28 April 2008

Fantasy Novel, Part 1

Posted by Greig under: Humour; book reviews .

This story is meant to both entertain and educate. Don’t get mad at me - I’m not the author But if you have suggestions for plot development I’d be happy to pass them on.

…………………. Part 1 ……………………………

In a land before geology, when thoughts were frowned upon, the light shone down through some fucking sweet tree-tops. In the soft moss a wood nymph and his idiot friends were frolicking. Where they came from nobody knew, but nobody asked either. No, asking was not permitted at all in this place - not permitted by fear of death. Nobody knew why they feared asking questions so much because nobody asked. If they had, they would have found their fear was completely unfounded - such idiots they were.

The wood nymphs spent morning to night frolicking and dancing and sprinkling pixie dust on each other. The pixie dust came from a land far-off, beyond the horizon, and it was like crack to them. They took long sniffs of the pixie dust and accused each other of stealing things.

Not all wood nymphs were the same. Some wore pink overalls and some wore smocks all the colors of the rainbow. Those nymphs in the smocks did not usually frolic with those in the overalls and, in fact, they were often quite hostile to one another. Now and then, in the peace and calm of the fucking wicked foresty floor a tiny shout could be heard. If one listened closely they may hear a wood nymph in the pink overalls yell, “You bitch-ass fucking smock-loving shitpoo! Yeah, you in the smock! I saw you steal that bag of pixie dust!”

Pixie dust was a source of problems for the wood nymphs and caused much strife and hurt in their otherwise magically stupid little kingdom. One red-smocked young wood nymph named Mush, after waking up in his waterbed of early morning dew and discovering it polluted with his own vomit, vowed to never use pixie dust again. Deep down in his small little heart, however, he knew that later that day in the heat of the afternoon sun, the annoying frolicking would take its toll and he would give in to the temptation of the dust. He tried to make himself believe that before dusk he would not be accusing anyone within earshot of stealing a variety of things, many things he fully knew he had never owned in the first place, but the effort seemed futile.

“I wish somebody would just kill me,” he sighed.

In the lush green early morning glow, Mush prepared for his day. He rolled off his leaf and slid down the side of the slippery sapling, the place he liked to call home (though so did many other accusatory wood nymphs). He went to his kitchen, shaded by the umbrella top of a mushroom and sat at his pebble table.

“Computer, activate coffee pot,” he commanded.

…………………. to be continued