Writings & Movie

Mr. Christopher Had A Black Heart

Not far from here and not long ago lived a man called Mr. Christopher.

Mr. Christopher had a black heart.

Some nights his heart would go out on walks, wandering near and far, high and low, narrow and wide.

Once, before nighttime had come, Mr. Christopher had a horrible day and was feeling lousy, lonely, angry and afraid. So, when nighttime finally did come and he lay in his bed, it was impossible for him to fall asleep, as he was a-tossin and a-turnin, a-flippin and a-kickin, a-fussin and a-cussin and generally all out feeling sorry for himself.

A few hours past midnight, Mr. Christopher caught a glimpse of what he thought was something like a shadow slink into his room; around the doorpost, past the laundry hamper, and under the bed.

Mr. Christopher sat up on his elbows.

He quit all the fussin he was doin; quit his kickin and flippin, and even quit breathin for a sec.

He was listening intensely to hear if something was moving under his bed, he tilted his head so his good ear was toward the dark, and he opened his eyes big and wide, and his mouth gaped open all slack-jawed.

Crickets quit their chirpin, the wind wanted for whistlin, and the trees stopped swayin in the sky; everything was still.

So still, in fact, that after a while, Mr. Christopher began to doze off.

By the time his head hit the pillow again he’d started to dream, when all of a sudden, “fa-lump”, something landed on the foot of the bed.

Mr. Christopher’s eyes popped wide open again and he tucked his chin under the covers, and he looked.

Now, it’s a brave thing to look into the dark for something that has just landed on your bed; it’s quite natural to just pull the covers up over your head, quickly whisper some prayers, and wish you hadn’t had that last glass of water.

Before his eyes could adjust to seeing in the dark (being just as blind as a bat), Mr. Christopher felt it walking up the bed alongside his legs.

It was light footed, but slow and steady.

Then he saw it.

He saw it, just as it stepped up on his belly, take a few more steps and sit down on his chest.

It was a black cat. Which was interesting because Mr. Christopher didn’t own a cat and wasn’t aware of any in the neighborhood, especially one so beautiful, sleek and shiny in the wee hours of the night.

Most surprising were the black cat’s glittery green emerald eyes, which seemed at once both small marbles or jewels, and, the more he looked into them, as swirling green galaxies.

“Never have I seen such a beautiful cat.” said Mr. Christopher to himself. “And just who are you?” he wondered aloud.

“Thank you.” replied the cat with a tiny nod of his head.

“You may call me Felix Victor.” he meowed.

Now Mr. Christopher was beside himself, as if watching a movie with him in it, stuttering and blinking, eyebrows raised, forehead wrinkled, not knowing how to respond.

Then the pretty kitty perked his ears, wiggled his whiskers, rubbed his head into Mr. Christopher’s cheeks, and started purring.

Mr. Christopher instantly fell in love. He felt buzzing all around him, vibrating like an iridescent cloud of electricity. He rubbed back with his chin and nose into the furry feline’s cheeks, rubbing their heads together as well.

He began to scritch and scratch Felix Victor behind his ears and under his chin when he noticed that the purring was getting louder and louder, and deeper and deeper.

Felix Victor was growing.

The more Mr. Christopher scritched and scratched, the more Felix rolled his head around in bliss, and the bigger and

bigger he got.

Eventually, Mr. C stopped.

Felix, now big as a buffalo, yawned, stretched out his whole body from whiskers to tail, and plopped his butt right back down on the bed. However, Felix was so big now that he was sitting on Mr. C’s ankles, while his front paws were up by his ears.

Mr. Christopher looked up at Felix Victor.

There he was, a ginormous cat of sorts;

black tiger, black stripes, eyes of emerald green, lo and behold, wings the size of trees.

Except for his eyes, everything about him was black and beautiful, even his pointy teeth.

Felix Victor was looking down at him, panting softly, staring directly into his pupils with eyes the size of green apples.

Eyes that sparkled dark green speckles and seemed to swirl like newborn nebulae and crystalline quasars.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Mr. Christopher wondered, “Is he going to eat me now?”

But he was okay with that if so.

Felix huffed a sigh, licked Mr. C’s cheek a few times, rubbed their foreheads together, then stood all the way up.

He started walking in circles, smaller and smaller circles until he too became smaller and smaller, circling a circumference about the size of a fist.

And then Felix Victor lay down inside Mr. Christopher’s chest, curled up with his nose in his belly fur and his tail about his ears, and he went to sleep.

Mister Christopher could feel his heart beating quietly in his chest. He lay there listening to it as he drifted off to sleep, cozy, warm, and deep, in

Love.

Patrick Riggs

African Folktales & Mythology

Prof. Josphat Waruhiu

Feb/3-9/2021

Hare Peter Buries His Friends

An Original Folktale

Did you know? I bet you didn’t know, for not many people do know, that many years ago, many, many years ago, back when the moon was still a baby and the baobab only grew twelve inches tall, Hare Peter used to sleep only on top of the ground and never underneath. Yes, that’s right. Hare Peter was so lazy about making his bed in the morning, that he never made it at all. In fact, he was so lazy that he would just sleep right on the ground any ol’ where he wanted. And since he would dig only the smallest hollows in the ground (just enough to make himself comfy for sleep), there were tiny pock-holes in the ground everywhere, for Hare Peter, being so lazy, not only slept at night but also took many naps during the day. And the poor people, wherever they went they would trip and fall and sprain their ankles because of Hare Peter’s scalloped dips in the ground. Because of this, whenever they found him sleeping, they would kick him.

This is how it was for the longest time, everybody tripping and falling all over the place. Peter thought it was quite funny, “He, he, he” he would chuckle to himself, until one morning, Peter’s friends were tired of tripping too, and decided to do something about it;

“Lumo.” said Fox to the pig.

“Yes, Fox?”

“Go get Melvin the honey badger.”

“Yes Fox.”

“And Lumo.”

“Yes, Fox?”

“Get Machupa too.”

Hours later, Fox, Lumo, Machupa and Melvin were all gathered together in a circle. “Fox has a plan,” said Lumo, “now listen to her tell it.”

“I am tired of tripping and falling and spraining my ankles in Hare Peter’s sleeping dips.”

“Me too!” cried Melvin, “It makes me so mad I could just kick him!”

Machupa sighed, “Oh, thank goodness, I thought that was just me; I’m glad you said something, I really don’t like those holes.”

“I fell two times today already.” groaned Machupa.

Fox continued, “So, we’re going to teach that Hare Peter a lesson.”

“Ooh wee.” Squealed Lumo in excitement.

“Do you still have those firecrackers?” Fox asked Melvin.

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do.”

“We don’t want to hurt him, but we’re going to give him a good scare.” said Fox, rubbing her paws together as she leaned her snout into Lumo’s big ear and whispered the plan, and Lumo whispered it into Melvin’s ear, and Melvin whispered it to Machupa.

It was mid-morning and Hare Peter, happy as a clam, was sleeping in another one of his scallops and looking as snug as a pearl in an oyster. His ears were blanketed over himself and his little tail wagged as he dreamed.

