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Ink Slinger
Join Date: Feb 2006
Location: Anchorage, Alaska
Gender: Female
Posts: 2,393
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daymare
Something really odd I wrote a while back...
Prologue:
The cricket frowned at her. “You shouldn’t do that, you know, Jill.”
“I didn’t mean to!” She cried out, distraught. Her nose twitched suddenly. “I didn’t see the rock–I couldn’t stop–but I never meant for him to fall!” Hot tears sprang to her eyes as her nose began to ache more fiercely. “Please,” she begged. “Please believe me.”
His beady eyes examined her studiously. “You did trip him, and I’m afraid as your conscience I can’t let you forget that.” She burst into uncontrollable tears again. “He’s gone and cracked his pate open now, and you’ve managed to spill the pail of water as well.” The cricket shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you must be punished for killing the Jack. We can’t let children run around doing such things. It wreaks havoc on the economy.” He chirped angrily. “And now the giant will be back as well, looking for someone’s bones to grind to make his bread or some such nonsense. Yes, you’ve certainly made quite a mess of it this time, Jill. No doubt about it. Something must be done.”
Her lips trembled in terror. “You wouldn’t send me to the,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “to the you-know-what in the you-know-where, would you?” She almost squeaked in fright at the mere thought.
“Oh no,” the cricket said seriously, “what you’ve done deserves a punishment much more terrible than that.” He contemplated for a moment while her ashen face grew more and more horrified. “No, I think that instead we’ll send you off to see the Wizard.”
She shrieked in mortification. “Forgive me, please, I’ll do anything, but don’t make me leave! Don’t make me find the Wizard!”
“Silence, murderer-of-the-Jack!” The cricket bellowed with a resounding voice quite disproportionate to his miniscule size. “If you were not willing to face the consequences of your actions, you should not have tripped on the Hill. Everything that follows is a direct result of the terrible thing you have done.” He pointed with one leg off towards the direction of the rising sun. “Return only once you have spoken with the Wizard and atoned for your sins!”
There was a flash of sparkling light, and then he was gone.
* * *
Yellow Brick Road:
Once upon a time there was a girl. She was not a princess, as so many heroines in stories that begin this way often are, but neither was she a peasant. In fact, she lived in a world where there were neither princesses nor peasants; the world was too complex, or so the leaders thought, to be so simply divided into the two classes of royalty and commoners. Instead, there was a myriad of different occupations and classes, all with their own long-winded fifteen-syllable names most often made up on the spot by someone who wanted to feel important. There were orthopsychiatrists and gastroenterological surgeons and of course entrepreneurs, and the scariest group of people of all on the whole, reality television show contestants. The girl, fortunately, was not yet old enough to have lost her dreams or her imagination, so she was none of these, merely an almost-teenager, and a mature one at that.
Her name was Jillian. Or, perhaps more appropriately, her name used to be Jillian.
As you may be realizing, this is not a normal fairy tale. In fact, it is not a fairy tale at all. For one thing, fairy tales have a remarkably dull habit of being chronological and linear. For the sake of clarity, things have been arranged in order (mostly), but there is nothing even remotely linear about it. If you were to graph Jillian’s story, the result would be similar to an Archimedean spiral, meaning, of course, that it’s pretty and fun to draw, but taken at face value, it’s about as deep and thought-provoking as a picture a five-year-old draws with an Etch-a-Sketch. This yellow brick road is not straight, not containing a single brick, and most certainly not yellow, but hopefully it leads you to Oz nonetheless. As for happily ever after…
Jillian is lost, and she has forgotten her name. She has forgotten everything. The reason is–
(You didn’t really think it was that easy, did you?)
She stared at the grass around her. The silence was deafening. Experimentally, she called out. “Hello?” The sound of her own voice echoed back to her, distorted. She tried again. This time there was a strange noise, like a pop, and she looked around in confusion at the empty Hill surrounding her.
Startled, she saw a small bottle of a strange blue substance sitting right next to her. On a piece of parchment stuck to the side were the words: Drink me.
Jill looked at the container in consternation. “Where did you come from?” To her disappointment, the bottle failed to respond. She tried again. “I don’t see why I should do what you say,” she said with some annoyance. “For as long as I can remember, all anyone has been doing is ordering me around, and it certainly hasn’t gotten me anywhere.” Angry, she rose to her feet, and the bottle toppled over on its side.
She gasped and grabbed it as fast as she could, anxiously trying to see if the cork in the top was still secure. She cradled the container in her arms, fighting off tears. “I’m sorry,” she said hopelessly. “I always seem to make a mess of things. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
To her relief, the message on the side faded away, and, slowly, new words began to appear. She watched in fascination. “Don’t worry?” She read, startled. “What a strange thing to say. Is this supposed to be entertaining?” The writing again disappeared, and she waited patiently for something more. This time the words were a bright scarlet color. Just drink me.
She scowled. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
No.
“Well then,” she responded, “I guess I have no choice.” She eyed the blue substance suspiciously.
* * *
(note: like I said, really odd... thought I'd throw it out here though and see if anyone got some amusement out of it. I've been considering coming back to it just because it was fun to write. Anyway, hope someone enjoys!)
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Critique and ye shall be critiqued.
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