Once upon a time – or so I feel myself forced to say since this is a tall-tale; but, for the record, I do not know in which “time” this story occurred, if it occurred, or if this world even holds my same concepts of time – there lived a boy and a girl.
Many others also lived, but I find it terribly inappropriate narrate their lives, for this is not about them; it’s about the boy and the girl. The others would fit smashingly into another tale, but lousily into this one. Perhaps I will explore the others’ endeavors on a different day, for I know they too probably lived some very tale-worthy lives. But at this time I need only tell of a boy and a girl.
They lived in a distant world.
I could effortlessly tick away time explaining this world, such as its magical whereabouts or how to stumble across it - whether by wardrobe or rabbit hole - but I wish for the reader to cherish our time together, and so I will not. This world existed somewhere, evolved somehow, and our own world exists somewhere else. Enough said.
A peculiar thing which separated their world from ours is a name. Nobody, neither I nor the dwellers, named this wonderful world. However, contrary to what most of you would assume, this is not because I am lazy; in fact, I deliberately debarred the world from having a name. If the world deserved a name, I would have delighted in selecting one. But this world did not deserve a name. And even if I had seen this world fit for a name, who is to say for sure its dwellers would have seen the same? Am I in such a position to force thoughts into their minds? Of course not! The dwellers lived in their world, and they loved it, but none thought to call it anything because they never talked about it, nor to it. And let us imagine one did talk about it or to it: couldn’t he just use the words “my world?”
I hope I have addressed any question which might discredit this story’s setting.
Now, the districts in this world, for people did talk about them, had names – but please note, the inhabitants originally used alien tongues. I took the time to translate the original names so that any dweller of Earth could read this tale. The districts were called ‘Inside’ and ‘Outside,’ named by the powerful influence of logic, for one lied inside, and the other lied outside. A massive and unbearably orange fence divided the village of Inside from Outside, and Outside was any land outside of Inside. The smart and socially accepted idled about in cozy cottages and bustling town squares of Inside while the dumb, disapproved, and delirious did whatever such people like to do, and they lived in Outside. Their two districts never clashed - or, at least, they never clashed in the fantasies of the foolish dreamer. In reality, only half or less of Outside accepted their hilly home. The rest, as we say in our world, always saw the glass as half empty. Instead of accepting their Outside, they spent their days revolting without real reason. They wasted their lives yelling at the citizens of Inside, declaring how unfair and rude they were to deny them entrance: that all men and women should be able live wherever they want. -Yes, their uproars were regrettably as ironic as the word ‘sesquipedalian.’ These rioters tried with all their power to reside amongst the very people they spat on.
As stated, all dwellers of Outside were either dumb, disapproved, or delirious, but who I forgot to mention were the ones too dumb to know places called Inside and Outside even existed. And that brings our story to the first protagonist: the boy.
Willy sensed nowhere in life to go, nor a resolute thing to do, and so he tag-tailed wherever the wind took him – or, no, not the wind; I find the word “wind” too fierce and frigid. For the purpose of painting a narrative picture and winning awards, I must be careful to always use beautiful words for such a beautiful world. So I will instead say “breeze.” Willy let the warm, whooshing breeze lead him wherever it wanted. The wind suffused through green valleys which glittered as if glowing from within, over towering mountains which overtopped the valleys like enormous, nippleless beasts, and occasionally blew through deserts which, of course, were deserted. Willy enjoyed every moment of tittuping through the tulips and savoring every day -except for the ones he didn’t. Always he philosophized fervently about the birds, the beautiful skies, and nearly everything else.
Surely an artist, Willy reflected, created such a masterfully sculpted world. This inspired Willy to also create, and so he gifted the world with great ideas.
However, his daily wonts which he had grown so accustomed with suddenly changed one day as the wind guided him to a new and weird life full of socialization and co-existence.
The wind blew north, or at least where Willy assumed was north. To him, since north was straight ahead, and he was always looking straight ahead when walking, he therefore always traveled north. Each day, Willy found out which direction of north he would set his trails to by throwing his magical dust. This dust, when thrown like so, would always knowingly drift towards whichever direction his destiny called. The pointing power in this dust was so strong that even the wind longed to follow, and so Willy always explained he went “wherever the wind blew.”
His wandering never swayed, and so he bragged on his undivided devotion to the dust’s wishes. And Willy knew he was special to the dust. Not even the wind followed as loyally; it would easily bore of dust’s direction and, with a wintery chill, whoosh off another way. But not Willy. Willy stuck with the dust until the very end.
So the dust loved Willy, and Willy loved the dust. Whenever Willy whipped the last handful of grains into the air, he never worried he lost a friend, for the dust always skipped right on back and it hid itself under a layer of grass for Willy to dig out as the dust seemed to shout “Take me back! Take me back!” Chuckling at his loyal companion, Willy would always scoop it up in a loving handful and bring it home to its bag.
However, this all changed forever.
One blue and misty morning, Willy had been yodeling about in his yard when he noticed something strange. He took a slow step and another careful look. Without a doubt, he beheld a cactus growing, green and grizzly. Although for some suspicious reason, this cactus did not look like a cactus. It instead looked like a tree. Not every day did Willy spot such a suspicious trick, and so he knew something strange was coming.
It came that afternoon.
Willy busied himself, hunting for that pesky pest who filled his favorite bucket to the brim with water during the past night’s rainstorm. Unbelievable, Willy grumbled. Just one night he forgot to bring his bucket in, and this menace mauled it. The indecency! By waiting until a rainstorm, this murderous menace hadn’t even given Willy the chance to defend his poor bucket. For Willy had been inside, hiding from the rain. It was like forcing a limbless cripple into a sword duel.
