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Old 01-18-2005, 08:31 PM   #1
Mundus
Dungeon Master
 

Join Date: February 11, 2003
Location: Jersey, Channel Islands - UK
Age: 38
Posts: 69
This is the first installment of a short story about a bison called Brian by me. Enjoy!


Chapter 1: About Brian

The year is 2005. The place; a small, rundown allotment in Buzzard Hill, a small village just south of the river Codbreeches. A bison sits on a crude stool outside the ailing greenhouse. He puffs slowly on his inhaler and tries to look composed in full view of the owner of the adjacent allotment, a pompous middle-aged otter with an aloof expression upon his snout. He has only one reason to look so pleased with himself and he’s waving it around just to show our bovine friend just what it means to be a wealthy salmon-tycoon.
The offending item is only a strimmer however it is a strimmer that Brian the bison does not own, and thus he has to resort to trimming the rather wild looking “lawn” in his allotment by hoof and this has a rather bad affect on his asthma.
Sick of this rather immature display of just how far salmon can get you in life, Brian decided to return to his abode for a cup of tea and maybe a banana or some raisins. As Brian trundled down the high street he passed a small garden equipment outlet. As he strode past, something caught his attention. In the corner of the window behind a box of rose fertilizer, there sat a shiny new wheelbarrow, a wheelbarrow that Bernard in the next allotment didn’t have. “Excellent,” Brian mused, “I shall have the finest wheelbarrow in the village!”. Immediately he rushed to the bank, rushed back and bought the wheelbarrow. Fortunately it was only a short burst of rushing so it didn’t land Brian in hospital like the time he had rushed all the way to his uncle Gerald’s in the next village! With this notion of botanic delight, he nearly skipped all the way home – until he realized that this would really aggravate his asthma - so he shuffled home slowly.
Upon entering the rather haggard looking bungalow that he liked to call home, Brian put the kettle on and deftly intercepted the newspaper as it flew through the window. Reading through the Buzzard Hill Evening Standard, Brian once again remarked to himself that there is no point having a newspaper in a village where no news ever happens. He suddenly noticed an article that changed his mind. It read “Ever felt bored with your life in a small out-of-the-way village? Well here’s the answer to your prayers – an adventure holiday in the Big Bream Hills. At this point, Brian, by this time excited to bursting point skipped to the end and hastily filled in the application form, despite not having the slightest clue where the Big Bream Hills were.
Three days later was a Wednesday and Brian was up bright and early. In fact, so enthusiastic was Brian that he was up slightly brighter and slightly earlier than usual. After a rather hurried breakfast, Brian sat by the front door and awaited the postman. Fifteen minutes later, a letter popped through the letterbox and Brian gleefully opened it using the silver letter opener uncle Gerald had given him for his last birthday. Inside was a newsletter from the International Association of Asthmatic Bison, not the reply to the application form he had sent off. “Oh well” sighed Brian, “there’s always tomorrow’s post”. With that he pulled on his lime green mackintosh and shuffled off to the allotment, shiny new wheelbarrow in tow.
Upon arriving at the aforementioned patch of botanic mediocrity, Brian was greeted once more by the sight his rather uppity aquatic neighbour peering over the fence and looking about as high and mighty as is possible for a creature of the genus Enhydra to look. However today, Brian had his own reason to look aloof. He removed his lime green mackintosh and produced his wheelbarrow whilst doing his best to look impressive, however all this achieved was giving poor Brian a vague look of constipation. Bernard the otter next door turned away looking less than concerned and tsking loudly. Somewhat disappointed at the affect this had had on Bernard, Brian settled down to do some weeding. Not fifteen minutes later, the heavens opened, to counter this, Bernard in the next allotment pressed a button on his potting shed wall and a mechanized canopy appeared thus preventing any unwanted precipitation from bedraggling his fur. All Brian could do was to prop his mackintosh up on four sticks and pretend he wasn’t getting wet. So he did. After half a very soggy hour, Brian had had enough of this rather watery façade and decided to return home. Upon returning to his abode, our bovine friend made himself a cup of tea and settled down to listen to the radio. The time was 5pm and Brian soon fell asleep.
The next morning began much like most mornings for Brian, he woke up.
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Old 01-18-2005, 08:33 PM   #2
Sir Degrader
Thoth - Egyptian God of Wisdom
 

Join Date: November 3, 2001
Location: Canada
Age: 63
Posts: 2,871
Does this story go anywhere?
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Old 01-18-2005, 08:41 PM   #3
Mundus
Dungeon Master
 

Join Date: February 11, 2003
Location: Jersey, Channel Islands - UK
Age: 38
Posts: 69
Yeah 'tis but the first chapter, the second is work in progress.
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