Chapter 8: Mudge

Mudge was a rather ordinary hippopotamus. She was of a dull purple, a color which her dark black eyes nicely accented. Her large black eyes shone brightly at the sheer prospect of food—especially tasty appetizers. Mudge, like all hippopotamuses on the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star, measured life’s richness by how much food she could consume in any given day; the more the more better. Like many hippopotamuses, she had an affinity for hardboiled socks, especially gym socks which offered a unique flavor that only tasty dress socks could challenge, which she was also partial toward. Unlike any hippopotamus however, Mudge was partial to a rather non-hippopotamus-type food—Qualupace. Qualupace was an extremely controversial plate of the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star. Moreover, it was an extremely controversial human plate. Mudge however, felt as if enough Qualupace could not possibly exist to properly settle her appetite. So it is only fitting that Mudge’s thoughts were on Qualupace as she walked down Shilviny Lane with Hiemleck, on that warm wintry-laden day. They were strolling about the small urban community just outside the Epic Village of Bob, along one of their favorite paths which gently weaved through the large shilviny trees. Hiemleck was distracted as usual, and Mudge took advantage of the moment by quietly slipping away so as to explore the countryside in search of food, of course. She left the path and walked through the groves of trees, admiring the large limbs above. A small group of woosii were playing above, balancing elegantly as they attempted to knock their companions off the limbs.

                The trees seemed to race past Horace the Henchman as he sprinted past them, gasping for air. His body was virtuously large, and in addition to this reality, he was packing more than the clothes on his back, making running in such a fashion only more difficult. He stopped and ducked behind a large shilviny tree, allowing his team to catch up. Scanning the area quickly in search of angry chasers, he found it suitable to lay down his large weapon and slump against the large tree, if only for a moment. Gasping, he peered curiously at the large object which he still clutched tightly, for security purposes. It was a large steel canister, holding in essence the blueprints for the Count’s dastardly plan. These plans were the last necessary pieces of the Count’s plan, and thus Horace and the best of the thieves were sent to ‘retrieve’ them, immediately after the exciting meeting the afternoon before. Horace remembered how Count Berker fashionably assassinated the Prime Under-Secretary of the N.A.Q.; with his bright yellow shoe, nonetheless. As the Count had stepped lightly into his deadly shoe, he took advantage of the confusing happenings, and landed himself a fleet of new henchmen, all of whom were confused and scared for their own lives, and thus hurriedly swore an oath of loyalty in sheer terror. “All in the righteous gain of evil,” Berker had said coolly as he addressed his elite in the main armory that very afternoon. As his men armed themselves with large guns and sharp swords, Berker calmly paced the room, inspecting the various weapons he had designed, picking up the occasional project awkwardly, due to sheer weight. A muffled snort erupted from the back corner, and a shot of annoyance visibly manifested itself as Berker raised one of his eyebrows.

Horace, recalling this happening now as he sat slumped against the tree, still clutching the cylinder, saw now how ill-advised this action was. He closed his eyes, picturing in his head the next scene which was seemingly burned into his memory:

Picking up one of the lighter hand-blasters daintily with his fingers, Berker drew a stifled giggle from one of his larger men, a brute name Larry. The Count looked up in annoyance, and before the large henchman could explain himself, the Count, in essence, handed the man a notice of termination. Turning to the men behind him with a look of disgust and a sharp blow on the top of his blaster’s smoking barrel, he uttered. “Now then, you are all, infallibly clear on what you are about to carry out?” The men, peeling their eyes hurriedly off of the pile of ashes which occupied the portion of space where Larry had occupied, nodded frantically. “Good. I will expect a proper showing,” Berker said imperturbably, allowing them to examine Larry’s remains. “Well, then, I think I shall have a bath. Mmm, yes, my ducks aren’t going to play with themselves. Chow.” And with that the Count strut out of the room, stepping over the pile of ashes with a look of disgust. “Oh, and have Neviel clean that up before you go. It is messing up the gleam of my tile.” Horace remembered how the men stood in silence, none quite at ease, until a short and round, armor-clad, teary-eyed man named Gary broke the silence, “Larry made the best guacamole.” The men nodded, and in perfect silence, they shouldered their equipment and trudged heavily down to the loading dock, mourning the loss of their most prestigious guacamole maker.

