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I'm doing this because I'm bored, and I'll probably write a bit in it every day. It's just a crappy story, nothing that'll be turned into an award winning film, nothing that will shock critics everywhere, it's simply entertainment. Some may say that makes it better than anything. Some may say "oh God, not another Fog Story... I know I'm not going to understand this..."
All in all, this is what I like to call fun. You're welcome to write in the story, you can mess around with the plot as you like, but nothing too bad please... [And then a big rock came down and killed everyone]. You're welcome to add yourself in as a character, but make sure you're that... a character. Stories tend to go downhill where there are about twenty character in them, but they're all pretty much the same.
Ground rules... err... keep characters in character, write in paragraphs, and for God's sake try to make it funny. Or at least entertaining.
Veteran Fog Story people, it'd be nice to see you writing, but that's down to you. I've got nothing better to do at the moment, so here we go.
Thanks for reading, thanks if you write, and um, well, generally, just thanks.
--------------
Perfection is something that apparently cannot exist. It is said that there cannot be a single perfect thing, that every other thing can see as perfect.
FantasyMeister, however, considers this to be nonsense. Mainly because FantasyMeister considers himself to be perfect.
While the steam engine of the train struggled as it began to pull itself up the hill, FM began to think about how life would be if he wasn't perfect. Of course, FM understands and comprehends this perfectly, even though he has never actually experienced imperfection.
The red seats, dirty and ripped, comforted FM's buttocks in the small four seater cabin of the train, while a preacher sat on the seat facing him.
But, as FM had predicted perfectly, his cigarette smoke had forced the preacher to kindly stand up, retrieve his bible, and move to a different cabin.
Making sure that he was alone, FM perfectly reopened the envelope, removed the telegram, opened it, and read through it one more time. He could of course, recite the entire telegram perfectly from his memory, but he felt like reading it anyway.
'Hi Charlie. Stop. I think we've found a question. Stop. You aren't here yet. Stop. er-no wants the moon back. Stop.'
It was from Rastabillyskank. The last anyone, apart from er-no of course, had heard from Rasta, was 'I don't care about your singing bloody mushrooms, all I want are the stars in a jar and you can't even do THAT. Get out of my spleen.'
He's lived with er-no in a brick-treehouse for the last seven years. Strangely, FM hadn't aged a day since he last saw him, but FM knew better than to take notice of things that weren't that important.
It all started when er-no started talking to Leon a lot more than he did to anyone else. In fact, it came to the point where you couldn't communicate with er-no at all, and if you wanted to know how he was, you had to talk to Leon about him. And perhaps that doesn't seem too bad, until you realise that Leon is in fact the voice inside Grix's head.
Some say he's more than a voice, others would have you know that he does in fact exist, and lives as a seperate entity to Grix. Others would say that Leon was just the foul mouthed side of Grix that he doesn't like to admit is there. It is, however, generally agreed though, that Leon looks a lot like a sheep in a blue dinner jacket. It's also argued that, if Leon is simply a voice in Grix's head, why is he able to inflict pain with baseball bats so effectively? And why does he cast a shadow?
Rastabillyskank had always been completely insane. There wasn't a lot of times where he truly knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, or in fact, who he was. But somehow he always managed to help, in one way or another.
Eventually, er-no found a tree, and started building a house in it. He refused to speak to anyone, except for randomly shouting every now and again about nothing in particular. For some reason, Rasta found this interesting, and helped er-no to build his house. FM wondered what they did at night. It wouldn't surprise him if they threw stones at trees to decide who would get the bed for the night. He knew, later on, he'd be unsurprised to find out he was right. It should be said, however, that FM would be equally unsurprised to find out he was wrong, because after all, perhaps he knew he would be wrong all along and was just trying to fool himself that he was right to make life more exciting. Fantasymeister was utterly perfect.
It was an interesting note, that er-no and Rasta started communicating in a way that nobody could really understand, but made perfect sense to the both of them. er-no shouting 'HUMANITY, IT'S ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I DON'T WANT TO TASTE IT ANY MORE!' would result in Rasta getting on his bike and going down the town to buy two tubes of toothpaste and an umbrella, which would immedietely calm er-no down.
FM wondered about what the telegram might be about. He however, didn't worry for a second that him not knowing what it was about could possibly mean he wasn't perfect. FM knew he was perfect. Nothing he did would ever make a difference to that point.
FM pulled up the window... dust would begin to seep inside the cabin if he didn't shut it now. And besides, it was noisy, and if anyone came into the cabin, and noticed FM fast asleep while there was so much noise, they may also notice how perfect he was, and try to kill him because he would be a threat to them.
Obviously they'd fail, but it just saved the hassle.
Perfectly resealing the envelope with the telegram back inside, FM lay perfectly across the red seats of the cabin.
-------
"You can take your God, and you can shove her up your a**e."
"Sir... I just want to sit down."
"Fook right off. God is a big black woman that sings soul and she doesn't apprieciate you going around dressed like a mong. Go find your herd."
"Good day to you sir, I'll go see if the next cabin is free."
Sheepy glared at the preacher until he moved out of the cabin and left him alone.
Sheepy had... came to certain difficulties. And for reasons... yes, reasons, he had to be as far away from the opposite direction in which he was travelling as possible.
He knew that er-no and Rasta lived in a treehouse. He also knew er-no and Rasta probably wouldn't kill him in his sleep, so logically, it seemed like a good place to go until everything calmed down.
Anyway, they were both completely insane. They was good company.
----------
The preacher walked into the next cabin, to find darkness. He crept in, cautiously... and within a second or two was dragged inside, and pushed against a wall.
"Have you got any?" Was whispered into his face.
"...I'm sorry?" The preacher whispered back, shaking like a leaf.
"HAVE... you... GOT ANY."
"Any... what...?"
"I want some."
"I..."
"I WANT SOME. HAVE YOU GOT ANY?"
The preacher had never heard anyone shout and whisper at the same time before.
"I... I'd happily give you what ever you wanted if only you could tell me what it is you want."
"You KNOW... know... know what I want. You all know. But you won't let me have it."
The preacher felt hands rustle around his body... they felt into his pockets, and withdrew a small bar of Galaxy.
"This will do... this WILL do... for now... I don't advise you being here. Don't be here. You're still here. Good."
Tearing the paper away from the chocolate, Ant took out a lighter, and held the bar over the lit flame... the chocolate began to melt and drip, and Ant let the drips trickle down onto his tongue.
It wasn't pure though... he needed the pure stuff. Pure... crisp, and white... he chewed his lip as he imagined pouring the sugar down onto the glass table, then licking it alllll up...
But why... WHY... what did he do? The bag had just ran off... it wasn't as if he had mistreated it... he always stroked it and comforted it and raised it like his own child... and then it RUNS OFF and leaves him all alone.
Ant couldn't recall exactly how the enchanted and otherwise endless bag of sugar had managed to come into his ownership to begin with. But it was there. And there began his habit...
Who would have known that the little swine would have just ran off like that. Ant thought the legs and arms were just for novelty.
But he knew he'd get it back. He'd travel the world searching for it. He knew it couldn't keep running.
But Ant was struggling. He needed the sugar. And without an endless supply... he didn't know what to do with himself.
It seemed like a good idea at the time to go and visit er-no and Rasta. he couldn't think of a good reason right now, but he was trusting that he did in fact have a good reason when he got on the train, so was just playing along for the time being.
Ant licked the molten chocolate from his fingers, and turned off the lighter.
--------------
"It's not... no. Yes, although... let's use the cups."
People who are truly insane don't actually realise it.
However, er-no and Rasta do understand that people have a lot of trouble understanding them. They understand that people just can't really get a grip on what they mean, so they're spending a lot of time trying to prepare a way of explaining what they need to tell FantasyMeister when he arrives.
They mean well, but they haven't a chance really.
"The chicken should be alive, you realise. We can test it with the alive chicken and if that doesn't work, we can just kill it and try that way."
"Shouldn't we use the egg first?"
"No, chicken first."
"Egg."
"Chicken."
"Should we fry the egg?"
"No, cook the chicken first."
"Now?"
"No, later."
"Have you named the chicken yet?"
"I've named it Nipple, because of the incident."
"Cunning."
It can't be denied that combinded, Rasta and er-no have the largest intellectual power in the universe. However, it can't actually be proven either, because nobody understands them.
"If I drink this now, it'll make that work later."
er-no yelled, and cursed. "The cat won't sit still! Stupid thing."
"Nail it to the table."
"It won't move at all then, though."
"Good point."
FantasyMeister would probably arrive tomorrow... they both weren't sure if they could get their device working in time to explain things to him. They weren't even sure if anyone was going to understand the complexity of this task. In fact, they weren't sure even if it would work at all.
But it was the only shot they had left.
All in all, this is what I like to call fun. You're welcome to write in the story, you can mess around with the plot as you like, but nothing too bad please... [And then a big rock came down and killed everyone]. You're welcome to add yourself in as a character, but make sure you're that... a character. Stories tend to go downhill where there are about twenty character in them, but they're all pretty much the same.
