Poems
Poems of Antiquity
Short stories
Nano Novel
Artography*
Home
* -- denotes soonish.
A good, deep sleep.
A good deep sleep that was ruined by Mr Peckins.
"Shhhhhh!" Mr Peckins said.
Onion could merely groan. He needed to sleep. Bad. His arms felt like they were on fire. His legs felt like butter. If he wasn't careful, his arms might melt his legs. And then where would he be? Why was he thinking such things? It was Mr Peckins fault. Strange things seemed to happen when Mr Peckins was around. Onion wasn't sure they were always for the best.
"Okay, I got you and Pickle into this mess, so I'll get you out," Mr Peckins said, beginning to shout.
"Shhhhhhh!" Onion reminded him.
"Oh yes, must be quiet, don't want to start a riot. Not yet anyway, hey hey hey. Now, listen, very careful, and be mindful, for this is what you must do."
Onion tried to focus his mind, but it was no use. There was a train, and a caboose. There was this tooth coming loose. And someone was reading a book by Dr. Seuss.
No, something was not right. It was blue as night. The train took fright. The bagel took flight. Something something something bright. Contrite. Uptight. "Not from this height," Mr Peckins said to fight.
"Stop this madness, now, right?" said Onion. Then covered his mouth. Lights danced in front of his eyes. Then they started singing.
"Pain, oh, we are the lights of pain, oh, yes.
Pain, oh, pain, oh, pain, oh pain.
We are the lights of pain.
We swing real hard.
We hurt real bad.
In the morning, you'll feel sad.
Oh, we are the lights of pain.
The lights of pain are we.
We sing, we dance, we ruin romance.
We are the lights you see."
Onion tried to blink his eyes several times, but they seemed to stick together, like they were made out of glue.
Onion asked, "What is all this eye goo?"
"Oh, did you hear the news," asked Mr Peckins in a snooze. "Achilles is suffering from the blues. Oh, Achilles, Achilles. Why didn't you wear better shoes..."
"EVERYONE PLEASE SHUT UP!" Onion yelled.
Then he blinked, and there was nothing there.
There was no one in his room. It must have all been a dream. His arms hurt, but they weren't on fire. His legs were sore, but they weren't butter. And there was no dancing and singing lights, and no Mr Peckins. Luckily.
There was, however, the last lingering thought from Onion's dream...
"Why didn't Achilles wear better shoes?"
It was a good question. But before Onion could think more about it, he fell back into a deep deep sleep. Nothing at all like a snooze. Z's poured out in ones and twos.
* * *
"Wake up, Pickle," a voice said. A familiar, quiet voice.
Pickle slowly opened her eyes. She didn't want to move. She actually wasn't sure she could move. She was warm underneath her covers, and it felt too good. She would just stay here the rest of the day.
"Come on, Pickle, we don't want to be late again today. We have to eat sometime."
Pickle grumbled, but then he stomach grumbled louder. That got her moving. "Okay, O, I'm ready to go." She still had her tattered apron on. And the same clothes she had been wearing, what, four or five days ago? It felt like years since she had decided to leave home.
Pickle's day was much the same as the day before. Filling vats, sampling food, running around and washing small items. It took most of the day just to get one vat right. The final ingredient was the most important, O explained. All the vegetables and meats and other things were just to get the texture right. The last thing that went in was a small black leaf, similar to a bay leaf. O placed it gently on top of the vat, once the boiling had completely stopped. Then the vat was covered, and they ignored it for an hour or two. When they came back, the leaf had grown so big that Pickle and several Ughs had to gather round the platform at the top of the vat to scoop it out.
"Don't let any of the leaf get in," one of the Ughs shouted, as they pulled it out using a large net. Pickle felt like she was cleaning a pool more than cooking food.
"What does the leaf do?" Pickle asked O.
"It's what it doesn't do. Or what it undoes, rather. It's called a flavorleaf. Which is deceiving. It is a flavor dehancer. Left in for just the right amount of time, it will suck out all the flavor of any food."
"But why?" Pickle asked, confused.
"I have no idea how it works," O confessed.
"No, O, I mean why do we take the flavor out of the stew? Wouldn't it taste better if it had flavor in it? Wouldn't people enjoy it more?"
"Well, sure, but It says that then we'd eat too much, and end up like our par--, well, we'd be in a bad way, for sure. It wants us to eat just the right amount, no more no less. It is very concerned about our diet."
"It is?" Pickle said, more of a statement than a question.
"Yes, It is," O replied. "And don't go thinking you can trick It. It has eyes everywhere, and It always knows."
Pickle said nothing, but she thought to herself, "It might have eyes, but It can't see everywhere all the time. And when I figure out when It's not watching, I'm going to get It. Just you wait and see. Oh, now I'm calling it It. It's a Squeeb, Pickle, don't forget that." Thinking such thoughts, she went about her tasks wordlessly.
