Well, this is a silly story I wrote on a lark for my younger sister a couple years ago. Its about the only short story Ive ever writtenwell, not quite, but one of very fewand it is completely and totally silly and humorous. Any person convicted of moralizing it, philosophizing it, or any other serious action concerning it will be punished by being pelted with rubber chickens while listening to Korean rap in the middle of a field during a thunderstorm. So...laugh at it if you will, and I'm sure you will, but remember this when you do: the original ending consisted of the main character dropping over dead from shock, so it could be worse. 
Blarneya Tales, NO. 1
Bluebell and the Rose
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, called Blarneya (which rhymes with Narnia, despite the weird spellingits spelled like that for definition purposes only), there lived a talking rabbit named Bluebell. Bluebell was the color of snow, with a soft pink nose, under-paws, and inner ears. Her fur was as smooth as velvet, and she was about four inches tall, and about seven or eight inches long.
Bluebell was an amiable rabbit that was very hospitable and kind to her neighbors and relations. Indeed, she had a party for someone nearly every week! But despite her bust life, she still made time for what she liked to do best: petal-picking.
Now, petal-picking is a sport formed solely in Blarneya. It involves one or more persons (or animals or creatures), and several (depending on how many players, how long they want to play, and how intensely they wish to play during that time) flowers of any species, although preferably roses. Roses have the best texture for such a game, you see, and of course, they are quite beautiful petals, which is always an important factor.
Heretofore, the player takes one flower, and counts the petals, which can be an arduous job sometimes, and then he must make a rhyme, riddle, or ridiculous story, one line of it per petal. It is quite a mentally exhaustive gave so oft times Bluebell plated alone for lack of any willing counterparts.
On this particularly fine summer day in Blarneya, it was the day after Bluebells last party, so she didnt have to worry about hosting again for over a week. In eager anticipation, she hurried outside of her home and went to her rose garden (many said hers was the finest in Absurdia, the town in which she resided in, aside from the Royal Garden at the Blarneya Castle) and plucked the first rose she saw.
She lifeted her paw to pick off a petal when suddenly the rose blossom opened up and cried, No, no, please dont! Ive held my peace long enough, and I cannot stand this derogatory and murderous activity you call a game any longer. Before you begin stripping me of my dignity and life, please consider this: if you were to leave me be, and all of my relatives, your garden would flourish even more, and none, not even the kings gardens, could rival it for beauty and fullness. Please, hear my plea, and repent of your terrible ways. It is not too late to change your ways.
Now, Blarneya had its share of magic, like any other self-respecting fairytale kingdom, and talking plants werent completely unheard of (for goodness sake, Bluebell herself was a talking animal) .
But still, Bluebell was taken aback at the sudden intrusion of her planned botanical solitude, and never before had one of her roses spoken. It so surely shocked her, she dropped the rose right then and there.
Oh, my goodness! You spoke! she shrieked.
Ow! Did you have to do that? Of course I spoke; I have a mouth, dont I?at which Bluebell did sort of notice a slither at the center of the blossom, that moved as the rose spokeYou speakwhy should not I be able to speak as well? And please know thisI have nerves, same as you, and when I am dropped at great distances it hurts quite painfully, the rose said in a most prim and offended tone.
Bluebell stared at it for a moment with a bemused expression. I I
And to get back to my original point, before you so painfully and rudely interrupted me in the most ungallant of manners, would you please stop this petal-picking nonsense? It is quite inane and childish.
Bluebell kept stuttering, I I with the same complete astonishment lacing through her voice.
The rose put its leaves to its stems in a purely exasperated stance. For goodness sake, stop saying I so. It is quite discomfiting.
Bluebell shook her head quickly, as though to shake away invisible bugs. Oh, my, she murmured to the appeasement of the magical rose. She swallowed hard. Ah, pardon me, Miss Rose. I was a bit flabbergasted.
The rose studied Bluebell for a moment then sighed. All right, I understand. And please, my name is Melody. If youre to carry on a conversation with me, you must know my name. But you neednt name yourself, for Ive heard it a million times if ever. Youre quite popular, arent you, for a rabbit, anyway. But not everyone cares for your preposterous obsession with petal-picking me included!
