It was February, and five children, all of whom were more or less healthy, were sitting on the ground in a lazy circle. It was quite dark, and the children had to squint to see one another's frowning faces.
"I wish we were ice skating," said Robin.
"I wish we were eating Mexican food," said Apu.
"I wish we were wearing boots," said Alastair.
"I wish we were playing percussion instruments," said Lillian.
Miranda sighed. She was the youngest of the five children, but nevertheless she was often the leader of the group. She tried not to be bossy about it, but it is difficult not to be bossy from time to time. "We can't do any of those things," she said. "We're not at a skating rink, and we don't have any skates. We're not in Mexico, and there's not an enchilada in sight. We're not wearing boots, and there's not a department store for miles around. And we're not playing percussion instruments, because it wouldn't be wise to make so much noise. After all, we're in a puzzling and possibly dangerous situation. I know it's difficult to believe, but we may have to face the fact that we're on our own."
"But how can that be?" Robin asked. "Just a few hours ago we were on a picnic with Madame Blatavsky, when all of a sudden we discovered she was really..."
"Hold it right there," Miranda said. "You were about to say, 'when all of a sudden we discovered she was really an cantankerous and scheming guardian who was not at all what she appeared to be, no matter how poorly she had trimmed her eyebrows.' This is to say, no matter if that's the truth or not, it has already been done. Madame Blatavsky is not the problem, anymore than ice skates are the problem, or enchiladas, or boots, or percussion instruments. No, our troubles began well after the picnic with Madame Bltavsky took an alarming turn. We all agreed that sending her to fetch better food, regardless of whether or not it included enchiladas, was better for all of us, well before we determined her to be a cantankerous and scheming guardian who was not at all what she appeared to be, no matter how poorly she had trimmed her eyebrows."
Miranda knitted her own eyebrows in a concerned manner. She alone, because she was the leader of the children, would have to determine where things had truly gone wrong. It wasn't Madame Blatavsky's disappearance, which itself truly was alarming, as it has never taken more than seven-and-three-quarter hours in the history of misbegotten picnics to locate an alternate source of dining options, accounting both for the locating and for the returning to the original scene to collect anyone who might have been left behind, even if they were five children led by an exceptionally capable, if inconveniently youngest, girl such as Miranda.
It wasn't when they had decided to go in search of Madame Blatavsky, which Miranda had agreed to do once the first day had ended and she had convinced the others to sensibly wait until morning to begin, surviving on a poor diet in the meantime of the unsatisfying foodstuffs they had originally set out with for the picnic, quiche sandwiches whose only discernable ingredient was a suspicious paste inadequately made from shoots of parsley that looked like tiny patches of grass that had grown wildly in a park, which only served to remind everyone of the sad fate of the original picnic.
No, Miranda was convinced it was the bicycles they had all ridden at the start the series of...inconvenient events, the ones that had banana seats that were in fact in the shape of apricots, so uncomfortable to sit on while peddling that everyone had complained, even Madame Blatavsky, the whole way. They had agreed to leave these bicycles behind, even though Miranda insisted they reconsider, that even bicycles with uncomfortable seats in the shape of apricots would be preferable to having no transportation at all.
"Our problems began when we decided to abandon our bicycles, the ones with seats the shape of apricots," she declared.
"I still wish we were ice skating," said Robin.
"I still wish we were eating Mexican food," said Apu.
"I still wish we had boots," said Alastair.
"I still wish we were playing percussion instruments," said Lillian.
Miranda sighed.
[Completing a story originally begun by Lemony Snicket for the purposes of a contest in the 2005 McSweeney's book Noisy Outlaws, Unfriendly Blobs, and some other things that aren't as scary, maybe, depending on how you feel about Lost Lands, Stray Cellphones, Creatures from the Sky, Parents Who Disappear in Peru, A Man Named Lars Farf, and one other story we couldn't finish, so maybe you could help us out]
