Crisis At Cricket Clump.
By the famous Gazillion Gun Gordon.
Dedicated to Carolyn John Hamm.
Mr Triplechin was on his feet in an instant.
“There has been a crisis!” he exclaimed in my direction.
“I says i says!” i said, “There was bound to be one of them sooner or later, i says!”
Mr Triplechin plummeted himself into the door, broke it down, and disappeared over the hill. I was not sure whether to follow him or no, but after a minute of contemplation i decided on the initial.
I scrambled through the broken door and stumbled after Triplechin.
when i reached the top of the hill, I could see the Cricket Clump, the little town on a tiny hill to my left.
Cricket Clump, had obviously seen destruction lately, and i noticed the bank was moving slowly down the clump being towed by three draught horses and two men.
“The gangsters from Earlobe!” i gasped, and started running.
I ran to my secret hideout, which was an old VW bug, which i found in the trees.
It was full of guns, i grabbed them all.
I ran full tilt towards Cricket Clump and the departing bank.
I took my gazillion guns, and shot a gazillion holes in the bank.
A gazillion dollars fell through the holes, I grabbed the two gangsters from earlobe and knocked their heads together and i ran away with the money, put it in my VW bug and drove away. ZIP ZIP!!
Finish
Merry Thanksgiving.
By Bartholomew.
(Featured here, at seven years old)
It was one of those fresh blank thanksgiving mornings. The frost glinted in the sun on the dying branches of the forlorn birch tree out my bedroom window, like a gallant knave’s sword reflecting his shining sweat streaked face.
At least, thats how i imagined it, as i lay in my hard cot looking blearily through clogged eyeballs at the bright morning.
I was plummeted out of my vain fancy by a shriek.
I knew that shriek quite well.
It was the neighbour, at the door, telling my mother that a cat who would wander into the neighbour’s yard, even on thanksgiving day, was one that most definitely ought to be hung by the neck in a sycamore tree.
“Mrs Trebol,” i heard the the wily worm of a woman say, “Your son is anything, and everything, but a boy who deserves his own cat, rid yourself of the wretched thing and we’ll have no more trouble!”
I heard my fathers shotgun being removed from the wall.
no longer thinking about sweaty knaves, but rather the doom of Fido, my shaggy, bony, wormy, and raggedy tabby tom which i had found at the dump, i well nigh flew from my bed, and within a moment pounced into the kitchen.
“don’t!” i cried, in pure agony, "don’t shoot fido!”
My stalwart, burly mother was aiming the gun, not at the neighbour, but at my cat.
My father was cowered in the corner.
“DO something!” i yelped.
Father would not, i knew that much, i flung myself towards my bulky mother, grabbed the gun from her hand, and dispersed myself out of the room.
I grabbed my shaggy tom in one hand, holding the gun high in the other, and made off for the dreadful forrest.
I dont suppose my mother assumed i was going out to kill the cat myself, but rather decided i would come back eventually, and therefor let me go.
For once in my life, i firmly resolved i would never go back.
I tumbled into the woods, and tumbled until i got quite lost, sat down, and tears began to tumble more than my being did.
I woke as the sun was just passing over the horizon, i knew that my large russian mother would now be seated at the head of the table, My brothers at the left side, my three sisters at the right side, and my small Chinese father was seated miserably at the foot.
I knew, a turkey was in their midst, and though they were all saying the main things they were thankful for, i knew they were all lying. I knew none of them said the main thing they were thankful for was the fact that their bratty kid brother was gone.
As i contemplated these facts, my small brain felt the pain of an orphan child.
Although, i very well knew that i in no way was an orphan, i imagined myself to be one, and it was almost as good.
For a moment, i wanted to run off into the trees, run until my poor fat legs could run no more, and then lay down to die.
But, before i could accomplish this task, i was grabbed by the shoulder and marched home.
Where we enjoyed a lovely thanksgiving dinner, with plentiful gladness and joy.
The End
The Terminus Of Blake.
“Blake!” he screeched, “Its an ostrich!”
Blake had not realized, it was obvious, and now he would be eaten by the bird.
“Blake!” I screeched, “Its coming from behind!”
Blake did not realize. he was jogging casually towards us with a pleasant smile on his oblong face.
Tony looked at me. I looked at Tony. He shrugged, I shrugged.
“BLAAAAAKE!” we screeched together.
