Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Get Kraken - 1. Chapter I: Of Spoiled Fish and Salty Moods
Lively little Pacari, a port town by the knolls,
And a stop down the long wagon road,
Is known to be cheerful and bright
A place to settle for a good sleep's night
The inhabitants are ruddy, shapely and rude
Honestly, traveler, they mean no harm
Their spirits are fillered with the wind and the breeze
Their shocking vocabulary? No cause for alarm!
But of late the citizens of this city
Were upsetish, irate, really quite busery
Infernal storms hemmed, hawed
Circled skies, brought forth misery
The easterly winds marched in cold rains
“Where is the outside? We can't play games!”
Cried the children stuck inside classrooms
Bedrooms, kitchens and cabinets
The currency of poor Pacari
Consisted of delectable fish
Visitors came by the hundreds
To savor the gourmet dish
Thunder’s crackle, frackle, nackle, brackle
Led to frightened, flummoxed, fickle sea life
And anyone can tell you that when meat is unhappy
The taste of the thing goes from zesty to sappy
They were in a funk-a-dunk
You could say that twice
No smiles, and no laughter
Not even from the wet mice
So they battenered down the hatches,
To wait for the gloriousum day
When their windows could open
And the storm would go, go away
No matter how many days they waited
The candles lit, in a fit of fearful hesitance
No matter the fervent prayers said
On the horizon, dark clouds took residence
With it they brought a nasty, flopsy downpour
Hear the air rumbler, whistlegig and roar!
Soaked down the water, making for floppy red-brimmed hats
Dowsed and smoked to the skin, to the cuffs of their pants
The grown-ups of Pacari had collected one eve
Under the surly, dark roof of the Pub Koruni
A gripe, a complaint, in their stock did they grieve
For the fate of a beloved home beset by storm
Their grumbles saw no end, no limit, no stop
“Can't we do something 'bout bein' rained?”
“My coffers are dwindlin', they'll be gumped out!”
“What's it doin' here, s'what I'd like explained!”
Oh! the sight and sound of Pub Koruni
Awash in a harrumphing chorus of sighs
“I reckon a storm’s not somethin' mere mortals can allay!
Our chance lies with the goodgrace of the gods, we pray!”
“If Captain Marchen were here,
Our circumstance would be different!”
That loverly name caused smiles
To flash on lips right instarant
Memories bloomed of Captain Marchen's
Adventures, odysseys and crusades
Of his daring, of his do!
His scurvy schemes and valorous raids!
The old ones remember, the young ones, they dream
But in all of their eyes, lurks a mischievous gleam
“Captain Marchen! Captain Marchen! Where are you now?”
“Bilge water and rumrat! Bless ‘is good soul!”
Then came a voice to cut through the brief sun of their thoughts,
“Bah, and fiddlesticks, you can't be serious!
Captain Marchen is a fairy tale, a hoax,
Landsakes! Poppycakes! You're all delirious!”
With that, the brief dream
Flickered out like the last of a flame
The hope-y-ness and the faith
In the hero who bore that name
But what's this? What's that? What could it be?
A loud thumpering on the door from yonder!
With a “Goodness-gosh!” the denizens of the pub
Turned to the door to see what’s the rub
In a flash of lightning
In a torrent of rain and wind
The door opened
And a man stood within
There was a gasp, there was a shout
The disbelief grew
Because that silhouette in the door
Was one that everyone knew!
- 3
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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