887 | Predictable Ignorant Failure

887 | Diesel Learns How to Split Wood from His Father Instead of Wasting Time

Chapter 1: Diesel and His Father Discuss His Allowance and the Mission of Splitting Wood

Diesel and his father discuss his allowance and the mission of splitting wood on the back porch. As they talk, the reality of the difficult chore begins to set in for the young man. The morning air is cold enough to sting, and Diesel’s father stands on the back porch, hands in his pockets, surveying the yard like a general looking over a battlefield.

A sagging pile of unsplit logs leans near the fence. Leaves stick to the damp grass. Tools lie scattered where someone dropped them last fall and never came back.

Behind him, Diesel steps out, already thinking about everything he wants to buy this month—and how fast his next allowance can appear.

“When you finish your weekend chores, I’ll give you your allowance,” Father says. His voice is steady. The terms are clear.

Money.

Diesel’s brain lights up.

“That sounds great,” he says quickly. “I’ll get started right now.” He shifts his weight like he’s about to sprint into hero mode.

His father studies him for a moment. He knows that look—big promise, low follow‑through.

“Do you want a mission plan?” Father asks. “A clear list of what has to be done?”

Diesel shakes his head at once.

“Nope. I’ll figure it out as I go,” he says. Planning sounds like homework, and he’s not in school right now. “It’s better if I just believe the chores are already done. I’m developing my daydreaming skills.”

He half-smiles. “I can spend a whole day imagining what I could be doing.”

In his mind, the yard is already spotless. The wood is neatly stacked. He and his allowance walk into town together.

“Interesting,” Father says. “Illogical, but interesting.”

He doesn’t push. He adds, “If you want my help, ask. I can give you guidance and inspiration.” There’s a hint of something deeper in his tone, like this is about more than firewood.

Diesel barely notices.

He steps down into the yard. The grass is wet. His shoes soak through instantly.

“Getting right to it” lasts about sixty seconds.

He wanders instead—around the trees, over to the fence, back past the log pile. He watches a line of ants crawl along a fallen twig. He lies on the picnic table and stares up, following slow white clouds across a blue sky.

Two hours slide away like water.

Eventually, he does a few “symbolic” tasks. He puts a lid back on a trash can. He picks up one lonely piece of paper from the neighbor’s yard and tosses it in the bin.

He wipes his hands like he’s just finished a major operation.

“That should count,” he decides.

He heads back inside.

“I’m ready for my allowance now,” Diesel announces, holding his hand out.

Father looks up from a stack of bills at the table.

“Did you finish your chores?” he asks.

“I believe so,” Diesel says. A small knot of doubt tightens in his stomach, but he ignores it. “I did some meaningful tasks. I don’t really know what the goal is, but I don’t see why that matters. Why should I need to know my mission to succeed?”

To him, success is a mood, not a measurable thing.

“Your chores are not finished,” Father says calmly. “When your mission is accomplished, I’ll give you your allowance.”

Diesel’s mouth drops open.

“It’s not my fault the chores aren’t done,” he protests. “You should give me the money anyway.”

“I offered to give you a list,” Father reminds him. “You talked about ‘creative free will’ and doing whatever you desire.”

Diesel hears his own words coming back like a mirror he doesn’t want to look into.

He exhales sharply.

“Fine,” he says. “What are my chores? What grand mission am I supposed to complete in the backyard for my precious allowance?”

Father walks to the window and nods toward the logs.

“To develop your strength, discipline, and focus,” he says, “I want you to split that pile of wood and stack it neatly against the fence.”

Diesel stares at the heavy rounds of oak.

“Is that all?” he scoffs. “I should’ve figured that out.”

Father tilts his head. “Do you want me to show you the easiest way to split wood?”

Diesel’s pride snaps awake.

“No thanks,” he says quickly. “I’m not a little kid. Splitting wood is easy. I’ve seen people do it in movies. I’ll be back for my allowance in no time.”

In the garage, a lineup of serious tools waits—axes, a splitting maul, gloves.

Diesel walks right past them.

A hammer and a screwdriver catch his eye instead.

Perfect.

He drags a massive oak log into position, plants the screwdriver on top like a tiny flag, and swings the hammer.

Metal rings against metal.

The screwdriver’s tip sinks a little into the wood.

“See?” he tells himself. “Basically the same thing.”

He keeps swinging.

The log does not split.

It just holds tighter.

Sweat beads on his forehead, and the real mission—hidden under all his confidence—waits, silent and patient, by the fence.

Chapter 2: Diesel Fails to Split Wood and Distracts Himself Watching Videos

After realizing his method is flawed, Diesel fails to split wood and distracts himself by watching videos instead of completing his chore. The stubborn oak remains untouched while he avoids asking for help. Ping. Ping. Ping.