Horace sighed sadly as he recalled these happenings. Focusing on the time being, he looked down at the heavy cylinder in his hands, and allowed curiosity to fill his mind. He looked all about him, and found that he was still alone. He examined the cylinder again, this time holding it up to the light. The cylinder was smooth and silver, and there was a faint crease near the top, where Horace guessed was where the lid and body of the case met in one crisp fitting. He took a deep breath, and attempted to open the cylinder, gasping after a few seconds of attempting to turn it counterclockwise. He looked at it again, and after a minute, decided he would try his luck turning it clockwise.  He took a deep breath again, and upon trying, found that the lid came off easily. How odd, he thought, slightly perplexed. He laid down the lid and peered cautiously into the cylinder. Inside, rolled up crisply, was a single sheet of paper. Horace pulled it out, struggling mightily to fit his large hand into the canister. Grabbing an end of it, he pulled it out and gently set down the canister. Returning his gaze to the sheet of paper, he realized that it was gone.

Chapter 7: Curtains

Horace startled to attention. He had begun to doze off when a sudden uproar of cheers caused him to jump in feverish motion. The drab purple curtains had begun to spread apart, leaving an ever-growing gap in between them; a gap through which, a tall, handsome figure was walking through. Thankful that he hadn’t fallen to sleep’s tender clutches, Horace offered up a harried prayer of thankfulness to no one in general before pointing his attention towards the figure emerging from the dark background.

Count Berker swelled with unhealthy pride as he walked through the curtains. At the sight of his shadowed body, the Great Hall erupted in cheers of adoration. He dramatically paused twice--for effect. He advanced two more steps forward before raising his hands with ease, causing an eruption of feverish adorative cheers. He kicked the ground with his heel, sending one of his bright yellow shoes to flip upwards and into his anticipating hand.  He turned to Neviel who had emerged at his side. “Here boy,” he said with a look of deity, “you may hold my shoe.” With that, he thrust it into Neviel’s hands, much to the excitement of the feverish crowd. Neviel, looking down at the large shoe in his hands, looked up at the Count. “Uh, er I…but, well—” the boy’s sentence was doomed from the start, however, as not only was Neviel verbally-challenged, but the Count enjoyed the sound of his own voice far too well. “NO, nope! Don’t say it boy! I know that you have been touched,” and at this, the Count paused dramatically and touched the boy’s shoulder, continuing only then “…by my generosity and natural facial features that are obviously evidence of divine providence.” The Count looked off into the distance, modeling his face, then continued, “…but I as the kind and generous and…” the Count frowned, “… ahem…and kind overlord that I humbly am, I graciously perform random acts of goodwill to all who look upon my face in wondrous adoration.” The Count was a brilliant spokesman, for himself that is, and he showed his speaking prowess frequently, as he did now. “Those who adore the name of Count Berker are under my unfailing compassion, and also my fierce protection. BUT!!” the Count shouted dramatically,”…there are those who do NOT FEEEAAAR THE NAME OF…ME!” The Count straightened his bow tie. “What then,” the Count asked, “should I do to these that are arrogant to me? Shall I treat them the same as you?” The Count stopped. “For you see, it is not at all ME of whom they aim disrespect…” the Count, a master of drama, again paused and the crowd gasped, “they do not mean to disrespect me, but they intend to disrespect YOU. YOU and everything you have worked for.” The Count leaned forward and allowed the crowd to gasp twice before continuing, “…my image as a legitimate Count is exclusively my doing, I’ll humbly admit"-- Berker sniffed magnificently--"but when I am so rudely unacknowledged by society, disrespect is meant to you.”

The crowd looked collectively at each other, confused. Horace’s mouth dropped nearly three inches to a position of gaping surprise. His mind was racing with questions, all of which could be summarized quite effectively in one word: Wha?

The Count continued, “I, being the wonderfully gracious Count that I am, cannot, NOOOO—WILL NOT tolerate this any longer. Consequently, IIIII…I have a plan.”

Horace’s mind abandoned what was troubling it precisely eight seconds earlier, priming itself for what the Count was to say next. He watched in brief idolization as the Count slicked his hair back, and cunningly smiled at the group of hapless henchmen before him. He opened his mouth to as if to speak, and immediately a sharp noise intruded the air. Instantly the Count palmed his forehead in anguish, before letting out a loud cry of dismay:

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF—BLAST YOU WRETCHED NEIGHBORS!!!!!!!!”