Ground rules... err... keep characters in character, write in paragraphs, and for God's sake try to make it funny. Or at least entertaining.
Veteran Fog Story people, it'd be nice to see you writing, but that's down to you. I've got nothing better to do at the moment, so here we go.
Thanks for reading, thanks if you write, and um, well, generally, just thanks.
--------------
Perfection is something that apparently cannot exist. It is said that there cannot be a single perfect thing, that every other thing can see as perfect.
FantasyMeister, however, considers this to be nonsense. Mainly because FantasyMeister considers himself to be perfect.
While the steam engine of the train struggled as it began to pull itself up the hill, FM began to think about how life would be if he wasn't perfect. Of course, FM understands and comprehends this perfectly, even though he has never actually experienced imperfection.
The red seats, dirty and ripped, comforted FM's buttocks in the small four seater cabin of the train, while a preacher sat on the seat facing him.
But, as FM had predicted perfectly, his cigarette smoke had forced the preacher to kindly stand up, retrieve his bible, and move to a different cabin.
Making sure that he was alone, FM perfectly reopened the envelope, removed the telegram, opened it, and read through it one more time. He could of course, recite the entire telegram perfectly from his memory, but he felt like reading it anyway.
'Hi Charlie. Stop. I think we've found a question. Stop. You aren't here yet. Stop. er-no wants the moon back. Stop.'
It was from Rastabillyskank. The last anyone, apart from er-no of course, had heard from Rasta, was 'I don't care about your singing bloody mushrooms, all I want are the stars in a jar and you can't even do THAT. Get out of my spleen.'
He's lived with er-no in a brick-treehouse for the last seven years. Strangely, FM hadn't aged a day since he last saw him, but FM knew better than to take notice of things that weren't that important.
It all started when er-no started talking to Leon a lot more than he did to anyone else. In fact, it came to the point where you couldn't communicate with er-no at all, and if you wanted to know how he was, you had to talk to Leon about him. And perhaps that doesn't seem too bad, until you realise that Leon is in fact the voice inside Grix's head.
Some say he's more than a voice, others would have you know that he does in fact exist, and lives as a seperate entity to Grix. Others would say that Leon was just the foul mouthed side of Grix that he doesn't like to admit is there. It is, however, generally agreed though, that Leon looks a lot like a sheep in a blue dinner jacket. It's also argued that, if Leon is simply a voice in Grix's head, why is he able to inflict pain with baseball bats so effectively? And why does he cast a shadow?
Rastabillyskank had always been completely insane. There wasn't a lot of times where he truly knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, or in fact, who he was. But somehow he always managed to help, in one way or another.
Eventually, er-no found a tree, and started building a house in it. He refused to speak to anyone, except for randomly shouting every now and again about nothing in particular. For some reason, Rasta found this interesting, and helped er-no to build his house. FM wondered what they did at night. It wouldn't surprise him if they threw stones at trees to decide who would get the bed for the night. He knew, later on, he'd be unsurprised to find out he was right. It should be said, however, that FM would be equally unsurprised to find out he was wrong, because after all, perhaps he knew he would be wrong all along and was just trying to fool himself that he was right to make life more exciting. Fantasymeister was utterly perfect.
It was an interesting note, that er-no and Rasta started communicating in a way that nobody could really understand, but made perfect sense to the both of them. er-no shouting 'HUMANITY, IT'S ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I DON'T WANT TO TASTE IT ANY MORE!' would result in Rasta getting on his bike and going down the town to buy two tubes of toothpaste and an umbrella, which would immedietely calm er-no down.
FM wondered about what the telegram might be about. He however, didn't worry for a second that him not knowing what it was about could possibly mean he wasn't perfect. FM knew he was perfect. Nothing he did would ever make a difference to that point.
FM pulled up the window... dust would begin to seep inside the cabin if he didn't shut it now. And besides, it was noisy, and if anyone came into the cabin, and noticed FM fast asleep while there was so much noise, they may also notice how perfect he was, and try to kill him because he would be a threat to them.
Obviously they'd fail, but it just saved the hassle.
Perfectly resealing the envelope with the telegram back inside, FM lay perfectly across the red seats of the cabin.
-------
"You can take your God, and you can shove her up your a**e."
"Sir... I just want to sit down."
"Fook right off. God is a big black woman that sings soul and she doesn't apprieciate you going around dressed like a mong. Go find your herd."
"Good day to you sir, I'll go see if the next cabin is free."
Sheepy glared at the preacher until he moved out of the cabin and left him alone.
Sheepy had... came to certain difficulties. And for reasons... yes, reasons, he had to be as far away from the opposite direction in which he was travelling as possible.
He knew that er-no and Rasta lived in a treehouse. He also knew er-no and Rasta probably wouldn't kill him in his sleep, so logically, it seemed like a good place to go until everything calmed down.
Anyway, they were both completely insane. They was good company.
----------
The preacher walked into the next cabin, to find darkness. He crept in, cautiously... and within a second or two was dragged inside, and pushed against a wall.
"Have you got any?" Was whispered into his face.
"...I'm sorry?" The preacher whispered back, shaking like a leaf.
"HAVE... you... GOT ANY."
"Any... what...?"
"I want some."
"I..."
"I WANT SOME. HAVE YOU GOT ANY?"
The preacher had never heard anyone shout and whisper at the same time before.
"I... I'd happily give you what ever you wanted if only you could tell me what it is you want."
"You KNOW... know... know what I want. You all know. But you won't let me have it."
The preacher felt hands rustle around his body... they felt into his pockets, and withdrew a small bar of Galaxy.
"This will do... this WILL do... for now... I don't advise you being here. Don't be here. You're still here. Good."
Tearing the paper away from the chocolate, Ant took out a lighter, and held the bar over the lit flame... the chocolate began to melt and drip, and Ant let the drips trickle down onto his tongue.
It wasn't pure though... he needed the pure stuff. Pure... crisp, and white... he chewed his lip as he imagined pouring the sugar down onto the glass table, then licking it alllll up...
But why... WHY... what did he do? The bag had just ran off... it wasn't as if he had mistreated it... he always stroked it and comforted it and raised it like his own child... and then it RUNS OFF and leaves him all alone.
Ant couldn't recall exactly how the enchanted and otherwise endless bag of sugar had managed to come into his ownership to begin with. But it was there. And there began his habit...
Who would have known that the little swine would have just ran off like that. Ant thought the legs and arms were just for novelty.
But he knew he'd get it back. He'd travel the world searching for it. He knew it couldn't keep running.
But Ant was struggling. He needed the sugar. And without an endless supply... he didn't know what to do with himself.
It seemed like a good idea at the time to go and visit er-no and Rasta. he couldn't think of a good reason right now, but he was trusting that he did in fact have a good reason when he got on the train, so was just playing along for the time being.
Ant licked the molten chocolate from his fingers, and turned off the lighter.
--------------
"It's not... no. Yes, although... let's use the cups."
People who are truly insane don't actually realise it.
However, er-no and Rasta do understand that people have a lot of trouble understanding them. They understand that people just can't really get a grip on what they mean, so they're spending a lot of time trying to prepare a way of explaining what they need to tell FantasyMeister when he arrives.
They mean well, but they haven't a chance really.
"The chicken should be alive, you realise. We can test it with the alive chicken and if that doesn't work, we can just kill it and try that way."
"Shouldn't we use the egg first?"
"No, chicken first."
"Egg."
"Chicken."
"Should we fry the egg?"
"No, cook the chicken first."
"Now?"
"No, later."
"Have you named the chicken yet?"
"I've named it Nipple, because of the incident."
"Cunning."
It can't be denied that combinded, Rasta and er-no have the largest intellectual power in the universe. However, it can't actually be proven either, because nobody understands them.
"If I drink this now, it'll make that work later."
er-no yelled, and cursed. "The cat won't sit still! Stupid thing."
"Nail it to the table."
"It won't move at all then, though."
"Good point."
FantasyMeister would probably arrive tomorrow... they both weren't sure if they could get their device working in time to explain things to him. They weren't even sure if anyone was going to understand the complexity of this task. In fact, they weren't sure even if it would work at all.
But it was the only shot they had left.
Page:
I'm doing this because I'm bored, and I'll probably write a bit in it every day. It's just a crappy story, nothing that'll be turned into an award winning film, nothing that will shock critics everywhere, it's simply entertainment. Some may say that makes it better than anything. Some may say "oh God, not another Fog Story... I know I'm not going to understand this..."
All in all, this is what I like to call fun. You're welcome to write in the story, you can mess around with the plot as you like, but nothing too bad please... [And then a big rock came down and killed everyone]. You're welcome to add yourself in as a character, but make sure you're that... a character. Stories tend to go downhill where there are about twenty character in them, but they're all pretty much the same.
Ground rules... err... keep characters in character, write in paragraphs, and for God's sake try to make it funny. Or at least entertaining.
Veteran Fog Story people, it'd be nice to see you writing, but that's down to you. I've got nothing better to do at the moment, so here we go.
