It's What Happens When You Write In March!

For a moment there, I thought the viewpoint character was being changed into a Dufflepud.

I said “what? Glowing swords in Narnia? There are no glowing swords in Narnia!” I told him.

“Sure there are,” he said. “Father Christmas imports them from Middle Earth.”


This part gave me a grin EVEN through the troubles I'm suffering lately. Which proves that humor has a power of its own to combat misery. Bless you, Mike.
 
This is so funny! Your sense of humor is great. xD

I also found very funny how Father Christmas imported glowing swords from Middle Earth. :D
 
Part X

“Right, right... where was I? Ah yes... Father Christmas bought Rhindon from Rain Gear...

Well, not much happened right after. When he concluded his visit with April, he returned to Narnia and forgot about the sword. Because even though it was winter in Narnia, it was never Christmas, you see, and since he had no way to give out presents he just left it in the bag and didn't think about it for a long time."

And here, the hermit lowered his voice as if he was afraid that someone was eavesdropping: "It just so happens," he said, "that he wasn't really supposed to give the sword to Peter, but he had forgotten all about it. Remember the story of how the Pevensies entered Narnia and what happened right after, meeting the beavers and all? And when they were on their way to Aslan’s camp the snow began to melt and it was turning into Spring?

I nodded and said "yes, go on."

"At this point Father Christmas remembered all his gift giving of times past and he wanted to go ahead to meet the children and give them some presents. When he found them on the road to Aslan’s camp and looked in his bag for gifts, he found a few nice things that were in there that he had also forgotten about it. He gave to Lucy the cordial and a dagger. He knew the cordial had magical properties, but he had no idea how he had obtained it. To make the whole thing more melodramatic, he invented the story of the “juice from the fire flower.”

And here the hermit laughed. “The fire flower from the sun,” he said between snorts. “Everyone knows there are no flowers on the sun. I don’t know how he came up with that one.”

That laughed annoyed me because this is one of my favorite parts of the book, and seeing someone making fun of it wasn’t that amusing. But I wanted to know more. “And Susan’s gifts?” I asked trying to hide my annoyance.

“This one he knew it was there, but believe, it’s not what you think.”

“But Susan’s Horn is IS magical.”

“Oh boy!” He said looking extremely amused again. “You see, Father Christmas is good at making stuff up. He also made up the story of how the horn will summon help because that’s what he thought at the beginning.”

“That can’t be. Susan’s horn can, and has, and will summon help!” I contradicted him.

“No, no. You got it all wrong. The only reason Father Christmas came up with that story is because the horn is too darn loud.”

“So? Isn’t that a good thing? a lot of people will hear it and come over to help, just like the story says.”

“And that’s sort of what was happening to Father Christmas.”

“I don’t understand.”

“At the beginning, when Father Christmas first go the horn, he used to blow it all day long in his front porch. It was not good. Giving a wind instrument to Father Christmas was like giving a little kid a whistle, or one of those stupid flute-like things called recorders. They never stop blowing the darn thing and unless you take it away from them, it would drive you insane. That's why smart parents do not give their little 'uns whistles and stuff.”

“And what happened?”

“The horn was very loud and it would annoyed his neighbors so much so that they would all come to his home and try to make him stop. At that time Father Christmas was a little bit dense so he thought his neighbors were coming to help him. He had no clue they were there to tell him to shut up. The truth is, he had been trying to get rid of the horn for a while when he found the Pevensies on the road.”

“Ugh. I think you’re the one making this stuff up. This is not Narnia. I am either having a nightmare or... I don’t know...You’re playing games with me.”

“No games. No games. And you are in the real Narnia. This is how it is.”

“Fine, fine. What about Peter and Rhindon?”

“Ah, lets see... now it was Peter's turn to get a present. And here Father Christmas made the mistake of rummaging through his bag for a toy without looking and he ended up pulling the sword instead. Peter of course immediately saw it and was already extending his hand to receive it. The moment Peter did so, Father Christmas realized his mistake. It was too late. Father Christmas could not put it back and exchange it for a plastic truck without looking like a fool so he had to give the sword to Peter."

“Wow. This is unreal. I was actually happy when you first said I was in Narnia, but this isn’t the Narnia I know.”

“Well, sorry to burst your bubble but this is how it is.”

“I’m not sure about it. But okay... I guess...” Then I remembered something else so I asked him. “But that does not explain why Rhindon glows blue in Narnia. Don’t tell me there are Orcs in Narnia because that’s it. That would be even worse.”

He got up and began to pace the room. I was feeling a little dizzy, partly due to the incredible and horrible stories he was telling me, and partly due to his stinky cheese BO. He continued speaking, absentmindedly as if he was talking to himself.

