An Art Room Parable of Grades, Truth, and the Scent of Soil
There was once a boy named Jaleel who swore he always did his work.
He said it with his head held high and his backpack zipped tight as a vault.
“I do do my work,” he nodded—earnest, hopeful, a little too smooth.
Each time, the lie grew smoother, more familiar—like a stone rubbed nervously between thumb and fingers.
One morning, in the light-streaked hum of the art room,
he stood before his teacher. The portrait assignment, unfinished.
“I swear I did it,” he said.
The teacher, who had heard this rhythm before, smiled gently.
“You do do something, Jaleel,” he said. “But it smells a little off.”
Those who knew Jaleel chuckled.
His grin faded.
He wasn’t ashamed. He was afraid.
Afraid the grade wouldn’t match the story.
Afraid of the scholarship letter in his inbox and the gap between the two.
The Dragon in the Backpack
Jaleel wasn’t a bad kid.
He was tired, distracted, full of charm and chatter—
the kind of boy who could lead a group project but forget the project.
In his bag, a dragon slept.
Its scales were stitched from skipped exercises and unread feedback.
It nestled between an unopened sketchbook and half-said promises.
Cold in the winter of distraction, it seemed harmless.
But in the warm light of honest questions—it stirred.
“If you did the work,” the teacher asked,
“can I see it?”
The dragon blinked.
The Tale of the Vineyard
That week, the teacher told the class a story:
“There once was a man named Naboth. He had a vineyard next to a palace.”
Jaleel half-listened, pencil spinning in his hand.
“The king asked for the land. Naboth said no—because God forbade the sale of a family’s inheritance.
But the king didn’t repeat that part. He softened the truth.
He told his queen that Naboth refused him.
And when she told others, it became: Naboth defied the king.”
The words shifted.
‘God forbids’ became ‘He wouldn’t sell.’
Then ‘He refused.’
Then ‘He disrespected the throne.’
And soon, stones were thrown—not by the king,
but by a system too willing to lie.
“The king only wanted vegetables,” the teacher said.
“But he planted a garden in blood.”
Jaleel shifted in his seat.
The dragon yawned.
The Elephant’s Breath
That night, Jaleel dreamed.
He and his classmates had found a feast in a forest—unwatched, waiting.
They devoured it.
All but one—a quiet boy, chewing leaves, eyes lowered.
Then she came—
An elephant, slow and solemn, her ears heavy with sorrow.
She sniffed their mouths, one by one.
She passed the quiet boy.
But when she came to Jaleel—she paused.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
His breath held the scent of a lie.
Not shouted—but swallowed.
She did not crush him.
She only looked—deep and long—and left a scroll beside him, blank.
Jaleel woke, heart thudding like a drumline after the parade.
The Mirror and the Compost
The next day, he stayed after class.
“I think I believe my own lie,” he said, eyes low.
“Most do,” the teacher replied. “First it’s a mask. Then it’s a mirror.”
Jaleel unzipped his bag.
Pulled out the wrinkled assignment—unfinished, but real.
“It’s not much,” he said.
“It’s more than a lie,” the teacher said.
“And lighter than a dragon.”
They both smiled.
“Can I still pass?”
“You can still learn,” the teacher said, handing him a pencil that smelled faintly of soil.
Wisdom at the Edge of the Page
Truth is a mirror in God’s hands.
It fell and shattered.
Everyone took a piece, held it up,
and said, “Now I see.”
But mirrors show us what we want.
Truth smells like compost—
messy, honest, fertile.
Choose the scent that grows you.
Even dragons, if composted,
bloom.
Author’s Note
This tale is stitched from classroom moments, graduation pressure, and the quiet lies we all carry—especially in seasons of measurement. It draws on the spirit of Rumi’s storytelling and the biblical tale of Naboth’s vineyard, where words bend truth just enough to become a weapon.
In a world where lies are easy and smooth as stones in our pockets, truth begins to feel rare.
Almost like a luxury.
But maybe what we need most isn’t what feels rare—
but what roots us.
What smells like soil.
What grows.
Tags:
truth, storytelling, Rumi-inspired, classroom wisdom, graduation season, dragons and lies, compost not concrete, Naboth’s vineyard, student growth, faith and formation, teacher life, subtle deception, character education, redemption, honest writing
Forming 2.0 
In a world where lies are easy and smooth as stones in our pockets, truth begins to feel rare. Almost like a luxury. Amen and amen again. What an amazing take on this writing prompt Dean. Bravo
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