For you see, the loud cry was not the doing of the Count’s harmoniously fine-tuned voice; rather, it had erupted from the far-east side of the Great Hall. The Count, though brilliant and cunning and all the like, had months prior found it enormously difficult to keep up his spectacular underground fortress. His solution: he began renting the “unspectacular” half of it to various individuals in need of magnificently-designed and, consequently, expensive housing. The effects of this move were several-fold, though some of the effects lasted longer than others. Negatively, this was a move that had severely damaged Berker’s morale as the mere notion seemed to him as if he was losing his splendor. He had spent weeks upon weeks crying and cursing to himself alone in his bedroom. A welcomed benefit of this move, however, was not only the freeing up of the Count’s monetary assets, but also the liberal amount of revenue it produced on a monthly basis, allowing for Berker to act upon whim without having to sell his beloved rubber ducks. There was, however, another negative effect, one that constantly competed for airtime in the Count’s oft troubled mind. This effect went by the name of—“BLAST!!!!! YOU IDIOT NEIGHBORS!!!!” –The Count hated his neighbors, and since demand for a secret fortress was rather high, he often had neighbors. He often pleasured himself by evicting the boarders on a monthly basis. This monthly happening, however, had not quite happened yet as it was not quite due, though Berker was counting down the days until the next on fiscal period on three separate calendars, so as to not make any mistake.

The current renters were of the National Association of Qualupace, and they contented themselves by holding boisterous conventions twice-a-day, and an ill-timed meeting by the Count meant that the two groups had filed into the Great Hall at essentially the same time. The three-hundred yards in between the two groups was most definitely not far enough, and the large vaulted stone ceiling only magnified both parties’ clamor. Again, a shrill prolonged noise echoed loudly across the Great Hall—the NAQ’ees were singing, formed in a circle, arms locked in such a way which was customary for an opening of such a convention. In the middle of the circle was a tall plump figure, who was obviously leading the entire gathering.

 The Count fingered his temples as his own loud voice was only lost in the melodious lyrics of the NAQ:

“Qualupace, it is for you!

Qualupace, it is for me!

Qualupace, fairest of food,

Qualupace, instant glee!

Qualupace, divine its true,

To Qualupace, devoted are we!

As the NAQ’ees rang out in sequence, Berker discovered to his animosity that they were ignoring their landlord. The Count bellowed loudly across the Great Hall—“YOU LOWLY DOGS HAVE ONE LAST CHANCE TO SHUT YOUR—” “SHUT UP YOU IDIOT!! WE’RE TRYING TO SING HERE,” The NAQ’ees roared back defiantly. “I’ll take my shoe back now boy,” he mouthed to Neviel who was still looking down at the shoe, struck with confusion and anguish. The boy gladly released custody to the shoe and shrunk back into the Count’s long shadow, relieved to be out of the spotlight. The Count cocked his arm back and hurled the shoe in an awkward fashion toward the large, plump man in the middle of the ring.

Horace had been struggling to keep up with the developments of the morning for the morning’s entirety. He had jolted in terror when he had heard the sharp cries from across the Great Hall, and only calmed down when Brute, the cook, had consoled him that there were no explosives--Horace was desperately afraid of explosives. Horace watched now as the Count hurled his bright yellow shoe across the Great Hall. The shoe, upon leaving the Count’s practiced hands, became a blur of yellow which spun quickly in a large arc, first upwards, and then like a bomb, downwards. The yellow missile made a typical whining noise as it spiraled in a blur back toward earth, yet it did not strike the ground, at least not at first. Horace gasped as the shoe hit its target's large head with a resounding “CLUNK,” ushering immediate silence into the Great Hall. The henchmen stared, the NAQ’ees, including the tall, plump one in the middle, gasped in shock; a few of both crowds panicked and fainted. The man in the middle stood tensely in the middle of public gaze; he struggled to employ an expression not involving his eyes crossing. Suddenly, he collapsed in a heap in the middle of the floor, summoning gasps and seemingly waves of unconsciousness in both crowds. All at once, attention was directed toward the Count, who was sitting lazily on his large chair, examining his fingernails. Theatrically sensing the anticipated attention, Count Berker laughed to himself before directing his attention away from his fingernails and, with mild ease, onto both crowds who were gathering closer to see what he had to say. “Now then, where were we?” asked Count Berker as he lazily scanned the crowd. “Ah yes…”

…To Be Continued

An epic tale in between chapters

After a fierce battle of feats and wits, Lord George VI the Devilishly Handsome had our hero, aptly named Sir Bob XXII-and-a half, trapped without an apparent way of escaping his clutches. Setting his Rezapto-ray to "scrambled-eggs,” Lord George VI cackled maniacally at Sir Bob and, directing the tip of his oversized weapon to touch Sir Bob's nose, he asked between giggles, "Any last words, Sir Bob XXII-and-a half?"

After pausing for merely a second of a half, Sir Bob answered defiantly, "Your flight has been cancelled." The two stood facing each other, expectantly; Sir Bob with a rather large gun resting on his nose and Lord George VI beginning to shake underneath the immense weight of his formidably immense weapon.

After a rather awkward silence spanning about five minutes, Lord George VI gasped and lowered his weapon and began searching the sky above, confused. Whirling about, he awkwardly re-positioned his weapon into its original position of intimidation on Sir Bob's nose, and asked, befuddled in the slight, "Is there something up? Isn't something rather devastating supposed to happen, leaving you to victory?"