“Good morning Hare Peter.” sang fox and the gang. Peter peeked out of one eye. He looked up to see his friends circled around him. He let out with a great satisfying yawn and stretched his legs in all directions.

“Morning? This is my second nap of the day and it’s only morning? Hm, must be time to play.”

“Second nap?” inquired Lumo.

“Oh, yes.” moaned Peter, rubbing his eyes. “After I wake up, I start the day with a nap.”

“But, two naps already?” asked the confused Machupa.

“Well, y’know, some days are more productive than others.”

Fox started gently like a song, “Hare Peter, why do you dig so many dips in the ground?”

“What, this old thing? I like ‘em fresh. So, I can feel the soft cushion and coolness of each never-been-trampled-on patch of fresh earth.

Lumo chimed in, “But we have to tell you Hare, because we love you, we don’t think it’s safe for you to be sleeping in these tiny little half-holes everywhere.”

Machupa continued in harmony, “We think you should dig one big one, deep and safe (safe for everyone).” his voice tapering off.

“Huh?”

“Or Hyena will get you!” clashed Melvin.

Hare snorted, “Oh, I could hear him from a mile away, he’s always snickering to himself.”

“Or Jackal.”

“Or Lion, Rrrroar!”

“Or a fox in a cape; not me of course.” Fox winked.

Hare Peter began to twitch; his head tweaked sideways, his nose wiggled, and his left eyebrow and ear began to spasm involuntarily. Peter patted his right foot quickly up and down creating a bit of a dust-cloud. “You know, I’ve been thinking…” and he began digging right then and there.

“Good thinking Hare Peter,” said Fox, “keep digging fast and deep so Lion doesn’t catch you and bite your foot off and eat your guts out.” Peter dug faster and deeper. “If Lion comes, we’ll make a loud noise to warn you. You’ll be okay, I hope.”

Fox and the gang had to turn their backs as they giggled, they couldn’t keep their eyes from tearing up, “Oh, this is too good,” snorted Lumo, “I almost feel bad.”

“Me too.” wheezed Machupa.

Melvin snuck up next to Peter and lit two firecrackers right under his tail, “CRACKBANG!”

Peter freaked. His eyes nearly popped out of his head and he dug, and he dug, and he dug so, so fast and so deep and so uncontrollably furious that his mind exploded, causing winds so strong that it put out the fires of Volcan Nyamuragira.

When the winds calmed and the dust settled, Peter could see the clear skies above him, miles of open country around him and a mountain before him, but none of his friends. His friends were gone, nowhere in sight, and all his attention was called to this mountain before him. “How did I get here?” he wondered aloud. “Or is it, where did this come from?”

“Hello?” Hare Peter called out to his friends.

“Hello, hello?” called back to Peter.

“Where are you?” he asked loudly.

“Where are you, you?” asked loudly back to Peter.

“Who are you?” asked Peter.

“Who, who are you, you?” asked back to Peter.

Peter heard murmuring and singing from the mountain.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your feet’re so big y’re

Destined to end with your toes in your nose.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your ears are so free-er

When you eat they’re in your pap and your toast.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter your friends are all gone

Till you find all your friends we’ll sing you this song

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, hop along.

Peter’s eyes rolled in his head. He shook his head. Peter did what any sane hare would do, he ran around the mountain, he ran back around the other way, he ran over the mountain and back, he even dug his way through the mountain, and returned empty handed. He could not find from where the voices were singing their song. Peter nibbled his nails, “Chatter, chatter, chatter.” The song began again;

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your feet’re so big y’re

Destined to end with your toes in your nose.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your ears are so free-er

When you eat they’re in your pap and your toast.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter your friends are all gone.

Till you find all your friends we’ll sing you this song.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, hop along.

Poor Peter was so lonely and worried, he quickly hopped away from the mountain. He got ninety-nine hops away when he stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and then hesitantly hopped back to the foot of the mountain. Without blinking, he gazed up the steep slope of the looming mountain to the very tip of the crest, slowly disappearing behind clouds, and then he stumbled backwards a few steps. Peter sat there a long time. Then he wiggled his nose, slicked back his ears, and began digging.

Hours later, Hare Peter heard the singing so loud and clear that he couldn’t hear his own voice as he sang along. His paws were rubbed raw while, except for his underbelly and tail, his goatmilk-white fur was dusted a nice reddish-brown and tan, with beautiful black coal spots on the back of his tail and the tips of his ears. At last, the floor crumbled beneath him and he fell into a room, red and warm with the heat of Earth’s heart fire. There, on the floor, were all of Peter’s friends, laying atop their karosses, singing away in their sleep. Peter tried to wake them, but to no avail. He rocked and he rolled them, screamed at n’ scolded them, he tugged on their toes-es and pulled on their noses, and he yanked on their ears and he kissed them. Nothing worked. Peter wept.

After a long, hard cry, Hare Peter looked up. He observed that his friends were all laying with their heads next to each other, and in between them were some odd items: a fish hook on a string, several types of seeds, a cup, and some coal. Peter looked in wonder, “Blink, blink, blink.” his eyes were so tired. He was so tired he thought he would fall asleep right there, when just then, he heard a voice loud and clear, but gone already, “You know what to do, do, do, do.”

“Aha!” Peter jumped to his feet. “I know what to do.” Hare Peter grabbed the seeds and ran all the way back up the hole he had come. He planted the seeds by the kunywa shimo behind the kraal so they would satisfy their thirst and grow tall and strong in the shade of the Umdoni tree. He plucked some of its water berries and plopped them in his mouth for a refreshing snack. Back down the hole he went.

This time Peter grabbed the cup and returned once again up the long tunnel he dug, back to the Kunywa shimo, but he thought twice about it. “I need the purest water available.” He turned and looked into the distance, there was Kilimanjaro, far off on the horizon, the size of a pimple with its white head of snow. Peter hung his head, he was so, so very tired and it was so, so far away.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your feet’re so big y’re

Destined to end with your toes in your nose.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your ears are so free-er

When you eat they’re in your pap and your toast.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter your friends are all gone.

Till you find all your friends we’ll sing you this song.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, hop along.

Peter shook off his kaross, waggled his ears, and he hopped along with all of his might. As the sun was setting, Hare Peter reached the summit of Kilimanjaro and he watched the bottom point of the sun touch the horizon. He scooped up some of the purest, cleanest snow and packed it solid into a snowball in the cup. He held up the cup in line with the horizon and perfectly eclipsed the half-set-sun with the top half of his rounded snowball. “Huh, pretty.” he whispered, as his breath froze into icicles on his whiskers and into clouds in the air. Utterly exhausted, Peter collapsed. Luckily, he fell on his ears and slept as he slid down the snowy mountainside.

On his way back from Kilimanjaro, he stopped to ask a neighbor for a cloth to cover his snowball so he could keep it clean on the way down the hole. “Of course you can Hare Peter; what are you up to?” asked his friendly neighbor. After Peter explained to him, his neighbor hugged him and gave him a spicy, sweet koeksister to eat on his way. Before he walked out the door his neighbor asked him, “If you needed some filtered ice cubes, why didn’t you just come to my freezer?” Peter’s jaw dropped as he stared blankly.

