Imaginary Classroom | Sunriseforestpodcast

top of page

Connect

Just then a young guy with a clean shaven face and a military helmet approaches Wrench and Penny’s table. He is wearing military fatigues with a hiking pack of supplies on his back as well as a laser rifle. A laser pistol rests ready at his hip. He is tall, barely over the 21 mark.

“Are you two the ones who posted the job going into the reservation?”

Wrench lowers his coffee cup just enough to peer at the newcomer over the rim. His expression doesn’t change—he’s still all shadow and silence—but his eyes flick quickly over the kid’s gear, reading it like a chart. Helmet’s regulation. Rifle’s charged. The pistol? Well-worn grip.

Penny turns toward the voice, her hands still resting gently on the Bible in front of her. She studies the soldier for a quiet moment, then glances at Wrench, a subtle signal passing between them.

Wrench finally sets the mug down with a soft clink.

“That depends,” he says, voice calm but direct. “You here to help, or here to get yourself killed?”

The kid straightens. “I can shoot, I can scout, and I don’t talk unless it’s useful.”

Penny nods, a little surprised by the composure in his tone. “We’ll see if that holds,” she says softly, then offers a seat with a motion of her hand.

Just then a young guy with a clean shaven face and a military helmet approaches Wrench and Penny’s table. He is wearing military fatigues with a hiking pack of supplies on his back as well as a laser rifle. A laser pistol rests ready at his hip. He is tall, barely over the 21 mark.

“Are you two the ones who posted the job going into the reservation?”

Wrench lowers his coffee cup just enough to peer at the newcomer over the rim. His expression doesn’t change—he’s still all shadow and silence—but his eyes flick quickly over the kid’s gear, reading it like a chart. Helmet’s regulation. Rifle’s charged. The pistol? Well-worn grip.

Penny turns toward the voice, her hands still resting gently on the Bible in front of her. She studies the soldier for a quiet moment, then glances at Wrench, a subtle signal passing between them.

Wrench finally sets the mug down with a soft clink.

“That depends,” he says, voice calm but direct. “You here to help, or here to get yourself killed?”

The kid straightens. “I can shoot, I can scout, and I don’t talk unless it’s useful.”

Penny nods, a little surprised by the composure in his tone. “We’ll see if that holds,” she says softly, then offers a seat with a motion of her hand.

Wrench watches her for a moment, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. The hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter, the low murmur of a weathered radio, and the clink of silverware all seem far away.

He shifts in the booth, leaning forward just a little. “I read anatomy manuals,” he says, voice low. “They’re clear, organized. Intent is usually ‘don’t die.’” A faint smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “This book of yours… it’s a little messier.”

Wrench watches her for a moment, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. The hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter, the low murmur of a weathered radio, and the clink of silverware all seem far away.

He shifts in the booth, leaning forward just a little. “I read anatomy manuals,” he says, voice low. “They’re clear, organized. Intent is usually ‘don’t die.’” A faint smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “This book of yours… it’s a little messier.”

“In context,” Penny says, as the waitress drifts through the crowded table section of the truck stop. “It means you have to read it like it was meant to be read. If you want to understand, that is. For instance, you wouldn’t just take one line out of the text and twist it into what you want it to say. You read the whole thing. You ask: what’s the writer actually trying to say?”

She turns a few pages, the sound of paper soft against the hum of conversation and distant highway noise. A gentle sip from her coffee follows. Steam curls around her face as she adds, quieter now, “It wouldn’t hurt you to read the Bible some,” and then she smiles.

“In context,” Penny says, as the waitress drifts through the crowded table section of the truck stop. “It means you have to read it like it was meant to be read. If you want to understand, that is. For instance, you wouldn’t just take one line out of the text and twist it into what you want it to say. You read the whole thing. You ask: what’s the writer actually trying to say?”

She turns a few pages, the sound of paper soft against the hum of conversation and distant highway noise. A gentle sip from her coffee follows. Steam curls around her face as she adds, quieter now, “It wouldn’t hurt you to read the Bible some,” and then she smiles.

Proverbs 23: 1-8
“When you sit down to eat with a ruler, consider carefully what is before you; and put a knife to your throat if you are a man given to appetite. Do not desire his delicacies, for they are deceptive food. Do not overwork to be rich; because of your own understanding, cease! Will you set your eyes on that which is not? For riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away like an eagle toward heaven. Do not eat the bread of a miser, nor desire his delicacies; for as he thinks in his heart so is he. ‘Eat and drink!’ He says to you, but his heart is not with you. The morsel you have eaten, you will vomit up, and waste your pleasant words.”