"They said," he said without explaining who "they" were, "that there was an ancient tribe of Orcs from Middle Earth, that had been banished from every Orc controlled land because they insisted on calling themselves "The Happy Orkies." Allegedly, this Orc tribe were remnants the mythical Half Dwarf-Half Orcs, who in those ancient times were simply known as "Dorks." Anyway, they met Father Christmas when he was on his way back to Narnia and they followed him here. Some still live around here but Father Chirstmas helped the majority of them settle on an island out on the Eastern Seas that is owned by his other weird cousin, a magician dude. And that, my friend, is the story of Rhindon and why it glows blue in Narnia."

I was absolutely dumbfounded and speechless. My mouth was probably open in shock while my brain played around with images of sword-wielding Dufflepuds chasing Aragorn and Frodo around Cair Paravel.
 
Nice...very nice. I like your style. Sorry I had not replied before but I was gone for a long while.

That Hermit raises a fair few questions. Ridiculous ones of course but still irksome to the mind. :)
 
Oh that was hysterical. xD I can't stop laughing. That was the best part of the story so far. Your style is fantastic and makes the humor even more amusing. The story of the Pevensie's gifts is so unexpected and bizarre that it's absolutely awesome. :D
 
This story is hilarious, but I am having trouble separating this hermit from the Hermit of the Southern March. I am assuming it is not the same one? And nice job on the story :D
 
This story is hilarious, but I am having trouble separating this hermit from the Hermit of the Southern March. I am assuming it is not the same one? And nice job on the story :D

No. They're not the same guy. This one didn't really become a hermit until he arrived in our world. Actually, the main character in the story, the narrator, is the one who labeled him hermit. He wasn't one in Narnia. Or at least, he never said he was one. And the hermit telling the story of Rhindon is still a different one appearing in the nightmare of the narrator.
 
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I'm increasingly wondering just where this IS going. But I have no confusion at all about those Happy Orkies. I understand that they live in Orklahoma.
 
I'm increasingly wondering just where this IS going. But I have no confusion at all about those Happy Orkies. I understand that they live in Orklahoma.

Lol!

I can't believe it's been this long since I updated this story. Well, I'm resurrecting it now because I am writing a couple of more updates. Also I have other things that I would like to post soon. In the meantime, maybe there are new members who would like to read my stuff until I finish and post the rest of it.
 
This time I'm really writing more of this story. I will edit a little and post it in a few days. :D

Plus I have other things I'd like to share...
 
This part does have a point, believe me, and it leads directly to the ending of this story, after a couple more updates, of course.:)

Part XI

While I sat there thinking about everything he had said, the Hermit approached me, looked straight into my eyes and began slapping my face with small, gentle slaps saying “Wake up! Wake up!” “Hey!” I protested, but he continued doing it, in addition to shaking my shoulders: “Wake up!” he said once more before he began to disappear into some sort of swirling smoke. The next moment, the face of the other hermit was there, the one that had saved me and cooked me breakfast, the one not from my dreams. “Wake up!” he was saying too and that’s when I realized that I had just had a dream with that other crazy hermit and his glowing swords.

“What? What’s happening?” I asked.

“A lot,” he said. “First of all, you seemed to be having bad dreams and you were tossing and turning and repeating the word “crazy, crazy” over and over. Second, I think it’s time for you to go back. You’ve been out for too long and your people will start getting really, really worried. Plus, there have been some of those air ships overhead nearby, no doubt looking for you. You need to go back.”

“Back? Why? I still need to understand what’s happening here. All the stuff you told me and where you come from and about Narnia being real and all.”

“You know, we really don’t have time to discuss everything and I am not sure you will understand everything I said and everything I could still tell you. But suffice it to say that I know you have your heart in the right place. You know Narnia and it’s history, you know Alsan and His nature, but most importantly, you know the name by which He is known here. I’m confident that you do know him a little better than you give yourself credit for. You are very fortunate for this.”

“I suppose so...” I said still quite not understanding and not very happy that he was telling me I had to go now. However, he did say I we still had time to discuss one more thing.

“About Narnia?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” he said. “Not about Narnia, about your girlfriend... Yani, is it? And about your friends, this Paco guy and that other bird person.”

“Birdie? Her name is Francine Torres. We’ve been friends for a very long time. El Paco is her brother. I was never that close to him but he’s my friend too. His name is Frank Torres.”

“Tell me about El Paco... Frank. You have strong feelings about him. In your sleep you said you hated him.”

“I don’t really hate him, I actually think he’s a great guy. it’s just that he annoys me because he’s always keeping me on my toes. He knows when I’m starting to lose my train of thought and stop paying attention to what’s going on and brings me back to the point. He does it in ways that annoy me because he always has all the fun. But in the end, I realize that he helps me stay focused, in his own annoying way, of course.”

