intern. “I’m about to get a whole lot better!” Smokey began to hum “Jump Into the Fire.” With a leap and a bound, he started spinning around and around in circles, the screeches of the intern whistling shrilly through the air. Again, and again, and again, the boy whooshed towards the flames and then away, until at last Smokey released his grip. The kid sailed off like a badly designed frisbee, his howls fading quickly. There was a sizzle, a shriek, and then silence.“And remember,” Smokey called after him, “only you can prevent forest fires!” He let out another burst of laughter. “But only I can start them.” ................
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