Sir Bob shrugged and replied, "Well, see, I've noticed that in tight spots, a hero will hand the villain a line of defiance, and VIOLA, some sort of miraculous event always takes place, leaving the hero, me, to victorious triumph."

Lord George VI narrowed his eyes and inquired further: "Soooooo, you’re telling me that you don't actually have a plan or some sort of scheme of surprise in place that I am unaware of?" To this Sir Bob shook his head and answered, "No, but I was thinking that there was some sort of correlation between a catchy line and an unexpected rescue.” In shame, he lowered his head, “I was just mostly hoping that something really unexpected would happen."

An awkward silence ensued. Lord George VI palmed his face and in a most aggravated, droning voice declared, “That is the STUPIDIST NOTION EVER DEVELOPED! YOU, Sir Bob XXII-and-a half, HAVE COMPLETELY RUINED THE WHOLE MOMENT OF THE THING!!!”

               Lowering his gun, he looked toward the sky in exasperation, shaking his fist upwards in anger. “I asked for a new nemesis, AND THIS IS WHAT YOU GIVE ME!?” Annoyed and feeling rather irritable, his gaze pointed angrily at Sir Bob, who had shrunk under the bright lights of the developing situation at hand. Lord George VI stared at Sir Bob; stare cold and frozen, contrasting eyes alight with fire.  After a minute had passed, he sighed and asked with his fingers on his temples, “Well, then, where were we?” Before poor Sir Bib could stutter a response, Lord George raised his hand, signaling this was a rhetorical question. He looked at Sir Bob, and his eyes lit up with renewed vigor. “Ah yes.” With that, Lord George VI lifted his weapon, and setting it for ‘shake-and-bake,” pulled the trigger and Sir Bob XXII-and-a half ceased to be an organic being, instead taking the form of an ash pile. Lord George VI hooted in delight, and clearing the smoke from the barrel of his weapon with a sharp blow, he shouldered it and skipped away, searching for a new nemesis.

The end.         

Chapter 6: Count Berker...the Awesome

Count Berker was having a rather splendid morning. Waking at the bright hour of two in the afternoon, he sat in bed and stared into the black darkness of his quarters before leaping over the rails the top bunk of his bunked bed. The Count did not have a roommate, but he rather enjoyed being able to sleep on the top bunk and so he had commanded his subjects to build him an extravagant bunked bed. He clapped his hands, compelling light to cover the features of his large quarters with a dim, gloomy light. Slipping on his bright-blue woosii slippers and donning his drab-purple morning robe, he raced to the opposite end of his colossally-sized room and gazed impressively at his reflection in the mirror. He practiced poses in the mirror before standing still and examining his identical likeness. The man staring back at him had a long face with smallish, keen-brown eyes. His rather prominent nose, which gradually ended in a point three inches from his face, was notched and erratic in places as it had been broken at least thrice, though he couldn’t remember exactly how many times. His face was rough, but somehow handsome. He smiled at himself, showcasing teeth that were slightly less than perfect. His hair was grey and balding at the top, and the little hair he had was standing on end sideways and behind him, making for a rather “exciting” hairdo, in the Count’s opinion. He was a tall, lanky man, standing about six feet three inches short. This handsome genius couldn’t be much older than forty he thought to himself. Liking what he saw, he leaped across the room and threw himself onto the tire swing hanging in the middle of his room. He tested the limits of his vocal chords singing incoherent opera loudly, spinning in circles, clinging to the tire swing. Letting the tire swing slow its pace of turns, he sighed in content before dismounting in a hurry. He quickly voided the spam between himself and his large desk and came to a sudden stop beside his large misfit periscope which stretched upwards a quarter mile, just enough to break the surface of the Lake Bloik which was located in the heart of the Epic Village of Bob. The top of the periscope was disguised as a lipsok, a mere stroke of cleverness on the side of the Count who very much “unwanted” attention on the part of literally anyone. Count Berker often contented himself by observing the going-ons of Bob and then plotting how to best inconvenience the citizens of the town he loathed. He loathed many things, including peanut butter, sarcasm, clowns, garden gnomes, and of course people in general. Seating himself on his massive wheeled armchair, he peered into the lenses of his periscope and gasped at what he saw. There were people everywhere, strolling about, minding their own business. Is this world going MAD? he exclaimed in his mind although he already knew the answer was resounding “yes.” The snow was falling ever so lightly, making for a fairly romantic walk for the couples making their way down the sidewalk which encircled the lake. Under a large tree was a school teacher encircled by a group of ten-year-olds who were all talking and pointing about and at completely unrelated things all at once, much to the objections of their exasperated teacher who was trying to teach them the fundamental differences between a polkk tree and a typatra tree.