The hammer‑on‑screwdriver rhythm echoes through the backyard like a strange kind of bell.

The screwdriver drives deeper with each hit, burying itself in the log’s heart. The wood itself stays stubbornly whole, as if it’s mocking him.

Hours crawl by.

Diesel’s palms sting from the vibration—his arms ache. Sweat drips into his eyes.

By the time he drops the hammer, the single log looks like a metal porcupine—ten screwdrivers jammed into it at odd angles.

It is not split.

Not even close.

But his shirt is soaked. His muscles burn. Surely that has to count as an accomplishment.

He stumbles back into the house and wipes his face with the edge of his T‑shirt.

“I’ve been working for two hours,” Diesel says. “I deserve my allowance.”

Father looks up slowly.

“Did you succeed?” he asks.

Diesel leans in the doorway, trying to look more triumphant than defeated.

“Success is…relative,” he says, grasping for something clever. “And honestly, it’s overrated. I worked hard. I feel good about my effort. That should count as success.”

To him, sweat is proof. Results are optional.

Father walks to the back window and peers outside.

“I don’t see a stack of firewood,” he says. “I see one log with ten screwdrivers sticking out of it.”

Diesel’s cheeks flare hot.

“So you admit I’m trying,” he shoots back. “You can see I almost split one log. Splitting all that wood is impossible. I can’t do it.”

The oak feels suddenly personal—like it woke up this morning to insult him.

“Would you like instructions on how to split wood properly?” Father asks again.

Diesel’s pride recoils, protective and loud.

“That would be humiliating,” he says. “I’ll figure it out myself. I’ll watch some videos.”

The second day arrives.

Diesel emerges from his room with dark circles under his eyes, moving more slowly than he did after swinging the hammer for hours.

“Dad,” he says, not wasting time on greetings. “I’ve been working hard and patiently while you hoard my money. Can I have my allowance now?”

“Did you finish your chores?” Father asks.

Diesel opens his mouth, then stops.

His brain feels like it’s full of static—snippets of commentary, thumbnails, half‑remembered jokes.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even remember what the goal is.”

He rubs his head. “Yesterday, I went to my room to learn how to split wood, but I got distracted. I watched one video, and then another, and then four hours disappeared. I don’t even remember what half of them were about. Next thing I knew, it was dark, and I fell asleep.”

He lets out a humorless laugh.

“It’s weird,” he says. “Watching videos is more exhausting than splitting wood. People know it wastes time, and they still do it all day. I do. I tell myself it’s ‘informative,’ but honestly? I like the mindless stuff the most.”

Father sets his coffee cup down, eyes steady on Diesel.

“I bet you remember exactly what you want to buy with your allowance,” he says.

Diesel’s silence is answer enough.

“Would you like me to remind you what your mission is?” Father asks.

Diesel sighs. The weight of empty pockets presses harder than his pride—for the moment.

“Fine,” he says. “Remind me. But just this once. I want my allowance. I still think it’s unfair that I have to do slave labor because my selfish father won’t trust me with all my money at once.”

Father doesn’t react to the jab.

“Your mission,” he says, “is to split the wood and stack it neatly by the fence. Would you like some assistance?”

The words hang in the air—a small, open door Diesel can walk through any time.

For now, he keeps standing outside.

Chapter 3: Diesel and His Friends Fail to Split Wood Until His Father Teaches Them

The frustration reaches its peak as Diesel and his friends fail to split wood until his father teaches them how to use a splitting maul. Realizing that asking for guidance is necessary, the boys finally learn the proper technique. Diesel rubs his eyes, trying to clear away the leftover fog of endless scrolling.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Now I remember. I went to my room to learn how to split wood, got distracted and then dreamed about splitting wood. It felt so real, I figured…mission accomplished.”

He looks out the window at the stubborn, silent logs.

“I still don’t see why I should do the hard work,” he adds. “If you want to help me, you could just split and stack the wood while I get something to eat.”

He brightens at his own idea.

“Actually, could you make me a sandwich first?” he says. “Watching videos makes me hungry, even though I don’t move. Maybe that’s why so many people end up extra heavy. I’ll eat while you split the wood. When you finish, I’ll be really impressed with your strength, willpower, and concentration.”

He even sounds sincere.

Father doesn’t budge.

“I could split the wood,” he says. “But that would steal something from you.”

Diesel frowns. “Steal what?”

“The chance to build strength, discipline, and focus,” Father answers. “Your soul has a larger mission: to master wisdom, virtues, and superpowers. Life is made of small missions that move you toward that bigger goal.”

