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Rated: E · Short Story · Sci-fi · #1231424
This is a story I wrote for my eighth grade English class two years ago.
Once upon a time, there was a goat called Aigomoiras. That was actually his title, being derived from the ancient Greek words meaning “goat of doom”. He worked as an executioner and part-time security guard. His method of execution was really interesting. First, he would decapitate them, and then placed various curses on the head, before finally dumping the head into the Abyss of Eternal Immolation. The body was usually fed to his pet lemmings. The curses were intended to divert any danger or bad luck that would ordinarily befall Aigomoiras onto the severed head of the deceased.
Aigomoiras guarded the Bridge of Death, which was the sole connection between the country of Zookhoria and the Palace of Wise and Perfectly Sane Archons. The Bridge of Death crossed the Abyss of Eternal Immolation. Daredevils regularly tried to jump from the Bridge into the Abyss, invariably dying of impalement on one of the 32,768 sharp, pointy, jabby, ouchy, spiky thingies at the bottom of the 1,073,741,824 inch deep chasm.
One night, his goat ears detected a song not unlike the kind traditionally sung by kindergarteners. At once, he halted and his fiery red eyes like lasers pierced the darkness, sweeping up and down the Bridge. He was searching for the insolent infidel that dared sing so cute a song on the Bridge of Death. Aigomoiras heard the song growing progressively louder, until he felt a tiny bump on his hoof, whereupon he looked down and spied a tiny fluffy purple thing hopping up and down.
Utilizing his enhanced powers of observation, Aigomoiras was able to conclude that the fluffy purple thing was a sort of bunny based on the fact that it was clearly unintelligent, was hopping up and down, had long ears, was munching on a carrot, was fluffy and purple, and was singing the intolerably cute song.
Finally, Aigomoiras thundered, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE BRIDGE OF DEATH!?”
The fluffy purple bunny shook with every rumbling syllable. Its eyes panned upwards for a few seconds, traversing the enormous jet-black goat’s body until, at long last, they reached Aigomoiras’s head. The fluffy purple bunny resumed its hopping. “I am Fluffy Bunny and I am singing and hopping up and down,” he squeaked.
“IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE THE BRIDGE OF DEATH IMMEDIATELY I SHALL BE FORCED TO PUMMELIZE YOU INTO OBLIVION, WHICH WILL BE VERY, VERY BAD INDEED; AND YOU WILL SAY, ‘BEHOLD, FOR I AM NOW PUMMELIZED INTO OBLIVION. THIS IS VERY, VERY BAD INDEED.’”
“Okay,” came the reply. And Fluffy Bunny hopped away.
All was quiet. One could hear the buzzing of a lawn mower. Somewhere, off in the distance, a dog barked. A cow skipped by. (Nobody knows why cows skip. However, that they are demented creatures by nature is widely known and almost all have mental issues to some degree).
Aigomoiras, who had not yet had his happy pills, and, moreover, had not beheaded anybody the entire week, saw the cow. He muttered a few unintelligible commands into his headset. All of a sudden, a screeching noise filled the countryside. The unwitting bovine continued to skip along, completely oblivious to the fact that its demise was nigh.
An enormous bug-eyed monster about fifty fathoms in length and roughly resembling a mutant fascist butterfly then set upon the cow and proceeded to ingest the cow’s organs through the straw-like apparatus otherwise known as its proboscis.
Fluffy Bunny heard the noise through his rather large ears and ducked into the nearest elderberry bushes he could find. Fluffy Bunny was just the secret identity of Super Bunny! Super Bunny had gained his super powers in a childhood accident involving an active volcano, a man named Splick who thought the Glord Motor Company secretly embedded a nuclear reactor in his left kidney, and forty pounds of cucumbers.
Once Super Bunny had changed into his biomechanical suit, he left the bushes, took one flying leap at the monster and…
…missed. He fell down into the Abyss of Eternal Immolation and was impaled on one of 32,768 sharp, pointy, jabby, ouchy, spikey thingies at the bottom of the 1,073,741,824 inch chasm.
The End
© Copyright 2007 Sitting on a Cornflake (evildeathllama at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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