The Count threw his head back and cackled a quite rehearsed maniac laugh, and then focused again on Bob, giggling. He focused on a young man sitting on a bench next to the lake and studied him intently. This man was a skinny, spectacled one—the Count calculated he couldn't be much older than twenty-three-and-a-half. This man was simply sitting, looking glumly at the water's surface and this annoyed the Count almost as greatly as the happy couples did. Get up and move already, thought the Count impatiently. After a few minutes, the Count concluded that the "boy" must have been depressed as a direct result of his most boring apparel. Yawning most loudly, the Count concluded that his animosity towards boring people was almost as pointed as his animosity for thumbtacks.
            The Count was bored and he felt like the epic village above him was growing extremely arrogant for a people who lived a mere half-mile above an evil genius. "I will show them to fear the name of Count Berker!!!" he shouted aloud to mostly himself as a morale booster. “But,” he said, “How should I do it?" He again peered into the lenses of his periscope and again focused on the man sitting on the bench. The man, however, seemed almost happy now, causing the Count to gag on his tongue in disgust. "MAKE UP YOUR MIND!!" shouted the Count in anger, “You people change your emotions like a CONFOUNDED STOPLIGHT!!!” Clearly annoyed, the Count continued, “In a perfect world, you pathetic people would be absolutely emotionless, APATHETIC I SAY!!" Then the Count paused, taking in the full brilliancy of his ramblings. A wicked smile hijacked his lips, causing them to curl up around the edges. He slid across the room on his armchair, coming to a solid halt after crashing in the wall opposite him, summoning the airbags he had installed to prevent injury. As one might have guessed, the Count was not a much practiced armchair driver, resulting in broken bones almost daily until the Count, in rage, had ordered his subjects to install airbags. The Count climbed out of his now inflated armchair and shook a bony finger at the wall that had greeted him so lovingly. "BWAHHAAAAHAHAAAHA! YOU DIDN”T GET ME THIS TIME YOU IDIOT WALL!!! BWA!!” With that, the Count stalked to his mirror, and after straightening his hair into its normal position of chaos, he smiled to himself. “Berker, you ARE a genius,” he said fondly of himself, “and a quite handsome one at that.” With that he strode to the intercom microphone mounted on the desk and broadcasted loudly, “Heeeeellooooo my minions! This is your handsome, brilliant…humble…and yes, handsome Count speaking. I, your Awesome, kind, and gorgeous leader have an announcement to make. Assemble into the GREAT Hall in one hour!” And with that, the Count, went to dress.

To Be Continued…

Credit: Tom K

Chapter 5: Horace

                Horace was having a rather bad day.  His boss wasn’t going to be happy. It had all started when Horace was elected by his fellow henchmen to safeguard the Berker’s plans of evilness while it was to rendezvous at the fortress under Bob itself. These plans were top secret and ultimately more valuable than any of the henchmen combined—it would be better to stub one’s toe on a hillocrate than to lose these plans. Somehow Horace had managed to do both. Now the plans we being digested by a rather small hippo.

                Horace was a rather largish man who wasn’t the brightest among many at all. While not so generous in the brains department, Horace’s intentions were generally good. He was amenable, meaning easily manipulated, which was how he had come to be employed by the Berker. His lot in life was to serve the Berker with all his strength in return for three servings of porridge a day and a warmish place to sleep. He didn’t understand most of the plots that Berker conceived, but he would do everything he could to make sure that his boss was happy, for he liked to make people happy, especially the Berker. He aspired to become a borker someday, but he had been told that he wasn’t amusing enough for such a position.

                One morning, while Horace was washing the Berker’s rubber ducks, he heard approaching from behind him muddled footsteps and heavy breathing. He turned about, wiping his hands on the apron strung across his formidably sized waist, and saw Neviel sprinting awkwardly towards him. Neviel confused Horace—Neviel was a tall, skinny boy, who couldn’t have been much older than seventeen.  He was a slender, wired-haired boy that hadn’t quite figured out how to effectively use his limbs, resulting in many accidents involving arms wildly springing into action without being summoned or legs deciding to move in opposite directions of each other. Neviel was definitely on the Berker’s “List,” as nothing was safe in his presence. The only reason Neviel had not already been thrown out of a high-storied building was actually two reasons. The first reason: he was a practical closet-genius who had invented many great gizmos and what-cha-ma-call-its for the Berker. Reason number two: he served as a half-decent messenger for the Berker himself, who reacted to every whim and thought that crossed his mind and hence kept at least three messengers busy at any given time.