It was late in the evening when he finally reached the top of the hole. The tunnel was long, narrow and dusty, but the snowball was covered with a cloth and kept clean, all the way down, down, down. He set the cup of snow back where he got it from and grabbed the fishing hook on the string. Peter ran like a spirit to the Eastern Ocean where he found the water glowing green with living light. He held onto the end of the string and threw the hook into the ocean. He felt a tug, so he pulled on the string with a quick jerk. A pufferfish rose to the surface of the glowing green water and inhaled so much air that it lifted away on the breeze, carrying Peter back to his hole. Up, up, up he went, then down, down he came again; gently and softly the pufferfish-balloon floated him all the way down the tunnel.

Tying the string to a root where he got it from, Peter next grabbed a large chunk of coal. He was not looking forward to what he had to do next. It was his fault the fires of Volcan Nyamuragira went out, and it was his responsibility to reignite the candle flame of the great giant. He took the coal and held it close to his heart. He staggered over to the molten red heart of Earth, and he held out the black rock in his paw. His fur singed all over his body and the coal caught fire.

It was a dark and lonely walk to Nyamuragira. Had it not been for his heart flames, he never would have made it. These were the darkest hours, not long before the rising of the bright sun. Hare Peter came into a pasture of cows singing to each other, “Mooooove along a-little doggie, mooooove along a-little pup.”

“Mooooo are you?” asked one lovely lady cow.

“I am Hare Peter; I have come to reignite your cowherd’s candle.”

“Oh, so it was myooooou who put it out; that was quite some sneeze, bless you.”

“No, I…uh, thank you.”

“Myooooou’ll need it. Don’t let the snakes get you; their bite will not only burn you, it will kill you. Myooooou must also watch out for the fire breathing Leguan; he’ll chew up that little heart of yours, and eat your guts out too, then he’ll swallow your whole body, chunk by chunk. Moo.”

Peter’s heart began racing, “thumpida, thumpida, thumpida.”

“Thank you, Mme.” he said as he swallowed his fear.

As Peter stumbled along in the dark, the sound of the singing, “Mooooove along a-little doggie, mooooove along a-little pup.” was drowned out by the sound of the beating of his heart in his ears, “thumpida, thumpida, thumpida.”

The light of the flames cast a beautiful, soft, orange and yellow glow on the ground for Peter to follow. Quietly he passed through the soft blades of grass until the terrain under his feet turned to craggy rocks lining a narrow trail. He hopped along very carefully. A strange sound began to fill the air, “Sssicka-sicka-sicka-sicka.” Peter tripped and fell and sprained his ankle, something was in the trail; the strange sound grew louder and he was afraid to look. He couldn’t help himself, he had to look; it was a conch stuck in the ground. What was a seashell doing on the side of Volcan Nyamuragira? Two piercing eyes were suddenly staring at him from the dark, glowing angry-orange and red. The sickening sound seemed to hiss from slim lips somewhere beneath the eyes, “Whassssssup, little bunny? Not you.” Peter recoiled and shivered. “Give us a little kisssssssssss, little bunny, and we’ll make all your troubles disssssssssssssapear.” A forked tongue flicked out and in again, and then another tongue, and another, and another, there were dozens of them all around him in the dark; not only were they smelling him, they wanted to taste him. Peter wanted to cry and hop away as fast as he could, but his ankle was in such terrible pain. He winced and whimpered in anguish as he lay there, curled up into a tight little ball as round as a pearl. He was about to freak out when his whimpering turned into humming, and then into singing:

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your feet’re so big y’re

Destined to end with your toes in your nose.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your ears are so free-er

When you eat they’re in your pap and your toast.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter your friends are all gone

Till you find all your friends we’ll sing you this song

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, hop along.

Hare Peter looked up and saw the trail was still clear, and the snakes were afraid of his black-rock-heart-fire; the flames were still lighting the way. “I can still make it.” he thought, and

his little tail wagged as he dreamed. He wiggled his nose, slicked back his ears and pulled himself up by his furry bootstraps. His ankle was swollen already, but Peter held the heart fire high up in front of him as he limped along. No sullied-soiled snakes harassed him now, and he hobbled along in the dead silence of the wee hours of the night. Not a sound was made, not a cricket, not a bird, nor a bat, only the crunching and shcrunching of his own steps as he dragged his foot on the pumice gravel below, “Shkritch-kritch, shkritch-kritch, shkritch-kritch.”

Peter could now see the rim with only the faintest of fumes rising into the cool night air from the once incendiary cauldron. The trail widened considerably, but there was presently a large fallen baobab in the opening and no way to get around it, he would have to climb over. Peter rested his head against the tree. The cold, smooth, strange bark was relieving to his achy body. He hugged the tree and he kissed it, “Thank you tree, thank you.”

“What for?” rumbled a grumbling voice. “Why are you hugging and kissing me?” The Leguan turned his giant head around to look at Peter. Peter fell to his knees; He called to his ancestors, and he held the burning black-rock-heart-fire so close to his chest that it branded a heart shaped scar into his kaross.

“Eek.” was all he could muster.

“What do you want? Who are you?” rumbled the grumbling Leguan.

That song began playing in Peter’s head and would not stop repeating. It played over and over, faster and faster, and louder and louder, until at last, he screamed out loud at the top of his lungs,

“I am Hare Peter, the son of my Mother, and the grandson of my Grandmothers. I am here to light the fires of Nyamuragira. I extinguished his flame and I will reignite it.”

“HOW?” thundered Leguan.

“With the heart fire of Mother Earth, I hold here in my hand, and bear her marks all over my body and here in my chest.” Hare stood again but staggered on his now purple foot. “Please do not eat me, I must wake my friends. They sleep beneath a mountain of dirt and it’s all my fault.”

“I doubt that;” sighed Leguan. “we are seldom alone in anything we do. I, for one, am surrounded by vipers and cows. And you, you are not alone, that is simple enough to see.”

“But I am alone; what do you mean? Who else is here?” asked Peter looking around.

Leguan chuckled and the ground shook. “Go on then, start the fire; the cold makes me sleepy.” and he lifted Peter over himself and onto the rim with his tail. Quite unceremoniously and without batting an eye, Hare Peter threw his burning black-rock-fire-heart into the crater.

He looked out onto the skyline and he watched, for the first time in his life, the sunrise.

“BA-BOOM!” Nyamuragira reignited with a vengeance, and as Hare Peter flew through the sky, he continued to watch the top point of the sun touch the horizon.

“Ouch.” Hare Peter awoke in the morning behind the kraal. He found himself laying beneath the Umdoni tree beside the Kunywa shimo. The sun glistened on the ripples of water as pairs of wild Yellow Bills and Black Ducks paddled along. Above him Green Pigeons and Red-faced Mousebirds sang enchanting morning songs as Purple-crested Turacos fluttered by in the sky. He looked and saw all around him fresh plants that were new to his eyes: Umckalaobo and Echinacea, Ikedike and Meadowsweet, Intsango and Periwinkle, Kenkiliba and others too. “How did I get here?” he wondered aloud. “Or is it, where did these come from?” He scratched his head. “Am I dreaming? It’s all so idyllic, but where are my friends?” he asked himself with great concern. Peter rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and noticed his paws were grey, he was covered in volcanic ash his from ears to tail. He went to stand up, but his foot banged with pain, “Argh!” he shrieked. He looked down and saw it was red, black and gangrene, “Friends! The mountain! I know what to do!” he yelled. Hare Peter got up, climbed out of the odd shaped pit he was in, blessed the plants and harvested from them fruit, flower, leaves, bark, wood, and roots; being careful to thank each plant as he did so. He tucked them into his furry pockets and left. Looking behind him, there was a giant Leguan footprint in the ground. “Hmph, that’s odd.”

