Guacamolia Chapter 2 “Complete”


For those of you who have yet to read chapter 1 of Guacamolia, scroll down a bit and the fourth post is Guacamolia Chapter 1: Complete. I am terribly sorry for letting Guacamolia hang in the dry for so long.

Shroons

Shroons woke up to green stuff, very green stuff, and very close to his eyes the green stuff is almost a blur; as a matter of fact, his pointy nose is forked right into the green stuff. Shroons took in a whiff of air through his nose, but all he got is green stuff clogging up his nostrils; not a pleasant smell. So the green stuff is moss, Shroons thought to himself, he tested his limps, but they are limp; for now a bit, it looked like he has to breath through his mouth, which, fortunately, is not buried air-duct deep in green moss, and wait for his limps to re-circulate again for him to pull his nose out of the green moss. Shroons diverted his eyes to the sides and caught a glance at his surroundings, yes, his home-forest, towering green trees covering the sky with their towering branches, and that’s about it. Wait, how did I get out here? He thought to himself, then, shuffling the short-term memory storage space in his apple-sized brain (which takes up 75 percent of his head), he replayed the mayhem two days ago (he didn’t know that it happened two days ago, Shroons thought he passed out for a few hours, but that was after he came to the conclusion that he passed out at all); Weedy with his left arm severed, the colony bombed to shreds, fairy folks slaughtered, bloody green erupting through the air from the heads of fairy folks whose heads were smashed and blasted open like gourds, Shroons saw these rather terrible images flash through his mind at a rate of one hundred frames per second, then he came to the part where Aria, member of the Fairy High Council, slapped his face and gave him an important message to deliver, Shroons patted his bottom (where he always puts his delivery mail) to check that the leaf envelope is still there, and finding that he can move his arms, pulled his nose out of the green moss his nose had taken shelter in for the past two days. Shroons never read the mails he was supposed to deliver, he never found much interest in it, so he didn’t this time; what he is worried about is what happened to the colony…and his bowl of hyperactive pineapples especially, so finding that he can move his wings freely, Shroons tested his flight joints with a few circles in the air and flew in the direction of the colony; he knew where it is because once before he also crashed into the same tree he crashed into two days ago and landed in the same patch of moss, that time he had broken his nose, so he had to fly back to the colony to get some leaf-tissue and restart the delivery voyage, the route he takes now is the route he took that time; fairies have photographic memory, and always have film with it.

Mara

Mara woke up still fastened to her seat by her seatbelt, still intact. The setting of the plane had changed greatly, though. A wreck of the plane is what remains of the Airbus 340 she was on; the iron frame is not destroyed, but hangs out in the open and sunlight pours through a big gaping hole in the ceiling of the plane, as well as down the walkway, where the front half seem to have detached itself from the rest of the plane body. From the outside, the Airbus looks like the sunken Titanic; plane version. Mara unfastened her seatbelt and tried to stand up, she fell down and her head landed in someone’s lap, this unfortunate someone happened to have had her head beheaded by a large shard of metal earlier during crash course, and her upper-body is stained like an erupted volcano with bloody red blood cells and fragments of brains; where her head was beheaded, there is the top of this bloody volcano, the bloodiest part of this body, a stump with a piece of windpipe dangling to the side. Upon glancing at this horrendous sight, Mara screamed and although she could not stand a moment earlier, she tore away from this seat and ran full-speed up the aisle, tripping a few times, passing numerous bodies still logged in their seats; here was a man impaled through the chest by a golf club (this instrument should be in the cargo hold and not in economy class, but from this it can be inferred that the cargo hold is no longer effective, so leave it at that), there was a flight attendant with a broken neck somehow cramped into the baggage space by force of the crash or deliberately, and in the third row middle column is a child crushed by the lunch trolley, all this and many other horrible deaths littered the exposed innards of the downed wreck of the tail half of the plane, the outside saw a worse sight yet when Mara cleared the wreckage and stumbled down in the tall yellow grass-bed flattened by impact around the crash. The visible ground is littered with visible bodies and half-bodies of passengers tossed carelessly like rag-dolls among the tall grass, luggage, scattered belongings that no longer belong, and small blackened fires that still burn after the initial explosion. It is a small, but terrifying scene to come across in the mid of Guacamolia’s grassland savanna, where the slight wind rustle the thick blades of grass forming allusions of waves on the surface, and the sky shone bright blue with the sun up. Mara sat up and gazed in no particular direction for a while, her face showed no particular emotion other than the shock that comes out of being electrocuted by high voltage cable, her wandering gaze focused on two figures gradually; two slow-moving figures moving across the thicket grass in the general direction of the plane wreck. At first inspection she assumed they are survivors of the plane crash, she waved weakly; at this wave, the figures seem to quicken their pace towards the general direction of the plane wreck. At closer inspection, Mara observed that the figures (a slim male and a slightly shorter female, judged through the length of their strangely grey hair) which are now closer by ten feet that they appear to be dressed in tattered rags, and their faces pale in the sunlight; that is understandable, for when Mara looked at her own clothing, they are torn beyond recognition. At even closer inspection, she observed the moan that came now and then from the figures, and the way in which their arms are raised, like sleepwalkers under the influence of alcohol…and the male figure seem to be missing a part of his chest, where ribs show through a big ripped hole in his barely recognizable flannel shirt…and his flesh apparently…now something isn’t right there…

