Story for Frankie

Here is another story from 2007. I wrote it for my friend Frankie, she must have been in need of cheering up, or was bored, or maybe I was bored, who knows? Either way, I wrote some nonsense for her.


Story for Frankie

One day Frankie and I were out walking, the sky smelt of marshmallow and there was the sound of indigo all around. We had no specific place to be so we thought we should go in search of an eatery which would sell our favourite meal. This happened to be honey coated magpie, which is a rare delicacy found on an obscure island off the coast of West Africa.

As we were nowhere near Africa we just wandered aimlessly, talking about the sound a baby’s eyes make and what numbers feel like. We passed many a flying toaster, but as they are so common we ignored them, singing songs about that mermaid I met last week in Tesco (she was rather obese so the songs were quite cruel) and skipping along. Skipping was rather tricky as the ground appeared to be made of chocolate and the Sun was out, though we skipped on, albeit slowly.

That was when we were picked up and put in a cupboard in between the Weetabix and the flour. Inside the flour, buried deep, were a few cabbages, 10 tins of beans and more Weetabix (but no milk). It is rather fortunate that I carry a spade in my pocket on every third Thursday of the month.

We got rather comfortable in that cupboard but sadly had to leave due to Frankie’s donkey allergies. Apparently the DNA link between donkeys and Weetabix is very close and when the wind is blowing in a green direction it can affect those with allergies. Frankie didn’t even know this, the man with the beard told us in 3 days time, I can’t wait!

As we now could no longer stay in the cupboard we carried on wandering, through the forest full of houses, through the meadow full of trees, through the orchard of sand and the valley of mountains. It was a grand adventure which finally ended when we reached the lake.

The lake was packed full of ridiculous looking creatures such as ducks and swans. The water reflected the light from my shoes and lit up our armpits. Deep inside our armpits a portal was opened to another dimension. (This can happen once a month if you face south with a fish named Joe in your pocket, which I carry next to my spade.)

Eagerly, we both jumped through each other’s portals, which was a tricky, well choreographed manoeuvre which shouldn’t have worked but did. At first we had no idea where we were, there was a putrid smell emanating from the smooth, soft ground, with strange trees growing around. The ground appeared to be leaking what appeared to be water but which carried the aforementioned stench.

It was then that we realised that this dimension was in fact my own armpit inside our own dimension. We had no idea how to get back, so we simply sat on a rug and counted to ruby but both fell asleep before we got that high.

We were woken abruptly by the sound of hair and found that we were in our own beds at the foot of the castle. It was even snowing purple, or maybe green, I always muddle those two up.

From then on we have gone about our lives as though our adventure never happened.


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