The distance to the hole of the tunnel was short, but the effort required of Peter was enormous. The hop there was agonizing since his body pained all over; his foot was on fire, his fur was scorched away, his hide burned and scratched raw; his once furry knees were skinned to the bone, his ears were scraped bare from sliding down Kilimanjaro, and his muscles cramped so hard they bent his achy bones. The jaunt was simply excruciating. As Hare Peter neared the tunnel, the song whispered in his ears while he faded in and out of consciousness,

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your feet’re so big y’re

Destined to end with your toes in your nose.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, your ears are so free-er

When you eat they’re in your pap and your toast.

Hare Peter, Hare Peter your friends are all gone

Till you find all your friends we’ll sing you this song

Hare Peter, Hare Peter, hop along.

When he saw the hole in the ground, he imagined it was a cozy bed; his first bed that his mother made for him, “Mama.” Hare Peter cried aloud, reaching out for her in front of him with his tattered, stubby paws. He fell forward and dropped into a tumble that rolled him all the way down, down, down the pitch-black tunnel, into the warm, red room beneath the mountain. He lay sprawled across his friends, barely breathing, but the song, the song, the song, the song, it would not quit. He opened his eyes, crawled to the center, grabbed the cup with the cloth on it and pulled it off. The snow had melted, and he poured the pure water down the throat of Machupa.

He woke with a sputtering cough but was so glad to see Hare Peter that he smiled. Next to him was Fox, so Peter grabbed the pufferfish balloon and puffed the air into her mouth, and she expanded, then exhaled the last lyrics of that song she ever sang, which made Peter slip out a laugh, “Ha.” Fox grinned. He crawled over to Melvin but was so weak he fell on him. Peter reached over to the center and grabbed a piece of coal which caught fire in his paw, he put it between their hearts, and he rested his head on Mel’s big chest. Melvin woke up a-hootin’ n’ hollerin’, “Hot, hot, hot, ooh, hot.” Peter rolled his eyes then rolled over to Lumo. Out of his pockets he pulled the fruit, flower, leaves, bark, wood, and roots, and placed them on Lumo’s little pork belly. Hare Peter gasped, Lumo’s eyes were already open, and he was looking into Peters eyes, with great compassion. Peter giggled, “Oh, and you stopped singing too.” He collapsed into hugging him. “Lumo, here is your wood.” sighed Peter.

“No Hare Peter, these herbs are for your poor body, and to share with the others. Now that you know the secret you must teach them, it is too late for me, I will be staying here.”

Peter’s voice failed him, and tears rolled out of his eyes, down his furry cheeks, “Whaaa-t?”

“I will live here in the Earth for now on, and I will be at home with my ancestors who are with me, and yours, Hare Peter; we are never alone. Do you feel them? Do you see them?”

Peter didn’t know what to say, “Who are you, you…?” he stuttered, and he began to cry.

Out of the walls, red and warm with the heat of Earth’s heart fire, beautiful baby-blue lights appeared, and floated over to and circled around all the friends laying there with their heads together. The beautiful blue lights began to glow brighter and brighter and so bright that even with his eyes closed, Hare Peter could see their friendly, baby-blue light filing the room. “I feel them now, Lumo. Lumo, I see them.”

Fox, Melvin and Machupa carried Hare Peter up, up, up the long tunnel, out into the midmorning sunlight. They carried him home on their shoulders and placed him on the bed his mother made him. “My poor baby.” she cried, and she wiped Hare Peter down with her ears and her tears.

Weeks later, the three friends were talking. “How many of these scalloped dips of his do you think we’ve filled in today?” Fox asked them both.

“I totaled seven in that quarter of the kraal alone.” said Machupa.

“And there’s three, right there.” counted Melvin.

“Well, I found twelve over by the veggie garden.” quantified Fox.

No surprise there.” quipped Melvin, and they all laughed a bit, then sighed.

“What a lazy doofus he was.” Machupa reminisced.

“I know, right? and look at that mound of droppings he left behind, I had to sweep them up from everywhere.” Melvin kicked a stray hare dropping and it rolled over to the pile.

“He used to eat those; you know.”

“Uuuuughk.” “Yuk.” “Gross.” they exclaimed in unison.

“Well,” exhaled Fox, “I suppose that’s that then.”

Machupa drew small circles in the dirt with his toe, fiddled with his tail, and then suggested...

“Let’s go see how he’s doing.”

When they arrived at his burrow, Hare Peter, happy as a clam, was still sleeping, resting in his bed, snug as a pearl in an oyster. His ears were blanketed over himself and his little tail wagged as he dreamed.

“Good morning Hare Peter.” sang fox and the gang. Peter peeked out of one eye. He looked up to see his friends circled around him. He let out with a great satisfying yawn and stretched his legs in all directions, minus one foot. His foot had fallen off, so his friends put it on a gold chain to honor Hare’s great effort for his friends, and for good luck. He wore it with pride. Hare Peter looked down and his toes poked him in his nose; And they fed him some pap and some toast.

Hare Peter no longer digs shallow dips all over the place, well, now and then he does, but he really just lives in two or three nice beds that he makes with great care. And now, out of respect, the people no longer kick Hare Peter whenever they find him sleeping, nor anytime at all. Occasionally, he goes down, down, down and visits Lumo and the lights with his eyes closed; he digs down deep to visit him, down by the roots, down where they dance and play and sing, sing, sing, but not that song.

The End.

Patrick Riggs

African Folktales & Mythology

Prof. Josphat Waruhiu

Jan 28, 2021

Below, you will find three stories. The first is the original story edited by Nelson Mandela and the inspiration for the second two, which are my own reinterpretations of The Message according to Josphat Waruhiu’s rubric for assignment #1 of African Folktales and Mythology at Portland State University. The first seemed too human and not clearly true to the story of the original. As I did not want to “leave the story behind” I rewrote it in the same fashion as Mandela’s.

Please enjoy.

The Message

This is the source story that inspired the subsequent original tale which I wrote in response as a class assignment.

Text borrowed for context from Favorite African Folktales edited by Nelson Mandela. W.W. Norton & Co. 2002.

Available for sale at https://wwnorton.com/books/9780393326246

This is the story of Full Moon, Tick, and Hair, and the message that moon sent to the people a long, long time ago.

This was no ordinary message! Indeed, it was a most important message. Because, you see, Moon does not really die. She comes back again, as we see each time at full moon. And Moon wanted the people to know this truth: “Just as I die and come alive again, so you also shall die and live again.”