Around midday, they were allowed to eat, and finally Pickle got to see what it was like to eat a whole bowl full of tasteless greenish yellowish mush. It didn't taste as bad as it sounds, because it didn't have any flavor. But that made it almost impossible to eat more than a few bites. Then she pushed the bowl away from herself. Her stomach was still as empty as could be, but she couldn't imagine putting a single more bite of that stuff in her mouth. Blech! She looked around and all the Ughs were scarfing theirs down.
"How do you eat this stuff?" Pickle asked O.
O shrugged.
"We didn't eat yesterday, so now I'm hungry. It isn't so bad. I mean, it doesn't taste bad at all."
"It doesn't taste like anything," Pickle countered.
"Exactly!" O said. "That means we did our job!"
Pickle sighed. How long would this go on? How much more of this could she take? Well, I don't really know. I do know that it lasted the rest of the day, and when she went home and again collapsed into bed, she actually thought that she was more tired than the day before. And she vowed to do something about this before she went crazy.
"Goodnight O," she mumbled from her pillow.
"Goodnight Pickle," O said. Then, to herself, as she walked away, she added, "We harvest our dreams by candlelit streams."
* * *
The next several days passed without much incident for Onion.
Wake up. Mine. Close his eyes. See red. Go to sleep.
Wake up. Mine. Close his eyes. See red. Go to sleep.
Wake up. Mine. Close his eyes. See red. Go to sleep.
Wake up. Mine. Close his eyes. See red. Go to sleep.
And so on. His arms hurt terribly the first few days, but finally they started getting used to the labor. They felt stronger. He was able to stand all day. After about a week, he noticed his arms starting to look bigger. He knew what he was doing wasn't great: mining metal for a nasty old Squeeb. But the work itself wasn't inherently bad, and all the other Ughs seemed to respect him for working so hard. Soon, he saw his chance to show his respect for them, and after the third day, he handed his light-weight axe to a fellow Ugh, saying, "Here, today you get this. I will take yours." The Ugh looked unsure, but Onion didn't give him time to question, just took the heavier axe and began chipping away at the wall. The Ugh nodded, seemed to understand, and worked away next to Onion for the rest of the day. Then, each day, Onion would give his pick axe to another Ugh, until finally all of them had gotten a turn and it had come back to him.
That was the day that he decided he would have to do something. They all couldn't go on like this, mining flatstone for who knows what reason. As they left the cave, Onion braced himself for a speech. He made sure he was the first one out, and before any of them could hand their axes and shovels to Jgglr, who was still snoring away, Onion cleared his throat and began...
* * *
This is what Onion said, he said, "Wake up Pickle. I've found something. Get up. Get up."
At least, it seemed like Onion saying it. That's because Pickle was having a dream about him, and in it, he was telling her lots of important things, most of which were conveyed in winks, and Pickle was desperately trying to tell him that she didn't speak wink. But she didn't know the right wink for "I No Speak Wink." So Onion kept winking, then adding little bits to it, like, "Which means that once a thing grows so big, it could consume itself and not even realize it." Pickle had no idea what he was talking about. She was glad that she was woken up. But she was sad to be awake, like always.
The past several weeks had passed in a blur. Pickle couldn't believe she was still doing the same thing every day: waking up. Working in the kitchen all day. Eating greenish yellowish flavorless mush. She was even to the point where she could almost stomach it. But she usually had to skip at least one meal a day, because her stomach would reject it. The other O's made fun of her, in a nice way, when she would push her bowl away. All the O's who worked in the kitchen were really great, Pickle thought. She knew she had to do something to try to free them all from the tyranny of the nasty and wicked Squeeb, but so far, she couldn't see what she should do.
"Pickle, get up, I've found something really cool," O said, tugging at her shirt. Well, it wasn't really her shirt. All the clothes got put in a big pile after about a week, and washed all together. Pickle had tried to tell them to separate the clothes into different colors, but they all laughed at her like she was crazy. Then, when the washing was done, and it was done in, of all things, the giant dishwashing machine in the kitchen, all of the clothes had merged into one another. Part of her old shirt was now part of someone else's shirt. Her pants were at least three different colors, no four. They really weren't even her pants anymore; they were just like everyone else's. Multicolored and horrendous looking. But Pickle got used to wearing mismatching clothes just like she got used to everything else. "You can get used to anything, if you just try hard enough," Pickle's dad had told her once, when she was refusing to eat eggplant or liver. "But I don't want to get used to that stuff," Pickle had said, pushing at the green goop and wrinkling her nose. "I'd rather starve." "Sometimes you don't get a choice," her dad said, with a somberness in his voice that kept Pickle from saying anything else. She figured now she understood better what he was saying. But there was no time to ponder it over, O was tugging at her sleeve and urging her up and out of her bed.
"What's the rush O," Pickle said. "It's not work time yet. We'll still get our mush today."
O frowned.
"Pickle, you are changing. Right in front of my face. I remember the first day here, you didn't care a bit for working for It. Now you sound like, like--"
"Like the rest of you?" Pickle asked.
"Yes! That's right." O said. "But you aren't like the rest of us. And that is what makes you so great. Anyway, come, look, I have found such a weird thing, I wanted to share it with you."