He waved.
The ostrich was now approaching him at a frightfully swift pace, its feral eyes bulged, its savage beak nipped at the air.
Blake smiled, and waved again.
He tripped suddenly, on his shoe lace, and the ostrich fell on top of him.
“Blake!”I screeched.
“Blake!” Tony screeched.
There was a moment of silence, the kind which happens on remembrance day, and then a scuffle which can only be described by thus:
uewkdhsmnxweiodshjhdjotrxghryxehzwoiuygc5rt4hfo3ihkjedhhhhhhhhboooooooom.
Than all was silent again, and Blake lay limp on the sand. Beside him lay some feathers, and the skeleton of a bird.
I looked at Tony, Tony looked at me. We shrugged.
The End
Go Shoot A Rhino.
By Bartholomew Desedarious Trebol
"What?" I asked, "a rhino?"
"Yes!" She screamed frantically, "right outside my bedroom window!"
"Do you have a camara?" I asked, being now positively enthralled.
"A camara??" She screamed, "get a gun!!!"
"I want to take a picture !" I insisted.
"A picture," She sighed miserably, "Keith's life is at risk and you want to take a picture ? Get the gun."
I obeyed as my aunt told, and got the gun.
"You shoot it." She said.
"No way." I said, "its your rhino."
"I can't do it!" She cried, "what if I hit Keeth?"
"Good riddance !" I Belowed miserably, "he's a ridiculous dog."
"Is not!" She Exclaimed, "and how dare you say so! Keith is a pure bred chihuahua, the last of his kind! Go shoot the rhino!"
I obediently picked up the gun and went to the window.
"I don't see a rhino." I said to my aunt, who was looking over my shoulder and shuddering at every noise.
"Shoot it anyway." She said.
"I will not!" I Exclaimed, "that is entirely unfair to the rhino!"
"Oh alright," She mourned, "shoot it when you see it."
I closed my eyes. She didn't notice. She kept looking out the window, cowering behind me, until I fell asleep. She still stood behind me, waiting.
At last, she heard a wild yapping. The kind of wild yapping a rhino makes when he is eating a chihuahua, I think.
She screamed, and I woke up.
"BARTY! IT'S EATING KEITH!"
"Nonsense," I presumed, "all is nonsense."
"SHOOT IT BARTY! SHOOT IT!"
I shot, BANG, and again, BOOM, all was still and quiet.
"I think you hit it!" She said.
Just then, Keith crawled out from under the bed, "yip." He whined, and cowered behind my aunt. I still have a guilty conscience about this.
The End
My Confrontation With The LLL.
This, was overpowering. I decided to visit the local logic lunatic.
I went to his house and knocked on his door. He came out.
At that moment, I decided I did not want anything to do with the LLL organization.
The Local Logic Lunatic fell out of the door, and lay on his stomach with his feet in the air looking up at me. I was going to run, I had in my mind a plan of how I could get away, and be polite. But I couldn't speak, I couldn't move, I stared dumbfounded at the man, and waited.
He got up, eventually, I don't remember if he was there only a few seconds or a few days.
"HULLO." He said in a loud but quite calm voice, "IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO FOR YOU."
I was quite sure there was nothing, but, directed by the polite side of me, I said, in a creaky voice, ."Yes, maybe."
"AND WHAT'S THAT?" He asked jovialy.
"I need some logic, to use on a company of ridiculously illogical individuals."
"SIMPLICITY!" He Belowed.
I thought it best to agree, so I nodded my affirmation.
"WAIT ONE MINUTE!" He shouted, and then disappeared.
I don't know why I didn't leave then, I don't know why I stood with my feet rooted in the porch boards like a maniac.
He came back all to soon, and dumped into my open hand, some powder. It was yellow, with some green chunks and red strings and purple sparkles.
"TAKE THIS TWICE A DAY FOR TWO DAYS." He said, and then turned back to go inside, giggling to himself in utmost glee.
I left, and held the powder carefully. I reached my house, and I took it, a little later, I took some more, the next day I did the same until it was gone.
I then went to visit the company of ridiculously illogical individuals.
"I have come," I said, " because I want to have a debate."
"About what?" Asked one of the illogical individuals.
"anything!" I Exclaimed, "anything, that is, unless it is logical."
They liked this idea, and we began our debate.
"This apple," I said, turning to a granny smith on the table, " is red, because all apples are red."