Erick and Erick’s Sister

It is almost impossible to render the thoughts of a zombie, it is almost impossible for an expert to render the thoughts of a zombie; because they have no thought, well, not really until the huge-mega-gigantic breakthrough that is going to come very, very soon, yes, except for that exception, it is impossible to translate or interpret the thoughts of a zombie. So I will tell what Erick and his sister did as to what they thought before they did it, because zombies act rather on instinct than logic, what they do is what they think, that’s the best way to put it. When Erick and his sister first saw Mara by the plane wreck, they thought it was another zombie, but I bet they didn’t really think that, they just started off in that direction, half-lurching and half-stumbling. When Mara got a clear picture of what the two figures she was looking at, it added horror to the terrified state she was already in, so she screamed a scream mostly reserved for werewolf cubs and ran. Erick raised his hand (with no particular meaning) and attempted what appeared to be a wave gesture, and shouted in Gibberish “Hallo there!” Mara did not understand Gibberish and kept running away from what she thought was the walking dead people from ‘movies’. Erick’s legs started a rather surprisingly rapid run after Mara, one leg after the other, it grew into a chase. “I don’t know I can do that…” Erick said contently (if it is possible that zombies have a happy emotion) “Try this sister!” Erick shouted to his sister, who followed his example and ran after him and Mara. “What’re we doing?” Erick’s sister asked Erick. “I don’t say,” and then he turned his head to Mara, who was fading off into the tall grass, and shouted again “hallo there!” only this time, Erick had said something he was unaware he did, he shouted ‘hallo there’ in English, and that made Mara stop abruptly to look back, puzzled. Seeing that Mara had slowed down, Erick shouted again “hallo there!’

There is no explanation as to why Erick shouted ‘hallo there’ in English (his native language) and not Gibberish, could it be possible that zombies have traces of themselves left from their previous life? Well, for Erick, that seemed to be the case, and he shouted it once more, also in English. This is the brink of a ‘scientific breakthrough’ right here, too bad there are no ‘scientists’ about.

Wolfe

Wolfe always hated squirrels who threw nuts at him, it seems impossible for squirrels not to dislike werewolves when they are in their wolf form, when werewolves are human, they look like humans and vampires, except a bit darker in shades; otherwise, werewolves are human, it’s just the lycanthrope and giant-wolf appearance that really ticks nature off. And werewolves pray every weekend to Brother Wolf to settle a deal with Mother Nature, so angry forest animals won’t throw nuts at them anymore; it disturbs the hunt.  