He pauses.

“Would you like guidance, inspiration, and protection while you work?”

Diesel scoffs.

“No thanks,” he says. “I have creative free will. I’ll do it my way. I learn best through failure. Eventually, I’ll figure it out. This mission is impossible alone, so I’ll invite friends. We’ll crush it.”

Father nods once.

“I understand you don’t want my help,” he says. “I’ll be here, waiting for your victory.”

Diesel disappears to gather his “team.”

Hours later, the backyard erupts in chaos.

Father steps outside to the sound of shouting and heavy thuds.

The scene looks like a training montage gone horribly wrong.

One teenager jumps up and down on top of a log like he’s trying to stomp it open.

Another lifts a log over his head and slams it into the ground again and again, as if gravity alone will take pity on him.

Two boys have turned logs into makeshift swords, smashing them together with wild swings and battle cries.

Splinters fly. Logs roll. Wood litters the yard like someone set off a wood bomb.

Not one piece is actually split.

Diesel, drenched in sweat, wipes his forehead with his sleeve and points at the mess.

“See?” he shouts over the noise. “We’re making great progress!”

The energy doesn’t last.

Eventually, they drag themselves into a loose circle, panting and discouraged.

“The wood is indestructible,” one friend groans.

“This mission is impossible,” another agrees.

Diesel stares at the pile.

“All this time,” he says quietly, “and we split half of one rotten log.”

The others nod.

A hollow feeling opens in his chest—something heavier than tired muscles.

“I feel like a failure,” he admits. “We didn’t accomplish anything.”

He forces a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Let’s just have a video game party,” he suggests. “At least we win something there.”

Father steps closer.

“I see you’re trying to complete your mission,” he says. “But you’re missing discipline and skills.”

The teens fall silent.

“Would you like me to show you an easier way?” he continues, “the way my father taught me—and the way I mastered by practicing?”

Diesel exchanges glances with his friends. Nobody jokes. Nobody mocks.

At last, Diesel nods.

“Okay,” he says. “Show me. But don’t expect me to run to you every time I don’t know how to do something. This is a one‑time exception. I’m tired, frustrated, and I feel like a loser. And I really want my allowance back.”

Father walks to the tool rack and picks up a heavy, wedge‑shaped tool.

“This is a splitting maul,” he says. “It’s like a hammer and an axe combined. You raise it over your head, let gravity help, and hit the log near the edge with a clean, committed swing.”

He sets a log upright, grips the maul, and in one smooth motion brings it down.

Crack.

The log splits cleanly into two pieces that fall sideways with a satisfying thud.

Diesel stares.

“I almost had it,” he mutters after a second, trying to salvage a speck of pride. “I just needed…a bigger hammer. With a sharp edge.”

Father smiles faintly but doesn’t argue.

Two hours later, the yard looks different.

A neat, solid stack of firewood stands against the fence like a small wall. The scattered logs are gone. The ground is clearer. The mission has a visible, finished shape.

Diesel leans on the handle of the maul, sweat running down his back—but this time, the exhaustion feels clean. Earned.

He looks at the stack and feels something new: quiet satisfaction.

“This is so much easier,” he says, still breathing hard. “When you actually know what you’re doing.”

He turns to his father.

“Thanks for showing me the way,” he adds. “I guess the best shot at success is knowing the mission—and asking people who’ve already graduated from ‘log‑splitting school’ for help.”

Father nods, eyes warm.

“And that,” he says, “is one of the first real secrets of power.”

Chapter Synopsis:

Diesel attempts to avoid actual work while trying to earn his allowance, first by daydreaming and later by fruitlessly hammering screwdrivers into a single log of wood. After getting distracted by endless scrolling and failing alongside his friends—who try to stomp, smash, and sword-fight the firewood—Diesel finally humbles himself to accept his father's guidance. Using a proper splitting maul and learning correct technique, Diesel and his friends successfully stack the wood, teaching Diesel the value of discipline, mentorship, and completing real missions.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The contrast between unearned daydreaming and the genuine satisfaction of physical labor and discipline

• The trap of digital distraction and endless video scrolling as an escape from real-world responsibilities

• The necessity of mentorship, proper tools, and learning proven techniques rather than reinventing the wheel

• The spiritual and practical connection between small everyday missions and higher personal growth

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Diesel: A teenager seeking easy money who struggles with shortcuts, learns the hard way through failure, and finally masters wood splitting

• Father: Diesel's patient guide who offers wisdom, structure, and the proper use of a splitting maul to teach discipline

• Diesel's Friends: A group of teens who join the backyard effort, resorting to chaotic methods before learning the correct technique