"That's not true," Said one of the individuals, called Rodney, "Its purple because I once saw, in a book, a purple apple with the same sticker."
"HA!" Said another individual, who's name was Zilpah, "you guys are backwards! I know it!"
"How do you know it?" I asked savagely.
"Because!" She said, "I am facing you and you are facing me and you are BACKWARDS!"
"That's not true." Put in another individual, named Clemence.
"How do you know?" Asked Rodney threaghteningly.
"Because I'm smart, my mother said."
"Oh yeh? Well my mother said I was smart too!"
"Therefore," Said I, "you are both wrong, because my mother never said I was smart."
"She most likely knew!"
"She knew NOTHING."
"She must have known something because every mother i have encountered knew at least a little."
"Baaaah! You guys are nonesenicle!"
"Who are you to say such a thing?"
It went on, for the whole afternoon, and I never proved that that Apple was red, so I went back to the Local Logic Lunatic, and asked him quite plainly to explain why the logic powder hadn't worked.
"OH" He laughed, "DIDN'T I TELL YOU YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT WITH FOOD OR ELSE IT WILL BACKFIRE???" He began sniggering, until I truly felt as though it would do him good to be heald underneath water for a couple hours.
I did suffer, yes, and I never went back the the Local Logic Lunatic for fear that he might make my condition worse, but everyday i visited the ridiculously illogical individuals, and we had mighty swell times together arguing. (Howbeit, no one ever won, so to this day, we still continue the same argument day after day.)
The End
There Comes a Day. by Bartholomew Desedarius Trebol aka Lucy
Nat Ward's harmonica squawked as he sat on the boardwalk in front of the sheriff's office. Nat suddenly jumped to his feet and through his harmonica away. "I'll never learn that blasted instrument." He said after wiping the slobber off his mouth onto his sleeve. Then picking up the harmonica again from beside the hitching post in the grass where it fell, he sat down again on an old wagon wheel. As he started again to pipe long none melodious sharps and flats that didn't go together on the out of tune instrument. An in between fat and thin man with a large bulbous nose and to round of ears that everyone knew couldn't hear at all, came striding up the boardwalk. With every step his to big spurs clunked classically on the rough wood. It was the sheriff. You could tell by the faded yellow thing that I guess was a star hanging on his shirt and almost falling off, but no other reason. I always thought of a sheriff as tall, skinny and clean shaven all but a large mustache curled up at each end, and dressed in neatly ironed shirt and pants. But no, this one was different. Nat didn't notice him coming but instead kept tooting away on his horrid instrument. But suddenly he felt the all to firmilier feeling of a gun in his back. The thing that caused the gun in his back slipped through his fingers and fell heavily on the boards beneath him. His lips still held the shape of E sharp turning to A minor, and they trembled as he said. "Hello sheriff, what seems to be the problem?"
"You are being arrested, dummy." Announced the elderly man causally.
"What did I do now?" Nat asked, "last time I got arrested because I was learning the trumpet and the time before that was because I was as playing the pipe organ, and before that .." He didn't have a chance to go on, because before he said another word sheriff shoved the gun in his back harder and said. "I wasn't asking for your criminal record young man. You aren't musically talented and if it takes being arrested ten times I ought to have you hung."
Nat shivered. That was his constant fear. The sheriff walked him into his office and shoved him into a cold, smelly cage. It was a bird cage, the sheriff explained, because the other cells were filled.
As Nat sat on the parrot's roost inside of the cage he wondered if it was really worth being a famous musician. "No," he thought verbally, "I don't think it is." It was two months before he finally got out of his cage, and when he simply walked to the thrift store to buy a pair of new jeans, he came upon something quite fantastic, it was like a small guitar that sounded quite pleasant. He strummed it causally and then started playing his favorite song, jingle bells, before he knew what was happening there was a crowd around him, throwing money and clapping. It was the next day when rocking on his porch swing when the sheriff came. "I really should hang you." He stated plainly. "But I wont, the town says they would like a famous musician, so I'll let you break the law this time, but you can only have that one instrument. That's it."
He left, and Nat felt quite light hearted. And he became the town musician, not as good as a city musician but it would do for now.
The End
Boats and Water Combined.
My distorted view on sailing and sailors and other such absurdities.
"Hark!" He Exclaimed, "thar she blows!"
"So what?" I asked, "is there something important about that?"