Proverbs 23: 1-8
“When you sit down to eat with a ruler, consider carefully what is before you; and put a knife to your throat if you are a man given to appetite. Do not desire his delicacies, for they are deceptive food. Do not overwork to be rich; because of your own understanding, cease! Will you set your eyes on that which is not? For riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away like an eagle toward heaven. Do not eat the bread of a miser, nor desire his delicacies; for as he thinks in his heart so is he. ‘Eat and drink!’ He says to you, but his heart is not with you. The morsel you have eaten, you will vomit up, and waste your pleasant words.”

“Yes, Bunny. But that’s only the beginning of holiness,” Mister Moose said gently. “The next step is for you to take.”

He tilted his head, eyes thoughtful as he studied her. Then he wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips, lost in thought for a moment—searching for just the right words.

“Yes, Bunny. But that’s only the beginning of holiness,” Mister Moose said gently. “The next step is for you to take.”

He tilted his head, eyes thoughtful as he studied her. Then he wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips, lost in thought for a moment—searching for just the right words.

“So God chooses us?” Bunny asked, her voice soft and full of wonder.

She looked up with her big brown eyes, ears tilted slightly forward.

“So God chooses us?” Bunny asked, her voice soft and full of wonder.

She looked up with her big brown eyes, ears tilted slightly forward.

Mister Moose stood up slowly, the chair creaking behind him.
He looked at Bunny for a long moment, studying her with quiet seriousness. Then, without a word, he picked up his old leather-bound Bible, worn at the corners and heavy with years. In his other hand, he took a piece of chalk—its edges rounded from use. Turning to the board, he began to write with slow, careful strokes:

John 6:44

He underlined it once. Then turned back to Bunny.

“Holiness begins with God, Bunny,” he said gently. “And God drawing you to Jesus.”

Mister Moose stood up slowly, the chair creaking behind him.
He looked at Bunny for a long moment, studying her with quiet seriousness. Then, without a word, he picked up his old leather-bound Bible, worn at the corners and heavy with years. In his other hand, he took a piece of chalk—its edges rounded from use. Turning to the board, he began to write with slow, careful strokes:

John 6:44

He underlined it once. Then turned back to Bunny.

“Holiness begins with God, Bunny,” he said gently. “And God drawing you to Jesus.”

Bunny turned around on her pillow and sat back down with a soft little flop, her ears bouncing slightly as she settled in.

“I’m here early because I have a question!”

Her nose twitched and her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Mister Moose, I’ve been thinking about what you said and I don’t understand.” She looked up at him, eyes wide and earnest.

“How does holiness work?”

Bunny turned around on her pillow and sat back down with a soft little flop, her ears bouncing slightly as she settled in.

“I’m here early because I have a question!”

Her nose twitched and her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Mister Moose, I’ve been thinking about what you said and I don’t understand.” She looked up at him, eyes wide and earnest.

“How does holiness work?”

Mister Moose set his backpack gently on the table, the seams creaking as he unzipped it.
He reached in and pulled out his Bible, placing it in front of him with care.

Next came a well-worn spiral notebook—pages curled slightly at the edges, corners softened with use. He smiled as he laid it beside the Bible, the morning light catching the glint of the wire binding.

“Morning, Miss Bunny!” he said warmly, glancing over at her. “You’re here early!”

Mister Moose set his backpack gently on the table, the seams creaking as he unzipped it.
He reached in and pulled out his Bible, placing it in front of him with care.

Next came a well-worn spiral notebook—pages curled slightly at the edges, corners softened with use. He smiled as he laid it beside the Bible, the morning light catching the glint of the wire binding.

“Morning, Miss Bunny!” he said warmly, glancing over at her. “You’re here early!”

“Morning, Mister Moose!”

Bunny sat up excitedly on her pillow, her little body nearly vibrating with energy. Her round, brown eyes sparkled as she looked up at him,
and her soft white foot thumped a few quiet beats on the wooden floor.

It was the kind of welcome that made even old classrooms feel like home.

“Morning, Mister Moose!”

Bunny sat up excitedly on her pillow, her little body nearly vibrating with energy. Her round, brown eyes sparkled as she looked up at him,
and her soft white foot thumped a few quiet beats on the wooden floor.

It was the kind of welcome that made even old classrooms feel like home.

Mister Moose stepped into the Imaginary Classroom.

The door creaked open, just like it always had. And everything inside was exactly as he’d left it— The wooden desks, the dusty globe, the chalk tray still scattered with white dust.

Only one thing was different.

Bunny sat quietly on a red pillow by the blackboard, waiting for Mister Moose to arrive.

Mister Moose stepped into the Imaginary Classroom.

