What It Tastes Like To Be Sane
Chapter XIII
Bari and Arthur gazed up from the base of Mount Hockey, but even if they had had the eyes of eagles, they would have been confounded in their efforts to view the summit.
“Well, I guess we have quite the climb ahead of us,” Bari mentioned.
“Indeed, I wonder if it will end up as one of those long, uneventful walks that doesn’t really require any explanation, or if it’ll be action-packed. So packed with action that it bursts at its proverbial seams with action, and perhaps even adventure,” reasoned Arthur.
“From the looks of things, it seems like a pretty mundane place. I can’t really see anything happening on those slopes from here. This makes me think that we’re in for an adventure of the thrilling variety. The mountain is kind of projecting this arrogant reverse psychology attitude, where it wants us to think it’s boring so we’re even more confounded when the action comes.”
“Well then, let’s get started.”
And so the two comrades began to perambulate up the slopes of Mount Hockey. There was an obvious path, complete with signs marking the way which read “path.” It almost seemed too easy.
“Perhaps this sign was put here to deceive us, for if there is enchantment enough to create a basketball hoop that has the power of transfiguration, then surely there can be magic enough to paint deceiving words upon wooden signs,” Bari mused aloud.
“Perhaps, but there’s no mistaking. This obviously has the look of a path, or at the very least, a trail, and I don’t think that using a synonym would count as deceiving us, being that they essentially mean the same thing.”
“You’re correct in that right, and perhaps I should have framed my words with more caution. What I meant to say is that perhaps this path or trail, which to us seems so pleasant, is in fact treacherous and full of peril. At any rate I suppose we have no choice but to ascend by these means, as I see no other road leading upwards. We can only hope that while all roads may lead to Rome, this one stops at our basketball hoop en route to that famous city.”
“It would seem that we have no choice but to carry on this way. What have we to lose? Until we find that hoop you’re stuck a basketball and I am a roustabout with no future. Perhaps a bit of present, and a rather shaky past, but a future sounds quite appealing to me. And even if there was a choice, we should take the choice that says to ascend as opposed to the one which says to stay still. Just think of what we’ve endured up to this point. We’ve defeated the Mantiwhore, a whole gallimaufry of strange creatures, and won the challenge of the moustache’s labyrinth, and thusly, these moustaches en route to where we are now. We ought to be reckoned famous adventurers by now, and no adventurer of any level of fame or obscurity, unless they be a false adventurer, would turn down the chance to climb this mountain. Indeed, we’re the first to pass this way since that labyrinth was built. Surely curiosity has killed no cats. I’ve seen cats die of old age, disease, and many other things, but never curiosity. That’s a concept, which has no literal power in our physical world. Now, onward!
And onwards they did tread. The path meandered gently up the course of the mountain, and the climb was indeed rather pleasant and uneventful. Out of boredom, Arthur suggested that they tell each other tales, and enjoy the entertainment that enters their entities in order to pass the time. Bari concurred that this was a novel idea, and Arthur encouraged him to go first. He chose to tell a tale that had been a favourite in the days of his youth. It had been contained with a volume amongst other stories of its kind, with no known author. This is it:
“Of the Gardyloo and the Gallimaufry and their fantastical Adventures amongst the Beeople of Thyradutc”
The Gardyloo was left-handed, as was the Gallimaufry. This night found them walking to the edge of a forest of psychedelic firs, in which there was a drainage pipe. Normally it would be transporting water, but tonight it was dry. It was well known to the students of the university on whose campus the drainage pipe resided, and which the Gardyloo and the Gallimaufry attended, that if one spent the night in that drainage pipe whilst it was dry, anything could happen. Now, most people didn’t dare sleep there, for fear of something, let alone anything, happening. However, the Gardyloo and the Gallimaufry were driven by boredom and lust for adventure to see just what might happen.
It was the very beginning part of allergy season, and with tissues in hand in addition to half gallons of chocolate milk, they set out towards the drainage pipe I keep talking about. Laying their sleeping bags down, they began drinking their chocolate milk and conversing regarding topics such as things which had passed, things that were passing, and things that would pass. Quite a few footballs had passed, or had been passed, in the past. They also discussed what might come to pass, divided into the subcategories of that which they hoped might come to pass and that which they hoped would not come to pass. What-ifs and what might have beens were rather common topics, as were various absurd subgenres which that included absurd scenarios which would probably never come to pass but surely would be interesting if they did. At last, in the midst of night, sleep came to them and pushed their eyelids down, and they were unable to open them for several hours. In the meantime, they dreamed many fantastical dreams, both realizing that nothing interesting had happened to wake them up.
“How unfortunate,” they both thought in their sleep.
