Really couldn’t think of anything to blog today, so made lemonade out of lemons (literally, a few hours ago).
PG – violence
Time for. . . The Party Story. Each person writes a bit, then scrolls down so just a word or two (mid-sentence) leads on for the next person (who doesn’t read the story in advance). The onyl shared information was that the hero was a female crocodile named Bob.
I’ll start, and (it’s my birthday today), some of my friends will carry on.
Once upon a time, there was a mighty crocodile by the name of Bob. She was beautiful, with leathery skin and a razor-sharp smile. She liked to eat passionfruit and drink mineral water. All in all, her life was peaceful – until one fateful day when Bob went for a walk. She came upon a silver turtle buried in the mud. Picking it up and weighing it in her clawed hand, she noticed a pale glow spreading from its centre. The turtle blinked and, opening its mouth, latched on to Bob’s ear. With a hideous ripping sound the ear came off and was swallowed by a passing pelican, who had previousely been the subject of governemnt genetic testing. Bob, enranged by this act of bodily desecration, opened her mouth as wide as it could go and swallowed the vandal. This act of rage and rash action sent Bob into a melancholy contemplative mood for the rest of the day. While lying on the bank of a river, Bob was unaware of her suroundings. The pelican, who had swallowed her ear and now succumbed to blood lust, dived at her.
Gnawing and gnashing , fighting and biting, they fought. Over, under, round and round. Suddenly there was calm all around.
The battle was over, and the outcome, as expected, was not pretty.
But who had really won? As Bob watched the day’s dying rays glittering on the red slick dissipating through the water, she couldn’t help but shudder as if feeling the chill from some distant plane blowing through her very soul, taking all that she was, all that she could ever have been, and revealing the ultimate truth that lay behind them.
She felt the reflected red of the intermingled gore and blood shining across her once-innocent face. An innocence which had now passed forever.
Vaguely, unaware even of the movement, she began to rub at the stains across her hands. If she had been aware of her action, she would have easily known its futility. The remnants of her actions had seeped as deep into her flesh as they had into her soul. She would never know which she had lost again.
Who had truly won?
As she felt the first whisper of the night-winds cooly caressing her cheek, her eyes remained blind to the world, lost in that play of dwindling day upon the red in the water.
Such a pure red.
At the end of it all, when the day is finally lost and we see we are all becoming one with the ash, as we feel that final coolness invading our bones, is that not – in some way – our final redemption; that purity. That purity of the blood.
The last and first pure thing that our lives can ever claim as their own.
And then, finally, as the bloody disc of the sun sank below the blackness of the horizon, she turned.
What could be left for her now?
For a long time she didn’t move, then her lip lifted slightly in the smallest of smiles, showing only three teeth and a sliver of gum. Muffins. There would always be muffins.
She decided to make a career change so she packed up everything she owned and left for the nearest port to make her life long dream of becoming a pirate a reality.
Many thanks to my hapless volunteers – Chris M, Black Bob, Jason, Ally, Mel, and Ben. And possibly Jane (I wasn’t paying attention).
PS I did make muffins for a birthday cake thingy, and was given a giant and highly-detailed pirate ship. No crocodiles or philosophers were harmed in the making of this story.