                Neviel skid to a prolonged stop when he reached Horace. Attempting to speak and catch his breath all at once, Neviel blurted, “His Awesomeness—gasp—may he live for years, has summoned you to be present as he assigns tasks to his subjects—gasp, pant, pant—You must come quickly!” “Oh dear, I forgot,” mumbled Horace and he trudged quickly, hoping that the Berker wouldn’t be angry if he was only ten minutes early. Horace entered the assembly hall and was greeted by a great silence, which had befallen because the Berker was impending. He stood in rank in the front, and waited.

                He yawned as the minutes passed, and his thought process began to become more sleepy than usual. He was standing in formation with all the men of Berker’s (or Count Berker as the Berker liked to refer to himself as), waiting for the large purple curtains before them to part and for the Count to stride out of his bedroom for the morning briefings. The Count was obsessed with objects of that portrayed his supposed royal-ness, and so his possessions reflected rich though oft-musty taste. As Horace began to let his mind wonder, the curtains began to spread, and out from behind them, strode Count Berker. 

To Be Continued...

Credit:Tom K

Chapter 4: Kia Mud

Hello. I am secret agent Kia Mud. I am a hippo. My cover name is Mudge.  I currently reside in a cage. The cage in which I am so cruelly forced to live in is rather sturdy. My laser gun cannot melt the lock. I am now recording my story  of how I came to be here on my electronic recorded journal. If you are listening to this, you will spontaneously combust in a matter of minutes. My current mission is so top secret I can not reveal it even you, my dear ERJ. My cover is a faithful hippo pet to one named Hiemleck. I am Mudge to him. I eat as normal hippos do. I sleep in the bed Hiemleck has given me, and I give him the attention needed. When he is busy, I do my work. I report daily to my headquarters via a source untold.

Hiemleck has been acting quite weird lately. His adornment of boisterous clothes and hairdos has made me wonder. I have reported all this to the head of the Bureau of Unobvious Surveillance who had advised me to watch him carefully. I must make sure he is not part of Berker's evil plan. That's what I'm here to stop. This past afternoon as Hiemleck went out on an odd unplanned walk, I conducted a thorough search of his living room, an action that proved to be most...revealing. You see, I found the Berker's master plan--under the floor boards! Upon finding it, I ate it immediately, nom nom. I am very confused concerning Hiemleck. I really didn't think he was involved in this whole mess. But I am currently contemplating the likelihood of the theory that the plans were placed in Heimleck's house without him knowing. I think he could very well have been set up.

Anyway, back to eating the plans. Even as a hippo, they were very hard for me to digest. Talk about papery dryness. Gack! After devouring the master plans I preceded to clean up the mess. I did not want Hiemleck to suspect anything. And then the doorbell rang. I being the gorgeous, faithful watch-hippo, did not answer it. The door handle jiggled. I grunted. The door swung open. I feigned an attempt to faint but was stopped becau...Oh great. Someone is here. Gotta go. Over and out from Agent Kia Mud.


Credit: Ellen K. Smith

Chapter 3: The Happening

Six past Thirteen. This is what Hiemleck’s watch read as he glanced nervously at it. Hiemleck was pacing, not quite sure of what to do with himself. He found pacing to preoccupy his body and calm his mind, which were both overrun by nerves.  He was waiting, as he was to meet someone, though he didn’t know whom with or what exactly to expect.  As he waited, he entertained second thoughts, thoughts which were beginning to make his present situation seem irrational. How had he gotten into this mess anyway? He asked himself this question, and as he did, he recalled:

            You see, dear Hiemleck had days prior determined that he was an absolutely extraordinary being, and he loathed this fact. Attempting more than twice to change his appearance by means of fancy hair products and colorful clothes, Hiemleck received in return nothing but perplexed looks from Mudge. One day, after a particularly stressful event involving noodles, Hiemleck decided that he would go and take a walk to clear his head. He stood up abruptly, startling Mudge, as she was taking her afternoon nap. Fashioning his dull grey shoes, he walked out the door, leaving Mudge looking about in bewilderment, with slight bed-head on her right side.

            He toured Bob, gazing up in awe at the incredible heights of the large skyscrapers that made up the urban center of Bob. Above, the air-driven hover-buses wove their way busily throughout the tall buildings, each racing to drop off their passengers so that they could pick up more. Though it was referred to as a village, this urban bright-spot was definitely anything but such. With millions of citizens taking settlement within its large boundaries, the Epic Village of Bob was one of the largest cities in the Northern Hemisphere.

