From the Inside of a Pokeball

Of course after my grand "re-opening" of my blog, I didn't post once after the first time. I am the master of starting things without finishing them or following through.

But you don't understand! I've been busy! I had to be a camera operator for Switchfoot and Tenth Avenue North and stuff!!

You just don't understand how tough my life is, you imaginary figment of my imagination, you! I do things...really!

Anyway, I wonder if there is something random I can rant about. I'd much rather write a random story. The story will be about a goat named Chauncey and it will involve ice cream, a radar gun, a zebra, a jar of pickles, and a giant spider named Bob.

All was silent on the glade. The flowing grass stretched for acres under the open blue sky, and wind blew in lazy gusts through it. A bird soared through the air, directionless, complacent, free.

Chauncey, a young gray goat, stood among the hills, the flowing emerald and azure fields, an impressionist's sapphire, the ground and dimensions of the field ever changing with the sway of the wind through it. Chauncey chewed lazily, stooping and taking another bite of foliage. He seemed all alone out here, but he took notice of nothing other than his chewing.

A loud screech tore through the open air, putting a ragged edge on such a warm and lazy existence. The goat stopped chewing and his eyes went wide, pupils contracting.

He stood there a moment, eyes still wide. Without moving, his eyes darted left...and then right. Nothing.

Chauncey shivered. Laboriously he turned his head to the left.

Movement. A streek of something shiny and green shot through the goat's vision, leaving not so much as an after-image. Chauncey's head swung to the right, trying to follow what he thought he saw.

And here was something else. A large spider, standing on it's hind legs, wearing a uniform with vertical stripes up the outside of each of his four pant-legs, a button up gray shirt with a badge at the left breast, and a name tag which read "Bob." He held a radar gun and was following a small blurred object in the distance, clouds of dust rising in its wake.

"Doggone motorists always speedin' errywhere like they think they own the road. I'll show this durn youngun a thing 'er two," he said. A moment later he put one of his four gloved hands to his mouth and whistled high and loud. A zebra came running up. "Aright, there ya are Zeke! After that rascal!" said Bob the giant spider, and off they rode into the sunset.

Chauncey's mouth was wide open, chewed grass dripping down his chin, making his beard green. He coughed and closed his mouth, blinking. A moment later the shiny greenish something that had zipped through Chauncey's vision earlier flew by again, screaming as it went. This time it ran in a circle in front of Chauncey and he finally saw that it was a jar of pickles with legs, running about as fast as Chauncey had ever seen a jar of pickles go. It's mouth was open in a wild grin, an enormous lolling tongue flapped in the wind as it screamed loudly and continued running.

The goat's jaw dropped again.

With a loud whinny, the zebra named Zeke rode onto the scene with his rider Bob the giant spider. The pickle jar had whipped up quite a dust cloud at this point from running in circles for a few minutes. Bob rode in, lasso in hand, yelling a rebel yell. Beads of condensation glistened on the outside of the pickle jar. Its running began to slow. With another yell Bob threw the lasso. The loop snagged on the lip of the jar around the cap, and Chauncey saw as if in slow motion the jar head get jerked backwards, the jar slamming to the ground in a pile of dust.

The officer rode up on his striped charger, dismounted and cuffed the Pickle Jar around the ankles.

Bob the giant spider walked past Chauncey who stood up to meet him. The spider handed Chauncey an ice cream cone saying, "Here ye go son. Be sure to aid justice in the future, boy. And don't worry about this. Things are in hand."

Bob walked on, leading the Pickle Jar on the end of a rope. As the Pickle Jar passed Chauncey he said, "Don't do it man! Don't work for the system. Remember your freedom! Don't be silent!"

A moment later, the Spider and Pickle Jar faded on the horizon and were gone. Chauncey closed his mouth and wiped drool from his chin, then looked back at the ice cream. It was beginning to melt and drips of brown reflected his look of confusion. He went to lick the cone and then stopped halfway there, tongue sticking out. He looked down at the ground, and then off into the horizon where the Pickle Jar had disappeared, led on a rope. Then he threw the ice cream over his shoulder. "I'm lactose intolerant," said Chauncey to the grass, the rolling, flowing, emerald and sapphire grass that blew in the lazy wind under a blue sky, with a free, complacent bird, drifting through the openness. Silently he went back to chewing, alone in the glade.