Thanks for reading, thanks if you write, and um, well, generally, just thanks.
--------------
Perfection is something that apparently cannot exist. It is said that there cannot be a single perfect thing, that every other thing can see as perfect.
FantasyMeister, however, considers this to be nonsense. Mainly because FantasyMeister considers himself to be perfect.
While the steam engine of the train struggled as it began to pull itself up the hill, FM began to think about how life would be if he wasn't perfect. Of course, FM understands and comprehends this perfectly, even though he has never actually experienced imperfection.
The red seats, dirty and ripped, comforted FM's buttocks in the small four seater cabin of the train, while a preacher sat on the seat facing him.
But, as FM had predicted perfectly, his cigarette smoke had forced the preacher to kindly stand up, retrieve his bible, and move to a different cabin.
Making sure that he was alone, FM perfectly reopened the envelope, removed the telegram, opened it, and read through it one more time. He could of course, recite the entire telegram perfectly from his memory, but he felt like reading it anyway.
'Hi Charlie. Stop. I think we've found a question. Stop. You aren't here yet. Stop. er-no wants the moon back. Stop.'
It was from Rastabillyskank. The last anyone, apart from er-no of course, had heard from Rasta, was 'I don't care about your singing bloody mushrooms, all I want are the stars in a jar and you can't even do THAT. Get out of my spleen.'
He's lived with er-no in a brick-treehouse for the last seven years. Strangely, FM hadn't aged a day since he last saw him, but FM knew better than to take notice of things that weren't that important.
It all started when er-no started talking to Leon a lot more than he did to anyone else. In fact, it came to the point where you couldn't communicate with er-no at all, and if you wanted to know how he was, you had to talk to Leon about him. And perhaps that doesn't seem too bad, until you realise that Leon is in fact the voice inside Grix's head.
Some say he's more than a voice, others would have you know that he does in fact exist, and lives as a seperate entity to Grix. Others would say that Leon was just the foul mouthed side of Grix that he doesn't like to admit is there. It is, however, generally agreed though, that Leon looks a lot like a sheep in a blue dinner jacket. It's also argued that, if Leon is simply a voice in Grix's head, why is he able to inflict pain with baseball bats so effectively? And why does he cast a shadow?
Rastabillyskank had always been completely insane. There wasn't a lot of times where he truly knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, or in fact, who he was. But somehow he always managed to help, in one way or another.
Eventually, er-no found a tree, and started building a house in it. He refused to speak to anyone, except for randomly shouting every now and again about nothing in particular. For some reason, Rasta found this interesting, and helped er-no to build his house. FM wondered what they did at night. It wouldn't surprise him if they threw stones at trees to decide who would get the bed for the night. He knew, later on, he'd be unsurprised to find out he was right. It should be said, however, that FM would be equally unsurprised to find out he was wrong, because after all, perhaps he knew he would be wrong all along and was just trying to fool himself that he was right to make life more exciting. Fantasymeister was utterly perfect.
It was an interesting note, that er-no and Rasta started communicating in a way that nobody could really understand, but made perfect sense to the both of them. er-no shouting 'HUMANITY, IT'S ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I DON'T WANT TO TASTE IT ANY MORE!' would result in Rasta getting on his bike and going down the town to buy two tubes of toothpaste and an umbrella, which would immedietely calm er-no down.
FM wondered about what the telegram might be about. He however, didn't worry for a second that him not knowing what it was about could possibly mean he wasn't perfect. FM knew he was perfect. Nothing he did would ever make a difference to that point.
FM pulled up the window... dust would begin to seep inside the cabin if he didn't shut it now. And besides, it was noisy, and if anyone came into the cabin, and noticed FM fast asleep while there was so much noise, they may also notice how perfect he was, and try to kill him because he would be a threat to them.
Obviously they'd fail, but it just saved the hassle.
Perfectly resealing the envelope with the telegram back inside, FM lay perfectly across the red seats of the cabin.
-------
"You can take your God, and you can shove her up your a**e."
"Sir... I just want to sit down."
"Fook right off. God is a big black woman that sings soul and she doesn't apprieciate you going around dressed like a mong. Go find your herd."
"Good day to you sir, I'll go see if the next cabin is free."
Sheepy glared at the preacher until he moved out of the cabin and left him alone.
Sheepy had... came to certain difficulties. And for reasons... yes, reasons, he had to be as far away from the opposite direction in which he was travelling as possible.
He knew that er-no and Rasta lived in a treehouse. He also knew er-no and Rasta probably wouldn't kill him in his sleep, so logically, it seemed like a good place to go until everything calmed down.
Anyway, they were both completely insane. They was good company.
----------
The preacher walked into the next cabin, to find darkness. He crept in, cautiously... and within a second or two was dragged inside, and pushed against a wall.
"Have you got any?" Was whispered into his face.
"...I'm sorry?" The preacher whispered back, shaking like a leaf.
"HAVE... you... GOT ANY."
"Any... what...?"
"I want some."
"I..."
"I WANT SOME. HAVE YOU GOT ANY?"
The preacher had never heard anyone shout and whisper at the same time before.
"I... I'd happily give you what ever you wanted if only you could tell me what it is you want."
"You KNOW... know... know what I want. You all know. But you won't let me have it."
The preacher felt hands rustle around his body... they felt into his pockets, and withdrew a small bar of Galaxy.
"This will do... this WILL do... for now... I don't advise you being here. Don't be here. You're still here. Good."
Tearing the paper away from the chocolate, Ant took out a lighter, and held the bar over the lit flame... the chocolate began to melt and drip, and Ant let the drips trickle down onto his tongue.
It wasn't pure though... he needed the pure stuff. Pure... crisp, and white... he chewed his lip as he imagined pouring the sugar down onto the glass table, then licking it alllll up...
But why... WHY... what did he do? The bag had just ran off... it wasn't as if he had mistreated it... he always stroked it and comforted it and raised it like his own child... and then it RUNS OFF and leaves him all alone.
Ant couldn't recall exactly how the enchanted and otherwise endless bag of sugar had managed to come into his ownership to begin with. But it was there. And there began his habit...
Who would have known that the little swine would have just ran off like that. Ant thought the legs and arms were just for novelty.
But he knew he'd get it back. He'd travel the world searching for it. He knew it couldn't keep running.
But Ant was struggling. He needed the sugar. And without an endless supply... he didn't know what to do with himself.
It seemed like a good idea at the time to go and visit er-no and Rasta. he couldn't think of a good reason right now, but he was trusting that he did in fact have a good reason when he got on the train, so was just playing along for the time being.
Ant licked the molten chocolate from his fingers, and turned off the lighter.
--------------
"It's not... no. Yes, although... let's use the cups."
People who are truly insane don't actually realise it.
However, er-no and Rasta do understand that people have a lot of trouble understanding them. They understand that people just can't really get a grip on what they mean, so they're spending a lot of time trying to prepare a way of explaining what they need to tell FantasyMeister when he arrives.
They mean well, but they haven't a chance really.
"The chicken should be alive, you realise. We can test it with the alive chicken and if that doesn't work, we can just kill it and try that way."
"Shouldn't we use the egg first?"
"No, chicken first."
"Egg."
"Chicken."
"Should we fry the egg?"
"No, cook the chicken first."
"Now?"
"No, later."
"Have you named the chicken yet?"
"I've named it Nipple, because of the incident."
"Cunning."
It can't be denied that combinded, Rasta and er-no have the largest intellectual power in the universe. However, it can't actually be proven either, because nobody understands them.
"If I drink this now, it'll make that work later."
er-no yelled, and cursed. "The cat won't sit still! Stupid thing."
"Nail it to the table."
"It won't move at all then, though."
"Good point."
FantasyMeister would probably arrive tomorrow... they both weren't sure if they could get their device working in time to explain things to him. They weren't even sure if anyone was going to understand the complexity of this task. In fact, they weren't sure even if it would work at all.
But it was the only shot they had left.
All in all, this is what I like to call fun. You're welcome to write in the story, you can mess around with the plot as you like, but nothing too bad please... [And then a big rock came down and killed everyone]. You're welcome to add yourself in as a character, but make sure you're that... a character. Stories tend to go downhill where there are about twenty character in them, but they're all pretty much the same.
Ground rules... err... keep characters in character, write in paragraphs, and for God's sake try to make it funny. Or at least entertaining.
Veteran Fog Story people, it'd be nice to see you writing, but that's down to you. I've got nothing better to do at the moment, so here we go.
Thanks for reading, thanks if you write, and um, well, generally, just thanks.
--------------
Perfection is something that apparently cannot exist. It is said that there cannot be a single perfect thing, that every other thing can see as perfect.
FantasyMeister, however, considers this to be nonsense. Mainly because FantasyMeister considers himself to be perfect.
While the steam engine of the train struggled as it began to pull itself up the hill, FM began to think about how life would be if he wasn't perfect. Of course, FM understands and comprehends this perfectly, even though he has never actually experienced imperfection.
