Odd World

Across the wide-open skies of Impar, the odd world, there happened upon a deciduous dogwood leaf gliding through a pristine sky. Now, typically this is a good indicator for the coming of winter, but this leaf was alone and not at all winter colors. It had, in fact, been flying for an uncountable amount of time, as it was just a leaf.

"Uh, excuse me?" A peculiar voice, like the vibration of a low E chord on a nickel-plated string, it permeated from the leaf, "My momma calls me Bill, my dad calls me William."

He stammered here, a bit. Almost like the sound a woodpecker creates, resonating that low E pitch, "I'm not just a leaf, mister man in the sky. And its actually been nineteen hours."

Now, this leaf. Our one and only, Bill...

"Uh, excuse me?" Like the beginning of a song that never starts, that leaf spoke again, "I'd prefer to be called Billiam, just a suggestion mister."

Billiam.

Whom until now, didn't expect his next adventure to begin...

Landing on his midrib, that long vein running the length of the leaf, Billiam felt the papillae of that plush ground brushing against him. It was not grass, nor sand, but something entirely different, something similar to a synthetic fabric. Standing on his petiole, that stalk that usually connects the leaf to the stem, Billiam drew in a deep breathe, he spied an unlikely trio in the distance. With a great breath, from wherever it was inhaled, or perhaps reading the magnetic field, little Billiam lifted off in one great stride. If Billiam were an Olympic gymnast he would have no equal, executing turns, pikes and twists with ease before landing gracefully on his petiole before the imposing figure of a large Highland bull.

"Why are you here?” Resonating from Billiam, his voice engulfed all around, "Right here, right now?"

"Here we go," groaned a man who stood a couple feet taller than the bull.

A shocking, haunting and appalling noise followed, like a bat screeching after inhaling sulfur hexafluoride. It came from the mouth of a Great potoo perched on the head of the bull, "Meteor! Bright Light! Great Hole!"

With a twitch of his caudate apex, the top of his head, the little leaf nodded at that frightening bird. Billiam expected as much, the last nine times he saw those three they had been closing interdimensional space-time holes that threatened to rip apart Impar.

"Seems like the popular activity for you."

"Why not join us today little Billiam?" That bull and the basso profondo of his voice washed everything in a soothing calm, "It would be nice to have you around for longer than a minute."

"Oh, golly no! I wouldn't dare. It's much too," If you could imagine a leaf thinking, this is where you would, it was the most peculiar thing, "oh, what is that word. Much? Yes, that is it. I really shouldn't. Thanks for including me Mel, I really mean it. But I have to go where the wind takes me."

With those parting words our little friend Billiam departed west with a light gust of wind which ruffled the hair and feathers of the unlikely companions.

After a second the man, not wanting to seem rude to little Billiam, could no longer resist asking. "He is a leaf, right? Where is his mouth?"

A deep, guttural laugh escaped Mel, "I was trying to find it Kenneth, I really was." Looking up and past his straight black bangs Mel tried to spot the bird, perched on his horn, "Sir Eugene Maxwell, did your eyes see something ours missed?"

It was as the bird, Sir Eugene Maxwell, was going to answer their question that he began the trance that had over taken him so many times before. That Great potoo stretched his head with an almost robotic movement; upon opening that black hole of a mouth he produced the most peculiar sound, like someone unwinding a toy train. It was both magnificent, and oddly grotesque to witness.

It was here that the story really gets emboldened.

That meteor ripped through the outer dimensions of this odd world on a collision course for that perfectly knitted heliosphere. With a great gust of wind and an existential tremor that meteor stopped short of crashing, pulling out a pair of clippers it cut a hole. That meteor jumped through the barrier between dimensions and turned into a falling stone.

Snapping out of his trance, that Great potoo rode the depressurizing current to that hole in the sky. With his keen eyes Sir Eugene Maxwell spotted the antagonist of the story, a small black ferret. A paper white band across his face, and beady red eyes gave him away. Riding atop that ferret’s head, gripping four strands of black silky fur, was an even smaller creature, a flea.

Dashing through the knitting needle grass, it was hard to spot a flea jumping from the head of a ferret. It was even harder to see the silhouette of a flea against a knitted sky backdrop. But the hardest thing of all was hearing what such a small creature was shouting; I believe on its adventure through the air it hollered something similar to a cowabunga. Now being that we are here, in this odd world, I know that nothing is what it seems and that little flea was about to ruin more than just a great day.

As those two objects, the wily meteor and that itty bitty flea, were headed toward each other it seemed to be the most dramatic thing in existence. I myself almost expected the meteor to explode, so you can imagine that when it seemed as if nothing happened and that little flea fell back toward that soft ground, I was a little dissatisfied.

