“Where to even start?” He exclaimed passionately. “It would truly be impossible to make this thoroughly comprehensive, though I assure you, I will do my utmost to be precise.
“I would go on an adventure. And not just your run-of-the-mill adventure; I’m not Christopher in a mere hundred acres of wood. I’m not Peter playing his games with pirates and Indians. I’m talking about a real adventure, with no goal except to be adventurous. The advent of this venture would, of course, be spontaneous; the inevitable success at the end would be a mix of glorious triumph and bittersweet nostalgia.
“I’m between jobs, and had just flown to Boston on my job hunt. With fruitless results, I slink dejectedly back to the airport, to fly back home. But as I’m about to buy my ticket, I see an old man with a sign—‘My Job, Your Flight’
“Intrigued, I approach him. ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘What’s this all about?” ‘Well, son,’ says he. “If you buy me a planet ticket, I’ll get you a job.”
“Now, you must admit, this was the strangest offer I’ve ever heard. And I’m not quite sure if I’m desperate enough to pick up any old job off the street. ‘But don’t you want to see my resume first?’ ‘Naw,’ he waves me off. ‘One ticket, one job.’ ‘What’s the job?’ ‘Fishin’’”
“’Fishing?” I cry. “Why, I don’t know the first thing about fishing. I barely know the last thing about fishing,” I trail off thinking about the last time I tried eating fish and nearly choking to death on a bone.”
“They’ll teach ya.”
“The next day, I’m starting my first day as a deckhand.
“I’m not sure what I expected from this job. But this is the most reputable bunch of fishermen I’ve seen in my life, not that I’ve seen many, but I watched Deadliest Catch on TV and that’s kind of like fishing. And the boat is so interesting as well! It even has a galley. I learn what a galley is when the rest of the crew lock me in it for cracking too many pirate jokes. At least they didn’t, I dunno, maroon me or something.”
“Well, now I’m marooned. For your edification, if a crew looks like pirates, talks like pirates, have peg legs and eye patches, and threaten to keelhaul you, they’re probably pirates and you should go easy on pirate jokes (‘What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?’ ‘Aaarrrgghh!’)
“On the other hand, if the crew is well-dressed, well-mannered, and have fishing rods, they may still be pirates and you should still avoid pirate jokes (‘Why do pirates never learn the alphabet properly?’ ‘Because they insist there are seven C’s!’)
“But it is what it is, and now I’m marooned. It looks to be a semi-tropical piece of land, but I think I’ve watched enough Man vs Wild to survive. Though, I hope I won’t have to drink my own—“
“Wait!” his heretofore silent solitary audience interrupts. “I only asked what you would do for a Kondlike Bar!” *
*Name changed because I can’t afford a lawsuit
@2 weeks ago
I may not have had much success
@3 months ago with 1 note
#valentine's day poem
With poetry in the past.
But on this day I must profess
All the feelings I’ve amassed.
I want my love to be unique
So that’s why I broke the norm.
My resplendent rhyming technique
is unlikely to conform.
I won’t talk about red roses
Nor violets, though they are blue.
And I’ll even break the rhyme scheme
To make this special for you.
Crazy, right? I’m such a rebel,
Flouting basic rules of rhyme.
But baby—I’d throw that pebble
At rhyme’s windows every time.
My love is inexpressible,
But I will try to convey
Post haste with zero delay.
With courage I’ll embrace this task,
Although daunting it may be.
My feelings will be all unmasked,
My spirit will be set free.
There’re many different paths ahead,
Different versions to pursue.
There’s black or white or fiery red;
Even yellow if you choose.
But alas! You may cry out loud,
How fierce this competition!
But even though I’ve tried the crowd
You’re the one repetition.
No matter what you are my type
Here is my honest perspective.
Steel heart? Or ice? The time is ripe.
My fire’s super effective.
I will travel across the land
Searching far and searching wide.
To find you, and together stand
Against dark times, side by side.
Each year our passion fades a bit
You always have something new.
Though Ruby/Sapphire are great hits,
My first love was you—version blue.
To Nintendo and to Game Freak
Thanks, sincerely, from my heart.
For uniting the game and geek,
So until death do us part.
Through many regions with no spats
We’ve stuck through, near or far from home.
I hope it’s not surprising that
I would Raichu a love poem.
He was a small sea crab, though with big sea dreams.
Growing up in his little community off the shores of Jamaica was comfortable, idyllic even, but he was never one to settle. Even as a baby crustacean, he could not be confined, and even well into adolescence he could be found staring past the outer edge into the deep blue abyss. He yearned to be part of that world.
It didn’t help that travelers passing through carried wild tales of adventure in far off lakes and ponds, or even of the great oceans. Such stories set his heart on fire, igniting a deep passion to witness marvels firsthand. The quiet Jamaican surf was for the borings, the complacents; it was not for spry young crabs! There must be so much more! The water must be so blue on the other side, he thought to himself, and the seaweed so green!
“Such wonderful things surround you!” his family admonished him.
“What more are you looking for?” his friends challenged.
Yet still, the itch for adventure grated at him until he could stand it no longer. What did they know? They were happy living the rustic, quiet life. They couldn’t imagine the wonders of the world beyond. Resolute, he packed his bags one night and slipped away to see what the world had to offer.
The ocean was a vast, but wondrous place. He saw the glittering lights of bioluminescent soirees. He saw the incredible natural canvases of coral reefs. He danced with jellyfish, swam with sea turtles, and even arm wrestled an octopus. But what made the greatest impression on him were the whales. The whales and their songs. When he first heard it, he was entranced. The second time, he was mesmerized. And by the third time, he was completely hooked. He noticed that certain objects could produce similarly musical sounds, would constantly drop off currents to examine a shell here or there, to add to his growing orchestral collection.
But his journey was as hard as it was enlightening. The vast distances, often bereft of shelter or sustenance, took a toll on the young crab. Living a peaceful life did not prepare him for the harsh challenge of traveling alone. Each day he grew more tired; each night he dreamed harder of a haven in which to rest.
One day, he saw it. A shining place of refuge filled with an abundance of food; a weary traveler’s paradise! Eagerly, he rushed into the abode and ate his fill—and so great was his hunger that he did not notice a door clang shut behind him. With a full stomach and a safe shelter, he quickly fell asleep, resting his tired body.
He was rudely awakened with start and a splash. Frantically he spun around—he could not see very far in the murky water, and when he tried to move he ran into an invisible wall. Frustrated, he clacked his pincers—only to find that they were bound.
“Where am I? What is this place?” Frightened and confused, he shouted for anyone to hear.
“Young’un you’re in the tank,” a voice responded, as a dark figure emerged from the haze. “I wish I could say welcome, but you ain’t gonna like it here.”
He stared listlessly out through the glass. How long had he been here, trapped in this empty prison, wasting away his days? He looked around at all the dejected crabs around him, all of whom had given up, and wondered if he was the freak, if he shouldn’t just give up as well. But something deep in him stirred—a simmering anger at the perpetrator who placed him here, fueling his daily struggles to free himself. His unsatisfied heart refused to accept his situation, and slowly he had managed to remove the bindings on his claws. Sullenly, he glares at the hazy shadows shifting around on the other side, nursing his indignation.
A loud voice singing breaks him out of his reverie: “Les poissons, les poissons! How I love les poissons!” That voice! How he hated that voice. Each time he heard it, another comrade disappeared from the tank. Through the stained glass, he could see the source of it prancing around, and tossing sea creatures back and forth. He would not accept this. Was this the end of journeyed for? Was this what he left home for, to sit around and wait to be taken away? Was this what he suffered for, to stagnate in this dead-end tank?
Today was his chance. He only had to wait.
The wait was not long; a meaty hand reached in and scooped him out, bringing him face to face with a mustachioed face. He quickly glanced around and was faced with a horrifying reality without the clarity unobstructed by dirty glass. Two crabs with their shells cracked lay motionless on a flat surface, two more floated lifelessly in a small container of water, and countless fish heads were strewn haphazardly around. He would not join them.
He viciously lashed out with his pincers at the nose in front of him, and felt momentarily weightless as he is flung away. He lands and, even with his hard shell, was momentarily stunned but quickly gathered his wits and scrambled away. He heard the roars of fury of the owner of the nose, and decided to remain hidden. While hidden, he noticed that certain large black bags are periodically carried out; when nobody was looking, he stowed away. He felt his bag move, stop, then move again. When he was sufficiently certain that he has stopped for the last time, he tore through the thin material, and tumbled out into the bright light and hot sand.
The scene that greeted his eyes was completely foreign. But he quickly spotted the mass of blue in the distance, and headed in that direction. It is a long trek without water currents to help carry him. Harassed by unknown avian predators, dehydrated by the searing sun, confused and disoriented by the tumultuous escape, he finally arrives at the water’s edge. He plunges in, exhausted, and lets the tide carry him away under the sea.
When he wakes up, he is near the bottom, with a palace looming before him
The crab collapsed at the doorstep of the palace. He hoped only for refuge, though he feared the worst. Slowly, the door creaked open, and a voice echoed from within.
“Who seeks entrance into Triton’s Palace?”
“Horatio Thelonius Ignatius Crustaceus…Sebastian.”
@3 months ago with 3 notes
A glint to the right. A flutter on the left. With a deft twist, she continues onward, heedless of the whirling mass around her. Others swirl around her, ignorant, or perhaps just uncaring of her flight. Behind her, her path quickly fills; this usually empty route is inexplicably popular tonight. The anonymous, faceless crowd made it nearly impossible to identify who, if any, is on her trail. The seemingly random path revealed no hint of purpose or pattern; blind, and drawn by a force she cannot explain, she continues, ever onwards.
A light! She shies away from the sudden illumination, back into the soft embrace of the darkness—only to be caught by a particularly fierce gust, sweeping her back again. But she is determined and, despite her diminutive frame, she is not afraid of hardship. Dodging into an alley, she slows down, tired, and, hoping to regain her strength, she slows her flight and meanders around walls and posts, trying to lose herself in protective anonymity. She has been on the move for hours, and has become hopelessly lost in the fog. A dark mass cuts across her path and a sudden blast of heat blows past her, sending her hastily scurrying away again; indeed, there seems to be no safe haven for one such as her, no place to rest her weary body. The journey has been long, and harrowing, and in her exhaustion, she has become nearly delirious. Ponderously, she floats a couple more feet—abruptly, silently, Snowflake splatters across the windshield of oncoming traffic.
@5 months ago with 2 notes