Upon awakening, they were sorely disappointed.
“What a waste,” said the Gallimaufry as he rose.
“Well,” replied the Gardyloo, “maybe, though nothing happened, anything did happen. Perhaps nothing was anything. They never said it was mandated that the anything which might happen would be exciting.”
“I suppose you’re right. Well, let’s head back to the mundane world which we never seemed to leave, and grab some breakfast.”
“I heard the special at the cafeteria is pancakes, so hard that your teeth might break when you chew them, A delicacy for sure.”
“Pancakes? Pancakes! I love pancakes! Let’s go!”
And so they set off. But lo, and behold if you should also be so inclined to do so, they realized the instant they left the pipe that anything had happened for when they reach the edge, they realized they were on the edge of a precipice, so high that they could not see the ground below them.
“Well,” said the Gallimaufry. “Surely anything did happen. Now let’s check the other end of this pipe and hopefully that will not look down from the edge of another cliff. Indeed, the wish that the Gallimaufry had spoken aloud was the same one that the Gardyloo had thought, and it was fulfilled. Upon reaching the other end they could observe a spacious, pastoral meadow, with rolling hills covered in odd-looking monolithic flowers, punctuated by a vast forest, beyond which they could see nothing.
“There’s nothing I can think of to do but explore. We don’t have class for three days, and even so, I don’t know how we’ll ever get back. That pipe definitely isn’t in the same place it was when we fell asleep. We might as well make use of this adventure. It was what we had asked for, in a sense.”
So spoke the Gardyloo, and the Gallimaufry agreed wholeheartedly.
“Let’s just walk around for a bit and hopefully we’ll stumble upon something exciting. If not, we can just sleep in the pipe again. You know, the ‘ole “the way out is the way in” philosophy that you see in the movies all the time.”
At this they crawled out. The meadow, as far as they could see, was bereft of all but flora, but what odd plant life this was. Stranger even than the psychedelic firs of their own world. The flowers were all massive, at least twenty feet tall, and the trees which constituted the forest they saw were proportionally large to the flowers, when compared to the nature of size differentials between trees and flowers in our own world. Who knows what manner of massive creatures could thrive in this environment. Certainly nothing that could compare to the world they knew, at least nothing that had populated that world since its prehistoric days.
But how wrong that thought process was. In fact
, the stream of consciousness would have to reverse direction in order for their thoughts to be verified, for much of what populated this world were miniscule beasts, many as ferocious as their counterparts in the world of the Gardyloo and the Gallimaufry, but many times smaller. They, of course, escaped their attention. One thing did not.
From far off in the distance they could hear a buzzing growing louder as time progressed, until the sky above them darkened as they wandered about. Then the cloud descended, and they thought they were in those moments living their last. It seemed a plague of biblical proportions. Alas, though, fortune favoured them and these were not carnivorous beings, but had descended from the skies to land in the flowers. Being that these beings seemed extremely distracted, the Gardyloo and the Gallimaufry decided to try and get a closer look.
Now, you’ll surely think I’m making this up, because it’s so fantastical, but what they beheld inside the flowers seemed to be a bee of human proportions, until it raised its head, which showed it to be a bee with a human head. Stranger still, it had four bee legs and two human arms. What would you do in this scenario? Would you trust in the herbivorous nature of its bee-body, or give deference to humanity’s penchant for feasting upon flesh? They decided to trust in the bee part, as most humans don’t eat other humans, they just rob them, and they had nothing worth stealing.
“So, who, or what are you, and where are we?” was what the Gallimaufry asked them.
“Well, you’re in a place called Thyradutc. I’m not sure where it is in relation to that world you come from, but that drainage pipe is the only way to get here, and that operates solely on chance. As rare as it is for people to sleep there, it is even rarer still for this option to come up on the roulette wheel which is fate. As to what I am, you can see that my nature is partially that of a bee and partially that of a human. Thusly, our species is known as beeople, and we are singularly known as beeople. We’re related somewhat closely to people, and distantly to sheeple, though not at all to steeple. If you’d like to learn more, I can take you to our leader, the May Bee, and maybe he can induce a little clarity to scatter your confusion, for I can tell that this situation has left you confounded.
The Gardyloo was the first to speak. “Yes, please take us. I’d love to see more of this world.”
So, the Beeople led them to the edge of the forest, and down a path a bit, until they veered off that path and soon found themselves at a hive hanging from one of the more massive oaks.
“Go ahead, climb in,” instructed the Beeople that had first talked to them, and they obeyed, and subsequently found themselves in a massive hall. It seemed to be the perfect balance of bee and human, with characteristics of the worlds of both. After a short walk, they came to a throne, on which was situated someone who could only be the May Bee, who showed a great amount of delight at their arrival.