Moon decided that Tick should be the one to take this important message to the people. She knew that lazy Tick would just sit in the shade of a shrub and wait for a goat or a goatherd to come past. Then he would jump onto one of them and hitch a ride to the kraal where the fires were, and the message would reach the people in no time at all. So, Tick was given the message to pass on.

But unfortunately, Tick was not only lazy–he also did not see very well. When Tick departed from moon with the message, it was still night. He crept under the nearest tuft of grass and slept until the goats started grazing. Their he awaited his opportunity.

As the first shadow fell across the tuft of grass, Tick crept out, crawled up the shinbone in front of him and held on tight. But, oh… Tick had made a terrible mistake. As he kept repeating the message over and over to himself, so as not to forget it, the earth disappeared from underneath him, and the tkau trees and the milk bushes grew smaller and smaller. Only then did he realize that his goat had feathers instead of fur! The sand grouse squawked as she prepared to land on a faraway bush. She took her feathers vigorously and Tick flew through the air and landed on a tuft of reeds.

That same evening moon peeped through the milk bushes on the far side, hoping to see the people dancing for joy and hearing the good news. But it was quiet and the fires were burning low. From the weeping of the children, she could hear that someone was very ill. Then moon realized that Tick had not yet delivered the good news to the people.

That night a few drops of rain fell, so on the second day the sand around tick was humming with springbok and gemsbok gamboling for joy. A shadow fell across the tuft of reeds where Tick sat waiting and Tick thought, “This is it,” and he clambered on.

Oh, no, but this was not a goat to whose shinbone Tick was attached! By the time Tick realized this, the gemsbok was already galloping past the krall, along the trail of raindrops yonder, in the direction of the sunset.

When the gemsbok stopped to graze in the late afternoon, Tick realized that another day had gone by without the message having been delivered. And now the crawl lay beyond the ridge which was beyond the farthest ridge still.

A while later, when Moon peeped through the milk bushes, she saw that the fires were even smaller than on the previous evening and she heard the people wailing. Someone was very, very ill indeed, and Moon realized that Tick had still not delivered her message of joy to the people.

On the third day, while Tick was sitting on a Sorrel plant, Hare came to nibble on the juicy leaves. And Tick told him about his problem.

Hare, who was terribly inquisitive, immediately wanted to know what the message was, and Tick rattled it off: “Just as I, Moon, die but come alive again, so shall you also die and live again.”

“This is an important message,” thought Hare to himself. “If I can deliver it to the people, I shall be in favor with Moon.” At once he offered to take Tick to the kraal.

They had hardly reached the nearest milk bushes when Hare gave his kaross, his furry blanket, a good shake–and Tick flew through the air. In the blink of an eye, Hare called, “out of my way!” And hot–tailed it to the kraal, to deliver the message to the people.

However, whereas Tick was nearsighted, hair was shortsighted. All he thought about was the fame and fortune he would receive for delivering the important message. He did not keep repeating it to himself, as Tick had; he hotfooted it so that his ears and his fluffy white tail just glanced over the pebbles and the tufts of grass.

But when he arrived at the crawl, all out of breath, Hare could not quite remember the message as Tick had told it to him, he kept repeating it, but the more he repeated it, the more the words were scrambled and the more confused he became.

Dusty and pale, he collapsed on the ground and delivered the following message to the people: “Just as I die, and remain dead, so shall you die and perish.” All the people of the kraal began wailing and covering themselves in sand and ash, and at that very moment, the very, very, very sick man breathed his last.

That night, when Moon peeped through the milk bushes, she did not see a single live coal. The kraal was deserted. The people had all left. There was no sign of life.

When she looked closely, she did not see Tick anywhere, but hair was still at the fireplace, repeating the scrambled message in a daze.

Moon was furious. She grabbed a piece of burned-out log and hit Hare across the face with it. Hare took such freight that he dropped his kaross into the ashes of the fireplace. He snatched it back and hit Moon in the face with it.

Since that day, Hare has a cleft palate, and the pale ash dust is still visible on Moon’s face.

Patrick Riggs

African Folklore

Prof. Josphat Waruhiu

Jan 24, 2021

Rewrite #1a

Oma Una Tells A Secret

My first original tale inspired by The Message

Born long ago, Great Grandmother Layla Una, known as Oma Una by those who loved her most, was a large and rotund woman with a smile that could light up the night sky. Unfortunately, Oma Una had cancer and the chemotherapy made her hair fall out. Her head was as perfectly smooth and round as a billiard ball and glistened brightly when it reflected light from the nearest source.

She usually wore a headwrap in different styles, but once a month she’d leave it uncovered to feel the brisk night air. “Ticquaila.” she said to her great-granddaughter, “Come here child, I want to tell you something.” The wide-eyed child skipped across the lawn with her toy in her arms and listened carefully, “Yes, Oma?” looking up to her with bright eyes.

“Come closer to me, I want tell you a secret. The same way as when you go to sleep at night and then you wake up in the morning, just like I do, when you die you will come alive again. Understand?” The tiny child quickly nodded her head up and down.

Just then her father called out to her, “We have to go. Tick, tick, tick, hurry up, get a jump on it, we gotta go; come on and leave your ball there. We’re gonna take a ride in my new car; C’mon, hop on in. And so, she climbed into the backseat and waved out the back window to Oma Una as they drove away.

Peter was a clever and busy man, always on the go and usually a very good listener. “Well, what do you think? Nice car, eh? I picked it up this morning so I could show off a bit; I’m trying to impress Jessica. You think she’ll like it? We’re going to take her to a party later too, but for now we’re going to jump on over to grandpa’s; it’s been a day or two since you’ve seen Opa Sunny, hasn’t it? I think he could use a hug and some cookies and it’ll be good for him to…” Ticquaila stood up behind his seat as he drove along and whispered into his ear as she tugged on it, “Oma says the same way as when we go to sleep at night and then wake up in the morning, just like she does, when we die we will come alive again.”

“Huh? Hey, come on back there, I’m driving here; you gotta sit down and put your seatbelt on. Oh my god, if Jessica saw that she’d think I was a bad father…” Today he was quite preoccupied, “…and we gotta drop off these letters after we hit the bank. Are you hungry? Did you get enough to eat, do we need to grab something to go?”

“No papa, I’m fine.”

When they pulled into the driveway, Opa Sunny was standing by the garden with a spade in his hand, wearing his favorite denim overalls and his big yellow hat.

“Oh, you’re such a tiny little bug.” He said as Ticquaila scurried over to him from the car, and he scooped her up into his arms. “Oma Una says we live again after we die.” she mumbled into his neck as she hugged him tight as a tick. “Yes, she told me that too.” He said chuckling.

Peter spoke up, “Hi Opa, here’s some cookies we made for you, but we gotta bounce.”

“She’s getting bigger.”

“Yeah, she’s been growing leaps & bounds since spring.”

“Hey, why’s your ear so red?”

“Oh, nothing big, or nobody, I should say.” as he nodded his head in you know who’s direction.

As they pulled away, Opa winked and she winked back.

Jessica had great, dark eyes, a cute nose, and feathers in her hair. She wore rabbit fur boots and had a matching lucky rabbit’s foot on a long silver chain outside her fuzzy sweater.

When she hopped into the car she smiled, “Hey Tick, are you coming to the party too?”