“And Birdie. Why is she called Bird?”

“We’ve been friends since we were 10. She got the nickname from her dad, I think, because she was always trying to fly. She would tie things to her arms and jump off tall structures or trees and move her arms like a bird flapping its wings,” I said this while making flapping-wing motions with my arms. “She did this for a while and then started branching out into other dangerous activities, always aiming to fly, or at least to go faster than anyone. She’s done everything, skateboards, roller skates, mountain bikes, scooters… all those things kids grow up with. She hasn’t branched out into car racing or rockets only because her family never had too much money. I’m pretty sure she will accomplish some of her dreams someday.”

“You seem to know her very well.”

“Well, that’s because I was probably the only friend she’s had for the longest time. Sure, she knows other people and hangs out with others but no one really understands her. I’m not sure I understand her myself but I know what she’s trying to do. She had a hard time through Junior High because all the girls were into boys and girly stuff, except her. She would always wear shorts or ragged jeans and a faded t-shirt and always had a scooter or a skateboard with her. Junior High was tough then. It’s not like today where it’s more accepted that girls can do most of those things and still be cool. So back then, Birdie didn’t have any friends. Some girls probably wanted to be like her and no doubt would have done it, but they were terrified of what the rest would say. They couldn’t let themselves be seen talking to Birdie, the odd one out. It would have meant ridicule by everyone else. It was like that all through Junior High and most of High School.

“So you stuck up with her. Didn’t they, the other children give you a hard time too?”

“Well, no. Not to me. I am a guy so if people saw me with raggedy clothes and skateboard no one paid any mind to me. And Birdie was my friend and my neighbor so yes, I remained friends with her. It wasn’t so hard for me.”

“And you and Birdie never… you know… liked each other?”

“You mean romance?” I asked a little embarrassed. He nodded. “No,” I sighed. “We’ve been friends forever it seems, but we are very different. I don’t do any of the things she does. She has some interests that I don’t. And we never thought of each other as a couple. At least I know I didn’t. I liked her ways and she always made me laugh with her crazy stunts but I never even tried them. Birdie was my friend, and I was her friend. And that’s the way things worked out between us. I think if we had tried romance it would have failed. Our friendship would have been ruined and we would’ve hated each other for it. Now that we are older I can see it. We love and respect each other, and I would defend her with my life, but no, we are definitely not made to be a couple. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s kind of weird, really. It’s more like… we rely on each other for moral support and affirmation, but not romance. We have this unspoken understanding between us that this is the way it has to be, otherwise we will lose each other.”

“And this other girl, Yani. You said in your dreams the word girlfriend. Isn’t that what Birdie is?”

“Well, Birdie is my friend, and she’s a girl, but she’s not my girlfriend, as in girlfriend, girlfriend. You know what I mean?”

“No, really,” he said unconsciously scratching his head.

“Well, a girlfriend is someone you like, someone you’re dating in a romantic way. A friend that’s a girl is a girl friend, with no romance involved, you see. Yani is the first kind and Birdie would be the second kind.”

“So you mean Yani is your betrothed?”

“No. Not exactly,” I said a little embarrassed.”

“And why not? How can you have a romantic relationship with someone and not be ready to marry her? What’s the point of that?”

“Look,” I said, obviously embarrassed and trying to avoid explaining why I hadn’t asked Yani to marry me. “That may be how things are done where you come from, but here, people have to figure it out first, they date each other first to see if they are compatible, if they like what they see, they become a couple, a boyfriend and girlfriend, and they go from there. Maybe they’ll get engaged or betrothed (and I made the quotation marks with my fingers when I said the word), like you said.”

“How long have you known Yani.”

“About four years. She came to live here on our last year of high school. We met about a week after classes started.”

“And how long have you had this romantic relationship? All four years?”

“Goodness no! Not the whole four years. We’ve been a couple only on the past two years.”

“And why are you not engaged to be married? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong!” I said in a defensive tone and now completely uncomfortable discussing this subject. “I guess I just haven’t found the right time.”
 
Intermission.

While I post more on the ongoing story, here's a short poem I wrote a week back on a very sad subject, the ending of a friendship. I took the liberty of adding an "s" to the word "got" because it is a friend's (still) manner of speech.


The Road

I gots a thinking in my head
You're needing letting go my friend.
I gots a hurt is flowing red;
A road to walk until the end.

But I right fear at every bend
I'll find the road goes ever on
And all remembrances transcend
My thoughts, and turn them all to stone.
 
I'm back and at the ready. :)

This one has to be shared as a photo in order to preserve the visual aspect of it and the totally misspelled title!. :D
 

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