“Why, it’s been so long since we’ve entertained humans! Let a feast be prepared!”
And within minutes a feast was on the table, and both the May Bee and the Gardyloo/Gallimaufry parties were exchanging stories and news. The May Bee was especially curious to hear about what had transpired in the human world in the last twenty years, which was the last time a human had come to their world. The May Bee then gave them a detailed account of the history and nature of the Beeople, and before they had noticed, all the food and drink had been consumed. The May Bee exclaimed that while it was certainly nice to have visitors, they couldn’t allow their work to be interrupted for too long, and bade them farewell and good luck. Just to make sure, the Gallimaufry asked if the way out was the way in, for they’d like to go back to their homes, having satisfied their curiosity, but not their desire for pancakes.
“Of course not,” said the May Bee. “The way in is the way in. As for a way out, I’m afraid you’ll have to find that yourself. I wouldn’t worry, it’s quite easy, if I do remember.”
“Would you at least tell us where it is?”
“Maybe. No, no I can’t . well, maybe I can…ABSOLUTELY NOT! Truth is, I don’t know, but you do.”
“We don’t, that’s why we asked.”
“Whatever you say, it’s up to you.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
And so they departed, realizing that they way out was whatever they wanted it to be, and so they made it a pancake.
“What a fun adventure that was,” said the Gardyloo when they got back.
“Indeed, it was like a nice walk in the woods, only we got to meet some new friends and explore a world that nobody’s seen in a while. High fives all around!”
The story ends here
“Well,” said Arthur. That was a pleasant story. Normally we like to hear stories all full of action and excitement. That one had a little tension, but it was resolved by means of proper inquiries. I really didn’t mind at all hearing about some people having a nice day.”
By this point, they had climbed a bit, though they were still walking in the forest. Arthur continued
“Bari, do you think there really are Beeople out there?”
“No, probably not. I think it’s a completely fictional story, but you never know what can be real. Just look at what we’ve endured since we’ve left our homes.”
Then they heard a loud crashing sound, like something bounding through the woods, which indeed it was. That something had perfect timing, and allowed Bari to finish that last sentence, and then arrived. Immediately thereafter, when he arrived, our protagonists saw a man clad in athletic shorts, with a scuba suit under them, and an oxygen tank on his back and mask on his face. Next to the oxygen tank was a parachute. Upon his belt there were many items, mostly ones that would be used in extreme scenarios. Pinned to his breast was a nametag that read, “hi, my name is Action.”
“Hi, my name is Action,” said the man who they had already discerned to be named Action. “I heard you were looking for me.”
“Why, we had been,” said Arthur. “But I realized a few minutes ago that I wouldn’t mind a nice, pleasant walk to the top of this mountain. I have some sports to accomplish, you see.”
“It’s too late for that!” exclaimed Action. “Action is here. And if my twin brother, Adventure, wasn’t jumping out of a helicopter on a skateboard into an active volcano, where he plans on parasailing, while drinking an energy drink, he’d be here too. Hell, I’d like to join him. But alas, you called for me. So, what can I do for you?”
“Let us walk to the top of this mountain, please. If you have any advice, you’re welcome to dispense it.” Arthur replied.
“It’s too late for a peaceful walk. Action is here! I know where we can have a shootout with some cops! Or some high surfaces we can jump off of and onto lower surfaces!”
This was quickly becoming annoying, much like the wolf-man that had wanted to excise a tax upon them. Luckily, our heroes were quick thinkers, and Bari gave Action some good advice.
“Well, why don’t we go join your brother in EXTREME deportes, but without the us portion of the we whole. Us, of course, being my friend and I.”
“Great idea, let’s do it!”
Off he bounded through the woods, and the two of them heaved sighs of relief when his last footsteps died away in the distance.
“Your turn to tell a story,” said Bari, making it very clear that it would be best to avoid mentioning the topic of what they had just experienced. He was pretty annoyed at this point.
“Yes, now that Action is gone and there is no threat of Adventure finding his way here, let us perambulate upwards towards this venerable summit, and I will tell you a tale, which though brief, contains many truths, albeit possibly mixed with several half-truths and perhaps many more outright falsehoods.”
“Toozday”
“Oh hey, it’s Toozday!”
This was the thought of one Arnold Svarthron, who sported an unnaturally large beard.
“Has Toozday come so soon?” descried he of the sideburns, who would one day grow the hair atop his head into the sty
le of a pompadour, who shall be hereafter referred to as Ignatius, with the given surname of Surname.