The initial developers of Bob named the town after the man who had obliviously discovered a plethora of precious metals when he accidently uncovered them trying to bury his shovel. Bob was not the brightest among any, but after a large metal refining company manipulated him and eventually stole the metals from him, the local religious group insisted that Bob be given naming rights to the town in which was founded atop his discovery. The developers, relieved that stricter measures were not suggested, hurriedly agreed to these terms and named the city the Epic Village of Bob, an inside joke which mocked Bob’s intelligence.

Hiemleck had studied this story many times before and was amused that the religious group hadn’t demanded anything sterner. Catching himself smiling, he continued on his way.

He soon found himself walking along a large lake within the city’s park. He stopped at a park bench and overlooked the lake, marveling at how the waves reflected the light radiating from the Incredibly Ginormous Star. He watched the gliopis as they swam lazily upon the water’s surface, splashing each other with their long, colorful wings. He watched the clever little woosii as they bustled through the leaves in search of nuts and other small artifacts. He found himself at peace, something he hadn’t been associated with for weeks. He yawned, looking at his watch. It read seven after three, and he stood up with intentions of going home, as Mudge needed to be fed. As he walked that way, he remembered that he was out of his favorite hand soap, and so he detoured and walked into the local supermarket.

 He walked through the door a few hours later, experiencing difficulties reclosing the door again as he had entered with large paper sacks in both of his arms. After trying in vain for a few seconds, Hiemleck abandoned these efforts and carried the sacks into his room, leaving the front door open.

            In his room, he laid down the large paper sacks and began rummaging through them and setting each item out for display on his bed. After he had neatly organized these items, he turned and examined his room. Though it was his primary sleeping quarters, his room closely mimicked a library. It was a smallish, tidy room, with a raised ceiling that reached two floors up. The ceiling itself was glass, so that Hiemleck could admire the night sky at night while he rested. Completely hiding one wall was his tall bookcase, which stretched from floor to ceiling. On the wall opposite door and directly to the left of the bookcase was a thin ladder which lead up to his bed, which was located on a cut-out platform midway up the wall. Up on this platform, his bed and side table were positioned cozily best exploit the scenery of the night sky. Stationed in the center of the room was a cozy reading chair behind a large desk. Both the chair and the desk were positioned with their backs to the bookcase, facing a large window which overlooked the Epic Village of Bob and its surroundings. His bedroom accommodated everything that Hiemleck enjoyed in life: books and the surrounding nature.

Hiemleck turned now to the large mirror positioned on the wall with the door. He examined himself and was saddened by what he saw. In the mirror staring back at him was a smallish man, with nothing absolutely exciting going about his features. His hair was faded brown but cleanly cut and combed neatly. His eyes were dark, staring through round spectacles and overshadowed by large straight eyebrows. His face was leaning on the side of pale, with slight splashes of red color on his cheeks and lips. His throat showcased a rather prominent Adam’s apple, a feature he loathed. His body was small, and the most intimidating feature about it was his large hands. His scrawny arms hung loosely by at his sides. He was a few inches short of average height and so he wore on occasion shoes in which elevated him, and thus his height.

Taking off his spectacles, he looked at the items that he had purchased at the store. There were various items he had found that interested him, and he was pleased with his findings.  

He walked into the kitchen, and began to make dinner. Collecting the various ingredients needed to make qualupace, as it was one of his and Mudge’s favorite dishes, he began to prepare the various ingredients. As he mixed these ingredients, he called Mudge, as it was customary that Mudge would set the table. “Mudge darling,” he called, but after a few minutes, but there was no answer. Not wanting to burn the dish, he called again, louder this time. He paused and then decided to hazard burning his dish. He walked into the living room, where she had been napping, and almost fell down as he took in his surroundings. His living room was destroyed. The tables and couches had been toppled over, the curtains were shredded, and the piano had been destroyed. There were debris of furniture and smoldering burnt patches in the carpet. A whole section of the room had been torn out, and Mudge's armchair had been crushed by something large. Sitting in the center of the room was a large boot that smelled of unpleasant things. Hiemleck fell to his knees, Mudge was gone.                      


To be continued


Credit: Tom K

Chapter 2: Solafina, the Adventure Seeker

And now we shall leave Hiemleck and his extraordinary life for the time being. For you see, we must introduce you to Solafina, who was destined to meet Hiemleck. Solafina, like Hiemleck, lived on Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star. But she was born in the little village of Eeeep. She was born a practical princess. From the moment she entered existence, she had everything should could ever wish for. Spoiled Solafina never had to eat gualupace like all the other little children, but rather was given things like spelaforp and nomfuliky. As a teenager, she was given not only one cat, but two named Finley and Cook. Although Solafina was blessed beyond belief, she resented it. She hated the way other people looked at her in jealous contempt. She yearned to be totally normal and to have to eat qualupace each and every day; a tiny bit of her even wished she'd never been born. 