It was more shocking to witness the meteor change its velocity. On its own adventure toward the ground that meteor clipped that luminous rock that lit Impar for what seemed an eternity. It executed a magnificent five-hundred and forty degrees around the pivot of a single thread. As that thread snapped the amber stone fell. Behind it, a menacing polished chunk of obsidian.

Like someone shaking a rug the world rippled, and with that ripple the world of Impar was changed. Storms apparated under Sir Eugene Maxwell. As he reached his talons out toward that knitted sky, the ripples pushed that woolen fabric into his claws. That once woolen baby blue sky changed to a matte blue-black twine. Sir Eugene Maxwell shouted a real frightened squawk as arms reached out, entombing him in the twine. Other arms appeared and stitched the hole created by the meteor, a self-repairing world. As they finished stitching that hole, those hands grabbed poor Sir Eugene Maxwell by the throat and stuffed him unpleasantly inside of an iron birdcage.

A great flash of light lit the sky, and a bolt of lightning struck on either side of that scrawny ferret now overlooking the valley where Mel and Kenneth stood, they watched as Sir Eugene Maxwell was tossed toward the ground in that iron prison. From where that lightening struck there came an army of candleflame soldiers wielding a variety of common household items as weapons. They traveled across the land purging the world of anything that resembled culture, the land was set ablaze.

As that rebellious flea scurried back to the head of his ferret overlord the two made their way to Mel and Kenneth as they were being surrounded by those fiery soldiers. Bounding over the wall of fire the ferret coughed having accidently inhaled some smoke.

His voice was hoarse and his thick accent made others question what he said, he spoke just as that iron birdcage crashed into the soot covered ground, “Mel. Kenneth.” He paused here, mostly out of spite for his feathered nemesis, “Bird brain. Looks like the dey is mine. Ignis shawwld be here soon and the wawrld will be awwrs fawr teh next millennium.”

“Hello Rufous,” That basso profundo pushing down on the little chest of the ferret, “You broke the day.”

“Dat is perspective! I see a wawrld dat fixes whawt is broke! We’ve been waiting a lawn time faw dis! A lawn time!”

At this time those clouds, looking like swollen eggs, began to sag in the sky; they burst open. One at a time, like a baker cracking eggs, those swollen clouds unleashed their water in a single dump.

Now that, is pouring.

Billiam who had not been taken far by the wind was just looking up at a new Impar, one he had not seen before in his lifetime. That nervous little leaf who took all precautions, in all things, was about to be washed over by a great wave of water.

Mel, the bull, and Kenneth, the man, were knee deep in inky black water, it smelled like a wet fireplace. Sir Eugene Maxwell struggled to pushed his cage onto its base. Rufous, that scoundrel, was doing backstrokes as the little flea danced on his belly. Mel and Kenneth were being anchored to the ground by those nipping and gripping fabric arms.

Wading away from the three friends Rufous shouted, “Dis is time faw Regis and I taw get sawme R and R.”

Watching as that apocalypse played out it was easy to wonder, could little Billiam swim? It was as I pondered this that the water washed over the little leaf, his petiole holding firm onto that ground. As it gushed around him, he bent at his midrib until his caudate apex tickled the ground. It was at this instance something extraordinary happened.

Billiam began to absorb all the water into his little leafy body, he swelled up with every fluid ounce of water. Now, our little Billiam was big Billiam. His midrib touched the zenith of that blue-black twine sky shrouding it in a midnight green. All over Impar the piercing gaze of those candleflame soldiers fell upon that mystic leaf in the sky that had consumed everything. With the water having receded to nearly ankle depth Kenneth pried his legs from the grip of the arms and opened Sir Eugene Maxwell’s iron prison.

With a thankful shriek the Great potoo stepped out of the iron cage and the three friends walked to the infernal ferret, whom was backstroking toward his den. Rufous didn’t noticed as the water level sank and Billiam shrouded the sky, it wasn’t until his head hit a stone that he even sat back up. Mel and Kenneth with Sir Eugene Maxwell on Mel’s crown looked down at Rufous and Regis, the apocalyptic fire a fitting backdrop for our upset friends.

“Have you meet Billiam?” Kenneth pointed in the wrong direction.

Stammering backward Rufous looked in the direction Kenneth pointed, “Whawt is dis, yous being a wise guy?”

Mel sighed, that low voice nearly drowned out by the crackle of fire in the background, “Let us tell Rufous where he needs to look.”

Using his horn, the Highland bull pushed Kenneth’s finger skyward toward Billiam whom cradled the sky like the Egyptian goddess Nuut. A strong wind ripped through the air threatening to grab the three companions, this strong current of air extinguished the flames and big Billiam swallowed the remaining water with his breathing apparatus, wherever that may be.

“What were you saying Rufous? The world will be yours?” That voice was enough to scare the devil himself, that sulfur hexafluoride bat screech, “Come on guys, there is a meteor that needs to get home.”