Much Ado About Something Or Other

         “What am I to do?” Professor Langston said to himself as he wandered aimlessly through the thick woods that surrounded Pohl University.
         Recently his walks had become longer and increasingly somber affairs. The thoughts of his impending annual review tore through his mind like a rabid wolverine. It had been three years since he had made any noteworthy discoveries. He knew that his work regarding the killer dung beetles of northern Australia wouldn’t keep the board satisfied forever.
         “That’s it, I’m finished.” he mumbled to himself. “If only I had tried a little harder. Or if I had gone to the Amazon last year like I had planned, none of this would be happening.”
         He sat down on a fallen tree that seemed to wince under his substantial weight. The forest was quieter here than usual, though he didn’t seem to mind or even notice. Sweat had begun to bead on his forehead and he removed his glasses to give them a quick cleaning.
         He heard a rustling in the undergrowth up ahead and stood bolt upright. He knew there were raccoons, stray dogs, possums and even the occasional opossum in these woods. He stood like a statue hoping their vision wasn’t based on sight.
         The rustling continued. His lackluster will gave out and he turned and fell over the log, ripping a pant leg in the process. He picked himself up quickly and with much effort, shrieking, he waddled deeper into the woods.
         He made it about a quarter of a mile before his instincts slowly released its grip on his mind. He slowed to a shuffle as he looked at his surroundings. He didn’t remember ever seeing this part of the woods. He stared up at the trees as he walked, realizing this was a bad idea because, a) rocks usually don’t reside in the air, and b) they usually do on the ground.
         He came crashing to the ground with a mighty thud (or at least a thud that went to the gym on occasion and went jogging on days it wasn‘t raining). The ground was soft and stained the elbows and knees of his suit. He laid there as if to say “I give up, come and take me now.”
         “Oi, Boy-o!” came a small voice near his head. “You almost took out m’ home with your rear!”
         “What? Who said that?” the professor exclaimed.
         “Oi, I did. You should ‘ave more consideration for peoples homes!”
         The professor turned and saw the small fuzzy outline of a little man who was stroking his beard in a way that would make a veteran soldier uneasy.
         He replaced his glasses which were still in his hand and saw the man clearly. He looked like any other man that you would expect to be living in the woods. He wore animal skins, which the professor thought to be squirrel, and poking out of his large bushy beard was a pipe with wisps of smoke rising above. His face looked hard and weather-worn. His stare could have frozen the sun.
         He sat up carefully as not to anger the man, not taking into consideration that at about eight inches tall, he could probably squash him with his hand. He looked behind him and saw the man sized log cabin sitting at the base of a very large tree.
         The man stood there expectantly tapping his foot and drawing on his pipe.
         “Oh, I am sorry. I-I didn’t know anyone lived out here.”
         “Oi, I guess not. But, I guess there’s no harm done. I‘m Seamus O‘Leary and you are?” he said as he stuck out his hand.
         “I’m professor Langston, from the university.” he replied as he extended his hand and Seamus shook the tip of his index finger.
         “I was never much for book learnin’ myself. I always said a man needs to get out of his head and into the wood. It’s good for the soul.”
         “It seems.” the professor replied. “May I ask what are you?”
         “I told you already, I’m Seamus.”
         “No, not who, what.”
         “I don’t follow. You’re a strange one boy-o.”
         “Never mind. How long have you lived out here? Do you live here by yourself?”
         “I’ve lived here as long as I’ve lived, and as for being by myself, no. I have family all through these parts. They just prefer not to live this far from civilization.”
         “Family? This is stupendous. Do you think you could let me study you and your family?” asked the professor.
         “What do you mean? You want to follow us around and write down where we are and what we do?”
         “Precisely. It would save my career.”
         “Like I said Professor, I’m not much on book learnin’, but what would your friends say if you ran out of these woods, looking as you do, torn and dirty, rantin’ and ravin’ about little folk who live in the wood?”
         “Well when you put it like that…”
         “That’s right boy-o, they’d say you were nuttier than squirrel turds. What do you think that would do for your career?”
         “Your right… I can’t…”
         “I can show you a colony of daft, white squirrels. It’s the funniest thing I ever saw. I put up a drawing of one of the females, they keep running into it and looking around as if someone hit them. It always makes me feel better.”
         “You know where there’s a colony of albino squirrels here? There aren’t supposed to be any of them for a thousand miles.”
         “Well boy-o, give us a minute to pack a lunch and I’ll make your day.”
         “Seamus, you may have just saved my career.”
         “Just so long as you don’t tell ‘em old Seamus told you where they was.”

(word count: 958)

Once I got started with this story there was so much more I wanted to add, more detail and an ending that wasn't so abrupt. I wrote this for the Writer's Cramp, so I was capped at 1,000 words. Thank you for reading, I sincerely appreciate it.