But Willy suddenly forgot the bully. A new adventure lumbered his way: An unsanitary, muddy, and unbearably ugly ogre with teeth the size of large, sharp teeth, which were the size of a four-foot rock, which was the size of the most towering mountain. Guarding his ground, Willy never trembled at its terror. This ogre failed to even phase him. If anything, Willy swooned. For just as the cactus had been disguised as the tree, this ogre had disguised itself as a beautiful woman, blatantly trying to bombard him with trickery. Willy smirked and snickered to himself at the ogre’s schlocky attempt.
Yet fortunate for the feebleminded ogre, Willy decided not to slay it. He always kept his mind wide open, giving all creatures a fair chance. “Good afternoon, ogre. How goes you on this…” Willy forgot the rest of his sentence.
The ogre stiffened, seeming both offended and confused. “I’m already having a bad day. I’m in no need for insults.”
“Insults?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“But I never knew my words as capable of offending. What hurtful slanders did I say?”
“Think about it.”
“I am.”
“Forget it.”
“But I cannot!” Willy then scratched his chin and thought. He knew this would not give him an answer, but was simply a useless habit. “I stretch with this guess, but when I called you an ogre… did that cause the offence? I did not consider that able to hurt, but it seems the only part of my speech which might have offended.”
“I said forget it,” she snapped.
Very strange. For the first time in his life, Willy met an ogre who was humble about its ogre heritage – not boasting on its sickening stench and slimy tongues as ogres normally do. In fact, this ogre had openly spilt its emotions – something which would make most ogres steam red. To the uneducated public, this ogre would have come across completely human. But Willy knew better. He always anticipated the abnormal, and he knew that a better explanation always existed. Even now many possibilities paraded Willy’s mind: maybe these sorts of decent ogres had always existed and he had simply never met one; perhaps it was the most normal obnoxious ogre in every way and merely a marvelous actor; or maybe - just maybe - even though the possibilities were improbable - even though its chances were slimmer than the possibilities, and the likelihood slimmer than both the chances and the possibilities - perhaps this was a pure-hearted ogre.
Willy was intrigued.
“I am greatly sorry. I will no longer refer to you as ‘ogre’ if that is the honest desire of your heart. I will call you ‘ma’am,’ for that is indeed your form, and a ravishingly beautiful one, at that. Whatever ogre lies within may be dismissed since the radiance of your beauty blinds it.”
“Oh, I get it. ‘Ogre within. Radiance of beauty.’ You’re just being poetic.” She swept out her tension in one long and soft breath. “Sorry for actin' all snappy. I actually needed a compliment like that.” Willy did not see how her jabbering had much to do with his apology, yet he ignored his puzzlement, hoping to extend the peace just formed.
“What brought you to these lands? –other than your feet, of course.”
“Just going where the wind blows, I guess.”
So the wind had brought her here, too. Was this a coincidence? No, it couldn’t be. The chances were too slim to be a coincidence. And so Willy knew he had finally found his destiny. The wind had loyally lead him. And finally face to face, he studied this strange womanly ogre – this unlikely destiny.
“This is joyous news, ma’am.”
“What is? That I’m wandering?”
“It is joyous news that the wind has blown you in this direction. I, too, have been brought here by the wind. We have been directed into each other’s path. You must somehow be my destiny, and I yours.”
She chuckled. “You know what? On second thought, you’re kinda cute.”
Once again, she spoke of odd matters. It was as if she always grabbed her gab from a hat. Ogres were the dumbest race.
Why had he been brought to an ogre?
“Perhaps we were supposed to find each other,” the stupid, ugly, beautiful ogre continued. “Wanna stick together and find out? Also, can I ask you what your name is?”
“You may.”
Even though Willy told her she could, she did not. Instead, she oddly stood there, looking as if she expected something, and Willy wheezed, so annoyed at her stupidity he could have exploded right there. He knew it would be a task to adapt to her manner.
And after more silence and staring it became apparent she meant to keep her mouth shut, so Willy finally spoke. “I am called Willy. That, however, is only my real name. But please feel the freedom to label me under whichever name you please. I will call you Plink.” Willy thought of what a Plink was, and although he could not remember if he had ever heard the word, he knew it meant something extraordinary since it was the name of such an interesting figure.
“Do you wanna know my real name?”
“I do not.”
“Why?”
“To me you are already Plink.”
At that Plink laughed yet again, this time more merrily than ever. It seemed possible now to Willy that ogre laughter could indicate something much different than human laughter. Remembering the times Plink laughed, Willy decided ogre laughter probably expressed agreement. For this reason alone, Willy laughed along.
“So in which direction do you assume the wind shall blow next, Plink?”
“I don’t know. Wanna find out?”
“I do.” Gripping a fistful of magic dust out of the bag, Willy flung it to the air. It blew nowhere but forcefully into Plink’s face. Willy’s jaw dropped as he saw that she really must be his destiny. And she was now completely unraveling in laugher, so she must have agreed.
“Well it appears to be a-fish that the wind is blowing us together,” said Willy.
“You mean a-fish-hole?”
“No, not unless you shot the fish.”
As Plink returned to her rips of rioting laughter, Willy began to bloom inside. Never had one person agreed with him so much. Ogre or not, he might learn enjoy her company.
“So where do you want to go, Willy? I’m ready to go anywhere. I don’t belong anywhere else, so I’ll just follow along wherever you want to go.”
Willy did not have to think at all before he brightly grinned and said, “We will travel north.”
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