The door creaked open, just like it always had. And everything inside was exactly as he’d left it— The wooden desks, the dusty globe, the chalk tray still scattered with white dust.

Only one thing was different.

Bunny sat quietly on a red pillow by the blackboard, waiting for Mister Moose to arrive.

Just then, a bubbly blonde waitress in a faded purple uniform approached the table.
Her smile was bright—but the tired in her eyes said she’d been pouring coffee since before the sun died.

She slid two napkins down with a flick of her wrist, followed by two chipped mugs.
With practiced grace, she filled each one to the brim with dark, steaming truck stop coffee.

The smell hit like a warm punch to the face.

“What can I getcha?” she asked, pen already in hand, like she knew neither of them would say much.

Just then, a bubbly blonde waitress in a faded purple uniform approached the table.
Her smile was bright—but the tired in her eyes said she’d been pouring coffee since before the sun died.

She slid two napkins down with a flick of her wrist, followed by two chipped mugs.
With practiced grace, she filled each one to the brim with dark, steaming truck stop coffee.

The smell hit like a warm punch to the face.

“What can I getcha?” she asked, pen already in hand, like she knew neither of them would say much.

“So how does it work?” Wrench asked, eyeing the book in front of her.
“You open it and it just… tells you something?”

Penny smiled softly and shook her head.
“No, it doesn’t work like that,” she said.
“You have to read it in context.”

“So how does it work?” Wrench asked, eyeing the book in front of her.
“You open it and it just… tells you something?”

Penny smiled softly and shook her head.
“No, it doesn’t work like that,” she said.
“You have to read it in context.”

“Let’s get something to eat,” Wrench said, eyes scanning the room as they stepped into the noise and haze of the bar.

Penny nodded, sticking close to his side. Her hood brushed his arm every time someone passed too near.

They weaved through the crowd—grimy mercs, roughnecks, loners hunched over drinks—until they spotted an open table in the back.
A little shadowed. A little quiet. Good enough.

They sat.

Penny immediately pulled her book from her pack and placed it gently on the table. She didn’t open it yet. Just kept her hands on the cover, like it grounded her.

Wrench leaned back in his seat, stretching his shoulders, eyes never leaving the crowd.

The ad was up. Now they waited.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Wrench said, eyes scanning the room as they stepped into the noise and haze of the bar.

Penny nodded, sticking close to his side. Her hood brushed his arm every time someone passed too near.

They weaved through the crowd—grimy mercs, roughnecks, loners hunched over drinks—until they spotted an open table in the back.
A little shadowed. A little quiet. Good enough.

They sat.

Penny immediately pulled her book from her pack and placed it gently on the table. She didn’t open it yet. Just kept her hands on the cover, like it grounded her.

Wrench leaned back in his seat, stretching his shoulders, eyes never leaving the crowd.

The ad was up. Now they waited.

Wrench pulled a battered notebook from his gear and flipped it open.
His handwriting was precise—deliberate. Each letter mattered.
He clicked his pen and began to write.

“Do we know what we’re looking for?” Penny asked, her voice low.
She scanned the room, her eyes flicking from figure to figure.
Every time someone passed too close, she drew back, inching closer to Wrench’s side.

“We need someone who knows how to use firepower,” he said without looking up.
“But who doesn’t shoot at everything that moves.”

He paused, then added, “It’s not an easy thing we’re trying to do.”

Wrench tore out the page, folded the top edge neatly, and walked to the job board.
The paper made a soft tack as he pinned it between a flyer for bounty work and a sketch of a missing person.

Then he stepped back, watching to see who would notice.
Penny stayed close, her eyes fixed on the crowd—
On the kinds of people who might answer a call like that.

Wrench pulled a battered notebook from his gear and flipped it open.
His handwriting was precise—deliberate. Each letter mattered.
He clicked his pen and began to write.

“Do we know what we’re looking for?” Penny asked, her voice low.
She scanned the room, her eyes flicking from figure to figure.
Every time someone passed too close, she drew back, inching closer to Wrench’s side.

“We need someone who knows how to use firepower,” he said without looking up.
“But who doesn’t shoot at everything that moves.”

He paused, then added, “It’s not an easy thing we’re trying to do.”

Wrench tore out the page, folded the top edge neatly, and walked to the job board.
The paper made a soft tack as he pinned it between a flyer for bounty work and a sketch of a missing person.

Then he stepped back, watching to see who would notice.
Penny stayed close, her eyes fixed on the crowd—
On the kinds of people who might answer a call like that.

“Now would be a good time to do some of that praying you were talking about.” Wrench stood motionless, his eyes locked on the entrance. The truck stop doors groaned open and shut as a steady stream of mercs came and went—rough-looking types, armed to the teeth, eyes sharp with hunger or worse.

