The Wizardess and the (name deemed too long and the rest is unavailable in this space)

This is what happens when I must write a story using the words; canoodle, green bush, sugar puff, waddle and vertigo. I can't slip in the word canoodle and make it serious, I just can't.

Canoodle without smiles of green bush sugar puff that doth waddle down vertigo lane. Perhaps that’s the way to go, with a little bit of tis and a lot of whittled tat. But really, in the end, where’s a story at, without a little magic and a big black cat.

She wasn’t a witch afterall, certainly not, an outrageous thought if it was thought so. So I offer you a warning now, do not call this witch a witch or off your pretty little ears will go. Now if we cannot call her a witch (though really if you detest your ears by all means do so, I am sure you will find a little fairy to regrow them for you anyway), what shall we call her? Well we must call her a wizardess, for that is what she herself, wishes to be called.

Now our wizardess, found herself with a canoodling without smiles of green bush sugar puff that waddled away down vertigo lane. She laughed and jeered and bannonked too but all she knew not what to do. It followed her near as she walked down this lane, high atop a monster she stood looking down.

“Where be you sugar puff, where be thy green bushiness?”

But she received no answer. Perplexed in every little way she looked behind and oddly enough, funnily enough, quizzically enough, canoodling greeny bushy sugarness puffles waddling vertigoie enough, she saw nothing but the tale of the monster swishing away the fakes.

“Ah those dear intruders,” she said, and as the nature of her mind was quite sporadic, she changed her walking direction to back from hence she came, and walking with a determined step she went back down the lane. Closer and closer she neared, wishing she had her broom.

“But alas I left it somewhere in my room.”

The end of the lane came, and she looked out at the newest intruder. A daring fake, someone not fit for atop a monster. It must be a petty little boy, she thought, who believed far too much in himself.

“I doubt his father was even a wizard, or a nymph at the very least.” But as she looked closer at the boy steadily evading the long, continuing tail, she thought about him.

“I wonder if he be like a rat, or at least like a very big hat. Perhaps he’s not really that small but like a hippo is compared to a mouse. His hair is blonde, wait that’s brown, the light is funny, do I see a frown? Ah well, out there now, there just be a boy, an unimportant small boy that could perhaps be frowning, with brown hair that from a distant tricks the mind to look blonde in the light. Oh. No no, dear dear, I must find a spell to make him clear.”

Out wizardess pulled out her wand. It was quite a pretty wand, quite pretty indeed. You see it had this shade of blue to it, one that was light, but when she cast certain spells on it, the colour changed, sometimes flashing to red or sometimes to yellow. And if you looked really close, it would even change to aqua. But enough of that, that’s just the narrator dabbling. A narrator must be allowed to dabble afterall otherwise they won’t get their dose of changing colours.

But back to our wizardess who was pulling out her wand and waving it around she shouted abracadom. The spell flew quite far, a little pink thing, and it touched the boy, and oh my, he had wings.

“Hizaggle!” She shouted with joy, jumping a little in the air. “For one always must reward oneself when oneself does something right.” And she resolved that later she would sit down with some tea.

She turned back to the boy and he was darting quite ferociously amongst the tale. The wings, almost they had quite a flashy pink to them, worked quite well and soon he was landing atop the monster and the wizardess was walking to him smoothly.

“I’m the wizardess,” she stuck out her hand. Now if she was a witch she would have stuck out her nose, or her chin, but she was a wizardess and her manners were of course quite refined.

The boy, who definitely had brown hair, took the hand.

She waited, she hopped, she fixed her hair and looked around, but the small little boy gave only a frown.

“Well say something,” she declared. “Spit it out now.”

The boy shook his head.

“Alas, alas dear, you cannot speak. Well alas for I have a spell for that.” And whipping out her wand she said quite clearly. “Speak.”

And the boy opened his mouth “I heard there was a canoodling without smiling green bush sugar puff waddling down vertigo lane. I wanted to come and see.”

There was a crack, there was a smack and a fly flew through the air. The wizardess watched it go.

“Oh darnit I didn’t get a chance to say hello to Henry. He really does go by quite fast sometimes. You know one time…” But that story is not part of this one, and wisely the wizardess (under the guidance of the O’wise narrator), let it go.

“Do you know where it went?” The boy.

“Ah tutututut. I’m afraid I do. You see down there, at the other end of vertigo lane, that is where the green bush sugar puff is, without smiles of canoodles.”

“Will you take, it looks dangerous.” By now the boy had lost the pink wings and was starting to feel scared.

Bogwankles and turnips, the wizardess was starting to feel a tad scared herself. But she held herself high and said with pride “I shall take you there lest we try and try.”

The boy had to sit for a moment to rebuckle his shoes, and the wizardess took a moment to do her hair. Up down slip, she went, putting all the loose ends into place. “You never know,” she said. “When you’ll come across a prince.”

“What?”
“Oh nevermind me, just talking to Henry. He popped back by.” And she tucked the final piece of the puzzle into its place.

Taking the boys hand she looked straight ahead, oh dear she thought, I hope the monster has been fed.

They stepped, a dangerous, cautious, daring, tantantalious, fancy pancy dancy step… and swing your partner round and round. A dosy do a tweedle di, oh look there it is a bee.