He looked at me, with the sort of expression which often appears on faces when they have just dropped a vice grip on their toe.
He squinted, opened his mouth, shut it firmly, and strode away.
That was my first encounter the the self righteous captain Irving Nostril.
I figured, after that, that mayhap we would not get along, but it quite the opposite.
Captain Nostril went out of his way to come to my cabin and bring me horrible tasting food which made me vomit for hours afterwards, or when he saw me climbing to the crows nest on one of my first endeavours, he shouted advice like, "it works better to climb feet first, Bartholomew, head down." Or, "Don't try and hold on, that just slows you down, Trebol."
I heeded this advice, since I was not yet accustomed to sailing life, and fell promptly into the ocean. Luckily, Mister Gerhard Twine, who was the only mister in that whole ship of ruffians, threw me a rope, which I grabbed with my ankle, and pulled me up.
Though I continued using Captain Nostril's advice when he gave it, the accidents grew less frequent and sometimes I went all day without drowning in the ocean or falling from the mast onto the deck and smashing.
Not that I entirely enjoyed this sailing experience, but I didn't mind it as much as scratching a chalk board so it was all right.
Therefore i was not overly disappointed when we reached the end of our journey and were let out onto dry land again.
I, am not a Sailor. Never have I been a Sailor and never shall I become one.
I am, what you would call, or you wouldn't call, depends on your view point, a Cello player.
I have never told you that, for the simple reason that I am quite bashful about it, and do not wish to make it exceeding public.
Now, be truthful, have you ever thought cellos were the worst instrument in the world?
Of course you have. For the simple reason that it is the truth.
Please, do not tell you're friends and acquaintances and other things that I am a Cello player. I wish to keep a decent reputation.
One day, I was standing on the dock with my Cello and playing an abhorrent tune, (jingle bells,) When I sailor came striding up to me, and with his mighty hand swept my poor Cello into the ocean.
"For shame!" I said, and he said, "for shame my foot! That confounded thing had to be stopped once and for all." He stopped, and grabbed me by my shirt collar, "and let me tell you this one last thing," He growled, "If you dare get anther one of those horrid creatures again I won't be throwing it in the ocean, but rather you!" He dropped me onto the dock again and ran away.
I have never touched a Cello since then.
Now you see, why I don't like sailors, nor sailing, nor anything having to do with boats and water combined.
The End
Narration of Something by B.D.T aka Lucy
With all energy and force developed over the past, Harlan lifted the Boulder and threw it at Ji Wildwater.
Ji dropped to his knees when the rock crashed against his skull.
His knees weren't good enough, so he fell onto his back, and lay there quite lifeless looking and rather limp. I waited patiently for Harlan to run over and see if he was dead, but when the man turned and walked away with his nose in the air, I decided that even though I was the narrator, I couldn't just let Ji lay there half dead. So I came out from behind a rock, and felt for a pulse, finding none i realized that one does not feel for a pulse on one's elbow, so I checked his wrist.
There was one, beating slowly and methodically in the limp arm.
Getting out my handy flip phone, I called 911 to tell them of my discovery. They said they'd be right there, who ever they were, and sure enough in less then ten minutes a big beater of a van came gulumphing over hill and dale to where I was.
They took from the back of the van a stretcher, and put Ji on it.
They drove away, and I went back behind my rock. It didn't take long for me to realize the action wasn't here anymore, but had moved. In order to find it, I came out from behind my rock and followed Harlan's footprints in the soft mud.
I followed, and followed, and some more, for at least an hour and a half, before I came upon something, or rather nothing. The footprints were going along steadily, and suddenly they weren't.
They disappeared, to be precise, they vanished. I looked about, and finding nothing, sat down where the footprints ended.
No sooner had I sat, the ground shook beneath me and I found that there was no longer ground beneath me but a floor, and I discovered that what I had sat upon was a trap door.
Getting up, I looked about me.
There was a wall, and three others just the same. There was a bed, and a bag of jerky. Also, there was a door, and voices.
Howbiet the voices were in the other room, so I peered through the door and witnessed such a scene:
Harlan walked about the room, fussing over his appearance in a looking glass and speaking in a quiet voice, "I was sure he was dead Greent, he didn't move." Greent, I suppose his name was, shoved back his chair and leaned his feet on the table, (There was a table in the room you see.) His chair tipped, and he landed flat on his back. Not seeming to find any reason to get up he said "Harlan, you must check for a pulse! And of there is none, we must bury him for pity's sake!"
