Fic Challenge #1
May. 1st, 2005 01:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
solidfoamsoulIn response to Fan Fic Challenge Numero Uno
Title: “El Macaroni: The Lost City of Cheese”
Fandom: The Kratt Brothers
Summery: Chris has a weird subconcious.
Rating: PG
Word count: 1108
Author: Lara,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
solidfoamsoul
Squish. Squish.
“Chris…”
Squish.
“Chris, would you—“
Squish.
“—cut it out?”
Squishsquishsquish.
“Chris!” Martin yelled in frustration over his younger brother’s giggles. Chris fell over onto his sleeping bag and his bowl of macaroni and cheese tipped, the cheesy noodles sliding onto his stomach. It was Martin’s turn to laugh now and boy, did he know it.
Chris stopped giggling and frowned, looking at his stomach. “Oh, gross.”
Martin started to respond, but through his laughter didn’t make any sense so it would be useless to write it here.
The runny cheese sank deeper into the sweater, the mohair one their mother had given Chris, the one she hand knitted over the course of three months. Chris propped himself up on his elbows, watching a few noodles fall from his body to the sleeping bag.
“Mom’s gonna be so mad when you can’t get that stain out.” Martin said, with a grin of self satisfaction. His hand knitted mohair sweater had been either lost or stolen by a creature a month ago; they never quite figured it out.
“Oh shut up,” Chris muttered and lobbed a good size spoonful of mac and cheese at his brother.
Martin snorted with laughter, using his arms to protect himself and received only a splatter of cheese on his face. He then threw a rolled up tee-shirt of Chris’s that Martin only realized to late had his brother’s electric shaver inside. He heard a thunk and looked up, then cursed. Chris was out cold. Damn, but that was one heavy razor.
Squish. Squish. Squish.
Chris traveled the swamp alone and nervous, which was something he wasn’t used to. He walked with difficulty, trudging hip deep in mud, not even finding it odd he was still in his pajamas. Or, for that matter, that his old plush owl Mr. Hoots was alive and leading him though the swamp.
“Only a bit further, my dear boy,” said Mr. Hoot, adjusting his eye patch. Mr. Hoots had only one eye and spoke very much like a scholarly English adventurer.
“Mr. Hoots, I really don’t think this is the way,” Chris said growing more and more tired.
“Twiddlebugs and poppycock,” Mr. Hoots responded disdainfully. Chris gave a matching look to the owl perched on his shoulder.
Chris shifted the back pack a bit, causing Mr. Hoots to move. “Then why don’t you fly ahead and—“
“Don’t be silly, I’m much too old to fly.” Mr. Hoots ruffled his feathers a bit. True, Chris had owned Mr. Hoots since his crib days, but surely he could still fly! However Chris didn’t believe in talking back to one’s elders.
So, he continued through the swamp and noticed the smell of it had changed. No longer did it smell of rotting leaves and swamp water, but of… No, it couldn’t be! Chris also noticed that it was becoming even harder to walk. He looked down, taking a step…
Squish.
…and missing it.
Squiiiiiiish!
“Ah!” Chris yelled, sinking further into the swamp of macaroni and cheese. Mr. Hoots was soon proved a hypocrite, flying to the nearest tree branch some feet ahead of Chris.
“Hey, you mangy old bird!” Chris heard someone yell. Martin! His big brother was coming to save him!
“Martin!” Chris called franticly. “Martin! I’m over here!”
But Martin apparently did not hear or see him, too angry at Mr. Hoots.
“Go back and fetch my brother, beak brain!” Martin yelled to the owl.
“And get my feathers soggy with cheese? I think not!”
“You… You—“ Martin, in his aggravation, struggled to find a word conveying the contempt he held for the owl.
“Me, what?” Mr. Hoots challenged.
“Martin!” Chris yelled again, becoming trapped in the cheese as if it were quicksand. Cheese poured into his mouth as he cried for help. Chris swallowed it, and realized he shouldn’t. Milk based products are only good for so long and clearly this cheese’s expatriation date was up. Eck.
Luckily Martin realized he could fry the bird later and rushed to the bank of the swamp of cheese and threw Chris a rope. Not caring where Martin got the rope, Chris grabbed a hold of it and was pulled to safety.
“Are you okay? You could have died!” Martin said wide eyed to his brother. “And man, what a way to go.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“So this is the way then?”
