206
R. Linda:
Seeking the bird was harder than one might think, but lucky for the two dimwits, this particular bird was an endangered one, which meant there weren't too many of them. The odds seemed in their favour; they'd come upon it eventually. And so they struck out, looking back over their shoulders for the wounded Cedric, which, if they stopped to think about it, was quite impossible, being that the man in question couldn't exactly walk. And as for MacDaff, he couldn't see, so where was there a problem? However, when you are a dim light-bulb of a human, you think the opposite, and so it was the two idiots made their way over hillside and mound, looking in front and behind them as they went.
My neck hurts just thinking about that.
The next morning, Rosencrantz awoke to what in his sleep had been a bird screeching overhead. In all reality, it was a bird flying overhead. As he wiped his sleep-encrusted eyes, Guildenstern awoke and, stretching, looked skyward just as a large gush of bird poop landed square on his nose.
"Oi!" He shouted, jumping up and wiping at the drippy white goop.
Rosencrantz sat there, not fully aware of the impact of what had just happened. The man was useless without a full pot of coffee in him. After a not-too-thorough cleanup, Guildenstern looked skyward, and there circling around, hawking its presence, so to speak, was the red kite.
"Ey, do ye see a ring up there?" Guildenstern asked his groggy companion.
"Uh . . . no."
The bird careened to the left, then to the right, then to the left, as Guildenstern watched. Finally, it alighted on a nest high up in a tree that was defoliated on top.
"Ah ha!" Guildenstern danced about. "Coomb on, let's get up there," he shook Rosencrantz, and they staggered more than ran towards the tree. Once there, they saw its branches were sturdy, but being dimwits, they didn't realise the branches above that had no leaves and were dead, therefore, in reasonable probability, not sturdy. Giving Guildenstern a leg up, Rosencrantz sat down to watch his friend climb the tree. The bird heard the ruckus below, as Guildenstern was not exactly a silent or stealthy climber, so it took off.
Up the dimwit climbed, shouting out his progress to the other dimwit below. Not exactly hunters, the two of them. Finally, the first dimwit's head popped up out of the foliage and looking up, he could see a rather nice nest. Not only that but there was a shiny object glinting in the morning sunlight. Could it be? Why yes, it was!
A spurt of energy got hold the idiot as he lunged upward, none too carefully, to get his grimy hands on that ring. Cracking branches might have signalled a warning to any of us, but if you are a nitwit, that doesn't matter one iota. No, you just keep keening on up until, like Guildenstern, you finally make it just about to the lip of the nest and yes, there it is, the hallowed ring, and with all your enthusiasm, you make a swipe at the thing. There you have it gripped tightly in your hot hand, and then, the dead branch breaks, and you find yourself descending at an alarming rate of speed, giving you no time to even shout for the nitwit below you to run for his life. No, you keep on going, your heart in your throat, the ring clutched in your hand as your fingernails dip deep into your flesh, and then WHAM and what a resounding WHAM at that, you land not on the hard ground, but alas, you are saved when you fall on the nitwit who didn't move out of the way!
"Wot hae I done? Wheesht, man, wake ye oop."
More shaking and nothing.
"Ah, coomb on ye dirty bugger, oop wi ye."
Still nothing.
Tears flooding his eyes, Guildenstern got up and kicked the bloody ring. Not exactly the smartest thing to do because he didn't look at where it landed. Instead, he picked up the broken body of Rosencrantz and started back the way he had come in hopes of finding someone to help him through this terrible time.
I could cry.
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Seeking the bird was harder than one might think, but lucky for the two dimwits, this particular bird was an endangered one, which meant there weren't too many of them. The odds seemed in their favour; they'd come upon it eventually. And so they struck out, looking back over their shoulders for the wounded Cedric, which, if they stopped to think about it, was quite impossible, being that the man in question couldn't exactly walk. And as for MacDaff, he couldn't see, so where was there a problem? However, when you are a dim light-bulb of a human, you think the opposite, and so it was the two idiots made their way over hillside and mound, looking in front and behind them as they went.
My neck hurts just thinking about that.
The next morning, Rosencrantz awoke to what in his sleep had been a bird screeching overhead. In all reality, it was a bird flying overhead. As he wiped his sleep-encrusted eyes, Guildenstern awoke and, stretching, looked skyward just as a large gush of bird poop landed square on his nose.
"Oi!" He shouted, jumping up and wiping at the drippy white goop.
Rosencrantz sat there, not fully aware of the impact of what had just happened. The man was useless without a full pot of coffee in him. After a not-too-thorough cleanup, Guildenstern looked skyward, and there circling around, hawking its presence, so to speak, was the red kite.
"Ey, do ye see a ring up there?" Guildenstern asked his groggy companion.
"Uh . . . no."
The bird careened to the left, then to the right, then to the left, as Guildenstern watched. Finally, it alighted on a nest high up in a tree that was defoliated on top.
"Ah ha!" Guildenstern danced about. "Coomb on, let's get up there," he shook Rosencrantz, and they staggered more than ran towards the tree. Once there, they saw its branches were sturdy, but being dimwits, they didn't realise the branches above that had no leaves and were dead, therefore, in reasonable probability, not sturdy. Giving Guildenstern a leg up, Rosencrantz sat down to watch his friend climb the tree. The bird heard the ruckus below, as Guildenstern was not exactly a silent or stealthy climber, so it took off.
Up the dimwit climbed, shouting out his progress to the other dimwit below. Not exactly hunters, the two of them. Finally, the first dimwit's head popped up out of the foliage and looking up, he could see a rather nice nest. Not only that but there was a shiny object glinting in the morning sunlight. Could it be? Why yes, it was!
A spurt of energy got hold the idiot as he lunged upward, none too carefully, to get his grimy hands on that ring. Cracking branches might have signalled a warning to any of us, but if you are a nitwit, that doesn't matter one iota. No, you just keep keening on up until, like Guildenstern, you finally make it just about to the lip of the nest and yes, there it is, the hallowed ring, and with all your enthusiasm, you make a swipe at the thing. There you have it gripped tightly in your hot hand, and then, the dead branch breaks, and you find yourself descending at an alarming rate of speed, giving you no time to even shout for the nitwit below you to run for his life. No, you keep on going, your heart in your throat, the ring clutched in your hand as your fingernails dip deep into your flesh, and then WHAM and what a resounding WHAM at that, you land not on the hard ground, but alas, you are saved when you fall on the nitwit who didn't move out of the way!
"Wot hae I done? Wheesht, man, wake ye oop."
More shaking and nothing.
"Ah, coomb on ye dirty bugger, oop wi ye."
Still nothing.
Tears flooding his eyes, Guildenstern got up and kicked the bloody ring. Not exactly the smartest thing to do because he didn't look at where it landed. Instead, he picked up the broken body of Rosencrantz and started back the way he had come in hopes of finding someone to help him through this terrible time.
I could cry.
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
