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SirBrendan's third story (Timothy and the Tree)
Topic Started: Jul 16 2012, 08:14 PM (117 Views)
SirBrendan
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Timothy sat on the ground, beneath his usual tree, pensive as he often was, mindlessly twiddling away the tips of the grass through the soft tips of his fingers. He was beautiful when his mind was away. His emerald-green eyes danced absent of all ego, reflecting only the sweetness of his face and the pure focus of his thoughts. And despite the overwhelming love Jacob felt for his friend, his blunt, masculine manner was all too short for such a sensitive type as Timothy.

--What do you suppose itís for? , asked Timothy when he finally realised Jacob was standing over him

--Oh come on! Not this again! , begged Jacob, who then delivered a swift kick to the rib of his friend

-- Ow! Donít you ever think about it! Donít ever think at all!

--I think I like beer, eating, titties, sleep, and friends. I think anything else is bullshit, and I think youíre a giant douchenozzle.

--Weíll just ignore the piggish sexism you threw in there, buó

--Iím not sexist! What are ya talking about?

--You just stated your grand philosophical vision extends to and revolves around, and I quote, Ďbig tittiesí.

--Okay, first off, it wasnít Ďbigí titties. Iím not partial. All titties need loviní, and I love all titties.

--Look, can you just stop using that word! Itís piggish

-- A) Youíre a tit. B) I donít think thereís anything wrong with the word. Itís fun. And C), thereís nothing sexist about enjoying the female body. If anything, I celebrate them!

-- Jesus Jacob, fine. The point I was making wó

--The point you were making is that youíre a pretentious knob who wants to bore the shit out of me for his own mental wankery.

Jacob, as he always did, had gone too far and instantly regretted it. Timothy just sulked in silence, fuming underneath.

--Fine, just tell me about it then and get it over with, Jacob asked, elbowing Timothy in the rib as he took a seat beside him, resting against the maple tree.

--Oh fuck off!

--Haha, Iím sorry. I am, Iím sorry. , Jacob grinned sheepishly, why donít you ask me what you were going to?

--Just, do you wonder what weíre here for?, Timothy hesitantly queried

--I donít even know what that means...

--Well, look, think of it as a story. I mean, what story are we in? Are we even relevant? We always think of ourselves as the protagonist, but a protagonist is defined by where along their story the narrator starts. I mean, sure, you were impressive running a marathon and it could be a brilliant story, and Iím sure in your head it was. But honestly, are we really the protagonists?

--Shit, I guess I never even thought about it

--Well Iíve been thinking, and measuring. Thereís no way Iím a protagonist. And if Iím not, then Iím dispensable. If youíre a protagonist, youíve got protection. Even if you do die, itíll be for something noble and youíll probably be resurrected somehow anyways if the author is feeling cheap about it. But Iím not. At best, Iím a love interest and more than likely, Iím an extra who never even gets mentioned by name.

--Oh shut up Tim, youíre no extra!

--Why, what makes you say that?

--Because....because...

Jacob stared deep into those green eyes. Something about the day, something about the conversation, something was pushing him to be braver than heíd ever been before. He was going to say it. He was finally going to tell him.

*GWARWRRR*

Jacob only saw the look of horror on Timothyís beautiful face. He turned around quickly, but it was only in time for the zombie to take off half of his face with its rotten teeth. Timothy tried to scream but it was cut off as another zombie had crept from behind the tree to sever his jugular in one solid chomp.

Jacob lay crying silently, out of his one remaining eye, as the zombies began on his entrails. His last sight was of Timothyís lifeless body and behind him, ran a man who possessed undeniable but obviously, until recently, hidden heroic qualities pushing past the zombies in a burst of glory, but not even noticing Timothy and himself.

--What an asshole.....
Ruler of the Republic of Nabat
Perennial misuser of the word perennial
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Matilda Love
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:o Is the tree ok?

:lol: I enjoyed reading this story
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Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads.
Erica Jong

Fine art is that in which the hand, the head, and the heart go together.
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