The Brief Awakening of Dawn and Death

It was the year 1832, and I had already destroyed seventeen thousand people eagerly. I was tired from my long hard day of destruction, but was I allowed to sleep? NO! That decision lay in the hands of the Bulgarian sheep from Essex, and all they ever had to say in the matter was “Baa!” or “I would like to spend the rest of my life in an underground storage area.”

Usually “Baa!” though.

The Bulgarian sheep had always favoured the axolotls over us. The axolotls were even allowed to have a decent profession. We could only be either a crocodile wrangler or a destroyer. Most people chose the former. I chose the latter.
A destroyer is someone who destroys the lives of others for a living. They are cruel, lethal, and have best sense of humour you could possibly imagine. I chose this life because I found the idea intriguing. I was reluctant to kill at first, but eventually I became rather bloodthirsty. Now, I love my job. Also, destroyers get paid seven pence more than crocodile wranglers. You’d think that wasn’t much, but when you’re a petty, bloodthirsty destroyer, like me, myself, and I, any kind of advantage makes you almost shrivel up in the joy of your own righteousness.
The Bulgarian sheep emerged from the deadly realms of Essex in the early 1900s. I am aware of the fact that earlier I stated that is was 1832, but nod along; this minor error is the product of insanity. Anyway, when the Bulgarian sheep arrived, they fought us with nothing but their own sandals to try and take control. The war had gone on fifty-seven years before the sheep had claimed the ultimate victory, but that’s another story.
I took a step into the glorious, magical lunar lands of possibility, and collapsed on the floor in exhaustion.

When I awoke, I was in another place entirely. The walls were clearly made of beetles, which really irritated me. What, did they think we were too stupid to notice? I looked above me and eyed the glowing, green matrix of wonderment above me in a curious fashion. I left the room, and found myself in a place that uncannily resembled Times Square. I looked above me once more and saw the thing everyone dreamed of seeing; the giant blue balloon. I reached up to it, and grasped onto it firmly, pulled myself close to it, in order to see if the legends were true, and if it really would remove all bad from the world.

The legends were not.

I let it go solemnly. I began to slump off in disappointment but then I realised. If I believed, I could do anything. I stormed off determinedly to do something I’d always wanted to.
I left the pet shop in triumph with a pet rabbit. Unfortunately, the rabbit was insufferably ravenous and made continuous attempts to devour me, so I ran back to the pet shop hurriedly and put him back, leaving him with only a note.

Dearest Rabbit-I-Never-Got-The-Chance-To-Name,

I will always love you. In the two minutes and twenty-three seconds you were my pet I was at the happiest I ever have been. Thank you, for being not only the greatest pet a girl could wish for, but also an excellent friend. If you were not so viciously murderous, we would have been happy together. But you were viciously murderous, and so it was never meant to be.
You have a good heart; it’s just a little vicious for my liking.

Love From,
Krog Davies

It was only after I had ran from the store, tears streaming down my face, leaving my rabbit, the confused shop owner, and my heart behind, that I realised my name was not Krog Davies.

My name was Morphinus Creekenstein IV, and I was a proud Nintendo DS Fan Club member since 1908. I think that’s pretty impressive seeing as it was released in 2004.

Then, I remembered that I hadn’t checked the monthly Nintendo newsletter in seven months. A whole ton of games could have been released and I wouldn’t even know. I ran zealously to my computer, when I remembered two things that stopped me:

1.) I was in that place that resembled Times Square. My computer was miles and miles away, back home in England.
2.) When I signed up to the Nintendo DS Fan Club, I forgot to tick the box that said “I would like to receive a monthly Nintendo newsletter by email.”

I fell down on my knees and screamed in agony. I let the misery come from its underwater seclusion and envelop me completely. I shrieked out over and over, until the pain became too great for me to do even that. Lost in a place that may or may not be Times Square, rabbit-less, and, I could barely even think the words, Nintendo newsletter-less. This was beyond agony. I gripped my fingers so hard the thin flesh over my knuckles tore and bled down my arm. I could have been there for days, I was long past caring.

The pain eventually became tolerable, and I opened my eyes to several concerned faces, all wondering if I was actually in pain or if I was just mad. “Sorry,” I began to explain. “I just realised I was never going to receive an exciting email from Nintendo about upcoming gaming features.”
They all nodded to themselves, internally deciding on the latter option and judging me for being such an abnormality. I could practically feel their distaste for me, but, while getting better, the pain was still throbbing deep, deep within. I grasped my stomach to keep myself from falling apart, and hurried on, still wondering where I was. I came to a bus stop, and sat there patiently. When the bus arrived, I clambered on, and asked the driver, “Where am I and where am I going?”