Wolfe always hated squirrels throwing nuts at him right after his triumph with the grey goose, but he never anticipated flying metal people throwing rounds of laser at him. The shooting stars he saw a moment ago flew in his direction, enlarged quickly into distinguishable people, and shot out beams of laser aimed at him, to him the lasers look like glowworms high on hyperactive pineapples, an accurate comparison. Wolfe ducked out of the was just in time for a yellow beam to only scorch his backside with a black burn mark, not a fatal injury, but a fatal injury to handsomeness; Wolfe let out an animalistic howl, climbed a tree with amazing speed and agility, and leaped mid-air onto the back of one of the flying metal people in the rear flank, he clawed on. The flying metal person tried in vain to shake Wolfe off, and it did perform some pretty amazing stunts in doing so; dropping in a torpedo dive after an initial climb to five hundred feet with Wolfe hanging on by the buttocks and torso, the flying metal person then did a seven-twenty degree spin and flew narrowly between two intersecting trees and vibrated like a hummingbird all the way during this flight, still Wolfe held on. Zig-zaging between enormous trees in the forest, through branches, over and under logs, in its effort to loosen Wolfe from its back, the flying metal person had long since lost his flank and sped aimlessly through a remote part of the forest. Wolfe’s teeth clattered from the vibration and his muscular arms tightened to rock from his effort of holding on to an object going a hundred-twenty kilometers per minute, risking a hard fall, Wolfe unlatched one hand from the torso of his about-to-be-claimed prize and punched at the thing in-between the legs, where the weak spot must be located. The flying metal person’s armor was hard as granite, and Wolfe’s punches only produced a small dent in the smooth and shiny surface of the thing. All this while, the flying metal person continued to attempt shaking Wolfe off, but with less effort, whether it was that it had almost given up or that it thought Wolfe’s single-grip was loosening, it never got to find out, because a granite-tipped crossbow arrow weighing twenty grams impaled its head, the thing slowed to a non-maneuvered glide and then a drop through the air of the all quiet forest, like an out-of-fuel Iron Man, and crash-landed at the base of a thousand-year old tree, static energy fizzling out in its skull, with Wolfe still hanging on with one arm. The shooter of the crossbow strolled over, and Wolfe lifted his head for a moment to acknowledge the shooter with an “Aww! Darn it cousin! Did you have to ruin this one for me?” and he collapsed with exhaustion.

Lezlie

Like I said not-enough-times, my guardians are hypocrites and over-protective freaks; the roof of our house exploded just a moment ago, and I re-opened my eyes to the ground all full of bits of stone and wood and the air thick with dust I can’t see a thing, I stood up and shakily took a few steps before being tackled to the ground again by pa…see what I mean? Pa picked me up and crashed through the stone wall of our house and ran in the direction of the forest (our house was on the edge of Shadytown, ma argued that it will be more dangerous in case of a werewolf attack but pa said we could get away into the woods easier if our house were at the fringe of the village, pa won over mum), he cleared the tree line in the next moment, with the explosions and strange, unnatural metallic sounds of projectiles being launched behind us, and continued sprinting at twenty kilometers a minute deeper into the forest, soon, the commotion was behind us and can be heard only faintly. Pa suddenly stopped at the base of a gigantic thousand-year old tree and tapped at its side, a door perfectly concealed within the bark popped open and he threw me inside, with a worried smile, he assured he, “Okay Lez, just stay here and be very, very quiet, I’ll go back and sort out the…whatever there is to sort out, remember stay here, I won’t be gone for long…”

“Pa, what’s going on?” I asked him, back against the hollow inside of the tree (pa must have dug this place for something along the lines of this event); I can see he didn’t want to answer my question, well, he never did.

“Er…can I tell you later when everything’s…less emergency?”

“There might not be a next…”

“Sorry Lez, gotta run, don’t want to miss a fight!” for a thousand and six hundred fifty-two year old vampire, that’s a childish thing to say to a child. I sighed. If I were ever to be a good, efficient narrator, I got to see the action, not sit in a hole like this while my childish pa and mum are off gleefully fighting another werewolf attack, where did those fur balls come up with the bombs anyway? 

K9jr

<<termination, termination, termination of hostile species in progress>>

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Published in: on 2011/05/30 at 10:14 PM  Leave a Comment  

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