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Join Date: Nov 2004
Location: London
Posts: 193
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Whimsy
OOC: This is written on whimsy, but I do have multiple chapters - if there is demand, I will post more. But I warn you, its...well, whimsical.
We didn’t like dancing, because we knew
Anyone who dances is silly
We knew this, because we had seen dancers, and yes
They were silly.
But then we found a girl,
She had violet eyes and told big lies
And she was called Kiss Dei’la-Smith.
She told us it was good to dance.
Yet we didn’t like dancing, because we knew
Anyone who dances is silly.
We knew this, because we had seen dancers, and yes,
They were silly.
But then we found a boy,
He had violet eyes and told no lies
And he was called Mitt Smith-Dei’la.
He told us he didn’t much know about dancers.
Yet we didn’t like dancing, because we knew
Anyone who dances is silly.
We knew this, because we had seen dancers, and yes,
They were silly.
But then we found a robot,
Which had no eyes and said nothing
And it was called Jargon.
Even though it said nothing, we are pretty sure it didn’t think anything was silly. After all, it had twelve small hands on sticks, three big ones on tentacles, a purple hat with a face painted on and six little blinking lights.
So we danced.
- Legend of the Three and the Dancers and Eden
Chapter One
Ok, so we had a problem. Kiss told me we didn’t, but I was her little brother and knew that meant we did. She said it was a small problem, and so I decided it was a big problem too.
Readers, before we continue on our epic quest, remember that Kiss does not always lie. She lies only when she thinks it will be a big lie, and often only when she thinks it is important to do so. She lies because she thinks the truth is much overrated and frankly in today’s society, given far too much importance. Father once defended her by saying that politicians and lawyers agree with her too, so I suppose it is alright.
However, I like the truth, because it is polite and will set you free. Plus, when telling a story, it is awfully difficult to lie a lot and have the story make sense – imagine, ‘We didn’t go to the store, and we didn’t buy any bread’ – and then later ‘And that was when we didn’t eat the bread, so we were not full’ – readers, agree that for me to tell this story, I must only tell the truth. Lying under these circumstances would be perhaps ridiculous, and at the very least misleading. But as we have just seen, digressions are, I feel, allowable. I am only ten (and nine tenths) and so this seems fair to me. After all, I write so well only with the help of Jargon, but that comes later.
It all began when Kiss told me we didn’t have a problem, and so I asked her how big the problem that we didn’t have was.
‘Not large at all.’ Instantly I was made wary. We had until this point lived normal lives in a normal house with parents who were quite normal, except that they refused to believe in normality – our names prove that adequately enough. I am, lest I forget to introduce myself, Mitt Smith-Dei’la. Because in all the stories I read people are described as they are introduced, I shall do the same:
I am four feet and three inches and a half inch tall and I have freckly pale skin on my face. My eyes, like my sister’s eyes, are violet. I think this is because my mother is from another planet. In fact, I am sure this is the reason. This is also why my father’s name – Tom Smith – is very normal, but ours are not. My mother simply chose words she liked best from the limited English she knew at the time. I am relatively content with Mitt, despite its obvious connection to sports. I do not like sports very much – though football and basketball are very fun, they make me tired quite quickly, and so I don’t do very much of them. On the other hand, I like books, because they are just as fun and can be done all day without all the smelly sweat.
That is probably why I am writing this book, though I assure you it is true, unlike the other books you may have read. You are probably becoming uncomfortably aware of the fact that this book is indeed unique, and you might be becoming aware that my long digression has yet to end. Rest assured readers, I shall now return to story telling, and perhaps not depart it again for some time – in fact I will make a promise, that by the end of the book, my story will have been finished. I will also promise that when I use descriptive words like ‘suspicious’ or ‘rickety’ as I shortly will, they will be exactly accurate. It is merely your imagination which is in this case providing the lies.
Chapter Two
The problem, I learned after repeatedly asking my sister, was that my mother had vanished. My father also seemed to know this, which explained why he had locked himself in his room for the last week. My sister (who is fourteen and five eighths) is nearly grown up, and she had made us Frosties, so we had not starved. I like Frosties, especially the milk after the cereal is all gone, which becomes very sugary. The adverts all have this fake grinning tiger though, and he scares me. He is also on the cereal box. He scares me because I know that cartoons are not real, and are more like lies than truth.
‘Why has she left? Did she tell you? And how do you know she was gone?’ I asked her calmly in response. My sister was prone to flights of fancy and was not very level-headed, and so I had to have the level-headedness for the both of us. My father agreed – he had often said that as a Man I had to stick up for Reason.
Oh, I nearly forgot. My sister was very tall for her age (five feet and no inches exactly), and had the same violet eyes as me. Her skin was pale and freckly too, and her hair was auburn red, like mine.
‘I don’t know. She didn’t tell anyone I don’t think! That’s why Dad panicked so much he locked himself in their bedroom! Obviously she’s gone – look! She isn’t here.’ Kiss answered dramatically. She waved her arms as she spoke, and when she said ‘look!’ she posed, her hands reaching upwards. She had long since decided to be an actress.
‘Well we must find out where she has gone to. Let’s go ask
Dad.’ I answered.
‘But we can’t! Dad has locked himself in the bedroom!’ Kiss shouted back at me. I looked at her coolly, because Reason was on my side.
‘Yes, but we can get in through the window.’ I knew that with this statement, I had already won the argument, because the window was easy to get in.
‘But it is on the twentieth story!’ She raised her hands dramatically again, to show how high twenty stories is. I shrugged – this was an exaggeration, a type of lie which pretended to be merely ‘extended truth’. I was not fooled – we lived in a detached two story house, with a stairway going up to the second story. I did not think it was twenty stories, because it would have made me much more tired when I climbed the stairs, which I did at least twice everyday.
‘We can borrow the neighbor’s ladder.’ I replied.
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