“Huh?”
“To the Lost City of Cheese, Chris! Do you realize how many people could be saved from hunger and famine because of this place?!” Martin hurriedly pulled Chris to his feet.
“It’s not very good cheese.” Chris shook his head.
Martin pulled a spoon from his back pocket and scooped some from Chris’s open backpack, which was oozing with noodles and cheese. The zipper had broken under the weight of cheese and noodles. There was no way Chris would be able to find the small catch in the river of cheese.
Martin ate the spoonful and swallowed, looking as if he had just swallowed a big spoonful of chocolate, then promptly fell to the ground. Martin was dead and Chris could only stare in horror. What a way to go.
“I told you not to eat the cheese, you—“
“Chris, cal down! Wake up. Are you okay? I didn’t know—“
“Mr. Hoots, you bastard!”
Martin gave his brother a confused and mildly frightened look. He stopped shaking him for a moment, then shook harder, “Chris, wake up!”
“Ah!” Chris yelled and sat up quickly, exclaiming, “Bad cheese!”
“Uh, Chris, it’s not the cheese’s fault.”
Chris sighed, “I guess you’re right—Hey! You’re alive!” Chris hugged Martin tightly.
Martin pushed his brother away slowly, “Chris, calm down.” Martin was suddenly worried that the tee-shirt padded razor hit Chris harder then he thought.
Chris looked around slowly and took a deep breath. He exhaled, “Oh it was just a dream.”
Martin shook his head.
“Chris? Chris!” Martin called impatiently as Chris gather the tent sticks together. Martin was gathering their bags, hauling them to the jeep.
“What?” Chris yelled back.
“What the hell is in your pack? It weighs a ton and smells funny!”
“Ha ha, Martin. Ha ha.” Chris replied sarcastically, believing a comment as being made about his dirty laundry in the bag.
“I’m serious! You know, you’re zipper’s broken. I tied it up with some extra rope.” Martin joined him in dismantling the tent. “You might wanna check it out though.”
Chris sighed and stood, walking to the jeep. He untied the knots Martin had done and opened the bag. It did smell funny, like…
Chris opened it wider.
Squish.
Cheese.
Current mood:
nerdy
Title: “El Macaroni: The Lost City of Cheese”
Fandom: The Kratt Brothers
Summery: Chris has a weird subconcious.
Rating: PG
Word count: 1108
Author: Lara,
solidfoamsoulSquish. Squish.
“Chris…”
Squish.
“Chris, would you—“
Squish.
“—cut it out?”
Squishsquishsquish.
“Chris!” Martin yelled in frustration over his younger brother’s giggles. Chris fell over onto his sleeping bag and his bowl of macaroni and cheese tipped, the cheesy noodles sliding onto his stomach. It was Martin’s turn to laugh now and boy, did he know it.
Chris stopped giggling and frowned, looking at his stomach. “Oh, gross.”
Martin started to respond, but through his laughter didn’t make any sense so it would be useless to write it here.
The runny cheese sank deeper into the sweater, the mohair one their mother had given Chris, the one she hand knitted over the course of three months. Chris propped himself up on his elbows, watching a few noodles fall from his body to the sleeping bag.
“Mom’s gonna be so mad when you can’t get that stain out.” Martin said, with a grin of self satisfaction. His hand knitted mohair sweater had been either lost or stolen by a creature a month ago; they never quite figured it out.
“Oh shut up,” Chris muttered and lobbed a good size spoonful of mac and cheese at his brother.
Martin snorted with laughter, using his arms to protect himself and received only a splatter of cheese on his face. He then threw a rolled up tee-shirt of Chris’s that Martin only realized to late had his brother’s electric shaver inside. He heard a thunk and looked up, then cursed. Chris was out cold. Damn, but that was one heavy razor.
Squish. Squish. Squish.
Chris traveled the swamp alone and nervous, which was something he wasn’t used to. He walked with difficulty, trudging hip deep in mud, not even finding it odd he was still in his pajamas. Or, for that matter, that his old plush owl Mr. Hoots was alive and leading him though the swamp.
“Only a bit further, my dear boy,” said Mr. Hoot, adjusting his eye patch. Mr. Hoots had only one eye and spoke very much like a scholarly English adventurer.