The red seats, dirty and ripped, comforted FM's buttocks in the small four seater cabin of the train, while a preacher sat on the seat facing him.
But, as FM had predicted perfectly, his cigarette smoke had forced the preacher to kindly stand up, retrieve his bible, and move to a different cabin.
Making sure that he was alone, FM perfectly reopened the envelope, removed the telegram, opened it, and read through it one more time. He could of course, recite the entire telegram perfectly from his memory, but he felt like reading it anyway.
'Hi Charlie. Stop. I think we've found a question. Stop. You aren't here yet. Stop. er-no wants the moon back. Stop.'
It was from Rastabillyskank. The last anyone, apart from er-no of course, had heard from Rasta, was 'I don't care about your singing bloody mushrooms, all I want are the stars in a jar and you can't even do THAT. Get out of my spleen.'
He's lived with er-no in a brick-treehouse for the last seven years. Strangely, FM hadn't aged a day since he last saw him, but FM knew better than to take notice of things that weren't that important.
It all started when er-no started talking to Leon a lot more than he did to anyone else. In fact, it came to the point where you couldn't communicate with er-no at all, and if you wanted to know how he was, you had to talk to Leon about him. And perhaps that doesn't seem too bad, until you realise that Leon is in fact the voice inside Grix's head.
Some say he's more than a voice, others would have you know that he does in fact exist, and lives as a seperate entity to Grix. Others would say that Leon was just the foul mouthed side of Grix that he doesn't like to admit is there. It is, however, generally agreed though, that Leon looks a lot like a sheep in a blue dinner jacket. It's also argued that, if Leon is simply a voice in Grix's head, why is he able to inflict pain with baseball bats so effectively? And why does he cast a shadow?
Rastabillyskank had always been completely insane. There wasn't a lot of times where he truly knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, or in fact, who he was. But somehow he always managed to help, in one way or another.
Eventually, er-no found a tree, and started building a house in it. He refused to speak to anyone, except for randomly shouting every now and again about nothing in particular. For some reason, Rasta found this interesting, and helped er-no to build his house. FM wondered what they did at night. It wouldn't surprise him if they threw stones at trees to decide who would get the bed for the night. He knew, later on, he'd be unsurprised to find out he was right. It should be said, however, that FM would be equally unsurprised to find out he was wrong, because after all, perhaps he knew he would be wrong all along and was just trying to fool himself that he was right to make life more exciting. Fantasymeister was utterly perfect.
It was an interesting note, that er-no and Rasta started communicating in a way that nobody could really understand, but made perfect sense to the both of them. er-no shouting 'HUMANITY, IT'S ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I DON'T WANT TO TASTE IT ANY MORE!' would result in Rasta getting on his bike and going down the town to buy two tubes of toothpaste and an umbrella, which would immedietely calm er-no down.
FM wondered about what the telegram might be about. He however, didn't worry for a second that him not knowing what it was about could possibly mean he wasn't perfect. FM knew he was perfect. Nothing he did would ever make a difference to that point.
FM pulled up the window... dust would begin to seep inside the cabin if he didn't shut it now. And besides, it was noisy, and if anyone came into the cabin, and noticed FM fast asleep while there was so much noise, they may also notice how perfect he was, and try to kill him because he would be a threat to them.
Obviously they'd fail, but it just saved the hassle.
Perfectly resealing the envelope with the telegram back inside, FM lay perfectly across the red seats of the cabin.
-------
"You can take your God, and you can shove her up your a**e."
"Sir... I just want to sit down."
"Fook right off. God is a big black woman that sings soul and she doesn't apprieciate you going around dressed like a mong. Go find your herd."
"Good day to you sir, I'll go see if the next cabin is free."
Sheepy glared at the preacher until he moved out of the cabin and left him alone.
Sheepy had... came to certain difficulties. And for reasons... yes, reasons, he had to be as far away from the opposite direction in which he was travelling as possible.
He knew that er-no and Rasta lived in a treehouse. He also knew er-no and Rasta probably wouldn't kill him in his sleep, so logically, it seemed like a good place to go until everything calmed down.
Anyway, they were both completely insane. They was good company.
----------
The preacher walked into the next cabin, to find darkness. He crept in, cautiously... and within a second or two was dragged inside, and pushed against a wall.
"Have you got any?" Was whispered into his face.
"...I'm sorry?" The preacher whispered back, shaking like a leaf.
"HAVE... you... GOT ANY."
"Any... what...?"
"I want some."
"I..."
"I WANT SOME. HAVE YOU GOT ANY?"
The preacher had never heard anyone shout and whisper at the same time before.
"I... I'd happily give you what ever you wanted if only you could tell me what it is you want."
"You KNOW... know... know what I want. You all know. But you won't let me have it."
The preacher felt hands rustle around his body... they felt into his pockets, and withdrew a small bar of Galaxy.
"This will do... this WILL do... for now... I don't advise you being here. Don't be here. You're still here. Good."
Tearing the paper away from the chocolate, Ant took out a lighter, and held the bar over the lit flame... the chocolate began to melt and drip, and Ant let the drips trickle down onto his tongue.
It wasn't pure though... he needed the pure stuff. Pure... crisp, and white... he chewed his lip as he imagined pouring the sugar down onto the glass table, then licking it alllll up...
But why... WHY... what did he do? The bag had just ran off... it wasn't as if he had mistreated it... he always stroked it and comforted it and raised it like his own child... and then it RUNS OFF and leaves him all alone.
Ant couldn't recall exactly how the enchanted and otherwise endless bag of sugar had managed to come into his ownership to begin with. But it was there. And there began his habit...
Who would have known that the little swine would have just ran off like that. Ant thought the legs and arms were just for novelty.
But he knew he'd get it back. He'd travel the world searching for it. He knew it couldn't keep running.
But Ant was struggling. He needed the sugar. And without an endless supply... he didn't know what to do with himself.
It seemed like a good idea at the time to go and visit er-no and Rasta. he couldn't think of a good reason right now, but he was trusting that he did in fact have a good reason when he got on the train, so was just playing along for the time being.
Ant licked the molten chocolate from his fingers, and turned off the lighter.
--------------
"It's not... no. Yes, although... let's use the cups."
People who are truly insane don't actually realise it.
However, er-no and Rasta do understand that people have a lot of trouble understanding them. They understand that people just can't really get a grip on what they mean, so they're spending a lot of time trying to prepare a way of explaining what they need to tell FantasyMeister when he arrives.
They mean well, but they haven't a chance really.
"The chicken should be alive, you realise. We can test it with the alive chicken and if that doesn't work, we can just kill it and try that way."
"Shouldn't we use the egg first?"
"No, chicken first."
"Egg."
"Chicken."
"Should we fry the egg?"
"No, cook the chicken first."
"Now?"
"No, later."
"Have you named the chicken yet?"
"I've named it Nipple, because of the incident."
"Cunning."
It can't be denied that combinded, Rasta and er-no have the largest intellectual power in the universe. However, it can't actually be proven either, because nobody understands them.
"If I drink this now, it'll make that work later."
er-no yelled, and cursed. "The cat won't sit still! Stupid thing."
"Nail it to the table."
"It won't move at all then, though."
"Good point."
FantasyMeister would probably arrive tomorrow... they both weren't sure if they could get their device working in time to explain things to him. They weren't even sure if anyone was going to understand the complexity of this task. In fact, they weren't sure even if it would work at all.
But it was the only shot they had left.
Grix...there is absolutely no chance of anyone being able to write anything good enough to follow on from that.
But I'll give it a go, if only so you'll write more.
---
"So I played with Mark and Naiomi, but then I figured that if they got tired then they wouldn't play later. Something about a purple cabbage."
Rastabilly Skank passed er-no the salt.
"Ta"
It had been a long time since the old gang had seen each other. So long ago that they couldn't even remember how thier last adventure had ended. In fact...had it ended at all? All er-no could remember is that he had woken up in bed one day with a splitting headache, a wooden leg, and a desire to build a housetree.
A housetree is completely different to a treehouse. You see, with a treehouse, you build the house around the tree. To build a tree house, you build a tree around a house.
er-no, however, was a disturbed and confused young man. So he got in a bit of a muddle and built a treehouse, but with bricks. If you had asked him why, he would have said that "bricks have a bit more welly to them, you know? A bit more...schtimph".
No-one knew what schtimph was, but that was only because they were too scared to ask. This may have confused er-no - and things that met and confused er-no ended up a bit like things who met and confused Geroge Bush. Pretzel shaped.
---
Elsewhere, a train containing a rather perfect man drew toward the brick treehouse. Perfectly.
But I'll give it a go, if only so you'll write more.
---
"So I played with Mark and Naiomi, but then I figured that if they got tired then they wouldn't play later. Something about a purple cabbage."
Rastabilly Skank passed er-no the salt.
"Ta"
It had been a long time since the old gang had seen each other. So long ago that they couldn't even remember how thier last adventure had ended. In fact...had it ended at all? All er-no could remember is that he had woken up in bed one day with a splitting headache, a wooden leg, and a desire to build a housetree.
