Tag: fiction

“Do you know what’s odd?” asked Spectre. “Yuffie once said you and I are ideas, hopes or dreams of the same person. I’ve met thousands of Sprites, but I’m the only one of me.”

“That is odd,” sighed Sprite. “Do you know what else is odd?”

“Numbers that aren’t divisible by two,” replied Spectre.

They chuckled and looked up the road.

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“You’re thinking about it again,” sighed Sprite. “Walking up the road to the afterlife.”

“Everything ends, man,” said Spectre. “Even ideas like us.”

“Ideas of what?” asked Sprite. “We don’t even know what we are. For all you know we’re a memory of a circus that burned down.”

“Now that would be in-tents,” pondered Spectre.

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“Did you see that Freddie Mercury biopic?” asked Spectre.

“Yeah, I got a download of it,” replied Sprite. “I think it was a cinema recording.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Spectre.

“Because,” sighed Sprite, “I saw a little silhouetto of a man.”

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“Would you look at that,” pondered Spectre.

“They’re the smallest peppers I have ever seen,” said Sprite.

“Maybe we should find a blanket to put on them,” said Spectre.

“Good idea,” replied Sprite. “They look a little chilli.”

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“I sometimes think there’s a deeper meaning to our constant puns,” pondered Spectre.

“Yeah,” replied Sprite. “Some puns just can’t die.”

“I assume you heard about the ten-pun pile up on the M62 a few weeks back?” asked Spectre. “All of them survived.”

“It was a spot of luck,” said Sprite. “No pun in ten-dead.”

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“Wait,” cried Sprite, as Swamp Fiend began dragging her beneath the soil. “You don’t want to eat me! I was a pirate! I have scurvy and moles on my back.”

Swamp Fiend turned Sprite over. “Looks like they’re benign.”

“Count again,” replied Sprite. “I think there be ten.”

A squelch, a pop and another Sprite was gone.

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“See, this is why I cannot stand you,” grumbled Swamp Fiend. “You all think you’re funny and all of you are so unhealthy.”

“Tell me about it,” lamented Sprite. “Just the other day, I was tweeting about my bad posture.”

“Spinal tweets?” asked Swamp Fiend.

“Yeah, it was about a weak back,” smirked Sprite.

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“I cannot stand you, creatures, any longer,” growled Swamp Fiend.

“Why not?” asked Sprite.

“You infest every island you arrive on,” growled Swamp Fiend. “You’re like an infection.”

“Oh, I understand,” replied Sprite. “I hate it when infections invade my body without permission. It makes me sick.”

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“I said,” growled Swamp Fiend, “get out of my house.”

“I’m so sorry,” gasped Sprite.

“Did you not hear me the first time?” asked Swamp Fiend.

“Well, my doctor told me I was going deaf a few years ago,” pondered Sprite. “I haven’t heard from her since.”

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Sprite woke up, covered in mud. She took in her surroundings. Wildflowers grew in every direction, surrounded by trees, reaching up out of the swampland.

She tried pushing herself up, only to sink her hands into the bog. It was then she noticed a bunch of flowers with a pile of college books. It looked like they were studying STEM. Sprite chortled.

“Get out of my house,” boomed a voice from below.

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