We’d never question the narrator now would we? Of course we wouldn’t, because remember, I’m the one right now telling you what to think. Unless this wizardess gets too wise, but she won’t. What we must do however is check in with her on her quest.

“What’s your name little boy, or shall I call you little boy? You know I had a friend called small boy once, yes, hmm, I’m not sure what happened to him, I think he got eaten by a toad. Or maybe he kissed it. You know, toads aren’t like frogs. When a girl kisses a frog it turns into a handsome prince, but when a boy kisses a toad it makes him sticky around the mouth.”

“When will we find the puff?” The little boy asked.

“Patience patience. You know, I had a friend…” And off off and away she went on another tale that really should be for another day.

“May I tell a story?” The boy asked after the fifteenth tale of the wizardess’. She may be good at spells, he thought, but her story-telling did get a bit boring. And the scenery was quite boring. For when one is atop a monster, all one can see is the sky and the small dot that is the end where he dearly hoped there would be a canoodling without smiling green bush sugar puff waddling down vertigo lane. He had heard a whisper of it by a passing elephant and oh how it excited him.

“Oh yes, a story please,” The wizardess was exclaiming ecstatically.

So the little boy racked his brains for a story. “There once was a small girl who liked to read. She would read and read and read all day. One day, she was reading a very exciting book, it was about football.”

“My deary gosh whatever is football?” The wizardess interrupted.

“I believe it’s a mix between people and mud.”

“Like muople.”

“Yes exactly,” the boy agreed, then continued on his story. “The girl was reading her book on football, or muople when she realised that it was very late and that she must go to bed. She really didn’t want to do this, because the book was interesting and she had just gotten to a cliffhanger. But alas she was yawning so she put the book down, to read the next day. When she woke the next morning and had eaten her breakfast she ran straight away to finish her book. But, it was not there. She searched high and low, far and wide, but she could not find it anywhere. ‘Oh no, what ever shall I do?’ She asked ‘I must read the end of this book and find out what happened.’” The boy stopped.

“And?”

“Well that’s it.”

“That can’t be it, you didn’t finish it.”

The boy, though he quite liked the wizardess became defensive. “I did finish.”

“No you didn’t, you never said how she found the book.”

“I never said she found the book.”

Both voices were rising.

“Oh look there.” The wizardess, easily distracted as she was, had good reason to be this time. “The end of the lane.”

The boy jumped in excitement, everything else already forgotten. “Will there be the canoodling without smiling green bush sugar puff waddling down vertigo lane?”

The wizardess looked very close. At this point, they were midway atop the monster. Behind them was the tail, and ahead there was the head. Around them there was sky and right where they stood there was a canoodling without smiling green bush sugar puff at the end of vertigo lane.

“There you go.”

The boy was walking towards it slowly.

“Careful now, you never know if it may bite.” And the wizardess pulled out her wand in preparation. “Careful careful.”

But the boy edged ever closer.

“Careful.”

The boy had reached it, he was reaching out his hand, reaching, reaching…

“Careful!”

But the boy had picked it up. “It’s okay, it’s just a dog.”

The wizardess however, was not impressed by the boy’s courage, and wanted to do nothing more than cower behind something. But up there, the only thing around was the sky. “A dog?”

“Yes, a dog.” One that fit quite neatly into his arms too.

“What is a dog?”

The boy looked confused. “I’m not sure, I think it has something to do with football.”

And with neither of them knowing exactly what the dog did, the wizardess moved closer and gave the canoodling without smiling green bush sugar puff waddling down vertigo lane (ie. dog), a little pat on the head.

“Oh it’s really quite fun.” She said. “But what now do we do with it?”

The boy hadn’t been listening but instead had been jumping around merrily with the puff, dashing and dancing and smiling. The wizardess looked at the boy, and the canoodling with now smiling green bush sugar puff that had vertigo lane.

“Oh dear boy, that dog has no home, but you could both bring each other so much joy.”

And the boy agreed as he patted the dog, that adventures can be made out of a canoodle without smiles of green bush sugar puff that doth waddle down vertigo lane.

And that was that, with plenty of tis and a little bit of tat. But of course, where’s this story at, without a dose of magic and that non-existent black cat.

But there’s just one more thing that this story needs, like any good story, the narrator must give a moral. However, because conventions are conventions and nothing less, this time there is two, and you must choose. The first, is that if you enjoyed this story of the wizardess then you read more of this narrator. The second, is that if you did not enjoy it, well then you don’t. The third (because there’s always a third regardless of how many is said), is perhaps the most important. It’s that magic can come wizardess’s and boys can walk atop monsters, but you my friend, if you want it, it must come from you.

And on that note, with a whisper of hope, and a canoodle without smiles of green bush sugar puff that doth waddle down vertigo lane, this narrator pulls of their wand, and bids, til another day.

 

Reviews

[Hester Vane]

Doesn't the word 'canoodle' mean kissing/heavy petting etc. You could seriously slip into a story in that context.
It needs a lot of editing, there is no real flow to it. Also, the word Wizardess doesn't sound right, would sorceress fit in any better?
But apart from that, I like the narrative voice, it has a great conversational tone, almost like a children's tale narrator. An interesting piece.