O dragged her out of bed, and secretly she was delighted that O had complimented her. She had grown accustomed to O. She admired the little Ugh a great deal. Her buoyancy and enthusiasm, even while they did the same thing over and over again. And her belief in Pickle. Pickle wasn't sure why, but O seemed certain that Pickle would change things on the island. For the better. Pickle knew she wanted to do something, but she wasn't sure what. And the Squeeb always had his guard roving around, making sure everyone was in bed at night and that everyone was behaving. She had even gotten yelled at when she tried to pick a banana from a tree and eat it. The Squeeb was a great big nasty crum-bum, that much was certain.
O was dragging her down the path to the washing pond. It wasn't really a pond, because the sea leaked into it and filled it. But it was secluded, and it was where they went about twice a week to clean themselves of all the grit and grime that they had acquired after working in the kitchen.
"You know, O, that I just bathed two days ago," Pickle said to her, but O paid her no mind.
"Come, come. It is this way. Just a little past. The strangest of plants." Plants? Pickle thought. Why was she losing sleep over plants?
They took a detour right before they got to the pond, and started walking down a path that looked like it was more for deer or animals than people. They walked for about ten minutes, then they came to an open area, and that is where O stopped and pointed.
"Look!" she said, her voice awed.
For as long as the eye could see, there were huge plants, towering 20 or 30 feet in length. They were thin and tough looking, similar to bamboo, Pickle thought, but not quite so reedy. They had long, alternating green leaves, and there were roots growing out of the bottom of them in bulbs. She was about to ask O what was so special about it, when the wind shifted and the aroma of the plants wafted in her direction.
She was overwhelmed. The air itself was literally tangy. Pungent.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
"Pickle!" O said back.
"This is it, O, this is perfect!" Pickle shouted.
"It is?" O said, but Pickle picked O up and spun her around.
Finally, things were going to start changing around here!
"Okay, O, we have to start immediately. Here is what we're going to do..."
Pickle went on to detail her plan to O, who was impressed, but I won't bore you with the details of their exciting and rebellious plot. What? What's that you say? You want to hear about it? Bah. I don't believe you. Besides, they saw me there, and they asked me to go away. They said, "Hey, beat it, we're planning here," and I had to leave. So now I'm following Onion around, and, you know what? He's doing something exciting too. So let's just go and find out what that is, shall we? Yes, it's a deal.
* * *
"It's time!" Onion shouted.
"Dinner isn't for another hour," his buddy A said, walking out of the cave. A few others gathered around to see why the line had stopped moving. This was the end of the day. Most of them, despite being used to the hard labor, were tired. No matter how used to it you get, it still wears you down.
"What's the hold up?" someone asked.
"Onion won't let us turn in our tools," someone else replied.
This was good. Let them get a little riled, Onion thought, and then turn that energy into something positive.
"It's time to take a stand!" Onion shouted, even louder this time. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but the words started falling out of his mouth like flatstones out of the cave walls. "We have been doing this for weeks, almost a month now. What does that Squeeb need all these rocks for? More walls? Isn't his palace thick enough? And why is he telling us what to do? Because he's bigger than us? Because he has a few henchmen? So what? Look at all of us? We are 20 strong, at least, and we can get more. WE DON'T HAVE TO STAND FOR THIS!!!" Onion was really revved up now. All the work and dirt and pain and suffering he had gone through for the past month had suddenly welled up inside him, and was bursting out of him in the form of a speech. He couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.
"WE HAVE A RIGHT TO THIS ISLAND," he shouted, and now seeing that he had all of their attention, he purposefully quieted down. "There are things going on that we don't understand. Strange things. But we shouldn't be kept in the dark. We have a right to know. You all say that one day, the adults were here. The next, they were gone. Well, where did they go? What happened to them? You didn't get to find out. Well, now's your chance. We are going to start asking questions! We are going to start getting answers. We are not coming back here tomorrow!" Onion said, pointing at the cave with his pick axe. "We won't be mining until WE decide to. From now on, WE are in charge of our future. WE are in charge of our destinies. This is OUR island, and we're not going to let some sniveling and sneaky Squeeb tell us what to do!"
Several of the Ughs lifted their axes and shovels and shouted, "Here here!" Onion saw that they were catching on, but it wasn't enough.
"Remember before the Squeeb was here? Didn't you get to eat good food? Didn't you get to eat every day? Your parents didn't take food away from you because you didn't do your chores on time, did they? Of course not. Before the Squeeb was here, you could go outside and play games with your friends. You could sit out on the beach all day and relax. You could go swimming, and eat fruits, and just be lazy if you wanted to. But now? Now, we have to be up at the crack of dawn! We have to work all day! We have to slave ourselves silly! Because that's what we are! Slaves! And you know what? I'm tired of being someone's slave! I'm tired of working all the time, and getting nothing from it. I'm tired of green goop for dinner. I'm tired of missing meals because someone didn't get enough flatstones. I am sick and tired of it all! And I'm not going to let it go on! I'm taking my axe, and I'm going to ... I'm going to ... I'm going to knock that Squeeb's house down! So, who's with me? Who is going to raise their axe one last time! This time, it won't be for stones. It will be for freedom! Who's with me?"
