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I am told that mortals feed themselves stories so that, satiated, they may sleep.
I find that I am often fed the moral without the tale. 'Tis difficult to digest, that way.
Mayhap I could trouble thee for a story. One they tell in your lands, in low voices. One that held you safe through the night.
I find that I am often fed the moral without the tale. 'Tis difficult to digest, that way.
Mayhap I could trouble thee for a story. One they tell in your lands, in low voices. One that held you safe through the night.
“You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is?” Mr. Kazynski cried in alarm, “Get yourself to the principal’s office right now, young man. No, no buts - march!”
So, Billy headed down the long, gloomy hallway to the principal’s office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and crept into the room behind it. There, behind a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a huge guy who looked more like a bouncer than someone who worked in education, with a shaved head and a bushy mustache that hid half his mouth. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. Basically, he was tailor-made to freak out a confused little kid like Billy.
“Well, Billy,” the principal said, drawing out the words. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Mr. Principal, I just don’t know what’s going on today. Everyone’s been acting weird, and they’re all treating me really badly. Like Mr. Kazynski just sent me to you and stuff.”
“Now, Billy, I’m here to help you. I’m the princi-Pal, after all." He chuckled. "Can you tell me why everyone’s acting so strangely?”
“It’s because I don’t know what some stupid Purple Wombat is.”
“What? You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is?" The principal said, disturbed. "That’s it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended.”
The principal threw Billy out of his office and told him he was being sent home. Billy, overwhelmed, started to cry as he waited in the hall for his mother to come pick him up. She arrived in due course and almost ran to him as soon as she saw him.
“Billy!” she called out, “What happened? I've been so worried, this isn't like you at all!”
“Mom,” Billy cried, “Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal’s office and the principal suspended me, all because I don’t know what the Purple Wombat is!”
“What? You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is?” Billy’s mother shrieked. “Young man, as soon as we get home you're going straight to your room! Just wait until your father gets home!”
So, as soon as they got home Billy went straight up the stairs and into his bedroom. He collapsed on the bed, trying not to cry. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and the door opening and shutting. His father was home. He could hear his parents talking downstairs, but not what they were saying. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and his door opened.
“Billy,” his father said, already in lecture mode, “Your mother says you’ve been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you’ve done?”
“Dad, I haven’t done anything! I just don’t know what the Purple Wombat is!”
“You…" Lecture derailed, Billy's father stared at his only son in disgust. "You don’t know what the Purple Wombat is. Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. And forget about dinner!”
Billy’s father slammed the door and stormed off. Billy collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way - lying there, crying, wishing he would wake up.
Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said: “Billy. I am the Purple Wombat, Billy.”
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“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Find me, Billy.”
It was coming from out the window. So Billy got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out on to the roof.
“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat.”
He jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road, until he came to the edge of a wood.
“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Follow me, Billy.”
The voice was coming from inside the wood. It was very dark and should've been frightening to a little boy like Billy, but by this point he just didn't care anymore. He had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. So, bravely, he walked into the woods.
“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. I’m out here, Billy.”
It was coming from out across the lake. Billy got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. As short and slight as he was still, it was pretty difficult. But he'd come too far to stop now -- he had to find out what the Purple Wombat was.
“Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Row, Billy.”
Billy rowed harder, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: “Billy, I am the Purple Wombat. I’m up here, Billy.”
It was coming from directly above him. Billy stopped rowing and stood up to search for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Billy didn’t know how to swim, so he drowned.
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