“Yeah, she’s hitchin’ a ride with us.”

“Great! It’s so nice to see you again Tick.”

“Oma says we live again after we die. Hello.”

“Oh, okay. Umm, nice car, I didn’t think they still made these. It’s a Volkswagen, right?”

“Oh, this old thing? I thought you would get a kick out of it.”

When they got to the party there was a bonfire burning brightly down on the seashore, and beach-chairs circled around the blaze. People were running back and forth between the flames and the waves, in the brisk night air. Peter sat down in one of the chairs by the fire and stretched out his long, hairy legs, “Oh, goodness me, this feels sooooo goooood; I’ve been hightailing it around town all day.” Jessica pulled up the next seat and sat close to him. Looking at all the wet people shivering while drying off in the heat of the fire, they laughed out loud and she asked, “The water must be cold, are you people crazy?”

“You only live once.” Someone said from the glowing night.

“Life’s a beach and then you die.” Said another anonymous voice.

“We’re all gonna die anyways!” cried out a man raising a drink into the firelight.

“Once you die, you’re dead.” responded Peter.

“Live and let die.” sang a shrill voice; the rest of them began singing the famous Beatles song.

Just then a giant ember popped from the fire and burned a hole in the crotch of Peter’s shorts.

He got rid of the cinder but didn’t realize he’d gotten charcoal on his fingers and when he next

Scratched his nose, he got some ash-dust right on the middle of his top lip.

Jessica leaned over, gave him a nice kiss, and got some soot on her lip too.

Ticquaila, standing with her toes in the sand, looked up at the moon, hanging there over the sea, and gazed at her great-grandmother Layla Una, winking at her.

KEY to Oma Una Tells A Secret

Born long ago, FOR THE MOON IS ANCIENT, Great Grandmother Layla Una, LAYLA UNA = LA LUNA, THE MOON, known as Oma, GRANDMA, Una by those who loved her most, was a large and rotund woman with a smile, THE CRESCENT MOON, that could light up the night sky. Unfortunately, Oma Una had cancer, MOON’S ASSOCIATION WITH DEATH and the chemotherapy made her hair fall out, TIES TO REALITY. Her head was as perfectly smooth and round as a billiard ball CUE BALL, 8-BALL, OR ANY OTHER BALL, and glistened brightly when it reflected light from the nearest source, THE SUN.

She usually wore a headwrap in different styles, HINTS AT PHASES OF THE MOON, but once a month she’d leave it uncovered to feel the brisk night air, REFERS TO THE BRIGHT FULL MOON AND TO THE DARK NEW MOON. “Ticquaila.” she said to her great-granddaughter, “Come here child, I want to tell you something.” The wide-eyed child skipped across the lawn with her toy, A BALL SHAPED LIKE THE MOON, in her arms and listened carefully, “Yes, Oma?” looking up to her with bright eyes, LOOKING UP TO THE FULL MOON, REFLECTING IN HER EYES.

“Come closer to me, I want tell you a secret. The same way as when you go to sleep at night and then you wake up in the morning, (just like I do)- IT GOES BOTH WAYS; SLEEP/WAKE & DIE/LIVE, when you die you will come alive again. Understand?” The tiny child quickly nodded her head up and down.

Just then her father called out to her, “We have to go. Tick, tick, tick, HER NICKNAME OF THE CHARACTER FROM THE MESSAGE, AND TIME’S A-TICKIN’, hurry up, get a jump on it, we gotta go; come on and leave your ball, SYMBOL OF UNA, MOON, SOUL, there. We’re gonna take a ride in my new car; C’mon, hop on in, NOTICE ALL THE WORDS AROUND PETER REFER TO JUMPING LIKE A RABBIT/HARE.

And so, she climbed into the backseat and waved out the back window to Oma Una as they drove away.

Peter, AS IN PETER RABBIT, was a clever and busy man, AS WAS THE RABBIT FROM ALICE IN WONDERLAND, always on the go and usually a very good listener, REFERS TO BIG RABBIT EARS. “Well, what do you think? Nice car, eh? I picked it up this morning so I could show off a bit; I’m trying to impress Jessica AS IN JESSICA RABBIT FROM WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT? You think she’ll like it? We’re going to take her to a party later too, but for now we’re going to jump on over to grandpa’s; it’s been a day or two since you’ve seen Opa Sunny, OPA SUN & OMA MOON, GREAT GRANDPA TO TICK, GRANDPA TO PETER, hasn’t it? I think he could use a hug and some cookies and it’ll be good for him SINCE HE JUST LOST HIS WIFE to…” Ticquaila stood up behind his seat as he drove along and whispered into his ear as she tugged on it, “Oma says the same way as when we go to sleep at night and then wake up in the morning, just like she does, when we die we will come alive again.”

“Huh? PETER’S PRESENT CONCERN WITH WORLDLY AND SELF-CENTERED MATTERS PREVENTS HIM FROM LISTENING AND HEARING, Hey, come on back there, I’m driving here; you gotta sit down and put your seatbelt on. Oh my god, if Jessica saw that she’d think I was a bad father…” Today he was quite preoccupied, “…and we gotta drop off these letters after we hit the bank. Are you hungry? BECAUSE HE CARES. Did you get enough to eat, do we need to grab something to go?”

“No papa, I’m fine.”

When they pulled into the driveway, Opa Sunny was standing by the garden, EARTH, with a spade, ACE OF SPADES SOMETIMES KNOWN AS SYMBOL OF DEATH, ALSO A GARDEN TOOL TO TILL THE EARTH= BURIAL, in his hand, wearing his favorite denim overalls and his big yellow hat, SYMBOLIZING THE SUN, AND JESUS-JOHN 20:15.

“Oh, you’re such a tiny little bug, A TICK.” He said as Ticquaila scurried LIKE BUGS DO over to him from the car, and he scooped her up into his arms. “Oma Una says we live again after we die.” she mumbled into his neck as she hugged him tight as a tick. “Yes, she told me that too.” DID SHE TELL HIM BEFORE OR AFTER SHE PASSED AWAY? He said chuckling.

Peter spoke up, “Hi Opa, here’s some cookies we made for you, but we gotta bounce.”

“She’s getting bigger.”

“Yeah, she’s been growing leaps & bounds since spring, MORE AND MORE JUMPING WORDS.”

“Hey, why’s your ear so red?” BECAUSE TICK PULLED IT, LONG EAR REFERENCE.

“Oh, nothing big, or nobody, I should say.” as he nodded his head in you know who’s direction.

As they pulled away, Opa winked and she winked back, BECAUSE THEY SHARE THE SECRET. Jessica, HERE COMES OBVIOUS DESCRIPTION OF RABBIT-NESS, had great, dark eyes, a cute nose, and feathers in her hair. She wore rabbit fur boots and had a matching lucky rabbit’s foot on a long silver chain outside her fuzzy sweater.

When she hopped into the car she smiled, “Hey Tick, are you coming to the party too?”

“Yeah, she’s hitchin’ a ride with us, LIKE A TICK DOES.”

“Great! It’s so nice to see you again Tick.” JESSICA IS NOT TICK’S MOM.