Onion stood there, out of breath. His anger had gotten him worked up, and he had no idea how anyone would react. He started to feel foolish, standing in front of everyone, his pick axe raised in the air. What if they all thought he was crazy? Well, so be it, he'd go knock down that metal hut by himself if he had to. He had committed himself. There was no going back now.
"I'm with him!" his hut-mate shouted.
"I'm with him too!" shouted another Ugh. "Me too! You can count on me! I'm in! Me too!" Suddenly, the forest came alive with the shouting of the Ughs. It looked like they were all behind him.
"Today, we begin a revolution!" Onion shouted. "Let's go!"
As the Ughs tromped by Jgglr without turning in their tools, Jugglr opened his eyes and peeked at them. A small smile passed his face. Once they had left, chanting, "Down with Squeebs! Ughs are free!" Jugglr stood up, stretched, and said aloud, "I guess I should do my small part." And he disappeared into the forest in the opposite direction.
* * *
Things were coming to a head.
Onion and his mining friends were on the move. They were headed for the thatched hut that was metal on the inside.
Pickle, too, had been busy. After plotting all day before with O, she had begun to set her plan in action. The first "attempt" would be at suppertime. Since it was nearing suppertime, and since I don't feel like following Onion in his long, long hike back to the thatched hut (I'm very lazy), let's just hang out here and see what Pickle is up to.
She has been running around like crazy. Chopping things. Running up ladders. Dumping things into a big boiling vat. It is the vat that is supposed to be the one that everyone will eat from tonight. What could she be up to? Mums the word, though. Up and down and back and forth. Several times she sneaks outside, where she smuggles more round things in under her shirt. No one stops her. The Squeeb is entertaining himself by making his Eel-Eat guards do tricks. First, he makes them stand on top of one another, in a pyramid. Then, he sets them against each other in mock battles.
"Now, three against one," he'll say, and one guard has to try to defend himself against three, which is hopeless, since they all have spears. They are of course using the blunt end of the spear, but still, by the end of the "training" hour, the lone guard is horribly bruised, both bodily and emotionally. Because they all have to do the same exercises, and they are all the "one" guard against the three, they all make sure to really poke and prod very mean-like and craftily. They know that tomorrow, they might be the lone guard, and they'll be the one getting hurt. So they make up for it today, trying to harm the other guy as much as possible. Of course, the guards can't complain. To be in the Eel-Eat guard, you have to be tougher than the rest. So you have to take your lashings and keep your mouth shut.
Speaking of closed mouths, Pickle still hasn't divulged to O what she is plotting, not fully. O has an idea, but she isn't positive. When the time comes for the stewing vat to be checked with a flavorleaf (to make sure it is completely devoid of flavor) Pickle volunteers for the job. No one else seems to mind, and Pickle is secretly pleased.
She carries the flavorleaf up to the vat, and she opens the lid. And a little while later, she comes down with a flavorleaf that is full to the max, almost bursting over with flavor that it has sucked up. Everything seems normal. That is, I should say, everything seems normal.
Then the time comes for dinner.
The mining crew is late coming back, which suits the Squeeb just fine. That means more punishment to dole out tomorrow. The mining crew eats in its own little hut, and so as to reduce talking and possible secret planning, the Squeeb makes sure that the cups of stew that each miner gets is filled way before he gets back from the job. This means that when they do arrive, they flavorless greenish yellowish goop that is supposed to be food is also tepid at best. Cold, on those bad days. Eating flavorless greenish yellowish goop is bad enough. But when it's cold, it's like its own punishment.
The mining crew is not back yet, and right now it is time for the kitchen crew to eat. Usually the Eel-Eat guards eat with the kitchen crew, which is at the same time that the Squeeb eats. The Squeeb likes to start eating a little after everyone else, so that they can get the full smells and aromas of his food, which is always delectably prepared by Eel-Eat cooks. The Eel-Eat cooks are forced to wear gas-masks so that they aren't tempted by the smell of the food they are cooking. The last cook who got caught for sneaking food was sentenced to 10 days of starvation. When the 10 days was over, the cook returned to work, but ever afterwards, she had refused to eat anything. That had been about three weeks ago, and by this point the cook was so wasted away that she could barely stand. But still, she refused to eat.
Today is just like every other day, or so it seems (wink wink). Everyone is sitting down to eat, and the Squeeb is towering over them all in his great big metal throne. The kitchen O's begin eating, and soon after, so do the Eel-Eat guards. There is no talking, and the Squeeb is pleased with the lack of chatter, and the low, low morale. Soon, the island will be completely his. He can see this happening soon. Once everyone completely gives up, he will have won. Just a few more days. That's all it will take.