Harlan was obviously inexperience at such a task, for he fretted some more, and then when Greent said "Go now." He turned to the door where I was standing! I was rather bewildered as to what to do, but managed to find a dark hollow in which to hide, and did so. Harlan passed by, and climbed out the trap door. I breathed easier again, but then didn't, for suddenly he fell back down the trap screaming and running into Greene's room he said "someone is in here! The there's footprints coming in and none out! "
I groaned in spite of myself, and of course they found me then, poking and prodding, and asking questions they tied me up.
"What are you doing here?" Greent asked.
"Being tied up." I mourned.
"Why are you being tied up in here?" He was annoyed.
"Because your tying me up."
"Why are you in here?" He was seriously aggravated.
"Because I'm not out, why else?"
"What's your name?"
"What does that matter? "
I received a sharp kick in the ribs.
"Ouch." I said.
"Tell us your name and everything about yourself."
"I am the narrator."
"And?"
"I'm narrating."
"It doesn't look that way."
"Well I was, until you ruined everything."
"This man is daft," Said Greent, "take him out and untie him Harlan, he can't do us any harm."
Harlan did so, and walked with me back to where Ji had been bouldered.
"Where is he?" He asked me, amused.
"A van came and loaded him up."
"Was he alive?"
"His pulse was."
"Where'd they take him?"
"Away."
Harlan groaned. "Well come on, let's go back."
"No, I have to go finish narrating."
"Oh."
He left. Then I walked to town, following the vans tracks, and found Ji, and also found he wasn't dead, and neither was his pulse, and he was in the hospital.
Then I went to the police station, and said I had found Greent and Harlan, who had been wanted for three years now, an they went and arrested them and I went home, to bed, and slept, because I was tired. Being a narrator is hard work.
The Ending
When An Agreement Turns Bad.
By Bartholomew Desedarious Trebol aka Lucy.
Mr Jones and Mr Smith had had an agreement. Which, over time, had evolved into a disagreement. And slowly, after a while, it became a feud.
The feud became a war, and the war became an atomic bomb, and the atomic bomb became desolation, and desolation became poverty, and poverty became death, and death became worse, and worse slowly turned to better, and eventually things were back normal.
Of course, Mr Jones and Mr Smith had died long before all this came about, but no doubt they had great grand children.
And it was on this pleasent day in August, when the orange and red leaves covered the sidewalks and tossed gently in the playful wind, that a certain one of Mr Jones's great grandsons was walking along the sidewalk going north, and a certain one of Mr smith's great granddaughters was walking on that very same sidewalk going south, and they were both looking down at the colorful leaves when there was a sudden kerpop bang boom.
Well of course you know what happened next, at least for a while.
Mr smith's great granddaughter dropped all her precious belongings, which for some reason she had been carrying, and Mr Jones's great grandson, noticing her wonderful orange eyes, which looked so much more wonderful then the leaves on the sidewalk, began hurriedly picking up her papers and books and stuffing them into his jacket.
"Excuse me!" Exclaimed the horrified Mr smith's great granddaughter, who's name was Trudy Zilpah Smith, "what on earth are you doing with my books and papers and things?"
"Stealing them!" Confided Mr smith's great grandson firmly, (his name was Wordell Jamison Jones, by the way.)
"Well I don't think you know who I am eh!" Screamed Trudy, who was getting very angry since Wordell hadn't stopped putting all her books and papers and things into his jacket.
"Oh?" Said Wordell, "Who are you?"
"I am Trudy Smith! Did you hear that? Truuudy Smithhh!" She said.
"Who cares about any old Trudy smith?" Scoffed Wordell, starting to stuff all her books and papers and things into his bag.
"You are missing, the point." Said Trudy rolling her orange eyes, "I suppose you know who the judge is in this town, don't you?"
"Perhaps."
"Uh huh, Malcom Smith, I'm his daughter!!"
Wordell got up, dusted off his knees, and scowled, "I suppose you don't know who I am either, I am Wordell Jones."
"So what?" Belowed Trudy, "So what you Wordell Jones??"
"I GUESS YOU DON'T KNOW WHO THE MAYOR OF THIS TOWN IS EHHH???" screeched Wordell, "HE'S CLARENCE JONES!! I'M HIS SON!!!"
