|The Battle Cry of Maraki (standard:humor, 0 words)|
|Author: Anonymous||Added: Jul 17 2001||Views/Reads: 2989/2||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The Battle Cry of Maraki|
“Jump!” she screamed. Maraki lunged forward with uncharacteristic zeal that surprised even her pleasantly lethargic self. Impending death presented itself in every fatal advance made by the smart-ass grasshopper that had found its way into the enigmatically neon orange tent that sat atop the ancient plateau built eons ago by her brother positioned in the center of Maraki’s substantial backyard. Ponce seized control of her hysterical friend to frantically inform her in the futility of trying to avoid the treacherous jaws of the now absent grasshopper. “You’re only making it worse. Ahh! If you calm down, it will be a lot less painful. Do like me.” She slumped over, hands flailing about, screaming, in desperate need for the situation to end with her and her friend’s un-timely deaths. Maraki now had followed suit, huddled up in a ball, hands over her eyes, imagining better days when a bowl of instant chocolate pudding followed by a nap meant that her day had been well spent. High school had been fun; she wished she were still there. And that pudding, oh the pudding! It hadn’t tasted the same when it wasn’t followed by a nap. Now that she was undeniably facing possible death, she would never become the great archaeological, Indiana Jones-esque explorer she had longed for so long to become. By the time Maraki had become thoroughly depressed over her pre-global adventure demise, Ponce de Leone had discovered that the grasshopper was MIA and that peace could now be restored to the tent, which had half-heartedly fallen over during the escapades created by the cruel grasshopper that had mercilessly flaunted his power over the inhabitants of the easy-set-up tent that in its present state unquestionably resembled a crushed circus peanut. “We made it...” Ponce reflected. “ We made it!” “I knew we would. It was only a grasshopper.” Maraki was quite proud she had known all along that they would survive. This called for instant chocolate pudding and a nap, but a stein of a fine blonde pilsner would do just well. A blue Kool-Aid cup, the prize awarded to two tragically wide-eyed kids who collected points snipped off every Kellogg product in their house, filled with lukewarm tap water would have to suffice. A victory for womankind, they decided, er, a victory at least. Maraki had long been ridiculous, her friend of four years decided. How else could she explain her best friend’s inability to speak her native Swahili, which Maraki swore she knew fluently. Ponce questioned this not because Maraki’s family wasn’t from Africa, that posed little problem in her curly-haired head, she had never heard any of Maraki’s family speak in Swahili except her delightful mother, who spoke something else fluently, but as far as Ponce was concerned, it could well have been the language of the future, Esperanto. Ponce deduced that Maraki appeared to be so ridiculous because she was always haphazardly falling asleep, regardless of time or place. This was also her best explanation for why Maraki couldn’t speak Swahili; she had fallen asleep during the many travels to her homeland, carted around by her younger sister to the many family happenings occurring constantly, er, so Ponce observed. Maraki, having defeated the enormously large insect that had threatened her existence only thirty minutes ago, was ready for anything. She immediately went to work planning an excavation of Minoan Ruins she had seen on a calendar mailed to her by a nameless charity in hope of receiving compensation for the “free thank-you gift” enclosed. Her plans of fame and respect within the world of archaeologists were thwarted once again not by sleepiness, but the piercing shriek Ponce had without shame or reason yelped. “Ah! What’s wrong? Is the grasshopper back?” “Grasshopper? Where? Ah!” “Oh no! Quickly, let’s get out of here!” The two dashed out of Maraki’s room, past her delightfully bewildered mother, and into Ponce’s car, which was expecting them at any minute. Once safely tucked away into the security of the startled vehicle, Maraki confided in her friend. “Today has been the scariest day of my life. Please, let’s never speak of it again.” “OK. You know, we’re really quite pathetic. We must go on an adventure to make amends. Or else, it is quite possible we will be doomed to be weak and feeble for ever.” Maraki couldn’t have agreed more with her friend as a Blondie tape was popped into the radio and they predictably screeched off into the distance in search of ancient treasures and the meaning of life. Tweet
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