Finally, he decides it is time to eat his own food. It smells very strong today, some new spice must have been found, for he can smell it even though he hasn't removed the metal top from his food tray. His mouth begins watering. He is always hungry, so hungry, and he likes little more than gorging himself three times a day. He has grown quite fat lately, but it doesn't matter. Soon the whole island will be his! Then he can make it a Squeeb Island, and invite all his brothers here. He might one day be King of all the Squeebs! Oh, what a glorious day that will be. Darkness everywhere, everyone else having given up in the face of the Squeebs power!
Before he lifts the tray to his food, he notices many of the O's going and getting seconds and even thirds of their food. Ha!, he thinks. I have broken them so far, that they think bland flavorless food is good now. Perhaps even tomorrow will be the day! No need to rush it. But why not? Call the adults in, show them how their children have failed. It would be so easy. Children eating flavorless mush and enjoying it! He has practically won!
The Squeeb, at the apex of his glory, is about to be rudely knocked back down to reality. His first blow comes when he opens the tray to his food. There, sitting in his lap, is not a roasted duck, or a finely braised leg of lamb, or specially herbed pork chop. No, in its place, today, is a simple bowl of stew. This can't be right, he thinks. But then he sniffs the air, and he does smell a very pleasant flavor, so he thinks, well, it must be a new dish. A very delectable stew. Very good. It's good that his kitchen staff is experimenting. He lifts his spoon, brings it so his mouth, and, expecting something new and divine, shoves it in his drooling mouth and chews quickly, hunger overtaking him.
But, now, something is certainly very wrong!
The stew, it is cold. Is it supposed to be served cold? Perhaps so. He chews the first spoonful, swallows it, and begins to take another bite. It must be like those tomato soups that are served chilled, gazpacho. Very well, he will try another bite. The cold mush feels awful in his mouth. The texture is just terrible. He takes three more bites, each one worse than the previous. The stew is a greenish yellowish color, and ice cold as it is, he can barely detect any flavor at all. Actually, come to think. He can't taste anything at all.
Understanding slowly dawns on the Squeeb.
He has been tricked!
Oh, someone will pay for this! Someone will pay for this crime! Oh yes! He drops his spoon, and begins to call the guards, but the stew lodges in his throat, and he finds himself momentarily struck mute. That is when the little girl, the sneaky little girl who always seems to be wearing a smile, stands up and shouts,
"Look everyone! The Squeeb likes that flavorless mush! He has eaten his entire bowl!"
Everyone is looking at him, and he tries to tell the girl to shut up, but something is caught in his throat, and he can't seem to say anything. "He likes it so much, he can't even talk!" Pickle shouts.
"Why, here we are, enjoying a fresh ginger-carrot soup, full of flavor, while that nasty old Squeeb up there on his chair, he likes the flavorless stuff. I don't know about you guys," Pickle says, gesturing to the Eel-Eat guards, "but I'd be a little concerned about working for a Squeeb who can't even tell the difference between flavorless mush and lamb chops!"
The Eel-Eat guard had been slurping down their soup, the first good thing they'd had to eat in almost a month. They looked up at their boss, and they were surprised to see that his bowl, which he had knocked down off his throne, was indeed empty. They stood up, preparing themselves to defend him. But he wasn't saying anything at all. He was clutching his throat and it looked like he was choking.
No one knew what to do. But Pickle sprang into action. She saw that the Squeeb was choking, and suddenly she knew why. Part of the flavorleaf must have gotten into his bowl. And now it was stuck in his throat. The Squeeb, in his thrashing about, had tumbled off his throne and was rolling on the ground, clutching at his throat. Pickle ran up behind him, wrapped her small arms around him and pulled against his stomach. Once. Twice. The third time, a piece of flavorleaf shot out of the Squeeb's mouth, flying all the way across the room and smacking into the metal wall, where it stuck. The Squeeb gasped for breath. Pickle let go of him and stood there, wondering what would happen next. She figured she better say something before he started talking.
"Look at all of us," Pickle said, "doing the bidding of a Squeeb. What's wrong with us? Didn't our parents teach us better than this? Why should we cook and clean and do his dirty work? Why are the boys sent mining? What good is this flatstone, if all it's used for its to make this hut darker and thicker? What's the point? Surely there is more to life than his? Surely you don't want to do this forever? Am I right? I say we take a stand, and today we start--" "Silence! SILENCE" the Squeeb shouted. "Guards, silence her!" The Eel-Eat guards, who had been standing around aimlessly, finally jumped into action. Two guards grabbed Pickle, and on covered her mouth with his hand.
"Mmff mmffff fffmmm phhfffmmm," Pickle tried to shout, but it was no good. She looked desperately to the kitchen staff, all holding their spoons in their hands, the taste of the fresh ginger-carrot soup still on their tongues. But they seemed unable to decide what to do.