There was a silence, and then another, after which nobody spoke for a long time.
Then Trudy said, "Well, I guess we're even eh, except for the fact that you still have my books and papers and things."
"That I do," Said Wordell, for the first time realizing what lovely eyebrows Trudy had.
Without thinking, he handed all her books and papers and things back to her.
Trudy excepted, a slight bit contemptuously, but realized in a second that Wordell had such shiny teeth, such wonderful shiny teeth.
"Wordell," She said slowly, "Wordell I'm going on a walk, would you like to come with?"
Wordell said he would, and so they walked off into the sunset.
BUT! That was not the end of the story!
Neither was it the finish, so i will continue.
Trudy suddenly remembered the war that Mr Smith and Mr Jones had started, and the poverty they complaced (which is the wrong word) upon so many people.
And a sudden thought struck her mind.
'Ouch.' She thought.
She wondered, if perhaps, if mayhap, her and Wordell came upon an agreement, like marriage, that mebbe it would end in the same way.
She took from her pocket a battle ax, and swung it around her head five times before bringing it down squarely upon Wordell's poor head.
She ran away then, and went back home.
Wordell woke, since he had not been completely dead, and staggered home too.
But when his mother realized who had given him such a knock, she and Trudy's mother began to fight.
And the fighting went on until the whole neighbourhood was involved, and then a couple years more until the whole Country was involved, and then there came a bomb, and a bang, and a large explosion which caused utmost poverty and pestilence and things like that.
Most of Trudy's family died, and most of Wordell's.
Half of the whole country died.
It was a sad fate.
Eventually, seeing life could get no worse, Wordell and Trudy got married, and lived most happily ever after until they began anther war, but that's another story, a horrible one, so I won't tell it.
The End
By Bartholomew Desedarious Trebol aka Lucy Hamm .
This is a story about a John. A simple John, a normal John, a John with a blonde buzcut head and grey t shirt with yellow armpits.
You see them all the time, but you don't notice them.
There are plenty of Johns everywhere and nobody thinks to realize it.
This morning, I went to the store for groceries, though I don't often go in the morning this was an exception since I was hosting a birthday party in the afternoon and needed the determined ingredients for the dinner.
Well I got to the store, and the automatic doors flung themselves open in a wild hullo and I was ushered inside by scores of mothers and children.
I thought, to myself, that I looked quite out of place.
That was only until I saw John.
There he was, in the Craft Dinner And Other Peculiarities section holding a box of noodle soup packages in one hand and a couple cans of tomato soup in the other.
He wore a dark blue t shirt with yellow armpits, which is an upgrade from grey, and a dirt streaked pink ball cap.
He had on sneakers, and was wearing torn baggy jeans.
To make sure his name was John, a whispered slightly under my breath 'John...', and immediately he was looking me straight in the eye with an expressionless gaze.
That's the thing about Johns, they will not hesitate to look at your eyes, even if you have awfully ugly eyes, they will look at them.
I hadn't planned what I would do if his name was John, so I looked kinda bashfully at the ground and shuffled my feet, hoping he would leave, but then he said in a low John like voice "What."
"Um." I said, "Um Hullo John, it's been a while hasn't it? You remember me, don't you? It's David, from first grade!"
He gave me a blank stare, and I knew he hadn't gone to first grade with any David's, so I changed it.
"I mean..Aaron.." still blank, "or was it Frankie..? ..Blake?"
"Blake!" Exclaimed John excitedly, "why you haven't changed a bit!"
I thought I had changed quite a bit, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt and said, "why thank you John, I can't say you've changed much either.."
For I really didn't know , and I don't think Johns ever change, appearance or clothes.
John dropped a can of tomato soup, and as he stooped to pick it up, I ran.
I ran out of that store, away from John, and Dimitri, and Fritswillie, and anyone else.
I went to the neighbouring town for my ingredients, and ignored any possible Johns as hard as I could.
The End
By Bartholomew Desedarious Trebol aka Lucy.
The man at my doorstep twirled on his big toe presenting me with the product in his hand.
"This air heating tracker blacker hot air balloon Kickstarter is made entirely for you, free of charge if you'll only pay the hundred dollars you owe me for bothering you. Look at it, in pristine condition, without spot nor blemish!" He paused to catch his breath and went on again. "You would never regret getting this, not only does it track where you go so the government can find you....for the only reason that you may get lost of course...but it also provides free shipping of yourself to any place you want!"
