In which our young heroes, Cedric and Teddy, find themselves lost in the Giant Mushroom Forest.
The sun had long sunk below the shroom line that hid the true horizon and the Bugling Lemurs had begun their eery lullabye. The friendly critters that could have been seen rummaging for nuts and spores during the day had wisely retired to their mushroom huts awaiting the reemergance of the NearStar.
Cedric woke from his peaceful nap and rubbed his eyes. He look around, alarmed. He quickly flicked on Teddy's switch and impatiently awaited his cognition to return. "Teddy, oh dear, Teddy! We've slept too long." Cedric cried in his endearing accent. "Supper has surely been served. Mother will be so worried." Teddy responded in his strangely human voice, "Do calm down Cedric. We'll simply retrace our steps and be out of this dreadful wood." "That's just it Teddy. I don't remember from which direction we came from." Teddy quickly surveyed their perimeter and admitted that even he could not recall whence they had come. "Quite a tangle we've managed to get ourselves into, eh, Master Cedric." He let out a programmed laugh for the purpose of raising morale his young comrade. "I propose we begin walking in that direction, theirs no use in just sitting here waiting for the Blood ants to find us." "Don't be silly Teddy. Blood ants don't really exist...do they?" Teddy frowned, "Let's begin, shall we."
The two friends walked on bravely, hoping that the path they had chosen would lead them back to the Purple River, which was very near the home of Cedric's father.
The path was dark and frightening, for all the pair had to illuminate their way was the small amount of light Teddy was able to generate from his circuitry. As they trotted along they began to sing their favorite songs in order to keep the bad creatures away.
"Babies are small. Babies bore.
Hurrah! We're not babies no more.
Kick the can, slap the hand
Spit on girls, pull their curls
Kiss a toad, a warty toad
Hurrah, hurrah, hurray!"
Suddenly behind a particularly large mushroom stump, Cedric spied two eyes. "Who goes their?" Cedric shouted, suprised at his own bravery. "I say, come out from their, lest we get angry." From the darkness stepped they strangest, most pitful creature they had ever seen.
To be continued.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Another Stranger
The soft chair encapsulated our hero's geometric shape to a "T". Quiet, overplayed songs resonated under the threshold of the coffee shop patrons as I sat reading Camus.
He - our hero - wore his dark hair short with every portion in its desired place and rectangular, dark-rimmed glasses, the perfect accent added to his rigidly angled features.
The book he sat reading was one I had never heard of. It was worn around its grey, cloth-bound edges. Our hero's intent, expressionless gaze never escaped its pages. And as is obvious from my description, Camus wasn't enough to hold my attention - at least, not how our hero's was held.
I studied him for some time - from his motionless black shoes to his set jaw. That is, until another creature became the object of my interest.
This loosely dressed, long-haired male swaggered through the glass doors and took a seat three chairs to the left of our hero. I only had to move my eyes above my book to view both figures.
The sloppy one tossed a bare foot over the arm of his leather chair and pulled a paperback out of his cloth sling-bag.
His eyes passed through every possible angle in the room and his fidgety body shifted every several moments until finally, the book he had chosen grabbed his bright stare. He let out a chuckle. Several of the urban regulars at the front bar looked over their shoulders but continued their conversations - our defiant hero did not budge.
The long-hair started to read his book aloud and I began to hate him: others were obviously annoyed. No-one spoke anything to the stranger as he continued reading his ridiculous book - "the cushion of energy and the sense of smell...colored forearms and feelings of absence..." He continued, growing louder.
Despite the incessant rambling of the stranger, the entire shop had turned snowy quiet.
In an instant everything changed. Our hero, without moving his eyes from his pages calculatedly moved his left hand into his black, leather briefcase and removed it grasping a small, black gun.
He swept the piece through the air where his line of sight met it - aimed confidently at the stranger's temple.
Our hero squeezed the trigger with the same intentional concentration he had given his book.
The stranger's voice was quieted and the only sources of noise present in the small cafe were the involuntary twitching of the stranger's legs on the stained carpet floor and the latch of the door, where our hero had made his exit.
Fade into applause.
He - our hero - wore his dark hair short with every portion in its desired place and rectangular, dark-rimmed glasses, the perfect accent added to his rigidly angled features.
The book he sat reading was one I had never heard of. It was worn around its grey, cloth-bound edges. Our hero's intent, expressionless gaze never escaped its pages. And as is obvious from my description, Camus wasn't enough to hold my attention - at least, not how our hero's was held.
I studied him for some time - from his motionless black shoes to his set jaw. That is, until another creature became the object of my interest.
This loosely dressed, long-haired male swaggered through the glass doors and took a seat three chairs to the left of our hero. I only had to move my eyes above my book to view both figures.
The sloppy one tossed a bare foot over the arm of his leather chair and pulled a paperback out of his cloth sling-bag.
His eyes passed through every possible angle in the room and his fidgety body shifted every several moments until finally, the book he had chosen grabbed his bright stare. He let out a chuckle. Several of the urban regulars at the front bar looked over their shoulders but continued their conversations - our defiant hero did not budge.
The long-hair started to read his book aloud and I began to hate him: others were obviously annoyed. No-one spoke anything to the stranger as he continued reading his ridiculous book - "the cushion of energy and the sense of smell...colored forearms and feelings of absence..." He continued, growing louder.
Despite the incessant rambling of the stranger, the entire shop had turned snowy quiet.
In an instant everything changed. Our hero, without moving his eyes from his pages calculatedly moved his left hand into his black, leather briefcase and removed it grasping a small, black gun.
He swept the piece through the air where his line of sight met it - aimed confidently at the stranger's temple.
Our hero squeezed the trigger with the same intentional concentration he had given his book.
The stranger's voice was quieted and the only sources of noise present in the small cafe were the involuntary twitching of the stranger's legs on the stained carpet floor and the latch of the door, where our hero had made his exit.
Fade into applause.
I'm sorry I pushed you off the couch...
...onto the carpeted floor.
I want you to know I regretted the action immediately
and my heart was angry at my head for being so thoughtless.
It was nice waking up with you in my arms,
but it was hot.
JK
I want you to know I regretted the action immediately
and my heart was angry at my head for being so thoughtless.
It was nice waking up with you in my arms,
but it was hot.
JK
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