"Yes, Pickle is right, you don't need to work for me. But you want to, don't you? That's right? You decided to work for me. I didn't make anyone do anything, did I? Now, I can see I was wrong in the way I treated you..." the Squeeb's face spread into a nasty old grin. "So, I'll make it up to you. Here, enjoy this soup. It is my gift to you today. From now on, once a week, you can have soup like this. Isn't that nice? Think how good it will taste after a week of mush. That's right, every Monday, you'll get a fresh cup of this hot soup. Think about it. Now, this crazy girl here, she thinks she knows what she's talking about. But she is clueless. She's not an Ugh like you all. She's not from here. She has nothing to lose. She's just a stupid little girl who has run away from home. We'll just send her on her way, and then everything will eventually be back to normal. Won't that be nice? No one riling everything up. Causing such a fuss. Surely you all want things around here to be peaceful, right? We don't need this girl here, mussing everything up. No, let's just send her on her way. Guards, take Pickle to the Interrogation Room. She'll have some confessing to do, I am guessing."
Pickle tried to struggle against the guards, but they were too strong. She couldn't break free from their grasp. She saw the eyes of the other O's starting to turn away from her. They were embarrassed. But they were scared. They didn't want to be Interrogated. She couldn't blame them. She looked at her friend O, and O was shifting around on her seat, but she wasn't doing anything or saying anything. It was all for naught! The Ughs were doomed, Pickle thought.
Well, at least I tried, she said to herself.
She decided to try one more thing, though it might jeopardize her health. She bit down on the hand of the guard who was holding her mouth. He yelped and pulled his hand away.
"At least I stood up for something!" Pickle shouted.
The guard, angry at being bit, took the blunt end of his spear and brought it down on the top of Pickle's head.
Then there was a bright white in Pickle's eyes, and then a red.
And then a black. * * *
Enter the Knight du Jour, aka Knight of the Day, aka Onion Flutterby. Just in time. Just in the sneakers of Nickelodeon. Like a banana that had just been peeled, but hadn't had the chance of turning brown. Like catching your favorite TV show right from the beginning credits. Like finishing your school paper, which had to be 10 pages, at exactly 10 pages. In other words, or, rather, in the same words: Just In Time.
He entered the hall with a pick axe slung over his left shoulder. He walked a cool, calm walk, as he looked around, seeing all the commotion that had already occurred. He swung his silvery-white pick axe down, holding it in his left hand, more of a symbol of a weapon than an actual weapon.
The Squeeb stared at him.
"Guards, seize the intruder!" it yelled, baring its teeth.
Then, following Onion into the room, was the rest of the miner's, 20 of them in all, swinging their shovels and axes, their muscles strong from days and weeks of chipping at stone. The guards had real weapons, spears, that could reach farther out. But the miner's behind Onion had the numbers. There were only six guards. They stood alert, unsure of what to do. Finally, they threw their spears down and stood to the side. They weren't taking any part of this battle. A few of the miners cheered, but most maintained their stoic look. The fight wasn't over yet. They doubted the Squeeb would go easily.
"So, you desert me that quickly, eh?" the Squeeb hissed. "Fair enough. You'll get what's coming to you. Yous alls wills." His tongue sounded like it was twisting in his mouth, and then something very strange began to happen. Though it was still light outside, there were no windows in the metal hut, only torches. The torches suddenly went out. There was only one light, which was a small glow emanating from Onion's pick axe. Then, a ruby redness began pulsating from where the Squeeb had stood. Suddenly he appeared, holding a staff. Then he appeared again. And again! More and more Squeebs were appearing, each of them with an aura of dark red light surrounding them. They all wielded wooden staffs. They all looked ready for a fight.
"We don't have to do it this way, Squeeb," Onion said, even though he knew what the Squeeb would say.
"Oh yes, yes we's do," it responded. The Squeebs advanced, and even though Onion felt a burning in the back of his skull, he couldn't take the time to think about it. The Squeebs were on top of them. The battle had begun.
There were about 10 Squeebs in all, by the time they had stopped appearing, and they advanced in unison on the miners. Onion aimed for what he thought was the leader, and prepared himself to fight. He had no idea how to use a pick axe as a weapon, but he had become comfortable swinging it in the caves. He figured he would just try to protect himself as best he could, and then hopefully, make the Squeeb see the light. However that would work. He didn't have any time to think. Already a Squeeb was advancing on him, twirling its staff in the air, jabbing and prodding in small feints.
It lashed a small jab toward his leg, and Onion swung the axe clumsily to knock the staff away. It was a fake, of course, and while Onion had left his body undefended, the staff screamed up and caught him in the gut.
"Hooooooof," Onion muttered, the air being sucked out of him. He almost doubled over. But if he did that, it would all be over. So he stood his ground, and brought the axe around toward the Squeeb. The Squeeb sensed it was in danger and danced away. But Onion was safe from the staff, for the time being. He didn't know what was going on around him. The darkness prevented him from seeing too far, and the only things lit were the Squeebs, in their eerie dark red silhouettes. His axe was glowing for some reason, something it never had done in the caves, and he figured it must be in response to the Squeeb. He hoped it would help protect him. He heard the clash and clunk of wood against steel, wood against bodies, and he knew the other Ughs were struggling just like him. They weren't fighters. They were just kids who had been put to work and were trying to stand up for something. Hopefully they could hold out. No time to worry. The Squeeb was coming back for more.
