Well done on starting the catch-up on comments! I like you addition to the East Wallingford Gazette, which seems like it might be drawn from real events too ;-) The way the loss of words reflects how hard is it to think in extreme heat was very nicely done.
A tunnel "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's home from work we go," sang a motley collection of voices. Perhaps two were in tune, but the rest were a random clamour of noise and one of them wasn't even on the beat, singing the words three-halves of a beat late. "We dig, dig, dig, dig, dig in our mine--" "I'd like a word with you about that," said a new voice, and there was a clatter as pick-axes were dropped and shovels were shoved into unexpecting flesh, causes shrieks of pain and cries of distress. When the noise finally died away, Doc, the leader of the dwarves, fumbled in his pocket for his lighter and got a lantern lit. The dark tunnel that stretched out of the mine turned into a pocket of light surrounded by oppressive shadows, and the pocket of light held what looked like an Inspector. "This is private property," said Grumpy from somewhere behind Doc. He was rubbing his posterior with both hands. "Get lost." "I'm from the city," said the Inspector producing a badge which confirmed that he was part of the Inspectorate of Mines. "Mayor Monkeybutt sent me to check on structural safety and integrity. And to see if you're harbouring any known criminals." "Snow White?" asked Happy, who didn't sound very happy. He'd dropped a pick-axe on his own foot and was hopping. "Doc, can you take a look at my foot? I think I added an air-hole it doesn't need." "Haha, we'll have to call you Hoppy now," said Sleepy. He yawned. "What's Snow done this time? More royal murders?" "There's no royalty left," said Doc. "The politicians have seen to that. Monkeybutt, for example." "Mayor Monkeybutt enacted the will of the people in announcing the Republic," said the Inspector sounding a little prim. "There was a referendum." "Of eight people," said Doc. "None of them dwarves." "You don't meet the height requirement to be a citizen," said the Inspector. "If you grew a little you'd have the vote, just like the next man." "If I grew a little," said Doc, sounding menancing, "I wouldn't fit in this here ruby mine, would I? And what would Monkeybutt tax then?" "It's not Snow White," said the Inspector, deciding that a change of subject was a wise idea. "We're looking for MacArthur." That created a general shrugging of shoulders and muttering of "that's your own fault then." "Good luck," said Grumpy. "We don't let him down here. He's bad luck." "Bad luck? You're superstitious about a man?" "Hard to say if he's really a man, now," said Hoppy. "He might just be a slightly-evil spirit. Either way, he came down here once and all the canaries got kennel-cough and died. We had to turn out all the lights and come out until we could get more." "Kennel-cough isn't a bird dis--" "That's how you know it was MacArthur," said Sleepy. "He's not allowed down here, and be grateful, or this tunnel we're all standing in would probably be getting ready to collapse on us." Somewhere above, the rock groaned.
This is delightful. Not your usual full twist on a classic, but enough of a tweak to make it really enjoyable. And of course the mere threat of Mac's presence adds a nice touch to things as well.
2 comments:
Well done on starting the catch-up on comments! I like you addition to the East Wallingford Gazette, which seems like it might be drawn from real events too ;-) The way the loss of words reflects how hard is it to think in extreme heat was very nicely done.
A tunnel
"Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's home from work we go," sang a motley collection of voices. Perhaps two were in tune, but the rest were a random clamour of noise and one of them wasn't even on the beat, singing the words three-halves of a beat late. "We dig, dig, dig, dig, dig in our mine--"
"I'd like a word with you about that," said a new voice, and there was a clatter as pick-axes were dropped and shovels were shoved into unexpecting flesh, causes shrieks of pain and cries of distress. When the noise finally died away, Doc, the leader of the dwarves, fumbled in his pocket for his lighter and got a lantern lit. The dark tunnel that stretched out of the mine turned into a pocket of light surrounded by oppressive shadows, and the pocket of light held what looked like an Inspector.
"This is private property," said Grumpy from somewhere behind Doc. He was rubbing his posterior with both hands. "Get lost."
"I'm from the city," said the Inspector producing a badge which confirmed that he was part of the Inspectorate of Mines. "Mayor Monkeybutt sent me to check on structural safety and integrity. And to see if you're harbouring any known criminals."
"Snow White?" asked Happy, who didn't sound very happy. He'd dropped a pick-axe on his own foot and was hopping. "Doc, can you take a look at my foot? I think I added an air-hole it doesn't need."
"Haha, we'll have to call you Hoppy now," said Sleepy. He yawned. "What's Snow done this time? More royal murders?"
"There's no royalty left," said Doc. "The politicians have seen to that. Monkeybutt, for example."
"Mayor Monkeybutt enacted the will of the people in announcing the Republic," said the Inspector sounding a little prim. "There was a referendum."
"Of eight people," said Doc. "None of them dwarves."
"You don't meet the height requirement to be a citizen," said the Inspector. "If you grew a little you'd have the vote, just like the next man."
"If I grew a little," said Doc, sounding menancing, "I wouldn't fit in this here ruby mine, would I? And what would Monkeybutt tax then?"
"It's not Snow White," said the Inspector, deciding that a change of subject was a wise idea. "We're looking for MacArthur." That created a general shrugging of shoulders and muttering of "that's your own fault then."
"Good luck," said Grumpy. "We don't let him down here. He's bad luck."
"Bad luck? You're superstitious about a man?"
"Hard to say if he's really a man, now," said Hoppy. "He might just be a slightly-evil spirit. Either way, he came down here once and all the canaries got kennel-cough and died. We had to turn out all the lights and come out until we could get more."
"Kennel-cough isn't a bird dis--"
"That's how you know it was MacArthur," said Sleepy. "He's not allowed down here, and be grateful, or this tunnel we're all standing in would probably be getting ready to collapse on us."
Somewhere above, the rock groaned.
Greg - thanks, glad you liked it.
And the comment catch up continues...
This is delightful. Not your usual full twist on a classic, but enough of a tweak to make it really enjoyable. And of course the mere threat of Mac's presence adds a nice touch to things as well.
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