“Oma says we live again after we die. Hello.”

“Oh, okay. Umm, nice car, I didn’t think they still made these. It’s a Volkswagen, right?” -A 1980’S “VW-RABBIT”. “Oh, this old thing? I thought you would get a kick out of it.”

When they got to the party there was a bonfire burning brightly down on the seashore, and beach-chairs circled around the blaze, A SYMBOL OF LIFE, OF THE KRAAL. People were running back and forth between the flames and the waves, REPRESENTS CYCLICAL LIVING AND DYING, in the brisk night air, THE BRISK NIGHT AIR WHICH UNA UNCOVERS HER HEAD TO FEEL. Peter sat down in one of the chairs by the fire and stretched out his long, hairy legs, HIS HARE-Y RABBIT LEGS, “Oh, goodness me, this feels sooooo goooood; I’ve been hightailing, REFERS TO BUNNY TAIL it around town all day.” Jessica pulled up the next seat and sat close to him. Looking at all the wet people shivering while drying off in the heat of the fire, they laughed out loud and she asked, “The water must be cold, are you people crazy?”

“You only live once.” Someone said from the glowing night.

“Life’s a beach and then you die.” Said another anonymous voice.

“We’re all gonna die anyways!” cried out a man raising a drink into the firelight.

“Once you die, you’re dead.” responded Peter.

“Live and let die.” sang a shrill voice; the rest of them began singing the famous Beatles song. CUE SOUND TRACKHERE, SONG OF ADULT CYNICISM.

Just then a giant ember popped from the fire and burned a hole in the crotch of Peter’s shorts, SINCE HIS MOTIVATIONS ALL DAY HAVE DRIVEN FROM HERE.

He got rid of the cinder but didn’t realize he’d gotten charcoal on his fingers and when he next

Scratched his nose, he got some ash-dust right on the middle of his top lip=HARE’S CLEFT LIP. Jessica leaned over, gave him a nice kiss, and got some soot on her lip too, SHE’S A HARE TOO.

Ticquaila, standing with her toes in the sand, HINTS AT SIMPLE PLEASURES AMONG LIFE’S DIFFICULTIES, AND THE LONELINESS OF LIFE EVEN IN THE MIDST OF COMPANY, looked up at the moon, hanging there over the sea, and gazed at her great-grandmother Layla Una, winking at her.

Patrick Riggs

African Folktales & Mythology

Prof. Josphat Waruhiu

Jan 27/2021

Rewrite #1b

The Message Retold

My second original tale inspired by The Message

In the beginning there was the Moon. And Moon, she was, a natural beauty with eyes and a smile that lit up the sky. She could always be found floating gracefully across the horizon. Moon was a marvel to look at; all the men adored her, and though envious, all the ladies who longed for her curves felt comfortable with themselves for sometimes she was skinny, sometimes she was round, especially whenever she was pregnant. Moon was so beautiful and graceful that all the people would sing together in unison to her until she resonated so much that Moon, well, she sang back. Her grace and her songs were so enticing that even the oceans would draw near to her, and they too began to vibrate with waves in synch with the rhythm of Moon’s songs.

One day, for that’s what we called it when, Sun arrived on the scene. Sun was glorious! Moon had never seen such a super star up close. She was starstruck. She felt butterflies in the hollow of her belly. Sun made her feel bright and intensely vibrant and alive. She began to blush at her thoughts.

The people also admired Sun, and they oohed and ahed until they covered their eyes. Then they began to whisper, chatter and gossip amongst themselves until they began to act quite strange. Many of them began taking their clothes off, offering themselves up to Sun even though his touch burned their skin. While some noticed this strange behavior and turned to Moon inquisitively, others basked in Sun’s brightness until their brains baked in their skulls.

Moon became so jealous and distraught that she turned her back and dropped out of sight beneath the horizon. She remained there shaken, shivering and crying, but only for thirteen hours because she was so faithful to the people she loved.

When Moon returned above the horizon, Sun had taken up even more space than before, but she squeezed and sqoze herself into a place, back in the sky. For a time, it was unbearable for Moon; watching all the people give their attention to Sun while she sat there quietly watching. But after a while she began to warm up to the whole situation. It was a pleasure for her to watch the people she loved who were now dancing and playing and working in Sun’s light.

Eventually, when Sun finally went down beneath the horizon for a nap (for that first day was thirty-eight hours long), most of the people began screaming and wailing because they thought Sun had died. Extremely exhausted from all their excited exertions, the people had overlooked that they would live again, so when Sun went down, they too went down, but did not rise. All Moon could do was watch in dismay.

The next day, and the next, and the next, more and more people did not wake up, for they had died, believing that Sun too was dying with each setting. This happened routinely, that people died each sunset, until it happened to nearly everyone. While Sun thought this was normal, Moon had to do something. She sang her songs, but most of the remaining people did not hear her, even though she sang so loud that the resounding waves crashed against the shores.

She tried reflecting Sun’s light into the peoples’ eyes so they would pay attention to her, but the clouds, the risen steam of all the evaporated tears, dissipated her glow. Disheartened, Moon sank lower and lower towards the horizon. She felt so sad and helpless that she thought she’d lose her mind; she was just about to go lunatic when she looked down.

Tick and Hare were looking up at Moon. When she made eye contact Tick smiled with her little saw-toothed grin and Hare jumped for joy. “Woohoo!” hollered Hare and thumped the ground with his foot so quick and so hard that Tick jumbled around in her eight little boots.

Moon couldn’t help herself; she beamed. She came down to the horizon so she could look Tick and Hare in the eye. “Tick, Hare, I must tell you a secret, which isn’t a secret, it’s just that everyone has forgotten it.”

“Oh, goody, goody, a secret!” blurted out Hare.

“But it’s not.” said Tick.

“Uh huh.” uttered Hare, shaking his head up and down, but hadn’t really heard Tick.

Moon continued, “I need you to go tell everyone, so they remember. It’s the most important thing I have ever asked of anyone. Will you do this for me?”

“Yes, of course.” and “Yep.” answered Tick and Hare.

“Please, tell everyone; ‘Just as Sun dies at night, so too shall you…’” Moon paused for a breath.

“Ok!” and zoom! Hare took off, running like his feet were on fire.

“…and just as Sun rises in the morning, so too shall you live again.”

“I understand.” said Tick. “Is there anything else?” she asked.

“Yes. From now on I will share the sky with Sun, and just as I die and come alive again, so you also shall die and live again.” Tick smiled her toothy grin again.

“Where’s Hare?” asked Moon. Tick just blinked a few times, shrugging her eight shoulders.

The first of everyone that Tick came across was Snake. Tick climbed onto Snake and told her the good news and asked for a ride and a bit of a meal. “Yesssssssssss, thank you for the messssssssage, but I have never forgotten that; I have even just finished exchanging my dead ssssssssssskin for this new one. Sssssssssssure, you may have some of my blood for your long journey, but not too much, I am weak after my ssssssssssshedding.” Tick enjoyed the smooth ride and the cold meal.

