Or a 999 page novel about the murder of hundreds of annumpi from the point of view of the sole living witness, a terrified spoltal. The reviewers already love it.
Lemuel Ennui shrugged his heavy, weary shoulders and rolled his ancient gesconat higher up his neck. He'd been searching all evening and the rain was growing heavier. The steady rain ran in tiny rivulets down the braided spoltal fur coat and pooled around his spoltal skin boots. Tiny Eugusto, his favorite spoltal, was lost somewhere in the vast spread of the Ennui ranch, and earlier that day, before the steady, pounding rain set in, Lemuel has seen the tracks of a cocot.
"This is smied," the rancher thought, "Smied. I've never heard of a cocot outside of South Africa, but there it was." He glanced down at the paw print that was slowly washing away in the deluge. "Hugo," he muttered, "Hugo's from South Africa. This would be just like him."
A thunderclap tore through Lemuel's thoughts and then a shriek echoed the thunder. "Eugusto! Eugusto!," screamed Lemuel. Shifting the rifle he carried under his gesconat, the rancher jolted out of his reverie and ran frantically in the direction of the shriek. "I kill that fracking Hugo and every last cocot on earth in my dear Eugusta is harmed. He is my spolpal, my special dear beast." As he ran he inhaled the warm fug of spoltal wafting from his gesconat, the fur shed by a birthing animal, the promise of life that bound the Annumnpi and to the spotty, splotchy spoltal.
I see a Captcha novel coming ... or at least a short story.
ReplyDeleteOr an anthropological study where every nuance of a the annumpi culture and surrounding flora and fauna are decribed.
ReplyDeleteOr a 999 page novel about the murder of hundreds of annumpi from the point of view of the sole living witness, a terrified spoltal. The reviewers already love it.
ReplyDeleteLemuel Ennui shrugged his heavy, weary shoulders and rolled his ancient gesconat higher up his neck. He'd been searching all evening and the rain was growing heavier. The steady rain ran in tiny rivulets down the braided spoltal fur coat and pooled around his spoltal skin boots. Tiny Eugusto, his favorite spoltal, was lost somewhere in the vast spread of the Ennui ranch, and earlier that day, before the steady, pounding rain set in, Lemuel has seen the tracks of a cocot.
ReplyDelete"This is smied," the rancher thought, "Smied. I've never heard of a cocot outside of South Africa, but there it was." He glanced down at the paw print that was slowly washing away in the deluge. "Hugo," he muttered, "Hugo's from South Africa. This would be just like him."
A thunderclap tore through Lemuel's thoughts and then a shriek echoed the thunder. "Eugusto! Eugusto!," screamed Lemuel. Shifting the rifle he carried under his gesconat, the rancher jolted out of his reverie and ran frantically in the direction of the shriek. "I kill that fracking Hugo and every last cocot on earth in my dear Eugusta is harmed. He is my spolpal, my special dear beast." As he ran he inhaled the warm fug of spoltal wafting from his gesconat, the fur shed by a birthing animal, the promise of life that bound the Annumnpi and to the spotty, splotchy spoltal.
Major clapping for a job well done!
ReplyDelete