The Cudgel Diaries

"Tell me how to play it."

"What do I SAY to her?"

 

"Help."

Giddyup horsey!

Pondering deep, deep things

"I wrote it."

The Cudgel Diaries

-The Adventures of a Small Yellow Bird-

Chapter I: Cudgel’s Epic

Chapter II: Cudgel’s Scheme

______________________________________________________________

Cudgel’s Epic, Feb. 20, 2012

I am in a pocket.

I don’t know how I got here. I have a vague recollection of being picked up and pushed into a small, dark place with an old Kleenex and the scent of chocolate wrappers… And then the sense of moving, and I got a brief glimpse of a house when I was pulled out, before being shoved back into the black heckhole. I’m not enjoying myself. I want out. But I just now peeked over the edge and saw the drop was enormous– I’ll have to fly. But I can’t fly– no, I’m only a little fuzzy creature of plastic and glue and yellow stuff– so I guess it’ll be more like tumbling gracefully, like a leaf. I’ll have to try it– no more sitting around in this horrible little apartment.

Out! Out I fly!

I tumble through the air, feel graceful, and land in a puddle. I lie there. I feel annoyed. I gaze down at the puddle; it’s a little slimy milimetre-deep sea of gross boot-water. Great rocky chunks of salt sit around me. I pull myself up, and look around; the world seems monstrously huge, and I hear distantly voices, the loud voices of Human-People.

Ah, those Human-People… my Human-Person, the grotesquely giant creature I’ve dubbed Brown-Hair, must have shoved me in her coat pocket and left it up on the rack.With me inside! Oh, the horror! I almost had a liking for the monstrous thing, but now– well. I start off, planning to exact my revenge any way I can. No longer will I be subject to travels in disgusting little pockets, modeling for pictures that I’M SURE END UP ON THE INTERNET.

Off I go. The world is huge, and I soon realize there is no way to traverse it. If I did it would take forever, and I have a feeling I will be stepped on somewhere along the road. So, keeping to the side of a great pass between soaring walls, I go along as quietly and proficiently as I can. I haven’t gone long before a Human-Person appears– ugh, why are they all so grotesquely huge?– and I gaze up at his mountainous proportions. He has greyish hair, this Human-Person, and ambles along with earth-shattering steps. I slip back into a crack, and just in time, because as he passes a great furry SOMETHING slips around the corner, and I’m telling you, this is the Gytrash, the Saber-toothed tiger, the monster-sheep. Is it dog or sheep? I can’t tell, those Human-People house strange creatures. I have already seen the Yellow-Ey’d Cat of Horror, and I expect I will see stranger things.

It and the Human-Person pass by. I pause, look around carefully, and resume my journey. Now there is a legitimate danger to forsee, that of a curious muzzle scooping me up into regions I never want to explore. I must be stealthy, silent– invisible from now on.

So I go. After what feels like a day of traveling, I come to a great bright-lit plain, where I countfourHuman-People. Ugh! So grotesque and mountainous! Among them, I spot Brown-Hair. AHA!

I make my way across the plain. All the while, mine eyes are open for the return of the Gytrash. The Human-People chatter and roar amongst themselves, talking of who knows what imbecillic and evil things, and after a lifetime, and feeling shaky with fear and the worry of detection, I finally reach the great throne where Brown-Hair sits gazing on ahead, oblivious to my approach.

“Greetings, villain!” I cry, but my voice is not heard. Blasphemy! Brown-Hair is oblivious still.

Now how will I reach her? Her throne is the size of a castle, I can’t possibly climb it. I gaze with annoyance up the length of this disgusting witch-like incarnate.

She gets up suddenly, and I try to throw myself away, but she spots me. No! I sit stock-still as she bends down, all her great monstrous being leaning toward me, and says, “Cudgel!”

Cudgel, indeed! Before this Brown-Haired hooligan named me that, I was Alex Yellowbeak. I was the son of a pretty respectable chick called Jacob Yellowbeak, son of the lady– AH! Brown-Hair picks me up in two huge fingers, and brings me level to a brown eye.

“How’d you get here, Cudgel?” she says, her voice loud enough to bust my eardrums and dislodge all my yellow feathers.

“BLASPHEMY! BLASPHEMY! BLASPHEMY!” I shout.

“That’s so weird,” she said, eyeing me. “Did he fall out of my pocket and the dog picked him up or something?”

I spit at her. Nothing happens, of course, and I make the worst face I can instead. She seems not to notice, the fiend.

“You can hang out with us, Cudgel,” she says, all a-smile. She puts me down beside her on a little table, and I stare ahead angrily. I curse the Human-Person and all her kin silently. I can’t very well exact my revenge in this way, I realize; somehow, the Human-People can’t seem to understand my cursings and shouts. But though I’ll sit here silently to her whim now, the battle is not won, and the war has just begun.

Cudgel’s Scheme, Mar. 1, 2012

It is a windy, stormy winter’s night. The Human-People cluster around their Large Screen of Pictures, their ghastly eyes as large and strange as evil pools of darkness. I sit upon the bookshelf, on the very top, gazing down at the communion of the ugly horrible beasts.

I’m feeling sleepy. But not so sleepy that I can’t plot Brown-Hair’s doom.

There she sits– oblivious, so peacefully oblivious, hah– on her great throne, her back to me. All the Human-People seem so peaceful where they sit, unwary of my plotting mind. I have a plan for Brown-Hair. Oh, yes, I do. The winter night has gotten me in the mood of dramatic justice. Alas, my plan: I know very well I’m not strong enough or big enough to exact revenge on my own. However, I have noticed that a great many objects sit in convient places on bookshelves and various other ledges that are usually placed over the Human-People’s heads; ever so convienently; and the way they walk unknowingly beneath them is just too perfect. If I could just give one of these objects a little nudge as Brown-Hair is passing by…

On the shelf next to me is a picture. Ironically, a picture of Brown-Hair herself in all her ugly monstrosity. Oh, I think it’s heavy enough to do its job. I gaze down at Brown-Hair, sitting there. If I push it just hard enough…

Advertisements
%d bloggers like this: