Friday, May 25, 2012

A Conversation Between Flying Friends

*From a story you may be all too familiar with, but from the perspective of characters you never knew about within the tale...yes, even henchmen have their own thoughts about life...*

“You ever notice that when one erroneous thing happens, it’s immediately followed by a whole bunch of them?” asked Zeebo.

Papillion plucked a tick out of his fur, observing it for a second before popping it in his mouth. “Kind of like when nothing is going on, nothing really goes on, and on, and on?” he replied.

Owlface shrugged, stretching his tattered brown wings as he gave a tired ancient yawn. “Events are cowards. They run in packs.”

Zeebo tilted his head, pursing his lips. “What does that mean?”

“He doesn’t really know. He just repeats stuff he hears.” Papillion shifted on his feet, looking out among the wasteland surrounding the castle. The breeze was cool that night, and the full crimson moon only made the atmosphere chillier. “Owlface’s too old to be original.”

Owlface grimaced. “There is a difference between being unoriginal, and trying to pass a little wisdom along to a stupid kid like you.”

Papillion laughed, his bluish face displaying his large square monkey teeth. “Stupid? You old ape, I can fly circles around you. That’s why the witch made me leader of this tower guard, and you’re just—Ow!”

Owlface smirked, palming the chunk of fur he had just ripped from Papillion’s tail.

Zeebo shook his head. “Never tangle with a grumpy old monkey,” he snickered.

Papillion crossed his arms and huffed. “All I know is, I am bored, bored, bored. When was the last time we saw anyone come through these woods, anyway?”

“The witch likes her solitude,” Owlface pointed out. “Or perhaps you would like to be closer to the Emerald City, where the Wizard’s soldiers could make regular attacks on us? We’re not the most popular lot, you know.”

“Are you kidding? Dear Oz, I wish an army would come along to break this monotony. First intruder I see, I’m going kamikaze on them!” Papillion made a whistling sound, like something falling, and made a “boom” sound at the end.

“I’d like to go to college,” Zeebo said.

Papillion and Owlface gave him a confused stare.

“Like the one the witch went to. The one she talks about sometimes, where she learned how to do magic.” Zeebo grinned dopily, his wings flapping clumsily against the wind. “I think I’d be good at it. Magic, I mean. After all, we were formed from it. We must have a little magic residue inside, right?”

Owlface sighed. “Right, because you see goats and cows and monkeys graduating from magic universities all the time. Oh, and the witch would just love it if one of her minions just turned in his resignation and said, ‘I’m going off to magic school to make something of myself.’ Great Oz, Zeebo.”

Zeebo’s grin dropped, and he hunched over. “I guess you’re right. Besides, all I’ve seen in my dreams is bad stuff happening. If I went to college, I’d only learn to see even more bad things.”

Papillion cocked an eyebrow. “You see bad things in your dreams?” He paused, scratching his head. “You dream?”

Zeebo nodded. “I see things like men made out of metal who wield axes, and huge lions leaping out from the trees, and straw men on fire coming at me. Oh, and a scary girl with a vicious black dog who can summon tidal waves.” He shivered. “And they kill the witch, and then they come after me. I always wake up having molted half of my wings in terror.”

Papillion chuckled. “You’re such a flutter-brain, Zeebo. Like any of those things even exist.”

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