A housetree is completely different to a treehouse. You see, with a treehouse, you build the house around the tree. To build a tree house, you build a tree around a house.
er-no, however, was a disturbed and confused young man. So he got in a bit of a muddle and built a treehouse, but with bricks. If you had asked him why, he would have said that "bricks have a bit more welly to them, you know? A bit more...schtimph".
No-one knew what schtimph was, but that was only because they were too scared to ask. This may have confused er-no - and things that met and confused er-no ended up a bit like things who met and confused Geroge Bush. Pretzel shaped.
---
Elsewhere, a train containing a rather perfect man drew toward the brick treehouse. Perfectly.
Wise men say ‘if any man listen to things that wise men say, man will not become wise, just confused.’
‘After all,’ They say, ‘why you think that Confucius called Confucius? Hm?’
Of course, some wise men have much knowledge but tend to prefer talking in riddles, or at the least in broken Japanese English, which really makes for some big headaches if you happen to be a student.
Meka Dragon was currently nursing his headache from the last session with his master. It was bad enough that his master referred to him as Spider, but he was also working out that the master’s last student, Ant, may well have been the Ant that Meka himself knew, which would, he thought, explain a few things.
The sun was setting over the cave that Meka called home. It wasn’t a bad place for a cave. Somehow the master had installed some sort of hot spring, which ran under the floor of the cave to give it warmth and also acted as a useful shower. The master had taught Meka many things, yogic flying, communicating with animals and even how to wear nothing but a long robe and still be fashionable, but he still felt that he wouldn’t be ready for what was to come. There were too many things left to learn, not least the art of moving objects with the mind, which (he had pointed out to the master many months ago) the leaflet for the course had expressly mentioned in large letters. Meka, being a sucker for wanting Jedi powers, had signed up immediately. It was, he now thought, strange that no-one else in his neighbourhood mentioned receiving a leaflet.
The quest was a personal one this time though. Only yesterday they had received a message, via the master’s trained Eagle, that a new quest awaited the faithful servant and that he should travel west towards his old country to face earlier demons that still haunted him. Meka wasn’t too sure that he wanted to face old demons, let alone friends. Things always got a little…complicated when they were around, not least with Er-no. Still, the master had sensed this and thought it was a good idea to go. He had mentioned that Meka would return in time and that he would even understand some of the teachings he had yet to grasp. Meka was not convinced.
Slinging a small sack over his shoulder, Meka Dragon set out across the wilderness and headed west. He was sure there would be at least a few villages to save from evil on the way, these things always happened at times like this.
‘After all,’ They say, ‘why you think that Confucius called Confucius? Hm?’
Of course, some wise men have much knowledge but tend to prefer talking in riddles, or at the least in broken Japanese English, which really makes for some big headaches if you happen to be a student.
Meka Dragon was currently nursing his headache from the last session with his master. It was bad enough that his master referred to him as Spider, but he was also working out that the master’s last student, Ant, may well have been the Ant that Meka himself knew, which would, he thought, explain a few things.
The sun was setting over the cave that Meka called home. It wasn’t a bad place for a cave. Somehow the master had installed some sort of hot spring, which ran under the floor of the cave to give it warmth and also acted as a useful shower. The master had taught Meka many things, yogic flying, communicating with animals and even how to wear nothing but a long robe and still be fashionable, but he still felt that he wouldn’t be ready for what was to come. There were too many things left to learn, not least the art of moving objects with the mind, which (he had pointed out to the master many months ago) the leaflet for the course had expressly mentioned in large letters. Meka, being a sucker for wanting Jedi powers, had signed up immediately. It was, he now thought, strange that no-one else in his neighbourhood mentioned receiving a leaflet.
The quest was a personal one this time though. Only yesterday they had received a message, via the master’s trained Eagle, that a new quest awaited the faithful servant and that he should travel west towards his old country to face earlier demons that still haunted him. Meka wasn’t too sure that he wanted to face old demons, let alone friends. Things always got a little…complicated when they were around, not least with Er-no. Still, the master had sensed this and thought it was a good idea to go. He had mentioned that Meka would return in time and that he would even understand some of the teachings he had yet to grasp. Meka was not convinced.
Slinging a small sack over his shoulder, Meka Dragon set out across the wilderness and headed west. He was sure there would be at least a few villages to save from evil on the way, these things always happened at times like this.
The evolution of creatures comes down to a single point. Adaptation.
Sniper tensed his arms, trying to free himself from his ropebinds, but to no avail.
"You vill tell us vher ze can vind heem."
There are certain creatures in nature, that have encountered so much, that they have evolved in a rate that is far beyond any other creature. If a creature experiences constant heat, then that creature will soon evolve to cope with the heat, and to keep itself cool.
Sniper tried to recall how he had ended up tied to the train tracks. It was a bit hopeless really. He couldn't even recall what he had for breakfast this morning.
...if he had breakfast, that was.
And now a German was shouting at him.
"Ajent Geriff, I zhink zat yoer zeilence iz off little youse to you? No?"
Sniper wondered why the man who had tied him up kept changing his accent.
There were three of them. Sniper knew he wasn't the brightest fish in the tree, but he guessed that they believed that he was some kind of spy. Mostly because they kept saying "You are a spy." Or, well "You arr az zpie."
"Talk, or you zall dhie!"
Nature is flawed, however. For when a creature does experience one single action so many times that it eventually evolves to cope with it, it somehow remains... immature, in other areas.
For example, intellect.
"I think there's a train coming." Sniper shouted, over the noise of the approuching engine.
If the camel didn't have it's hump, it would have surely died, for the fat of the hump could keep the camel alive during periods where it could not eat. If the artic fox did not grow white fur in winter, it would have surely found it much harder to stay alive whilst being hunted.
Evolution is about survival. Nature demands that it's creatures survive as long as they possibly can.
And hard repetition of certain difficulties would mean that eventually, the creature will evolve to cope with it.
The three German men stood back, shocked, as the train ploughed through between them, smacking Sniper off the tracks, killing him instantly, and carrying him on the snow plough attached to the front.
Because Sniper had died so many times, he had eventually, somehow, evolved to cope with it.
Mother Nature decided a long time ago, probably while drunk in a game of poker with Fate and Father Christmas, that for some reason, it was vital that Sniper survived at all costs.
Sniper faced the direction that the train was travelling, and found himself pinned backwards and upside down to the train.
It really was going to be one of those days.
Sniper tensed his arms, trying to free himself from his ropebinds, but to no avail.
"You vill tell us vher ze can vind heem."
There are certain creatures in nature, that have encountered so much, that they have evolved in a rate that is far beyond any other creature. If a creature experiences constant heat, then that creature will soon evolve to cope with the heat, and to keep itself cool.
Sniper tried to recall how he had ended up tied to the train tracks. It was a bit hopeless really. He couldn't even recall what he had for breakfast this morning.
...if he had breakfast, that was.
And now a German was shouting at him.
"Ajent Geriff, I zhink zat yoer zeilence iz off little youse to you? No?"
Sniper wondered why the man who had tied him up kept changing his accent.
There were three of them. Sniper knew he wasn't the brightest fish in the tree, but he guessed that they believed that he was some kind of spy. Mostly because they kept saying "You are a spy." Or, well "You arr az zpie."
"Talk, or you zall dhie!"
Nature is flawed, however. For when a creature does experience one single action so many times that it eventually evolves to cope with it, it somehow remains... immature, in other areas.
For example, intellect.
"I think there's a train coming." Sniper shouted, over the noise of the approuching engine.
If the camel didn't have it's hump, it would have surely died, for the fat of the hump could keep the camel alive during periods where it could not eat. If the artic fox did not grow white fur in winter, it would have surely found it much harder to stay alive whilst being hunted.
Evolution is about survival. Nature demands that it's creatures survive as long as they possibly can.
And hard repetition of certain difficulties would mean that eventually, the creature will evolve to cope with it.
The three German men stood back, shocked, as the train ploughed through between them, smacking Sniper off the tracks, killing him instantly, and carrying him on the snow plough attached to the front.
Because Sniper had died so many times, he had eventually, somehow, evolved to cope with it.
Mother Nature decided a long time ago, probably while drunk in a game of poker with Fate and Father Christmas, that for some reason, it was vital that Sniper survived at all costs.
Sniper faced the direction that the train was travelling, and found himself pinned backwards and upside down to the train.
It really was going to be one of those days.
After several hours or relatively uneventful travel, Meka was still headed west across the wilderness. Amazingly, his robe was still unfrayed and spotlessly clean. Meka disliked things not being clean. He was almost paranoid about it, in fact. In a fevered trance after being bitten by a dung-beetle, he had once scrubbed the bark off every tree in the forest at the master's home. Whilst the master had eventually guided Meka safely through the road of recovery, the squirrels still weren't on speaking terms with him. In fact, he was sure the damn things were urinating in his drinking water. He just hadn't caught them yet. And when he did...
