I seem to be doing a lot of writing lately. Not writing like writing scripts...like, writing short little stories. It's fun, kinda distracting, and best of all, totally irrelevant to my life. I seem to be pretty used to just spontaenously going off the hook.
Here's a story: lemme know if you like it. Cheers!
SPOILERS! (Click to view)Goddamn Leprechauns
They're at it again, she thinks. Those telltale footfalls, the strange synopated march across her roof. Yes, again, and this time in the dead of night.
She never understood her neighbours. Goddamn out of town eccentrics, she muttered into her pillow nightly. Just freaks. Bumpkin freaks.
When she looked out the window and saw that they were all leprechauns, she shrieked.
"Damned city-dwelling farts," one of them said. And then they leapt on her.
"What in the blue fuck are you stooges doing?!" she cried.
"Can't ye tell, lass?" said one of them as he bound her arms. "We're keepin' ye away from our gold!" He rolled his Rs in an adorable fashion, but she barely noticed. Right now, she was a bit frantic.
She tried saying, "but I don't give a shit about your gold, I have work in the morning"...but it was impossible. They'd gagged her with some sort of magic handkerchief.
How frustrating. Poor Maeve had just wandered into a complete misunderstanding, and there wasn't much she could do about it. For one thing, the leprechauns outnumbered her twenty to one. The other thing was that they had essentially made it impossible for her to move, talk, or otherwise communicate with her.
Well, fuck it, she thought grimly to herself. There's only one thing left to do.
Like a mighty log, she began steamrolling over the damned magical bastards. One by one, they popped like champagne corks beneath her scant frame. She was a fright by the end of it, her satin nightgown stained with crimson magical gore. As she bore down on the last one, she thought to herself, fuckin' elves, and turned him into so much green pudding.
Panting, Maeve wore down her restraints against the heater in the bathroom. When her arms were finally freed, she removed the gag and the ropes around her ankles.
"You could've just asked me to shut the fucking window!" she screamed at nobody in particular. It was out of relief and to fill the silence.
Gold.
That word also filled the silence. Filled it rather well.
Those freaks said they had gold.
Maeve got to her feet and walked towards the window. Sure enough, inside of a small, dark cauldron, lay heaps of gold. Enough for all of her desires, since she lacked any sort of imagination.
Maeve's smile was as broad as her living room. She immediately lay her hands upon it--
--and found herself in the body of a leprechaun. Stout, short, and ruddy.
She paid it no mind, of course. She was busy. Busy counting her gold. And damned be those that tried taking it from her.
She skipped silently into the darkness, hauling along her fat gold pot and scheming of places to hide it. For no one would touch her treasure.
-TM