Hello dear reader that clicked this link, unsure of what might pop up!
Do you like stories? I like stories! We'll be best friends!
Here is a stream of thought submission - hope it isn't too terrible.
Into The Great...
This, dear reader, is a touching story about a boy, his
dog, and their perilous journey-
"What's this now lads?" Throaty Hack asked just before
making the noise of his namesake.
The cause of the query lay in the dirt; a corpse, cranium
split in two, the top half laying a good foot away, which,
trust me on this, is too far even in the most favorable of
This being one not even remotely close to favorable, was
made worse by the skull's missing contents. Beside the
unfortunate, and very dead boy, lay a mass of fur and a
length of crimson tinged leash. The also very dead dog
still wore a happy grin like it had greeted its demise with
Right now, I'm thinking I introduced the wrong story. But...
"Don't touch it!" Sniffles sniffed.
Too late. Throaty Hack, heretofore referred to as Hack,
looked up from where he'd crouched down to probe both
corpses with a blunt and grubby forefinger.
A boy, a dog, and some touching. Nailed it!
"What a terrible, terrible waste," Hack said as a tear welled
up in an eye.
"Aye, 'tis," Sniffles agreed as he dragged a much used sleeve
across his nose. "Sad fact. Humans don't know how to mulch
properly. Good new is- I have the mulcher."
Sniffles held out the aforementioned gardening tool, which
at this time eludes description. Frankly, it just kind of
appeared there in the story a second ago. I'm thinking it
would be a spinning thing, with a long handle and maybe a
few short spikes. Anywho.
"Oh good," Hack said with another hack. "Let's get about
I realize, much to my chagrin, that the main characters are
not helping with introductions. So here's some exposition
I'm sure you were salivating for:
Hack and Sniffles are gnomes, which prefer to live under-
ground, as natural miners are wont to do. When they aren't
mining for gems, they like to tinker. What that means exactly,
I don't know, though I suspect it means experiments that are
out of one's field of expertise. Or perhaps taking something
apart with the intent of fixing it, but once in pieces, the
impossibility of the project reveals itself.
Picture this scenario: You just finish taking apart the old
toaster that worked intermittently, all the parts layed out on
the workbench alien autopsy style, when your friend, whom
we'll call Chibi-Chibi, ambles in and asks, "Whatcha up to?"
Little does he know that right at that moment, your brain is
in a deep fog, similar to the stunned haze that rolls in to cover
the oh-so-temporary joy of having purchased a new Ikea product,
some assembly required.
But this fog, tinker-fog if you will, is much deeper. Yes, maybe
by half a fathom even. Somewhere deep down, you're thinking-
why didn't I settle for jiggling the handle now and then?
But enough crying already, back to the potential witness; Chibi-
You: Oh, hey Chibster. Not doing nothing. Just tinkering. Then,
after you both stare at the mess for a moment, "Well, this stuff
is trash. Then you one arm sweep it into the big plastic garbage
can at the end of the bench, and slap the dust off yourself with
a look of a job well done on your face.
Chibi (while scratching the back of his neck nervously, and
refusing to stare you in the eyes): Your wife still do that
"You're thinking about dwarves," Hack hacked. "We're
Oh yes. Gnomes. Lets see...
A gnome is a diminutive spirit in Renaissance magic and al-
chemy, first introduced by Paracelsus in the 16th century and
later adopted by more recent authors including those of modern
fantasy literature. Its characteristics have been reinterpreted
to suit the needs of various story tellers, but it is typically said
to be a small humanoid that lives underground.
Sniffles: "Someone is a copy paste wiki-idiot."
Hack: "And wrong again."
Give me a minute. I have to scroll back to the top and figure
out where I was going with this exactly.
Hack, after a harumph: "Seen any good movies lately, Sniffles?"
"Oh sure," Sniffles answers with a... you know. "Gnome hard
with a vengeance. Jurassic Gnome. Gnomespotting. You?"
Hack: "Eh... been watching this series called Game of Gnomes."
And I'm back. Garden Gnomes. That's what these two are.
Protectors of urban horticulture. Creatures of mere plastic
during the day that come to life in the wee hours, presumably
to tinker. Oh, and before I forget to mention, there's a zombie
apocalypse going on- hence the boy and dog corpses.
"Zombie apocalypse?" Hack snorted, which is totally out of char-
acter, as somewhere along the way there is bound to be another
character named Snort. Hack squints over the fence of the garden
they're in, which I forgot to mention earlier, and points at several
shambling figures milling about. "You mean those walking piles of
"I still have the mulcher," Sniffles chirps as he holds it up.
I refuse to look, still not wanting to define the vaguely suggested
instrument. In fact, after checking my watch, I realize I've bitten
off more than I can chew, given my time constraints. Best to end
Sniffles asks as they survey the hundred or so
recently mulched zombies that were forced into the yard via poor
"Well, I suspect the rest won't mulch themselves," Hack hacks
back. "This is the first time we're leaving the yard (exposition). I
guess we're destined to enter the great ungnome."
Yes! Managed to end with the bad pun that occurred to me while on
a client’s porch.
A note to my past self, last weeks specifically, that thought I'd
do nothing with it: Nailed it!