But Meka's mind wandered. It wouldn't do to dwell on such things. He was on the side of the light, and always had been. Nothing would tempt him to turn. Nothing.
Presently, Meka happened upon a young-looking farmer stuck upon one side of a stream. The farmer was tall and dark haired with a designer beard-growth, and was wearing a rather puzzled expression on his face. It seemed that the farmer had with him a fox, a chicken, and a bag of grain. He needed to get all three from one side of the stream to the other, but the boat was only strong enough to hold one.
After some insightful suggestions by Meka, the farmer informed him that the fox would eat the chicken if given the chance, and the chicken would eat the grain if given the chance.
But Meka was wise. He used his powers of conversation with animals to help the man.
He turned first to the chicken.
"Cluck" said Meka.
"Cluck" replied the chicken, winking seductively at Meka.
Meka was confused. He'd only asked the chicken if she wanted some grain. Or... actually, had he said seed? Not that it mattered. Chickens weren't very bright anyway. There would clearly be a better way to solve this dilema.
Meka spent the next three days building a bridge for the farmer.
But Meka's mind wandered. It wouldn't do to dwell on such things. He was on the side of the light, and always had been. Nothing would tempt him to turn. Nothing.
Presently, Meka happened upon a young-looking farmer stuck upon one side of a stream. The farmer was tall and dark haired with a designer beard-growth, and was wearing a rather puzzled expression on his face. It seemed that the farmer had with him a fox, a chicken, and a bag of grain. He needed to get all three from one side of the stream to the other, but the boat was only strong enough to hold one.
After some insightful suggestions by Meka, the farmer informed him that the fox would eat the chicken if given the chance, and the chicken would eat the grain if given the chance.
But Meka was wise. He used his powers of conversation with animals to help the man.
He turned first to the chicken.
"Cluck" said Meka.
"Cluck" replied the chicken, winking seductively at Meka.
Meka was confused. He'd only asked the chicken if she wanted some grain. Or... actually, had he said seed? Not that it mattered. Chickens weren't very bright anyway. There would clearly be a better way to solve this dilema.
Meka spent the next three days building a bridge for the farmer.
The train called to a halt with a screech of metal against metal, the fizzttff of steam escaping, and the flump of a body against floor.
FantasyMeister stepped calmly out of the train, dusting his denim jacket which he had kept, naturally, in perfect condition.
As he looked down platform one of Pembroke train station, he admitted to himself that he was fairly surprised to see Sheepy step off from the carriage further down.
FM would then admit, of course, FM admits all his emotions because he is in fact, perfect, that the sight of Ant stepping off the next carriage did also shock him a bit.
However, FM wasn't the slightest bit surprised to see Sniper climbing up onto the platfrom from in front of the train.
"You, I know you."
Sheepy was walking up to FM. "I'm sure I know you." Sheepy noted, again.
Sheepy looked at the man standing before him. He wore a blond ponytail, a denim jacket with small Commodore 64 characters stitched onto it, jeans, and a black t-shirt that had "FantasyMeister" written across the chest in bright white letters.
Sheepy frowned, and looked up at FantasyMeister's face. "I can't place your name. I'm sure I know you."
"I'm sure you'll remember soon enough old friend..." FM replied. "Well, it's been quite a few years..." FM knew the exact time since they last spoke right down to the millisecond. But FM didn't like to boast.
"Oh... Oh yeah!" Sheepy said, brightening up a bit. "You're that perfect bloke, aren't you?"
"Yes... yes, it's me." Fantasymeister replied, smiling a little, happy to see Sheepy again. Perhaps their adventures would be more exciting this time. "Do you still have troubles with cross-stitch?"
"No, not at all now... since I used your technique and stuff, I've been finding it really easy." Sheepy replied.
"Ah, good. Ant, yes, I can see you."
"Oh..." Ant dropped the small metal bar to the floor and got up from behind the boxes. "Sorry."
"It's alright." FantasyMeister said. "I know it's difficult now you've lost your endless bag of sugar, but you'll find it soon enough. The next time you consider attacking us to steal our money and whatever sugary substance we may possess, please keep in mind that we're the ones that will probably be helping you to regain your sanity, never mind your sugar bag."
"Sorry FM."
"It's alright, I said." FM turned from Ant. "Sniper! Are you coming?"
"Whut?"
"Good, we'll all here then." FM said. It all made sense now. This was the beginning of another story that a bunch of geeks were writing. Not that he minded, of course, he had nothing better to do.
"I thought there were more of us." Sheepy noted, watching as Sniper tried to figure out in his mind why he was standing next to three people he knew better than anyone else in the world. Although without them actually standing next to him, he couldn't even tell you what colour hair they had.
"We should get a taxi." Ant said aloud to no-one in particular.
"We should, but we're in Pembroke." FantasyMeister was trying to avoid Sheepy's comment... Him, Ant, Sheepy, Sniper... er-no and Rastabillyskank... where was Meka? And Grix, and his brain...? Perhaps they didn't even need them. Perhaps this adventure wouldn't really require them... nah... they were a team... they didn't do anything without everyone there... "You can't get taxi's here." FM continued, perfectly.
FM thought for a moment.
"Ok. We need a mode of transport, and we need to find out where er-no and Rasta live. Pembroke isn't that large, but if I were to guess, which we all know is obviously going to be the right answer, then they live out in the countryside. So we're going to need directions."
Sheepy walked up to a man walking down from the station. "Excuse me. Hello?..."
Sheepy stopped walking. "OI!"
The man stopped.
"Do you know where er-no and Rastabillyskank live? They're in a treehouse made from bricks."
"DEMONS!" The man shouted. "YOU'RE ALL DEMONS!" The man ran off, turning to shout 'DEMONS!' some more, before tripping over garbage and sending himself flying into the pavement.
"This is going to be difficult." FantasyMeister noted.
"What are we doing?" Sniper asked.
"Don't worry." FM replied. "Just stick with us."
"Oh. Alright."
FantasyMeister stepped calmly out of the train, dusting his denim jacket which he had kept, naturally, in perfect condition.
As he looked down platform one of Pembroke train station, he admitted to himself that he was fairly surprised to see Sheepy step off from the carriage further down.
FM would then admit, of course, FM admits all his emotions because he is in fact, perfect, that the sight of Ant stepping off the next carriage did also shock him a bit.
However, FM wasn't the slightest bit surprised to see Sniper climbing up onto the platfrom from in front of the train.
"You, I know you."
Sheepy was walking up to FM. "I'm sure I know you." Sheepy noted, again.
Sheepy looked at the man standing before him. He wore a blond ponytail, a denim jacket with small Commodore 64 characters stitched onto it, jeans, and a black t-shirt that had "FantasyMeister" written across the chest in bright white letters.
Sheepy frowned, and looked up at FantasyMeister's face. "I can't place your name. I'm sure I know you."
"I'm sure you'll remember soon enough old friend..." FM replied. "Well, it's been quite a few years..." FM knew the exact time since they last spoke right down to the millisecond. But FM didn't like to boast.
"Oh... Oh yeah!" Sheepy said, brightening up a bit. "You're that perfect bloke, aren't you?"
"Yes... yes, it's me." Fantasymeister replied, smiling a little, happy to see Sheepy again. Perhaps their adventures would be more exciting this time. "Do you still have troubles with cross-stitch?"
"No, not at all now... since I used your technique and stuff, I've been finding it really easy." Sheepy replied.
"Ah, good. Ant, yes, I can see you."
"Oh..." Ant dropped the small metal bar to the floor and got up from behind the boxes. "Sorry."
"It's alright." FantasyMeister said. "I know it's difficult now you've lost your endless bag of sugar, but you'll find it soon enough. The next time you consider attacking us to steal our money and whatever sugary substance we may possess, please keep in mind that we're the ones that will probably be helping you to regain your sanity, never mind your sugar bag."
"Sorry FM."
"It's alright, I said." FM turned from Ant. "Sniper! Are you coming?"
"Whut?"
"Good, we'll all here then." FM said. It all made sense now. This was the beginning of another story that a bunch of geeks were writing. Not that he minded, of course, he had nothing better to do.
"I thought there were more of us." Sheepy noted, watching as Sniper tried to figure out in his mind why he was standing next to three people he knew better than anyone else in the world. Although without them actually standing next to him, he couldn't even tell you what colour hair they had.
"We should get a taxi." Ant said aloud to no-one in particular.
"We should, but we're in Pembroke." FantasyMeister was trying to avoid Sheepy's comment... Him, Ant, Sheepy, Sniper... er-no and Rastabillyskank... where was Meka? And Grix, and his brain...? Perhaps they didn't even need them. Perhaps this adventure wouldn't really require them... nah... they were a team... they didn't do anything without everyone there... "You can't get taxi's here." FM continued, perfectly.
FM thought for a moment.
"Ok. We need a mode of transport, and we need to find out where er-no and Rasta live. Pembroke isn't that large, but if I were to guess, which we all know is obviously going to be the right answer, then they live out in the countryside. So we're going to need directions."
Sheepy walked up to a man walking down from the station. "Excuse me. Hello?..."