“Mr. Hoots, I really don’t think this is the way,” Chris said growing more and more tired.
“Twiddlebugs and poppycock,” Mr. Hoots responded disdainfully. Chris gave a matching look to the owl perched on his shoulder.
Chris shifted the back pack a bit, causing Mr. Hoots to move. “Then why don’t you fly ahead and—“
“Don’t be silly, I’m much too old to fly.” Mr. Hoots ruffled his feathers a bit. True, Chris had owned Mr. Hoots since his crib days, but surely he could still fly! However Chris didn’t believe in talking back to one’s elders.
So, he continued through the swamp and noticed the smell of it had changed. No longer did it smell of rotting leaves and swamp water, but of… No, it couldn’t be! Chris also noticed that it was becoming even harder to walk. He looked down, taking a step…
Squish.
…and missing it.
Squiiiiiiish!
“Ah!” Chris yelled, sinking further into the swamp of macaroni and cheese. Mr. Hoots was soon proved a hypocrite, flying to the nearest tree branch some feet ahead of Chris.
“Hey, you mangy old bird!” Chris heard someone yell. Martin! His big brother was coming to save him!
“Martin!” Chris called franticly. “Martin! I’m over here!”
But Martin apparently did not hear or see him, too angry at Mr. Hoots.
“Go back and fetch my brother, beak brain!” Martin yelled to the owl.
“And get my feathers soggy with cheese? I think not!”
“You… You—“ Martin, in his aggravation, struggled to find a word conveying the contempt he held for the owl.
“Me, what?” Mr. Hoots challenged.
“Martin!” Chris yelled again, becoming trapped in the cheese as if it were quicksand. Cheese poured into his mouth as he cried for help. Chris swallowed it, and realized he shouldn’t. Milk based products are only good for so long and clearly this cheese’s expatriation date was up. Eck.
Luckily Martin realized he could fry the bird later and rushed to the bank of the swamp of cheese and threw Chris a rope. Not caring where Martin got the rope, Chris grabbed a hold of it and was pulled to safety.
“Are you okay? You could have died!” Martin said wide eyed to his brother. “And man, what a way to go.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“So this is the way then?”
“Huh?”
“To the Lost City of Cheese, Chris! Do you realize how many people could be saved from hunger and famine because of this place?!” Martin hurriedly pulled Chris to his feet.
“It’s not very good cheese.” Chris shook his head.
Martin pulled a spoon from his back pocket and scooped some from Chris’s open backpack, which was oozing with noodles and cheese. The zipper had broken under the weight of cheese and noodles. There was no way Chris would be able to find the small catch in the river of cheese.
Martin ate the spoonful and swallowed, looking as if he had just swallowed a big spoonful of chocolate, then promptly fell to the ground. Martin was dead and Chris could only stare in horror. What a way to go.
“I told you not to eat the cheese, you—“
“Chris, cal down! Wake up. Are you okay? I didn’t know—“
“Mr. Hoots, you bastard!”
Martin gave his brother a confused and mildly frightened look. He stopped shaking him for a moment, then shook harder, “Chris, wake up!”
“Ah!” Chris yelled and sat up quickly, exclaiming, “Bad cheese!”
“Uh, Chris, it’s not the cheese’s fault.”
Chris sighed, “I guess you’re right—Hey! You’re alive!” Chris hugged Martin tightly.
Martin pushed his brother away slowly, “Chris, calm down.” Martin was suddenly worried that the tee-shirt padded razor hit Chris harder then he thought.
Chris looked around slowly and took a deep breath. He exhaled, “Oh it was just a dream.”
Martin shook his head.
“Chris? Chris!” Martin called impatiently as Chris gather the tent sticks together. Martin was gathering their bags, hauling them to the jeep.
“What?” Chris yelled back.
“What the hell is in your pack? It weighs a ton and smells funny!”
“Ha ha, Martin. Ha ha.” Chris replied sarcastically, believing a comment as being made about his dirty laundry in the bag.
“I’m serious! You know, you’re zipper’s broken. I tied it up with some extra rope.” Martin joined him in dismantling the tent. “You might wanna check it out though.”
Chris sighed and stood, walking to the jeep. He untied the knots Martin had done and opened the bag. It did smell funny, like…
Chris opened it wider.
Squish.
Cheese.
Current mood:
nerdy
