Wednesday, January 11, 2012

The Island Series Part 4: A Celtic Thunder Fiction (circa 2009)


Part 1
Part 2
Part 3


"No one sticks around very long around here," George muttered as he trudged along the path. Keith, Ryan, Damian, even Zara! "About a week, my FOOT," he continued. Zara sure didn't know her distances very well. He'd been travelling for three weeks and still no bridge in sight. And it was HOT here! There had been a pool on the cruise, you know. And they had Air conditioning! And beer! The further he marched, the grumpier he got. He'd been having such a FINE time on the cruise, practicing his "stepping and leaning" for the upcoming tour. He had a bet going with Neil on who could lean the snappiest, and darn if he wasn't determined to win!

Three weeks into it, he shuffled along, kicking rocks off the mountain as he went when a sound up ahead caught his ear.

"Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!"

As he rounded a bend, he could just see the ropes of the bridge leading across a deep chasm.

"FINALLY!!!" he thought. "Now where's this scary beast I'm supposed to best?" One last hill to climb and he would arrive. As he crested the top, the "beast" came into view-- not exactly what he had been expecting.

The bridge itself was a rickety old thing, something out of Indiana Jones. It reached across the sharp crevices that lay below. Even if he managed to win against the beast, he wasn't sure he was particularly thrilled about crossing it. Guarding the entrance to the bridge were two young men, not familiar to him at all. Oddly, every once in a while, they would jump in a circle, exactly in sync. In front of the bridge was a great throne, surrounded by wee chicks. It explained the sounds he'd been hearing. Unsurprisingly, the man sitting in this thone WAS someone he knew.

"Paul!" George cried out. "I'm so glad to see you! Have you conquered the beast already?"

Paul looked up. "Who goes there?" he asked, commandingly.

"Paul, it's me, George! Let's get out of here... I've been walking for days and I'm exhausted. Umm, what's with the chickens?" he asked.

Paul was garbed in black breeches and a robe of royal purple, a crown of gold upon his brow. He stood and gestured regally to the surrounding chicks. "Welcome, George! I HAVE bested the Boyband beast! Welcome to what is now my domain! I am King Twitter and these are my royal tweeters!"

George couldn't help but laugh. "I'm sorry, what? King... TWITTER? You don't really expect me to CALL you that, do you?"

"Silence, oh commoner!... Wait... hang on..." Paul slipped an iPhone out of his pocket and quickly typed George is jealous of my awesomeness. Discuss.

Immediately, the chicks at his feet began cheeping like crazy, all pulling out THEIR iPhones and tweeting back how awesome King Twitter really was and that George clearly didn't know what he was talking about. Paul slid his phone back into his pocket and explained, "I have to appease my followers. You were saying?"

George eyed Paul warily. "Ok... umm... King Twitter. You have fun with your tweeters, I need to get home. I'm just going to cross this bridge now, thanks."

Paul laughed, "I'm sorry, that's not possible. No one crosses without a tweet on my wall."

"Paul, I mean, King Twit. I don't even know what a tweet IS. I've just barely figured out email."

"George," Paul said, pityingly. "you can do it from your iPhone."

"Does that have rotary dial? Really, I'm just going now."

"No, George. No one passes without paying a toll... it's in the Tweeterwall FAQ. Those guards back there will have to throw you over the side if you try to pass without paying the toll." Paul looked over his shoulder at the dancing boys. "Right, Stephen and Nick?"

George sighed. "Alright fine, but don't you have another option? I'm never going to figure out Twitter."

Paul settled into his throne and thought. "How about underwear? I'll trade you passage for underwear. I'm running out of the 600 pair I got on Fall Tour."

George held his hands up. "I'm really so not giving you my underwear."

Suddenly, a CLANG rang out and the boyband boys crumpled to a heap. "What the--" Paul jumped to his feet, only to have a frying pan crash against his head, and he joined the boyband pile, too.

"Carrie!!" George cried. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Carrie mimicked. "We've had dinner waiting on the table for 30 minutes, and here you're out playing Tom Sawyer or whatever with the boys at the park??"

George kicked his feet guiltily. "Well... we were rehearsing and... it was a really long day... and... "

"You were not rehearsing. You were PLAYING. AND taunting the boybands." Carrie started to stalk off. "Come on... dinner's ready.... all of you!" The other boys came creeping out from behind the bush they'd been crouching behind and she eyed them carefully. "Interesting.... What are you WEARING, Ryan?? Never mind, I don't want to know. Alright, all of ye home right now!"

Paul followed behind, massaging his head softly, "Geez Carrie.. you didn't have to hit so hard!"

George nudged him softly, "Shh... you got off easy!"

The End!

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