“Nurfenville,” he replied. “And wherever the hell you want. This bus stops at every bus stop in the known universe. It could be a long ride, it sometimes takes...”

I didn’t hear the rest; I had already got off. There, in front of me, stood a pale fellow with neon-yellow eyes. The bright sunny colour of his eyes made me back off, but he only stared deeper into me, as if to look into my soul. I found this mildly creepy, and decided to walk off, and he did not follow. What a freak. I continued to walk down the road, when, suddenly, the landscape took a dramatic change. What was a place resembling Times Square, apparantly called Nurfenville, was now a world of deep clouds and pixies. The pixies loved me, I could feel it. They came and sat in my hair, playing with my deep blue locks. When they flew off, they left me feeling relieved of the pain Nintendo had scarred me with. I closed my eyes and let sweet relief tumble across me in every direction. I felt the cool breeze upon me, and I knew there was only one place this could be; Mount Wycheproof. Mount Wycheproof is the smallest mountain on the Earth’s surface, standing at just forty-three metres, in Australia. I threw my head back and laughed like a maniac. Maybe I was. All I knew was that, after all these years, sweet peace had found me. I could finally rest in asylum. I curled up and wept with the happiness of the moment. It was overwhelming. I fell asleep right there on Mount Wycheproof, and I felt the happiest I think I ever could feel.

The next morning, I awoke feeling well rested. Since the Bulgarian sheep refused to give us permission to sleep, this was not a feeling I was used to. I rolled over and opened my eyes, to be greeted by Derek. Derek was a burly brute of a fellow made purely of chocolate milk. He was also one of the last remaining secret members of the Canadian Fruit Society. The CFS used to be one of the most popular societies in all of Asia, never mind in Canada where it was actually from. These days, only seven of its members were brave enough to remain faithful to the group. This was because of the fact that if you remain faithful to such a society, the evil beings known as the Snugs would send a radioactive beam to you to destroy anything of any importance to you whatsoever. So, a manically depressed suicidal person would survive such an attack.
Derek was not manically depressed or suicidal, but he was made of chocolate milk. You can’t destroy chocolate milk. So, Derek is safe, and able to stay the greatest member the CFS ever had.
“Hey, Derek,” I greeted him.
Derek pulled out a massive beach ball from his pocket and beat me with it. It was then I realised that this was not Derek; this was Kevin.
Kevin was no chocolate milk CFS member. He was the Bulgarian sheep’s prime officer. He was the most intense kind of cushioned cat one could ever possibly dream of. It was his job to come after people who broke the strict and firm rules the sheep bestowed upon our world. There were five rules, plus the rules we already had before the sheep came. The only one they regularly had to enforce was to never stop working. That means if we wish not to break the law, we have to spend all eternity either crocodile wrangling or destroying. I hadn’t worked in over a day, almost two, in fact.
I knew what was to become of me now. I was done for. Unless... maybe...

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, until I heard the quiet popping noise that confirmed my triumph. I opened my eyes to meet Kevin’s, which were wide with obvious confusion. I beat my wings and flew off far, far away, gladly leaving Kevin behind me. Less gladly leaving my newfound home and beloved pixies. I cared for them so. I promised myself I would visit them, as soon as I was sure I could be safe from Kevin. If it weren’t for them, I surely would have been altered in all the wrong ways by my severe agony. I cawed in a grand and superior fashion, as if to say, “Thank you.” I swooped off into the distance, and, hopefully, safety.

My hopes came true. Living life as a toucan, the sheep, Kevin, and their brutal minions never found me, and I’m sure they never will. Oh, they’ve seen me, before. Seven times. Each time, Kevin had looked deep, deep into my eyes, much in the way that freak with the neon yellow eyes had that one time in Nurfenville. Each time, Locksy, one of the sheep, had bleated at him in a way that clearly meant “For God’s sake, you freak, she didn’t turn into a bloody toucan! It just isn’t possible!”
Each time, Kevin had let it go, but only after giving me an “I’m on to you, bird” look. Each time, I continued blindly pecking away, as if I had noticed nothing. As if I was nothing but a bird.
I used to visit Mount Wycheproof every week. The pixies always welcomed me with open arms, and making me feel the sweet relief of safety. But one time, I went back, and it was just Nurfenville again. The landscape must have changed back. I visit everyday now, hoping... but, it has been Nurfenville for a full seventeen years.

This is still a happy ending. I was safe, free, and can type up my memories even as a toucan somehow, but I missed the mountain dearly. It was my home in all ways that counted. So, it could be a happier ending. So many others before me had had a happier ending. But, you can’t win them all. I got lucky enough I tried to turn into a toucan and it actually worked.

The End