Miriam’s mother, Jennifer, answered the doorbell to find Snaky, a dragon from the Land of Wormy Delights disguised in a tailored suit, asking her if he could borrow her daughter as a sacrifice. In a loud voice Jennifer called to Miriam, “There’s a nice-looking, young man here who would like to borrow you as a sacrifice to his lord of the 33rd something-or-other (degree) degree…lucywoosi (Illuminatus) illuminatus…?… (Illuminati) latiwhati…(palm slap)”.
As soon as Miriam heard the word “sacrifice” she grabbed the can of Dra-Gone! dragon repellant, the brand with the slogan You never know when you’ll never need it, and rushed to protect her mother shaking the can to charge it for a direct strike onto Snaky’s snout. As soon as Snaky saw the can he ran.
That stuff must really work, thought Jennifer, wondering if they might squirt just an itsy-bitsy bit of it as a test in the street in spite of multiple warnings on the can to never – ever – even think of doing something like that. After the two adventurous experimenters took deep breaths and Miriam gingerly touched the sprayer to release an itsy-bitsy bit they ran back inside gagging, bolting the door, sealing the frame with duct tape while the neighborhood dogs went bananas.
Gerald answered the doorbell and recognized Snaky that dragon from the Land of Wormy Delights who had earlier tried to kidnap his wife standing in front of him with a sheep-eating grin. Snaky’s acquaintances at Wormy Delights suggested to him that perhaps it was impolite not to ask the husband before running off with his wife and so Snaky asked Gerald, “Can I borrow your wife as a sacrifice to my lord and 33rd degree master, Illuminatus Illuminati, Lucy Satanus, Supercilious Serpent Maximus, et cetera, et cetera?”
Gerald played along asking, “Will you bring her back in one piece?”
Although Snaky knew that lying was a great way to blow up the sanity supporting rational communication, he feared that such an eruption right now might diminish the value of the sacrifice in some mysterious way only those in a higher pay-grade could comprehend. So, to be safe, to make sure the super serpent he served wouldn’t kick his butt later, Snaky took the sheep out of his mouth to respond without mumbling, “No.”
“Then, no, you can’t borrow her,” Gerald said.
Denise offers the prompt word “eruption” to be used in this week’s Six Sentence Stories. This dragon tale continues from Stroke – Six Sentence Story.
Gerald caught up with Snaky, the dragon who kidnapped his wife, Miriam, and told him to gently, very gently, open his mouth and set her down. After Snaky did she went to Gerald’s side putting her hands to her hair to stroke it back in place and then wiping off the dragon slime so they could both pay full attention when giving Snaky a piece of their minds, such as, What has gotten into you?
Raising his chest with snorts of pride and showing grotesque teeth and dragon boogers dripping through his nostrils’ steam, Snaky bellowed that he wanted to rip their hearts out squishing them slowly, very slowly, as sacrifices to his lord and master of the 33rd degree, Illuminatus Illuminati, Satánus Luciferus, marked with the 666 seal, the Supreme Serpent for whom he’d gladly lay down his dragon bones and die.
After pausing to permit this to sink in Gerald and Miriam looked at each other and laughed leaving even Snaky erupting in spooky grunts at his own expense. Pointing out to him that he had unintentionally rubbed his bottom in what looked like dragon-itch poison ivy Gerald and Miriam figured it was time to leave before they started itching as well.
As they turned from the deluded rainbow kingdom of mischievous enchantment, ever troubling the visions of misguided youth and the dreams of the witless old, it faded exposing an underbelly of demented fantasies and wormy delights.
The only thing Gerald wanted was that key dangling from the neck of the sorceress who said as she offered him an apple squishing the worm popping its head from the core: Take another bite.
He tried to recall what he was doing there as she charmed him explaining, But, Gerald, you know you’re addicted and it’s time for your medication. To prove her point she unlocked his chains with the key to show him just how pathetically weak he had become. Besides, she loved watching her victims go through the agony of deciding what they really wanted: freedom or wormy delights?
Thankfully for Gerald the fog cleared in time for him to remember why he entered this godforsaken kingdom of enchantment in the first place. Unchained he rushed off to resume rescuing his wife kidnapped by Snakindegras, a particularly ornery dragon he couldn’t wait to get his hands on, while the witch with the apple screamed in the distance: Run, Snaky, run!
The heretic hunters smirked as the paralyzed man was slowly lowered through the roof to the Master’s feet. Their ever simmering fluid of righteousness popped its cork when they heard the Master declare, “Your sins are forgiven.”
Some thought, “Just who does he think he is?” They argued that only the demon possessed would say stuff like that.
The Master waited for the heretic hunters to catch their breaths. The paralyzed man waited also since he couldn’t do much of anything until he first heard words, spoken with the proper authority, like, “Arise, pick up your bed, and walk.”
The puzzle looked like confused confetti so I jumped right in to set things straight. No piece was totally benighted because each had a right side though some of them displayed their wrong sides up. I was grateful for those few that had edges.
With all pieces properly placed (except for those the dog ate) the puzzle displayed an image of white puzzle pieces scattered on a dark table waiting for someone to jump in and straighten them out.
And that’s all there is to this confused tale. I’m still wondering why I jumped into that mess of confetti.
Who controls the whirlwind? All one can hope when the debris settles is to find something left of value.
When Benjamin saw the twister head straight for the farmhouse he yelled to his wife to get the children. While they were driving away she noticed that the tornado had changed direction as if it were chasing them. With the sound of the wind ripping trees apart Benjamin braked, turned into the entrance of a field, backed out to face the opposite direction, shifted into first, accelerated, shifted into second, accelerated, and shifted into third to accelerate out of the reach of the advancing wind.
If that twister really did want to get them it miscalculated since it left chickens, cows, sheds, tractor, cellar and the farmhouse, all of it, intact and untouched, but glowing with Benjamin’s and his family’s praise rising heavenwards sweetened with gratitude.
People faulted Blake as someone who liked to run around, a term that usually meant he couldn’t stop starting and stopping stuff, popping in here and then suddenly there, or jabbering about this and then that longer than most listeners, they in particular, could tolerate. He wouldn’t dream of denying their charges since he viewed his defects as features except when others exhibited them.
All this running around focused his waking hours on optimizing the quantity of funds he could turn over to questionable, but good enough, causes with little time left over to deal with his own problems. As his future turned into his past and the measurable score of his good deeds exploded, he anticipated that there would be an endless supply of more of the same in spite of knowing that entropy makes a mess of most things.
Reality intervened one day like a waiter bringing a tab he didn’t know he started. Trying to find something of value with which to pay the bill he was surprised to learn that the busyness of his effective altruism provided little, if any, positive value in his present situation to keep the demonic darkness from coming in and taking him out.
Whispers and Echoes recently published a 100-word story of mine called Spotting the Heretic. I am grateful to the editor, Sammi Cox, for selecting it. Submissions to this online journal are currently open.