stories Posts

26Aug
4

True Thad

Once upon a time, a guy named Thad was sleeping under a tree, trying to avoid his dog. He had only slept for maybe and hour or two when he was rudely awakened by someone standing over him and making many obnoxious throat clearing noises.

He was about to be very mad indeed, but he found that it was not his dog, asking him to do the dishes, after all; it was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

In the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, she told him that if he could guess who she was, she would take him home with her.

“Are you…my mother?” he asked, which was really sort of a silly question, as he knew his mother was home with the dog, probably washing the dishes.

“Are you..Madonna?” he asked.

“Do you speak of the Virgin Mary?”

“No, the singer.”

The lady shook her head.

“Are you…the lady from up the hill?”

“Close enough.”

She pulled Thad up on her horse with her, and they galloped away. As they rode, she explained that she was the Queen of Faerie, and that he was very lucky indeed, since she had chosen him to be her mortal lover.

As they rode, she pointed out three paths: the path to Heaven, the path to Hell, and the path they would ride on, which led to Faerie.

“What’s that path?” Thad asked, pointing to an overgrown road next to the one they had turned down.

“That one leads to Creepy Jim’s house.” the Queen informed him. “I wouldn’t go down that path.”

As they rode, Thad was sure they passed through meadows of guts and jumped over gates made of bone. But the lady held him, and told him he would reside in Faerie with her for but seven years, and as long as he ate nothing, nor spoke not a word, he would return home with the gift of prophecy, and the inability to lie. However, if he did eat or speak, he must remain in Faerie forever.

And so they rode into Faerie, where courtiers and horses greeted them with songs and cheer.

As they stopped, Thad reached into a basket of baked goods offered to him and bit into a cupcake. “Hey guys,” he said. “What’s up?”

The Queen of Faerie began to feel as though she’d made a grave error, indeed.

The End.

Source: Thomas the Rhymer

Posted by Beatrix Cottonpants in Ballads and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
15Jun
0

The Boy Who Cried Hippie

Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived in a quiet, hilly village, just the sort of green and sunny place people who want to feel closer to nature find themselves vacationing in. Now, the first thing to know about this boy was that he was bored. He was home for the summer, and he’d read all his books, played all his video games, and watched all the TV he could deal with. He’d taken to wandering around the village, watching the sheep or the shopowners graze or sell their goods.

The first thing to know about the village was that they were all desperately afraid of hippies ever since many years before, when a hippie convention had descended on a area nearby, filling the air with burning incense and the incessant sound of drum circles. So you’ll understand why several of the more prominent townspeople came running when the boy insisted he’d seen a hippie approaching, a drum under his arm and dreadlocks in his hair.

There was, of course, no hippie. The boy had finally found an exercise to keep him occupied. He went home laughing after the townspeople had given up on their search for the rogue hippie.

The next day the very same thing happened, except this time, to keep the townspeople in a state of alarm, the boy claimed he’d seen two hippies, a male and a female, which meant of course, the possibility of something very dangerous: baby hippies. Again, no such hippies were found, and the townspeople went home grumbling about the boy’s lying ways.

By the third day, the boy had grown tired of the game. He decided to instead climb a tree, and found that when he had gotten up in the branches, he couldn’t really jump down. No matter– he didn’t have much else to do anyway.

But then, something happened. In the distance, the boy heard a sound that sent chills through him and the tree alike: drums.

Sure enough, a muu-muu clad, drum playing, dreadlockied hippie settled under the tree and began to beat on his drum without any sense of melody or music. Just an endless, incessant beat. Desperate, the boy called everyone he could think of from the town (on his cell phone. This wasn’t a long time ago, or anything), but no one would help him.

“We don’t believe you!” they all said, and hung up on him. And so, the boy was forced to sit in the tree, listening to the hippie’s song, until early the next morning.

The End.

Source: The Boy and the Wolf, Aesop

Posted by Beatrix Cottonpants in Fables and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , ,