| Humor Fiction posted March 10, 2025 |
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May the funds be with you
A New Order
by Jessica Wheeler
I’m already five minutes late—which is about five and a half minutes longer than our newly appointed PTA president tends to tolerate.
In the wake of last year’s tragic and inexplicable force-choking incident involving our former PTA leader, Mary-Anne, another has stepped up to assume the role.
Darth Vader, a widowed father of twins and an active member of our community, used to be a well-liked guy around here. But ever since taking over the PTA, he’s shown another side. A darker side.
Now, we all live under the new order.
I slide into the last open metal chair as his mechanical breathing punctuates the absolute silence. He’s ready to begin speaking, gripping the school’s $15 microphone that no one else ever uses.
“You,” he says, helmet tilting in my direction. “You… are late.”
He gestures toward the sign-in sheet. “Print your full name. Neatly. Then join us. Your arrival time will be… noted.”
He knows my name. Our kids have been in the same class since they were potty training. We go way back to when I was a size two, and he went by a different name.
“Sorry,” I whisper, scrawling something vaguely name-like before handing him the clipboard.
Vader nods. I am apparently permitted to live.
“I’d like to welcome you all to tonight’s meeting.” His gaze sweeps the room as he scans the sign-in scribbles. “Your attendance is very much… expected.”
The agenda appears in a suspiciously familiar yellow crawl on the projector screen.
“First order of business,” Vader announces. “The Fall Festival budget has exceeded acceptable limits. This will not happen again.”
No one speaks. Someone coughs.
He immediately moves on.
“Next.” A click. A bar graph appears, displaying a noticeable decline in Carnival Day revenue.
“Our fundraising committee,” he intones, “has failed us… again.”
More silence.
Vader has already dismantled half of the fundraising committee. Cheryl “stepped down” after suggesting gluten-free bake sale options. Tami hasn’t been seen since last year’s Fifth Grade Hoedown.
The committee now consists of… Karen.
Karen shifts in her seat. “Well… to be fair—”
Vader’s helmet turns very, very slowly toward her.
“My… my request for a rain date was denied,” she stammers, “and, well… it, um… rained.”
Vader inhales. Loudly.
“Perhaps,” he says, “you would like to explain, Karen, how precipitation justifies… defeat.”
Karen does not respond. Karen will never respond again.
“I am altering the weather. Pray I do not alter it any further… Karen,” he threatens.
Karen shivers as we all nod like we know what that means.
He exhales sharply. “Now. Teacher Appreciation Week. We must ensure staff loyalty.”
We all agree, pretending that this is a standard approach to Teacher Appreciation Week.
“Your proposals,” he continues, “have been insufficient. Frankly, I find your lack of teacher appreciation… disturbing.”
Joyce suggests a staff luncheon.
Vader’s exhale deepens. “Weak.”
Sue proposes using class funds for gift cards.
Vader dismisses her from the meeting. Her chair is still spinning.
Tracy, poor fool, suggests cutting back due to budget concerns.
Vader tilts his head. “You have failed us for the last time.”
We’ll miss Tracy.
The rejections continue:
Second bounce house for Field Day? “Frivolous. Unnecessary displays of joy undermine our mission.”
Pajama Day fundraiser? “A betrayal of discipline.”
50/50 raffle? “Our demise is… inevitable.”
By now, his reactions range from a slow, ominous turn of the helmet to thinly veiled threats that we must “join him or die.”
Finally, he reaches the last agenda item.
“Parents,” he says, voice lowering. “The time has come. We must make a choice.”
His mechanical breathing deepens.
Every year before the holiday parade, a parent is selected for the role of Father Christmas. Historically, this goes to whoever breaks eye contact first. You refill napkins. You panic when the cookie platter runs low. You wave.
Karen leans over. “Do you think he’s gonna volunteer himself?” she whispers.
“Karen,” I whisper back, “he’s been wearing a cape since September.”
Vader surveys the room. “Volunteers?”
Steve half-raises a hand. Vader turns his head just slightly, and Steve immediately lowers it, then excuses himself.
Mindy clears her throat. “Darth,” she coos, “perhaps… you could do the honors?”
Of course. Mindy’s the PTA hussy.
“If that is… the will of the council,” Vader says, like we’re sentencing someone to death. “It is my destiny.”
We all nod solemnly, like, wow, so brave.
“If there are no further questions,” Vader concludes, “this meeting is adjourned. Parents, I am your father. Good night.”
We shuffle out.
I make a mental note not to sign up next year.
There’s talk of a rebellion.
Worlds Collide: A Character Mashup contest entry
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© Copyright 2025. Jessica Wheeler All rights reserved. Registered copyright with FanStory.
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