Realizing Onion wasn't going to go down so easily, the Squeeb was more careful in its attack. It jabbed quickly and with agility, trying to get Onion to overswing defending himself. But Onion held his ground. He figured that if nothing else, he would protect his face from the staff, and try to aim a well placed attack now and then. The staff licked in, bruising ankles and knees and thighs, but he waited, and finally he saw his chance. He didn't really want to hurt the Squeeb, just make it surrender, so he swung the axe angling the side of it toward the Squeeb. It saw his attack, though, and jumped quickly to the left. Then, in the same move, realizing Onion had committed to the attack, it brought the staff up against Onion's face, and crunched it against his jaw. "Mmmff," Onion said, and he tasted something coppery in his mouth.
The staff hat met his jaw solidly, and it was then that Onion realized that getting hit in the mouth didn't hurt that much.
How funny, he thought. He expected that to hurt a lot more.
But now he was angry, and he did want to hurt the Squeeb. He squared himself against it, waiting. He let it swing short hacks at his legs. They were tough and could take a beating. Finally, he thought of something he could try. He acted like the last blow to his led had really hurt him, and he faked like he was falling down in pain, leaving himself unguarded. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw the Squeeb move in, raising its staff over its head.
That's then he brought the axe straight up, catching the Squeeb squarely in the chest with the blunt end of it.
"Aaiiiieeee," the Squeeb shouted, and then its fire aura fizzled and it disappeared.
Like it hadn't been there at all.
Like it wasn't real!
Somehow, the Squeeb had conjured up illusionary Squeebs. Well, they sure felt real when they hit. But Onion knew they weren't real. He began looking around the room for the real Squeeb. He saw several miners lying on the ground, unconscious, and several more still standing and fighting. There were fewer Squeebs than before, though, so Onion figured the fight wasn't going too horribly. Then, off in the corner, he caught sight of something. A sneaky little body dragging something behind it. It was Pickle! She looked to be unconscious, and the Squeeb was dragging her toward a room that had a large metal door on it.
Not if Onion could stop it!
He began running across the room, and made it just before the Squeeb could open the door.
"Hold it right there, Squeeb!" Onion shouted.
The Squeeb whirled around, temporarily frozen. Then it hissed at him, and pulled a staff from its sleeve. Then it swung it at Onion's head.
Onion jumped back, and the Squeeb closed in. It was holding the staff with both hands, and it was swinging it more like a sword. It cut a few times through the air, and then it launched itself at Onion. The staff caught him twice in the knee, then in the stomach, then twice across the face before Onion could even do anything. It was too fast, Onion realized. He didn't stand a chance. But then he saw Pickle rustling herself awake. She was crawling toward the Squeeb, and Onion saw his chance. He charged, yelling, "Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!" and headed directly for the Squeeb. The Squeeb took several steps back, heading for the crawling Pickle, who braced herself to trip it. But then the Squeeb did something unexpected. It stopped, took its staff and slammed it into Onion's charging arms. The pain was almost blinding, his arm was probably broken, and the axe clanged to the ground, still glowing faintly in the darkness, skittering to a halt near the wall. Onion was tumbling toward the Squeeb, now weaponless, and his left arm was flapping to his side, completely numbed. The Squeeb tripped Onion with its staff, then in the same move, turned and kicked at Pickle. She turned so that it just nicked her side, but the kick still sent her rolling toward the wall. Then the Squeeb turned once more to Onion. Onion had seen the kick, and his heart screamed.
"No one ever hurts Pickle!" Onion shouted, picking himself up and launching himself headfirst at the Squeeb. One, two, then three blows from the staff wailed down on his head, but still he kept running, and now he was close enough to grab the Squeeb. He lunged for the Squeebs shirt, but it somehow slid out of his grasp at the last second, spinning around him and thwacking the back of his knee. He crumbled to the floor. His face crunched into the metal ground, and he felt a tooth jarred loose. More coppery tasting fluid seeped onto his tongue. He was stunned, unsure of his bearings, and couldn't move his left arm. He tried to stand up, but two quick blows to his back had him sprawled on the ground. Then the Squeeb was sitting atop him, giggling in a small, nasty little voice.
In a whisper, it said, "Now, call off your friends, or else I'll kill both you and your girlfriend."
Onion saw Pickle sitting up against the wall, dazed. She had a very strange expression on her face, one of shock or confusion.
The Squeeb sat on top of Onion, triumphant.
Onion couldn't help but think, "I should have listened to that red flag." Then, shakily, Pickle stood up.
"You better let him go," Pickle said, and there was an edge in her voice. Her hands were behind her back, and she seemed almost to glow, like she was outlined in light. The Squeeb turned to look at her, his eyes wide, his forked tongue hanging loosely from his mouth.