One afternoon, as she was talking to Finley and Cook (as they were her only friends) she devised a plan. She would set out across Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star to find her destiny. The thought of adventure please her quite well so she immediately set her plan in action.

    That afternoon during her scheduled manicure appointment, she left. She left behind the stuff. She left behind the resentment. She left behind the jealous looks. She left behind everything she ever knew. She traveled her way across the star to the Township of Bork. Here she was offered a job by the mayor's wife as a borker. A borker's job was to mingle throughout the town laughing, making jokes, and cheering up the citizens. As first, Solafina found this very hard. All her life she was the one that people tried to make laugh. But, she remembered how much she hated her past life so she determined to do her very best. In time, she found she was quite gifted at being a borker. Everyone would call to her in the street and run to give her a hug. Her life was filled with merriment and laughter.

     One evening after an exhaustingly awesome day of work she sat reading her newspaper. It was the newspaper of Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star. Her eye fell upon a small wanted add. It read "Wanted: A Borker from the Township of Bork. Please come to the Epic Village of Bob to receive further instructions." Solafina was intrigued. She felt the call of adventure once again but was hesitant to leave all her friends. The very next day she impulsively quit her job and left for the Epic Village of Bob. People called her crazy and many laughed but the curiosity got to her. When she arrived, a very especially ordinary man met her.

(To be continued)

Credit: Ellen K. S.

Chapter 1:Hiemleck, the Extraordinary

This is a story—an epic story:

                Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, there is an incredibly-ginormous star. Few eyes have seen this incredibly-ginormous star, which is why it is so incredibly-ginormous. Yet, just past this ginormous star, is a smaller, not quite as big star. In fact, this star is quite accurately referred to as, the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star. Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star, however, is unlike any star in our own galaxy. Aside from the fact that its atmosphere ousts from itself beautiful shades of clear, or the fact that this star itself is revolving around its moon (Brilliantly named the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star-Star’s-Moon), this star is a simply not very hot. In fact, just inside the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star’s atmosphere, the weather is always very nice, neither too warm nor too cold or too hot. It is always just right inside the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star’s atmosphere. Despite never getting above or below sixty-eight-and-a-half degrees, it always snows on the surface of the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star, though lightly so as not to block the light coming from the incredibly-ginormous star (named accordingly).             

                On the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star, however, are many little urban gatherings. There is, for instance, the Township of Bork, where the inhabitants are generally randomly dressed. Then there is the city of Rigleft`d, where the city-folk are generally ambidextrous. On the Northern side of the South, reside the neighboring, sister cities of Grahmm`ar and Grahmm`er, though but the cities coexist on fragile terms of non-speakingness, as they find each other’s way of speaking, absurdly aggravating. And who could forget the township of Katae, where the peoples are cursed, being unable to wake until at well past lunch. There is the village of Merit, where the villagers are particularly lazy. But just past the city of Glip, lies the Epic Village of Bob —and it is in this village, where our story took place.

                In the Epic Village of Bob, lived a man. This man was an extraordinary man, meaning he was extra-ly ordinary. His name was Hiemleck—his name, was the highlight of his life. Now, Hiemleck lived an extraordinary life with extra-ordinary features, such as his extra-ordinary house, with its extra-manipulative mortgage. He had an extra-ordinary, almost-functional vehicle, and an extra-boring job, and a particularly extra-ordinary pet—her name was Mudge and she was a hippo. She was extra-ordinary because having a hippo was the norm—having a cat was special, and such would fling one up two social levels.

                Hiemleck saw his self as a rather boring individual—much like everyone else, only more so. His hair was plain, his shoes were dull, his accent was particularly unexciting; all this and more made Hiemleck feel extra-unspecial. Adopting this mindset of unspecial-ness, Hiemleck overlooked many of the special features of his life. He forgot that he had a wonderfully excellent reputation. He was a librarian, you know, and a quite good one at that. He could find any book, on any shelf, with his eyes closed. He could organize anything from catalogs to desk drawers. He had mastered the long ladders which stretched twenty-three-and-a-half stories tall, surpassing the book shelfs by three feet. He was one of the brighter minds in all of Bob.
He also overlooked his many friends, all of whom were very dear to him. True, not one among them was incredibly special, except the genius and the musician, but he loved them so. He forgot all of the fun he had enjoyed along side them, as his thoughts repeatedly were focused on his level of excitingness. He even forgot of his hippo, Mudge, for although she was ordinary, she was his best friend--they would have tea once every afternoon except Saturdays.

All this, however, old Hiemleck forgot, as he toiled over how to make a special name for himself. 

To Be Continued...

Credit: Tom K.