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Johann solemnly walked through the forest. The moon was full and high in the sky, and he could easily find his way through the darkness of the trees. He soon approached the marshlands and heard a chorus of frogs croaking out their calls. Eventually, he made it to the swamp — and after taking off his shoes, for fear of losing them, he slowly, laboriously, waded his way through the shallow water and mud. Once past the swamp, he rested awhile upon the south slope of the high ridge of stone that encircled Timbrook. He ate a bit of the jerky he had stored in his pouch, and when ready again, began the eastward trek toward the pass.
As the stars sparkled above him, and the brightness of the moon cast his surroundings in a milky glow, Johann spied the muddy road that led through the opening in the rock. To his right he saw the faint outline of Mealy's hog farm, and his nose was soon filled with its familiar stench. He smiled. It smelled like home.
He walked along the sheer rock wall, out of sight from anyone that may have been looking down the road from either direction. There wasn't much chance of being seen, for it was late and most of the townsfolk were already fast asleep or near-comatose drunk. There were never any guards or watchmen keeping an eye out along the pass, for no one ever wanted to actually sneak into Timbrook. Even roving bands of outlaws would shy away, for there was nothing of any real worth there, unless one happens to believe that trench-foot or canker sores have some type of value on the open market.
He passed inside the rock wall and looked upon the center of town. There was the mayor's mansion, and the old oak, still surviving by its sheer strength and uneatable hardwood trunk. The dozens of teeth marks that lined its base however, showed that many had tried.
The pub seemed to still be open, as a small lantern sent thin rays of light through the numerous holes in its thin walls. Johann didn't see any movement until he unexpectedly spied a large hog slowly making its way through the front door.
He next crept by the church and saw that it was totally dark. Twenty or so metal coat hangers were sticking out of the top of the structure, put there by Honcho el Grande to pick up something called television signals as soon as they were available.
There were a few people sleeping on the streets, some with empty flagons by their hands, others with half-eaten barrels of ale strewn around them. All were loudly snoring and whistling through their noses. He continued up a slight hill with housing ditches and leaf piles on each side of him, all of which were dark. Onward he went, until he saw his aunt and uncle's home ― it was nothing more than a modified lean-to built on top of a small trench and surrounded by broken wagon wheels, old liquor bottles, dull dental tools, and empty Vienna sausage cans.
As he crept closer, he saw his aunt asleep on top of the family's three dogs. The only reason that canines are not usually eaten in these parts is because they make for nice, warm beds. However, skinny dogs, or especially elderly or sick dogs, are often considered fair game and are liable to wake up in a big roasting pot at any time.
Johann's uncle was sleeping outside by a tree stump. A pile of dirt covered his entire prone body up to his neck. Johann pulled two nice rabbit carcasses out of his pouch and sat them on a stump near the old man. He next pulled out a handful of dead chipmunks and scattered them about on top.
He left a note by his uncle's pile of earth. The note was short, but full of heart:
'Deer Ant and Unkle,
I was stolin by a roamin band of gypsies. Will rite later.
Don't worri, they promised to teech me how to play the tamboureen.
Yur nefew,
Johann.
p.s., as in "the Grate Huntr"
p.s.s., next time ya see Marty Klemso, poke him in the eye wit a stik,
I owe him one.
Peece out!'
Johann covertly slipped into the family ditch and quietly packed a small bag with a few sentimental effects ― a metal flask, a bracelet made out of beetle shells, a few used cotton swabs, and several pair of underwear. While searching for his favorite nose-hair trimmer on a rickety shelf imbedded in the dirt wall, he accidentally knocked off a glass jar that held a frog embalmed in formaldehyde (a family heirloom). The crash woke his aunt up and she swiveled about on top of a golden retriever.
"Have you come to sign the Magna Carta, Teddy?" she asked, smacking her lips.
His aunt was a loving, caring woman, but due to a misfortunate run-in with a piece of farming equipment several years ago, had started calling him 'Teddy Roosevelt,' and always mentioned the words 'Magna Carta' in every sentence.
"Shhh, Aunt Marble, it's only me," Johann whispered, while tucking her back in with a Shetland sheep dog.
"Oh, did you catch any Magna Cartas today, Teddy?" she sleepily asked through her toothless gums.
"A couple. I laid them on the stump by uncle's bed."
"Oh," she yawned, "Lay them on the Magna Carta and I'll cook them for breakfast."
He softly kissed her on her brow and whispered, "Goodnight, Aunt Marble."
He picked up the broken pieces of glass, but couldn't find the shriveled frog on the floor. He then grabbed a couple of shirts and pants out from under a pile of straw that he had once called a bed, before he slowly began walking away into the darkness ― looking back several times at the little ditch.
Deep down inside, he thought that he might never see it, or his aunt and uncle, ever again. His eyes began to water and he sniffled a little as he neared the back of the town pub. He paused there and wiped his face with the sleeve of his black hoodie.