In the morning, Tick came across turtle, and asked him for a ride since Snake was sleeping in Sun’s warm light. “I’d love some company; Come on in.” said Turtle, opening the front door to his home. But turtle was naked inside his house, so Tick decided to ride on the roof instead. When Tick told him the secret-non-secret, Turtle asked if anybody had seriously forgotten that, because he was so old, he couldn’t even remember being a hatchling.

When Turtle finally reached the next watering hole, Tick was fortunate enough to run into Jackalope, who traveled the world extensively, and told him about how she probably could have made it to the watering hole in the same amount of time it took Turtle; he was, after all, slow as a turtle. Jackalope was kind enough to invite her for a ride and nuzzled her into his fur.

“Would you mind if I had a little breakfast?” Tick eventually asked.

“Heck, I reckon I don’t see why not, nor what’s a gonna stop yea.”

“Mmmm, this tastes like country.”

“Yup, sure ‘nuff; Mesquite n’ clovers’ll sweeten the stink off a punch-drunk goat. My blood runs thick as honey with ‘em.”

“Listen,” said Tick, “Moon wants me to tell everyone; after you die you live again.”

“Well, I don’t really exist so I ain’t too a-worried ‘bout it. But I’ll tell the others. You take care now, y’hear? Yer sweet.” Jackalope kindly delivered Tick to her requested destination, the very next watering hole. Seeing him hop away so swiftly reminded her of Hare. “Where is Hare?” she wondered.

It was past noon now and Tick’s belly began rumbling. She had a long way to go and no one was in sight with whom she could hitch a ride. So, Tick moseyed on over with her eight little boots, “clickity-clackity, clickity-clackity, clickity-clackity, clickity-clackity” and she waited in the shade of a milk bush.

Hare was barking out his secret at the top of his lungs, “We’re all gonna diiiiiiiiiiie! Don’t you get it? We’re all stew! What is wrong with you people? Why are you just staring at me? Are you deaf? Moon says, and I quote, ‘Just as Sun dies at night, so too shall you!’” Hare saw bright colors pass before his eyes, he felt light headed, and then passed out into blackness. Down he went, utterly expended from overexertion and heat exhaustion. The family, just sitting there around the campfire, picked him up by the ears and went for a short walk. To this very day, the people tell the story of how lucky they were when a big rabbit came up to them, chattered and barked, and then just passed out right in front of them. They keep a reminder of such luck on a necklace or a keychain.

Tick arrived around the fire much later, and she was famished. Along the way she shared the news with everyone from Adam, the ant eating Aardvark, to a once famous Zebra named Yipes. And what a long way it had been since she met Fred the Baboon, Chester, a real Cheater, a pack of Dogs who were wild and wooly, Ela P. Hant who was very smart, a Fox in a cape, and the cousin of Koko, the Gorilla whose last words were, “Fix Earth.” There was Hyacinth the Hippo who was a lovely ballerina, and Impala, who wouldn’t stop talking about his ’69 Chevy SS 427/425 HP L72 2-Door Sport Coupe. Jack Al was funny, but a bit if a jerk and a peculiar kind of crazy. There was Joey who was visiting from Australia, and Leo, “the king of blah-blah-blah”; he was so entitled and just full of himself. Then there was the trio who tried to feed Tick the wrong kind of food: the funky Monkey who swung in the banana trees, and Mole’ who lived in a hole’, but generously shared some chocolate, and Maggie who offered some pie. Nyala was nice. Otto and Otter were twin-brotters, and Porcupine; Stop! Not Porky. Porky was pokey, and Tick-a-mama don’t play with no pins, or “Pop!” Somebody else can tell him, and he probably already knows. Quelea-Quelea was fond of a fella and had the biggest family Tick had ever seen. Ryan O’ was super nosey, a surprisingly bossy gossip. Uromastyx was a cold-blooded killer and tried to eat Tick, and so did Vanga-who I think descended from dinosaurs. Gary Gnu was the Wildebeest of them all. Xerus liked to party, but really only with her cousins. And then, last but not least, there was… “The Yellow Mongoose”, a self-proclaimed land pirate, “Yarrrg, me hearties.” who behaved more like a weasel. Remarkably, regardless of who Tick talked to, everyone already knew the news, and they hadn’t forgotten it in the first place. “Why has Moon asked me to do this thing?” Tick turned the thought over in her mind; tumbling, tumbling it went.

The first living person Tick encountered couldn’t hear her from the pebble she was standing on, so she climbed up his shoe, up his pant leg, up his shirt, and parked herself behind his right ear. She smiled, sawed a teensy, tiny hole in the back of his ear and helped herself to a drop of warm blood because she was so hungry that she couldn’t think straight with that question tumbling, tumbling in her thoughts. “Ahh, revitalizing.” Tick sighed after her long drink. In gratitude and anticipation Tick whispered in the man’s ear, “Just as Sun and Moon die and come alive again, so you also shall die and live again.” The man responded in a sneeze, “Ah, ah, ah, bullshit.” and he wiped his snotty nose on his shirt and spit into the fire. Tick was infuriated! She was so offended that she spit lime juice in his ear, which made him sick and ache in pain for years to come. Tick jumped off the man and scampered around the fire, which was so warm that she was tempted to take a nap right there in the dust beneath a hearth stone, but she pressed on. She climbed the nearby tree and jumped onto the next living being sitting below her.

The second person had long hair which made for a soft landing, but twisted traveling. Tick treaded the tangled twines, burrowing like a rabbit through briar. She nestled in behind the woman’s right ear and dug in for second helpings of some scrumptious sanguine supper. Tick afterwards spoke into her ear, “Just as Sun and Moon die and come alive again, so you also shall die and live again.” The woman quickly scratched and tugged on her ear. This scared Tick so badly that she pooped in the woman’s ear; she didn’t mean to, but she didn’t feel sorry either.

Tick scuttled down onto the woman’s shoulder where the wind picked her up and blew her over to the shoulder of the next person to the right. Tick scurried up the person’s neck and left nothing to chance; this time she left behind her hunger and thirst, choosing to focus on her mission. “Now I understand Moon’s reasoning; these people are blind to the truth of her message. In the end it essentially is a secret.” She turned and shouted into the ear, “Just as Sun and Moon die and come alive again, so you also shall die and live again!”

“Ahh, goodness, thank the moon.” mumbled the third person asleep in their chair. Tick was elated. She jumped for joy, bounced off the toy in the boy’s lap, and in midair turned back to see the gentle smile on his face; the boy with the ball, after all, was her first success.

Others also spoke their mind freely, not knowing they were responding to Moon’s news whispered into their ears by Tick and all the other friends Jackalope had told. Some Tick kissed, and on some she spat, that’s how it went and that was that.

At the end of that night Tick took her time and nestled in for a nice night’s nap in a beautiful, familiar smelling, small furry blanket by the fire.

The next day, Moon eclipsed Sun and told him what he had done. He hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t a clue, but asked what it was he could do. “The damage was done.” said Moon to Sun, “But this is how it will be. I will share the sky with you, and you, Mr. Sun, will share the sky with me.”

Moon and Sun became quite close friends, occasionally going on dates, sharing the sky at the same time. Sometimes Moon eclipsed Sun and sometimes Sun eclipsed Moon, they did this so the people couldn’t see what they were doin’ ;)

The End.