He looked at me, expecting something.
He still stood on his big toe with his hand outstretching towards me and the air heating tracker blacker hot air balloon Kickstarter below my nose.
I reached out, my hands trembled, and then I snatched it from his grasp and slammed the door. I started it up, packed my lunch, and before i knew what was happening I rose high above the roof of my house and into the clouds.
(How I got through the roof of my house is another story.)
I was free, I could travel the world. I could scurry hither and thither about the earth in every which direction until I became bored, and then I just had to fly home.
And it had cost me nothing.
As I flew over the north Atlantic border, I thought struck me. A horrid thought. One that made my bones shiver inside my flesh and rattle together as though they had been struck by a terrible earthquake.
The thought which had struck me in such a matter, was triggered by the sounds of approaching aircraft.
I looked up past my big red balloon, and watched as five army jets soared around me. I looked down into the African jungle, and back at the planes.
They had begun to open fire.
A missile launched past me, whilst another ripped my balloon so as it popped, and before I could blink a toe nail I was in the deep underbrush of the African jungle.
"Huh." I thought, "That's funny, I wonder how I got here."
The air-planes seemed bomfoozled at my disappearing, and circled the area for quite some time. But soon enough the caught my scent, and three extra men were lowered into the jungle on strings until they reached the very spot I sat.
"Hello." I said.
"Well hello," Said one of the men, the one with red whiskers and a choppy hair cut, "was wondering ifin you have seen a balloon. "
I sat back on the rock, and whistled low, "once," I said, "at a parade at my grandmother's house," I paused to force tears through my eyes, "she's dead now, died on a balloon ride. Got shot down, died right here in this jungle I suppose, or the Atlantic."
I closed my eyes, pretending to envision my grandmother dying in the wilderness, or floundering under the balloon tarp which had been shot down upon her until she died.
It was almost a sad thought and I felt it was getting easier to cry.
The men left me in piece, and I slowly dozed off under the tree.
When I woke up, the salesman was still talking, and I still rocking in my rocking chair on the porch.
"This product, is made of all natural..things," He went on, "and your still not going to buy it?"
"Nope." I said, and so he left me alone.
Though some times, I wish that I could take a balloon ride to the African jungle, or the Atlantic.
But then I remember my grandmother, and my close call, and forget the whole shamozzle.
The End
By Bartholomew Desedarious Trebol aka Lucy.
There was silence, in which no one spoke.
Then suddenly, the latter, who by way of name is called Lurvy, moved his Adams apple up, and down his neck, and then spoke as if his voice box had just been taken out of his great grandmother's attic.
Dust blew from his dry mouth, and hovered in front of his noise for a second.
Then his voice creaked, and swayed, and with a mighty squawk was set right, and words came from betwixt his thin white lips, saying:
"Really."
With that he turned, and left the dreary room, and went to his office.
I was left alone with Champlain Hilmoore, and Mrs Hilmoore.
My heart sank, further then it ever has sunk before, it tickled my kidneys and I groaned beneath the weight of intolerance.
Champlain turned his gaze slowly from the door where Lurvy had disappeared and stared headlong at me.
Mrs Hilmoore did the same.
When the two of them and looked me up and down head to toe at least thirty times, Mrs Hilmoore closed her eyes and shuttered.
"Oh Champlain, look at those knees!" She uttered somehow through tightly closed lips.
"I was noticing the ears,aren't they huge?"
"Deary me I didn't even notice!"
"His eyes are a little off color too, aren't they?"
"Yes, I think they were intended to be blue, but they really are strange looking Champlain."
"And his nose!" Champlain covered his mouth to hide a chuckle, not succeeding on purpose.
Mrs Hilmoore opened her eyes again, and roared with laughter.
While all this was going on, I stood facing the parrot cage and pretending not to hear, secretly trying to blink away tears of remorse.
Why had I ever come here in the first place?
"His stomach sticks out a little, and the rest of him is thin," Mused Mrs Hilmoore.
The floor creaked as Champlain come a little closer to inspect me.
"Indeed!" He laughed, "and my those eyebrows are tremendous!"
The two of them giggled together for a second, but they stopped for suddenly there was a knock on the door and the mail man stepped in,
"I have a letter here for Mrs Hilmoore, from .."