Looking inside, he saw Farley sleeping on the bar, while Joe was cuddled up with a large hog on the floor. Joe's wife was sleeping in the other corner ― her legs were sticking straight up in the air, propped up against a barrel of heavy-duty concrete cleanser. Johann carefully stuck his hand through a hole in the flimsy wall and pulled several pairs of clothes from a pile near a wooden hamper. Quickly examining each article outside, he liked what he saw and wadded them up and stuffed them into his swollen shoulder pack. Suddenly, a sparkling pair of items from behind a crate caught his eye, and he leaned way into the building — waist deep — and gingerly pulled them out, while Farley snored above. He wrapped the items with a pair of shirts and tied a sock taken from the tavern's wall tightly around the end. He slipped the bundle over his back and began sneaking away.
Before exiting through the pass again, he turned and took another look at the only town he had ever seen. His mind raced with numerous memories ― some good, and some bad.
He wiped his nose on his sleeve and disappeared into the darkness.
220Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmTskokbEiH
Later that night, Oldsmobill tried on a pair of pants that Johann had stolen from the pub. They were made of thick cloth and had a line of rhinestones going up each leg. "A bit flamboyant," Olds smirked. "But...badgers can't be choosey, I guess." He tried on the shirts next, and then a nice little red hoodie to complete the ensemble.
Johann smiled. "You need some shoes, though," he said rather cheerfully.
Olds looked down at his two furry boots while Johann walked over and pulled a cloth bundle from behind a tree. He laughed a little as he presented it to Oldsmobill, who was giddy at the sight. He quickly unwrapped the present and his eyes glowed with reflected light.
In his hands were two shining, armored boots. Each adorned with a thin lip of gold trim at the top. Upon closer examination, he noticed that someone had scratched several choice curse words all over them, but this didn't bother him so much.
"My boots!" he exclaimed.
"Ya," Johann replied, "They hadn't melted them down yet. Maybe Joe the pub keeper just wanted them for special occasions like funerals, or when someone pays off a ransom."
Olds quickly donned the boots and began stomping around the campsite. The little spurs on his heels jingled and jangled with each step.
"Sorry, but I didn't see anything else of yours there," Johann said.
Olds stopped and looked back at his friend. He felt a slight tremor of rage rumble through his intestines. His hands clenched. He took a deep breath and accepted his fate. "Look," he joyfully changed the subject, "you take a rest. We still have a couple of hours before sunrise and I'll pack the stuff up...by midmorning we can be on our way."
Johann agreed and laid his tired body on his thin bedroll as small tufts of belly-button lint poofed out between the stitching. Olds sat down and looked at the reflections of the dying fire in his shining boots. He felt happier now.
*****
The sun arose. To some people this is a cause for celebration. In the town of Timbrook it was just another opportunity to eat turnips.
Johann's uncle awoke and dug himself out of bed. He noticed that something was drifting in the air and into his nasal cavities, and it wasn't the usual smell of urine and cheap liquor that normally lingered in the morning atmosphere of the town. Looking round, he saw a pair of skinned rabbits lying on the stump next to him. They both had a small tomato lodged in their mouths, and were accompanied by several dead chipmunks scattered about.
"Glory be!" he exclaimed, and tugged on his baggy testicles ― a local custom done whenever one finds an amazing gift or a dead tax collector at their door. Soon after, while dusting the bed covers off of his arms and torso, he saw a little note fluttering next to him.
He quickly showed the bounty and the note to his wife, who had been awakened earlier by a part of her bed having to get up to use the bathroom. "Looks like a grocery list, or some type of Magna Carta," she humbly spoke.
"Really? I didn't know you could read!" he exclaimed.
She took the note from him. "Oh, I can read a Magna Carta or two," she replied, "It says: "Go to the market in Magna Carta and bring me back a bag of salt and a cup of ground toe-nail clippings to cook these Magna Cartas with...p.s., if you see Marty Klemso, poke him in the Magna Carta with a stick, I owe him one...signed, Teddy Roosevelt."
She then stepped over to the kitchen area of the ditch and picked up the formaldehyde-soaked frog. "This little Magna Carta tried to escape his glass castle last night." She snarled, looking suspiciously about, before handing the odorous amphibian to her husband. "There is a'many strange Magna Cartas about this morn."
"Ya," he agreed, "but one should never argue when kindly sprites leave such goodies like these rabbits for our dinner...and these chipmunk hors d'oeuvres." He tugged at his testicles again for good measure.
"Ya, take the Magna Carta and see if Mr. Magna Carta will trade it for a small bag of Magna Cartas. I'll start the Magna Carta and roast these Magna Cartas right up."
"Aye! Will do." And with that he scurried off to town while his wife started gathering used charcoal briquettes from their neighbor's grills.
*****
About two weeks later, they finally noticed that Johann had not been around the family ditch for some time...
"Pa, do you realize that Teddy Roosevelt has not been around the Magna Carta lately?" she asked one night while helping him dig his bed.
"Hmm," he paused and looked about, "y'know, you're right, ma. I just now realized that. Maybe he has been by and we just didn't recognize him."
She started to look around fearfully and whispered, "You don't think he's been turned into a Magna Carta do you?"
"Naw," he replied, resuming his bed digging, "probably just grew a mustache or something."
"Well, I'm sure I haven't seen his Magna Carta for a week or so," she stubbornly replied.
"Seems like only yesterday."
"Magna Carta!"
"You said it, ma."
ns 15.158.61.48da2
