Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“No bro,” replied Beat, “you’re not alone. I suffer from identity crises all the time.”
“But you’re a beat, Beat,” replied Hydra. “How much more can there be to a beat?”
“Some days I’m excited enough to pop!” replied Beat.
“And?” pushed Hydra.
“Other days I’m vaguely depressed,” moaned Beat.
“Ah,” said Hydra. “So you can be upbeat and downbeat…”
A Yuffie Collaboration
“What’s that?” asked Ratty.
“A boomerang,” replied Yuffie.
“Oh, my gran taught me how to throw boomerangs when I was younger,” replied Ratty.
“Nice,” said Yuffie.
“I can’t remember how to throw them anymore,” sighed Ratty.
“Nevermind,” said Yuffie. “I’m sure it will come back to you.”
This tale is one of four written for a Yuffie collaboration. Four tales by four writers about the Little Fear, Yuffie. You can check out the other three tales at the links below.
Anthony Renfro of One Writer Ranting
Layne Ambrose of Chewing on Glass
Mel Gutier of Fiction in my Head
“Oh, it’s awful,” said Sprite.
“I do believe I would feel ill from that too,” said Spectre.
“What’s that?” asked Yuffie.
“I keep seeing Russian presidents when having nookie with the missus,” sighed Sprite.
“Man,” said Fuen. “I bet that keeps Putin you off.”
“Well,” said Lucy, “it was a good night.”
“Sounds it,” laughed Galaxy.
“What did you get up to?” asked Yuffie.
“I pulled last night at the club after a few shots,” said Lucy.
“Nice one,” laughed Yuffie.
“Yeah, I popped home first to get my wife to join in,” said Lucy. “But she’s not interested in clay pigeons.”
“I mean some of us represent fears, right?” asked Hydra. “Like open spaces, stick insects and talking in front of crowds.”
“Well, I guess so,” said House.
“I mean that could explain Chameleon’s behaviour,” pondered Hydra.
“How so?” asked House.
“He never wants to stand out,” replied Hydra.
“Not at all,” said Lucy. “It’s gone pretty well.”
“Surprising really,” said Spectre.
“I know, who would have thought a karma restaurant would make such profits?” said Lucy.
“A karma restaurant?” asked Sprite. “What do you serve?”
“We have a tight menu,” replied Lucy. “Just desserts.”
“Seeking a joke,” sighed Reala.
“All those boxers though?” asked Fuen.
“Yeah, eighty-six of them, standing in single-file, all looking at the floor,” replied Reala.
“I wonder what exactly they’re looking for,” pondered Fuen.
“A punch line,” smirked Reala.
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“Dammit,” said Emu.
“What’s up?” asked Fuen.
“I just got kicked out of a club for being too tall,” grumbled Emu.
“Oh dear,” gasped Fuen. “You must feel awful.”
“I do,” said Emu. “I feel ostrich-sized.”
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“Do you know what you are, Sheep?” asked Red.
“Not really,” sighed Sheep. “I’ve been here for 15 years and never seen anything to suggest what I am.”
“Hydras got me thinking we are thoughtforms. Things summoned by what living creatures are thinking about,” said Red.
“Interesting,” said Sheep. “Hey, I could be a cloud! Or a balloon animal of a sheep! Or a ball of wool!”
“I guess some of us will never figure out what we are,” sighed Red.
“Oh, look! A little blue bird!” cried Sheep, before following the blue bird into the sunset.
Red rubbed his chin. “Right…”
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“So, what happened?” asked Flower.
“He got nicked for shoplifting,” said Fuen. “Left a trail of ice cream claw prints behind him.”
“Really? Claws?” sighed Flower.
“Yep,” replied Fuen. “And he stole George Foreman from the kitchen appliances section.”
“Well,” said Flower, “I hope the police give him a grilling.”
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Little Fears 