I didn't hear anymore, for at that moment I was dodging Mr and Mrs Hilmoore and dashing between the mail man's legs to struggle out to the free world.
In a second i was out, running down main street back to my house, leaving the mail man to his doom.
The End
By Sunday And Roberta (Lucy)
It all started a long time ago. You might have figured that out already but I just thought I might clarify. So when it started, which was a long time ago, as I said once before, there was a person and three others.
Their names were Louanne Winifred, Tabithamarie Georgiana,
and Suzykay Eliasarah. You might have guessed, they were triplets. And they lived mostly happily ever after until one day, Louanne and Georgiana were out walking while Suzykay was making supper and some how,they died. And it took poor Suzykay three days of hard searching till she finally found them. Then she went through all the bother of making coffins and then the fluster of digging graves, she was all annoyed about it and when she had finally buried them and went back inside to finish making supper, she saw that the soup had boiled over and made a nasty mess on the floor, and the rest of the food was burnt to a crisp,
"bother." She said in her most flustered voice.
Now she had nothing to eat and so she went to town. And there, in the midst of crowds of people, she saw an extremely short man, and let's just say, it was love at first sight for Suzykay, But for the very short man, it wasn't. In fact, when he saw her he thought, "my my, isn't that the weirdest person I ever did see."
But, she figured out what his name was and figured out somehow what his phone number was, and called him on the phone. "Hullo," He said when she first called him, and when she said, "do you want to come for supper at my house?" He said, "Dear dear, but alas I am very busy now." But finally she made him believe that she was a very good cook and she told him she was making cherry pies, ..well, you might have expected It but in a few minutes there he was in the kitchen eating cherry pies while talking extaticly to Suzykay. This, however made a large mess as you might imagine. Imagine it, jabbering two miles a minute while eating cherry pies!! Anyways, after he finished his pies he made some more valid vocalizations, " My dearest Suzykay, will you meet me and my brother to go fishing next week on Tuesday?"
"Yes!" She shouted. But then she pondered for a second and then questioned in her most awkward way, " Does that mean you want to further this relationship?"
"Uh, nooooo." he squeaked hesitantly, "It means nothing of that sort at all I just need someone to make my brother and I a lunch as my wife is on holidays right now."
Well you might be able to imagine the dismay of poor Suzykay to know the shorty or whatever his name is was already married. All she was able to utter was, "Oh." So she did, and it was a very lame utterance indeed.
" So it's all settled than?" Shorty smiled up at her in a very winning way. (Actually his name was Timothy. )"You meet my brother and I at the bridge the goes over Washawashy river and be sure to bring a lot of cherry pies as those are my favourite."
With those last instructions Timothy was gone. Gone like a flash. A flash of lightening kinda. Suzykay was bitterly disappointed, in fact you could say her heart was very squashed. Of course she wasn't about to bring him his cherry pies, not after the way he lead her on like that! Such an unfeeling man! With those thoughts of morbidity she took a flying leap and landed in her bed where she promptly cried herself to sleep.
The next few days were quite hard because she had a tussle with her conscience. Her conscience had to kindly bring up the undesirable thought that she had agreed to meet Timothy before she thought twice! Her and her conscience struggled and fought, they threw blows and pinched, the pulled hair and scratched. However, much to her dismay, Suzykay's conscience won. So she made two huge cherry pies of the very nicest sort, and 12 ham and cheese sandwiches. Then on Tuesday morning she got up, packed her picnic basket, and promptly with much delay headed out towards the Washawashy river. She walked as slowly as possible but unfortunately she still got closer to the bridge.
As she got closer she started hoping for a flash flood which would swipe Timothy out and away forever into the ocean. But suddenly, she saw the bridge. She felt as though she would crawl into a hole even if it was a mouse hole and she couldn't possibly fit. As she got closer, she could make out two very short figures standing on the bridge. And as she got even closer she almost gasped, for there on the bridge there was a Timothy AND!!!!! Frederick, his brother, who looked exactly like Timothy, but he didn't have a ring on his finger. As you might have expected, she fell head over heals in utmost love. And the next day they got married, with Timothy as the groomsman and his wife as the cake maker. And they lived happily ever after and had many children and many grandchildren and great grandchildren, whom Suzykay told all her love story. And they all laughed. Even me, who is her great great grand-daughter.
The End