Sheepy stopped walking. "OI!"
The man stopped.
"Do you know where er-no and Rastabillyskank live? They're in a treehouse made from bricks."
"DEMONS!" The man shouted. "YOU'RE ALL DEMONS!" The man ran off, turning to shout 'DEMONS!' some more, before tripping over garbage and sending himself flying into the pavement.
"This is going to be difficult." FantasyMeister noted.
"What are we doing?" Sniper asked.
"Don't worry." FM replied. "Just stick with us."
"Oh. Alright."
Many people have pondered the question, "If a tree falls in the wood and no one is around to hear it, does it make a noise?"
To which, some other people may answer, "who cares?"
Others, more astute, may suggest that, yes, it makes a lot of noise thank-you-very-much and would you mind not cutting down my trees.
Venombyte wished there were less trees in the wood he was currently lost in. Well, lost is perhaps not the word. Following someone else who was lost is a better explanation.
It wasn't his idea at all, mused VB. He'd merely suggested that he and Pb take some time out from their busy schedules to go walking. Pb, never one to take things in half measures, decided that perhaps 'walking' was too boring and should be replaced with 'hiking'. This then became a full-on camping trip which then turned into something which was beginning to resemble the Blair Witch Project. VB wasn't impressed.
"Ok." he grumbled, "Your lost, just admit it. Go on. You've been studying that map for hours now and you still can't find the way home."
"Who said we were going home?" Pb retorted in defence. "Anyway, I prefer the holistic approach to finding my way home. If I get los...er...I mean, if I need to go somewhere, I just think about it for a minute and then follow the path of the first woodland creature that comes our way."
"Well, that explains why we ended up knee deep in water back there."
"How was I to know that the first creature we would come across was a goose. I mean, you don't expect that in a wood, do you? That's Wales for you."
Venombyte stopped for a minute and listened. He thought he could hear the screaching of brakes and raised voices, but he wasn't sure.
"Well, I think we should perhaps try over there." He pointed in the direction that the sounds had come from.
"Ok." Grumbled Pb.
------------------------
Meka had barely left the old man and his animals when he came across a small village. The villagers welcomed him and gave him food and water in return for his stories. They weren't that good or anything, but the village television had broken down and the repairman didn't work on Sundays.
It was here that Meka managed to catch a lift on a hay cart, going to the next town. The town happened to have an airstrip and Meka hoped to be able to get a ticket back to Britain. For now he mused about Life and Everything and how, at times, it seemed far from intelligent.
To which, some other people may answer, "who cares?"
Others, more astute, may suggest that, yes, it makes a lot of noise thank-you-very-much and would you mind not cutting down my trees.
Venombyte wished there were less trees in the wood he was currently lost in. Well, lost is perhaps not the word. Following someone else who was lost is a better explanation.
It wasn't his idea at all, mused VB. He'd merely suggested that he and Pb take some time out from their busy schedules to go walking. Pb, never one to take things in half measures, decided that perhaps 'walking' was too boring and should be replaced with 'hiking'. This then became a full-on camping trip which then turned into something which was beginning to resemble the Blair Witch Project. VB wasn't impressed.
"Ok." he grumbled, "Your lost, just admit it. Go on. You've been studying that map for hours now and you still can't find the way home."
"Who said we were going home?" Pb retorted in defence. "Anyway, I prefer the holistic approach to finding my way home. If I get los...er...I mean, if I need to go somewhere, I just think about it for a minute and then follow the path of the first woodland creature that comes our way."
"Well, that explains why we ended up knee deep in water back there."
"How was I to know that the first creature we would come across was a goose. I mean, you don't expect that in a wood, do you? That's Wales for you."
Venombyte stopped for a minute and listened. He thought he could hear the screaching of brakes and raised voices, but he wasn't sure.
"Well, I think we should perhaps try over there." He pointed in the direction that the sounds had come from.
"Ok." Grumbled Pb.
------------------------
Meka had barely left the old man and his animals when he came across a small village. The villagers welcomed him and gave him food and water in return for his stories. They weren't that good or anything, but the village television had broken down and the repairman didn't work on Sundays.
It was here that Meka managed to catch a lift on a hay cart, going to the next town. The town happened to have an airstrip and Meka hoped to be able to get a ticket back to Britain. For now he mused about Life and Everything and how, at times, it seemed far from intelligent.
Grix watched the water drip down, flowing through the gaps in the bricks in the wall.
Yes, it was indeed true that people who were truly crazy didn't realise it, and that denial was... well, certainly something to keep an eye on...
But Grix wasn't crazy.
He could see why people thought he was, though. It was only after a few hours of being tied in a straight-jacket did he suddenly realise that saying "It wasn't me, it was my imaginary friend who's somehow come to life!" as his defence probably didn't actually help whatsoever.
Mind you, if had just said "Ok, I admit it, I broke all their arms and legs and tied them to the top of the lamp-post with their underwear." then perhaps he would only be in jail... with all the other inmates... and slippery soap...
Mind you, Leon would probably look after Grix's behind. Quite literally.
But he was still a bas***d.
"The thing is, Grix dear, is that if I untie you, and we manage to escape this padded room here, get through -all- the locked doors and get all the keys and keycards we need..." Leon paused, and leaned backwards against the soft padded wall. "You do realise we'll be on the run?"
Grix continued to try and put his arms around, under his legs to the front of his body. "Leon, if you had just actually SHOWN yourself during the court proceedings, then we wouldn't be stuck in here."
"I was busy, I couldn't come to court."
"You're always busy... I mean, you're a figment of my imagination. You don't -exist-."
Leon pushed Grix onto the floor with his foot. Grix rared and rolled around a bit.
"It's not as if you have control of me, you know. But we've had this conversation before." Leon pulled out a cigarette and lit up. "As far as I'm concerned," He said, with the cigarette between his teeth, "I live a life of my own. Sure, I'm your best friend, I'm your soulmate, I keep you sane, sure, whatever, but I still have my own life to lead, you know."
Grix sighed, and pushed himself up. "This is too much like Terminator 2, you know. At least a fat man hasn't licked me yet."
"I'll lick you if it means that much to you." Leon said.
"No thanks. Still though... how are we going to get out of here?"
"Do we really need to?"
"I'm... I..." Grix thought. He'd never really thought that people might actually be able to handle things without him. He never once really considered that if the world needed saving, then everyone could manage alright if he wasn't there.
It depressed him, somewhat.
"How many times have we saved the world, Leon?"
"Who, me and you?"
"Yeah."
"Err... four times?" Leon replied.
Grix thought for a while.
You have to think, every now and again. Is the Grim Reaper really an alcoholic? Does he drink himself silly, and then think "ah, I think I'll end the world today", only to be fought by a bunch of geeks, over and over again...?
Maybe Death wasn't drunk at all. Maybe he really needed to destroy all life on this planet. Maybe stopping that from happening was stopping something very large and important from happening.
Maybe the world needed to be destroyed.
"You know... maybe we should let the world get destroyed this time, you know... maybe we don't need to save it after all..."
"Grix?"
Grix paused. "What?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Grix thought for a second.
"Aren't we trying to save the world?"
"No Grix. We aren't. We're trying to escape from a nuthouse."
Grix looked up to see Leon glaring down at him through narrow eyes.
"You know what, I think you really are insane." Leon said, eventually. "I should just go off and leave you here where you belong."
Grix returned the glare.
"But I wouldn't do that." Leon added, and smiled. "Well, visiting hours are over... it's bedtime for you soon." Leon checked his watch. "I won't be far away."
Outside the impossible to escape padded cell, Leon walked down the corridors, smiling and nodding his sheeplike head to all that walked past him as if he was as human as the rest of them.
It seemed, at least in Pembroke, that if you just smiled and nodded, then they just treated you as one of their own. Nobody had ever noticed that Leon was a sheep.
Leon went and sat on the swings in the "Pembroke Mental Institute Play Area", and pushed himself up and down, higher and higher.
He began to feel a new emotion... it wasn't something he was familiar with... it must be what others tend to call 'guilt'.
He felt a little... 'guilty' for causing Grix to be tied up and kept in a padded room. No. No he didn't. He didn't care at all.
In fact, most of all, he was worried what would happen if they started injecting Grix with drugs... what would become of poor old Leon? Would he just... fade away?
It was too awful to think of. The two loonies in the treehouse didn't seem to help much anyway.
Well. Never mind. Grix had his imagination, he was used to being alone. He was probably having a great time in there.
---------
Grix gazed at the doorway as a beautiful woman with long brown hair walked in, and cast a cute smile across to him.
"Hi. I've come to tie you up for bed. I hope you don't tell anyone if I'm a little naughty."
Grix smiled.
Yes, it was indeed true that people who were truly crazy didn't realise it, and that denial was... well, certainly something to keep an eye on...
But Grix wasn't crazy.
He could see why people thought he was, though. It was only after a few hours of being tied in a straight-jacket did he suddenly realise that saying "It wasn't me, it was my imaginary friend who's somehow come to life!" as his defence probably didn't actually help whatsoever.