"You are a stupid little g--" it began, but stopped when Pickle pulled the pick axe out from behind her back. Then she swung it with all her might, right into the steel wall beside her. Instead of a clanging or a thud, there was a "thunk" sound, like an axe sinking into wood. The axe swayed there, lodged into the metal. Then, it began glowing even brighter. And brighter.
And brighter.
Soon, the whole room was lit by a bright white light that was so bright, everyone had to close their eyes. Even then, it seemed like the light broke through their eyelids and was going straight into their heads. It was too much. Then, it was over.
The light was gone. Everyone stood around blinking. All the Squeebs had disappeared, except for the one still sitting atop Onion, with his arms over his face, snivelling and cursing.
The Ughs were all standing up, shaking their heads in wonder, and looking around the room. Even though the light had faded, there was something significantly different. Then there was a thud from where the axe had been lodged. Looking at it, all Pickle saw was a handle. The metal of the axe had completely disappeared. And so had the rest of the metal. The large hut had been transformed back into a large thatch hut. There were gaps where the thatch had blown away, and the setting suns were leaking in through, casting everything in orange.
Onion felt the weird taste in his mouth disappear, and his left arm began tingling, meaning feeling was returning to it. He shrugged the wimpy little Ugh off his back, and it tumbled to the floor. In the sunlight, it looked even more pathetic than ever.
"This isn't over yet!" the Squeeb tried to scream, but it came out as more of a croak. Then it began slithering across the ground toward the front door. Everyone stood away, letting it pass. At the door, it shouted once more, "I'll be back, and then--"
But it was suddenly grabbed from behind by a very big arm. The very big arm was attached to a very big body, and that the top there was a very small head. "Grrr!" Pickle shouted, running toward him.
"You been bad, Squeeb," Grrr said, dangling the Squeeb in the air. Behind Grrr was Jgglr, and behind him were a 30 or 40 Ughs, all looking bigger and older than any of the Ughs they had seen.
At the same time, the O's had trickled out from the kitchen, sensing that the danger was over. Then there was a sudden explosion, as all the kid Ughs realized who had just show up.
"Mom! Dad! Papa! Mommy! Father!" were all shouted at once, as all the Ughs rushed over to embrace their parents, who were rushing inside to hug and kiss their children. Pickle was hugging Grrr's leg, while Grrr was keeping the Squeeb much higher in the air than it cared to be.
Onion was standing, rubbing his arm, which was not broken, it seemed, just bruised. He moved his mouth and spit out a tooth, his last babytooth. Well, no pulling necessary.
The Squeeb had given up struggling and was staring down at the parents.
"You lose!" it was shouting. "You all lose. This wasn't part of the agreement! I win and you lose!"
"We'll deal with you later," said Jgglr. "Toss him in the Interrogation Room, Grrr, and make sure the ropes are tied very tight to his arms. He is very slippery when he wants to be."
Grrr did as Jgglr instructed, while Onion limped over to Pickle, who was standing at the front door, watching all of the children hug and kiss and hug their parents, who they hadn't seen in over a month.
"Are ... are you okay?" Onion asked, suddenly feeling sheepish and awkward for some reason. It was just a few minutes ago that he was fighting with a Squeeb to save her life.
And shouting how no one was allowed to hurt her. He felt kinda silly, for no good reason. Then he felt very good, when Pickle wrapped her arms around him, planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and hugged him tight.
"Oh, Onion, thank you!" she whispered.
"Don't thank me, you're the hero," Onion said quietly as he hugged her back. "Just shut up and keep hugging me," Pickle said.
And while the two hugged, the world seemed to slow to a halt.
It would be nice if the world had stopped right there, but the world rarely pauses that long. Pickle and Onion have one more adventure to go on. But let's not tell them quite yet. Let's go over and rest for a minute. It's been a long day, and I'm tired. And hungry. What's that? You're hungry too? Well, then, here, have some carrot-ginger soup. There. That's better. Now we're all feeling better. Relaxed? Good. Full? Excellent. Then there's not need to worry about that stupid old Squeeb.
I mean, so what if he just wriggled out of his bindings.
So what if he just snuck off the island.
So what if he's headed straight for Grmph Island.
So what ... oh, bugger. Well, at least, for the time being, let's sit and enjoy the day. See the two suns? The bigger, more orange one is called Hap. The other smaller one, more yellow and pale, is Ollo. There's an old myth that the two used to be one, but that, a long time ago, the moon (who went by Stelle) fell in love with the sun. But the sun couldn't decide what to do. Half of it wanted to go meet up with the moon and be with her. The other half knew that it had to keep shining as it always had. Then, one day, it got in such an argument with itself, that it split. Now, even though they still rise and set together, there is a good distance between them. And at certain times of the month, you'll see the moon inch across the sky, and finally merge with Ollo. And though you can't quite see either of them, you can kind of see both, Ollo with a darker face, or Stelle with a fiery outline. Later, she will move on across the sky. But for a brief time, about once a month, the moon and the sun get to embrace.
Today was one of those days.
So, in the sky, a sun and a moon embraced as below, Pickle and Onion stood, holding each other in the fading rays, the light of the moon and her knight of the day.