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[itsatrapped]

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.

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text, anonymous; 1/2

[incywincyhero]

Billy sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to locate the speaker, but there was no one to be seen.

“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.