Mind you, if had just said "Ok, I admit it, I broke all their arms and legs and tied them to the top of the lamp-post with their underwear." then perhaps he would only be in jail... with all the other inmates... and slippery soap...
Mind you, Leon would probably look after Grix's behind. Quite literally.
But he was still a bas***d.
"The thing is, Grix dear, is that if I untie you, and we manage to escape this padded room here, get through -all- the locked doors and get all the keys and keycards we need..." Leon paused, and leaned backwards against the soft padded wall. "You do realise we'll be on the run?"
Grix continued to try and put his arms around, under his legs to the front of his body. "Leon, if you had just actually SHOWN yourself during the court proceedings, then we wouldn't be stuck in here."
"I was busy, I couldn't come to court."
"You're always busy... I mean, you're a figment of my imagination. You don't -exist-."
Leon pushed Grix onto the floor with his foot. Grix rared and rolled around a bit.
"It's not as if you have control of me, you know. But we've had this conversation before." Leon pulled out a cigarette and lit up. "As far as I'm concerned," He said, with the cigarette between his teeth, "I live a life of my own. Sure, I'm your best friend, I'm your soulmate, I keep you sane, sure, whatever, but I still have my own life to lead, you know."
Grix sighed, and pushed himself up. "This is too much like Terminator 2, you know. At least a fat man hasn't licked me yet."
"I'll lick you if it means that much to you." Leon said.
"No thanks. Still though... how are we going to get out of here?"
"Do we really need to?"
"I'm... I..." Grix thought. He'd never really thought that people might actually be able to handle things without him. He never once really considered that if the world needed saving, then everyone could manage alright if he wasn't there.
It depressed him, somewhat.
"How many times have we saved the world, Leon?"
"Who, me and you?"
"Yeah."
"Err... four times?" Leon replied.
Grix thought for a while.
You have to think, every now and again. Is the Grim Reaper really an alcoholic? Does he drink himself silly, and then think "ah, I think I'll end the world today", only to be fought by a bunch of geeks, over and over again...?
Maybe Death wasn't drunk at all. Maybe he really needed to destroy all life on this planet. Maybe stopping that from happening was stopping something very large and important from happening.
Maybe the world needed to be destroyed.
"You know... maybe we should let the world get destroyed this time, you know... maybe we don't need to save it after all..."
"Grix?"
Grix paused. "What?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Grix thought for a second.
"Aren't we trying to save the world?"
"No Grix. We aren't. We're trying to escape from a nuthouse."
Grix looked up to see Leon glaring down at him through narrow eyes.
"You know what, I think you really are insane." Leon said, eventually. "I should just go off and leave you here where you belong."
Grix returned the glare.
"But I wouldn't do that." Leon added, and smiled. "Well, visiting hours are over... it's bedtime for you soon." Leon checked his watch. "I won't be far away."
Outside the impossible to escape padded cell, Leon walked down the corridors, smiling and nodding his sheeplike head to all that walked past him as if he was as human as the rest of them.
It seemed, at least in Pembroke, that if you just smiled and nodded, then they just treated you as one of their own. Nobody had ever noticed that Leon was a sheep.
Leon went and sat on the swings in the "Pembroke Mental Institute Play Area", and pushed himself up and down, higher and higher.
He began to feel a new emotion... it wasn't something he was familiar with... it must be what others tend to call 'guilt'.
He felt a little... 'guilty' for causing Grix to be tied up and kept in a padded room. No. No he didn't. He didn't care at all.
In fact, most of all, he was worried what would happen if they started injecting Grix with drugs... what would become of poor old Leon? Would he just... fade away?
It was too awful to think of. The two loonies in the treehouse didn't seem to help much anyway.
Well. Never mind. Grix had his imagination, he was used to being alone. He was probably having a great time in there.
---------
Grix gazed at the doorway as a beautiful woman with long brown hair walked in, and cast a cute smile across to him.
"Hi. I've come to tie you up for bed. I hope you don't tell anyone if I'm a little naughty."
Grix smiled.
Some people say that all men are created equal. They say that it is wrong to judge anyone by their choice of dress, their accent, or their intellect. Meka had believed in this up until now.
"Ur wearing a dressing gown, innit! You pikey, get a haircut".
A strange lad, aged about 15, had started to address Meka in a curious dialect. Meka could speak twelve langauges, with all of their regional variations, but now he was befuddled. It sounded like English…but using words that Meka had never heard before. He decicded to reply in English.
"Dear chap, I do declare that I am not familier with some of the words you are using. What, if I may ask, is an innit?"
Meka had an idea about this. He could remember his master telling him something about a small, three legged creature called an Inni. Unfortunatly, he can also remember that this knowledge was most likely learned about the same period as the 'LSD Experimentation' class, so he couldn't really be sure.
"Eh? Wot, yur having a giraffe aren’t yeh? Yuh want sum squidgy black, innit mate? I got some purple toaster as well, innit"
"Excuse me?". Meka didn't know anything about giraffes in the context of toasters. He was only at this airport to catch a plane, not to converse with lower lifeforms.
"I sed, does you want sum purple toaster or sum big ronnies?" The lad flashed a small packet of something.
"Ah! You mean mexi-dexi-hexy-sodopotassiumide2! Yes, I could do with some of that"
Meka reached into his robe, dug about for a bit, and produced a huge stick, which he used to hit the lad in the face. Meka had been taught that, if you couldn't converse with someone, hitting it with a big stick was the best thing to do.
Meka caught the plane to Pembrokshire. He chose Pembrokeshire because he liked the letter P.
"Ur wearing a dressing gown, innit! You pikey, get a haircut".
A strange lad, aged about 15, had started to address Meka in a curious dialect. Meka could speak twelve langauges, with all of their regional variations, but now he was befuddled. It sounded like English…but using words that Meka had never heard before. He decicded to reply in English.
"Dear chap, I do declare that I am not familier with some of the words you are using. What, if I may ask, is an innit?"
Meka had an idea about this. He could remember his master telling him something about a small, three legged creature called an Inni. Unfortunatly, he can also remember that this knowledge was most likely learned about the same period as the 'LSD Experimentation' class, so he couldn't really be sure.
"Eh? Wot, yur having a giraffe aren’t yeh? Yuh want sum squidgy black, innit mate? I got some purple toaster as well, innit"
"Excuse me?". Meka didn't know anything about giraffes in the context of toasters. He was only at this airport to catch a plane, not to converse with lower lifeforms.
"I sed, does you want sum purple toaster or sum big ronnies?" The lad flashed a small packet of something.
"Ah! You mean mexi-dexi-hexy-sodopotassiumide2! Yes, I could do with some of that"
Meka reached into his robe, dug about for a bit, and produced a huge stick, which he used to hit the lad in the face. Meka had been taught that, if you couldn't converse with someone, hitting it with a big stick was the best thing to do.
Meka caught the plane to Pembrokshire. He chose Pembrokeshire because he liked the letter P.
A lot of people like to believe in something. Be it an entity as far-reaching as God, or just something as simple as love, there is probably someone - somewhere - that believes in it. A lot of people believe in God, or at least think they do. Another fair sized group of people believe in love. But for each person who believes, you will have two more who simply say that they believe.
And that, thought Grix, as he sat alone in his cell, can be very dangerous indeed.
For example, two people had come to talk to him. They wore white coats, so Grix had presumed they worked here. They had nodded along with him as he told the story that had landed him here in this cell. And then the conversation had turned to Leon. As most conversations with Grix inevitably too. And they had continued nodding along with him and agreed that Leon existed, all in a gentle soothing voice.
Grix had many takes on life. One he had not considered until that point was that if someone is talking to you in a gentle soothing voice while wearing a white coat then you're not in the best situation you could be.
Grix believed in Leon.
The two people who had tried to sooth him did not believe in Leon. But they said they did.
And what, thought Grix as nudged his back up to wall, would become of that? If things continued at this rate, soon everything that people said they believed in would become inconsequential.
There were many things Grix didn't want to become inconsequential. The talking sheep was way up there on the list. Grix thought about this.
"I need to get out of here." he decided.
And that, thought Grix, as he sat alone in his cell, can be very dangerous indeed.
For example, two people had come to talk to him. They wore white coats, so Grix had presumed they worked here. They had nodded along with him as he told the story that had landed him here in this cell. And then the conversation had turned to Leon. As most conversations with Grix inevitably too. And they had continued nodding along with him and agreed that Leon existed, all in a gentle soothing voice.
Grix had many takes on life. One he had not considered until that point was that if someone is talking to you in a gentle soothing voice while wearing a white coat then you're not in the best situation you could be.
Grix believed in Leon.
The two people who had tried to sooth him did not believe in Leon. But they said they did.
And what, thought Grix as nudged his back up to wall, would become of that? If things continued at this rate, soon everything that people said they believed in would become inconsequential.
There were many things Grix didn't want to become inconsequential. The talking sheep was way up there on the list. Grix thought about this.
"I need to get out of here." he decided.
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