Toozday was a special day for Arnold Svarthron and Ignatius Surname, for it appeared on no calendar, but inserted itself whenever it should so desire. On average this occurred every other year, but oftentimes it would come more often, or less frequently, or less often, or more frequently. People could descry the coming of Toozday as the night threw her yoke off the planet and let the day reign for its allotted period of time. As the day dawned on a Toozday, the sun rose in a greenish splendor, and resumed its normal colouration upon seating itself upon its throne at the zenith of its course through the sky. All day you could tell what sort of mood each visible celestial body was in, for on Toozday they hid not their faces beneath their surfaces, but let them rise to the surface, and indeed far above it.
And though objects are always wont to be transfigured, as you were, Bari, on Toozday it occurred with a drastically increased frequency. Of course, most usually returned to their former shape without a great labour such as we have undertaken before the next day dawns. And though not all do so, the vast minority which retain their newest shape often do so of their own volition, because they prefer the new shape, and do not mind waiting for Toozday to come once more to return to their former selves. So dissatisfied with their circumstances are many humans. It’s most unfortunate, I believe. And hey, wouldn’t it be cool if people liked their lives? Maybe someday more cause will come. More cause than a simple Toozday. But for now Toozday reigned supreme. It was always a celebrated holiday. So many people’s thoughts revolved around
“Hey, I hope Toozday comes so that maybe I’ll transform into something else and not have to go to this stupid job.”
Or
“Hey, I hope Toozday comes so that maybe I’ll transform into something else and not have to go to this stupid class.”
Mainly the hope for Toozday was a sort of escapism. It was something to hope for, because a transfiguration got you out of your normal life. And when Toozday came, even if you stayed the same shape, you still got out of your normal routine for a day. This is because when Toozday came, everyone observed it. Nobody bothered to go to work or to school. Nobody bothered to call out either. Everyone knew it was Toozday and being Toozday, there was no need to attend these normally required functions. But it was so much more than a day off. For many people, it was the hope for a new start. The new start that they were afraid to make for themselves, and relied on a silly calendar day to accomplish. So, he of the beard and he of the sideburns simply noticed that Toozday had come, and marked the day with joy. They hoped not for a transfiguration. They were pretty satisfied with their lives. They had shaved their arm hair upon the last full moon and planted it and seen what had grown. And what had grown gave them a pretty good idea of what was to come for them, and they liked it. Liked it enough to rejoice. And rejoiced enough to have cake. And so when Toozday came it was celebrated simply with snacks. Neither bothered to show up to work. Why bother? Nobody else would be there. And if nobody was there, who would they celebrate with? Instead, they chose to go to the local sports field, where sports were wont to occur. And sports were always a cause for celebration. Celebration was the nature of the day. Sports is celebration! I sense a connection! Let’s sports!
And so sports they did! They put on their very own athletic shorts and jerseys and headed down to the field. There, they met other people similarly attired, who also desired to sports with them. And so they sportsed. But poor Arnold and Ignatius were so unfortunate as to be given a task. Now, when given a task, one does not have to accept it. But does one dare to turn down such a chance to shine? Especially on a day such as this, which is so celebrated? No, of course not! One must be sports when the chance arises! And so they had been chosen by Toozday itself to engage the most sports of sports, which was a game of sports.
But something else came up. Something that made it not seem so important to Arthur to finish telling this story. All in all, the story didn’t matter. It had been a diversion. A way to pass the time while they were on a pleasant walk. The pleasant walk was over. There were much more pressing issues happening at hand. A dark figure descended from the sky, enshrouding everything in absolute darkness, and looking extremely intimidating in the process. In the pitch black, the only thing which could be discerned was a small name tag which stated
“Hi, my name is Danger.”
And a small sub-text beneath which read
“Hola, mi nombre es Peligroso.”
Bari was angry because he had wanted to hear out the rest of Arthur’s story, while Arthur was upset about being interrupted. Neither really enjoyed the fact that the present situation seemed so dangerous.
“I guess we’re in danger,” said Bari.
The dark figure at once revealed that he had both a voice as non-threatening as his figure appeared threatening and showed that he possessed a penchant for terrible puns when he uttered forth the following lines in a high-pitched, cartoonish voice:
“Well, you’re not in danger yet, just in front of him. But I’m sure I could arrange it in my busy schedule to devour you both!”
It was then that our protagonists came to a startling revelation.
“Of course!” exclaimed Arthur. “We’re young. We can’t take Danger seriously!”
And so they laughed at him, they laughed at Danger himself, and their laughter lit up the darkness, and they meandered on their ways, laughing at Danger as they walked by him.
On their merry lil’ ways they went, and on his own merry lil’ way another form of Baritone Juicebox went from the moon to the Earth.