Penny nodded without a word. She reached into her pack and pulled out a small, weatherworn book. Her fingers brushed the cover like it was something sacred. She opened it slowly, almost reverently, and began flipping through the pages with care—each turn deliberate, quiet.

Wrench glanced at her.

“Now?”

Penny didn’t look up. She read for a moment, lips moving silently. Then she closed the book and held it in her hands.

“It’s where I always start,” she said softly.

The book stayed in her grip—like armor. Like memory.

“Now would be a good time to do some of that praying you were talking about.” Wrench stood motionless, his eyes locked on the entrance. The truck stop doors groaned open and shut as a steady stream of mercs came and went—rough-looking types, armed to the teeth, eyes sharp with hunger or worse.

Penny nodded without a word. She reached into her pack and pulled out a small, weatherworn book. Her fingers brushed the cover like it was something sacred. She opened it slowly, almost reverently, and began flipping through the pages with care—each turn deliberate, quiet.

Wrench glanced at her.

“Now?”

Penny didn’t look up. She read for a moment, lips moving silently. Then she closed the book and held it in her hands.

“It’s where I always start,” she said softly.

The book stayed in her grip—like armor. Like memory.

“We’re there already?” Penny asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“No.” Wrench shifts the gear into park. The engine hums—low and steady, like a beast at rest. “We’re at the truck stop. We… need to find some help.”

Penny yawns and gives a slow nod. She slides on her poncho, the fabric whispering as it falls into place, then gathers her pack with practiced hands.

“Any idea how long it’ll take?”

Wrench stares out through the windshield at the flickering lights and shifting shadows. “No idea.”

Another nod. She doesn’t ask again.

With a small exhale, Penny presses her boot against the door. It creaks, then swings open with a soft groan. She steps down onto the cracked pavement, swallowed by the glow of rusted neon and diesel-soaked air.

“We’re there already?” Penny asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“No.” Wrench shifts the gear into park. The engine hums—low and steady, like a beast at rest. “We’re at the truck stop. We… need to find some help.”

Penny yawns and gives a slow nod. She slides on her poncho, the fabric whispering as it falls into place, then gathers her pack with practiced hands.

“Any idea how long it’ll take?”

Wrench stares out through the windshield at the flickering lights and shifting shadows. “No idea.”

Another nod. She doesn’t ask again.

With a small exhale, Penny presses her boot against the door. It creaks, then swings open with a soft groan. She steps down onto the cracked pavement, swallowed by the glow of rusted neon and diesel-soaked air.

“Wake up, Penny.”

Wrench Cardinal’s voice was quiet but firm as he nudged his partner’s shoulder. The low hum of the engine dropped as he steered the ambulance off the fractured edge of I-95. The rest stop loomed like a scar on the landscape—flickering neon signs half-lit, silhouettes of tired vehicles huddled in the lot, shadows shifting beneath buzzing lamps. It was the last stop before the reservation.

Wrench didn’t trust easy. He didn’t gamble. Not with fuel. Not with water. And not with people. But something in his gut told him they wouldn’t make it alone this time. Not past the fence line. Not with what lay waiting on the other side.

He glanced at the fuel gauge. Low. But not desperate. The water? Manageable.

No, that wasn’t why they were here. Not really.

He needed eyes.

He needed muscle.

He needed someone who knew how to keep their mouth shut and their soul even quieter.

This was the place to find them.

If the wrong kind didn’t find him first.

“Wake up, Penny.”

Wrench Cardinal’s voice was quiet but firm as he nudged his partner’s shoulder. The low hum of the engine dropped as he steered the ambulance off the fractured edge of I-95. The rest stop loomed like a scar on the landscape—flickering neon signs half-lit, silhouettes of tired vehicles huddled in the lot, shadows shifting beneath buzzing lamps. It was the last stop before the reservation.

Wrench didn’t trust easy. He didn’t gamble. Not with fuel. Not with water. And not with people. But something in his gut told him they wouldn’t make it alone this time. Not past the fence line. Not with what lay waiting on the other side.

He glanced at the fuel gauge. Low. But not desperate. The water? Manageable.

No, that wasn’t why they were here. Not really.

He needed eyes.

He needed muscle.

He needed someone who knew how to keep their mouth shut and their soul even quieter.

This was the place to find them.

If the wrong kind didn’t find him first.

.pro-gallery-wix-wrapper {display: block !important;} .pro-gallery-wix-wrapper .gallery-item-container {opacity: 1 !important; display: block !important;}

Follow us on Instagram

@sunriseforestshow

bottom of page