Only 9 1/2 hours to fly across the country

Well, since I have just come off a mechanically beleaguered plane, the temperature outside is 24 degrees, and a warm bed is calling my name, I'm just going to leave this final chapter right here for all you nice people and go to bed.  Voila:

The world he knew disappeared and with it everyone else. The Brute hung in the air like the dust on a shelf. He tried calling out. He tried a whisper, a scream. He breathed out really hard, but it was like a bad dream. For the Brute was unable to utter a sound. There were no more words; not a soul was around.  He just hung there in sadness, alone in the dark. Time ambled by, but then an idea sparked.

The Brute realized he didn’t like being alone. He missed all the people, his school and his home. He felt very sorry for the things he had done, and he wished extra hard to take back every one. He squeezed his eyes shut, conjuring all the bad words. He shut them in a box and marked them “unheard.”

Suddenly he imagined he felt the sun on his face. He pictured patterns of leaves in the sunshine like lace. He heard his named called, but he kept his eyes shut. He thought, if this is a dream, I choose not to wake up. And then someone shook him. He blinked and he looked. Miss Wilson! She gave him another great shook.

“No sleeping in time out.”

The teacher’s face was stern.

“I wasn’t asleep!” The Brute uncurled like a worm. Then he remembered, “It was so awful, my dream.”

“I should think so,” said Miss Wilson. “You’ve been very mean.

The Brute took in the playground and saw the girl he’d made cry. When the bell rang, he ran toward her. He poked her and said . . . hi.