Bluebell frowned, regaining her composure. Now wait just a minute, Rosethis is my garden, and I can do whatever I want with it, and anything inside of it. Im not going to let you insult me in my own home.
Its Melody, as I told you before, the rose replied, undaunted. And if thats how you feel, Ill just gather up my forces, and well all leaveand your garden will be nothing more than a pile of dirt.
Bluebell hesitated. What if the roseMelodywas capable of her threat, and not just bluffing? Bluebells garden was her most prized possession. She couldnt stand if it was suddenly ruined!
But, on the other hand, could she give up petal-picking forever? It was her favorite game in all of Blarneya.
Bluebell leaned back, thinking. Hey, rosah, Melody. Does the no petal-picking count just in my garden? Would that satisfy you?
Melody, as strange as it was, made an expression of gratified delight. Well, certainly! Not all of the roses in town are enchanted like I am, you know. And though I certainly do care about my mute, ordinary rose cousins, their own stupidity consents to their possible spoiling.
Bluebell blinked at Melodys answer, and nodded halfheartedly. All right then, I agree to your conditions, and promise I will stop petal-picking in this garden.
Melody smiled. Good! I can tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Bluebell smiled back, but as she turned around to go back inside her house, she allowed an expression of near-panic to flicker across her face.
But, nonetheless, it was the start of a wonderful friendship, at least as far as Absurdia was concerned. The next day there was a sign on Bluebells house: Bluebell and Melodys Rose Garden and Teahouse.
Underneath that, in fine print, it said, Petal-picking is strictly forbidden. Violators of this rule will be found worthy of an hour in the stocks.
The End
Blarneya Tales, NO. 1
Bluebell and the Rose
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, called Blarneya (which rhymes with Narnia, despite the weird spellingits spelled like that for definition purposes only), there lived a talking rabbit named Bluebell. Bluebell was the color of snow, with a soft pink nose, under-paws, and inner ears. Her fur was as smooth as velvet, and she was about four inches tall, and about seven or eight inches long.
Bluebell was an amiable rabbit that was very hospitable and kind to her neighbors and relations. Indeed, she had a party for someone nearly every week! But despite her bust life, she still made time for what she liked to do best: petal-picking.
Now, petal-picking is a sport formed solely in Blarneya. It involves one or more persons (or animals or creatures), and several (depending on how many players, how long they want to play, and how intensely they wish to play during that time) flowers of any species, although preferably roses. Roses have the best texture for such a game, you see, and of course, they are quite beautiful petals, which is always an important factor.
Heretofore, the player takes one flower, and counts the petals, which can be an arduous job sometimes, and then he must make a rhyme, riddle, or ridiculous story, one line of it per petal. It is quite a mentally exhaustive gave so oft times Bluebell plated alone for lack of any willing counterparts.
On this particularly fine summer day in Blarneya, it was the day after Bluebells last party, so she didnt have to worry about hosting again for over a week. In eager anticipation, she hurried outside of her home and went to her rose garden (many said hers was the finest in Absurdia, the town in which she resided in, aside from the Royal Garden at the Blarneya Castle) and plucked the first rose she saw.
She lifeted her paw to pick off a petal when suddenly the rose blossom opened up and cried, No, no, please dont! Ive held my peace long enough, and I cannot stand this derogatory and murderous activity you call a game any longer. Before you begin stripping me of my dignity and life, please consider this: if you were to leave me be, and all of my relatives, your garden would flourish even more, and none, not even the kings gardens, could rival it for beauty and fullness. Please, hear my plea, and repent of your terrible ways. It is not too late to change your ways.
Now, Blarneya had its share of magic, like any other self-respecting fairytale kingdom, and talking plants werent completely unheard of (for goodness sake, Bluebell herself was a talking animal) .
But still, Bluebell was taken aback at the sudden intrusion of her planned botanical solitude, and never before had one of her roses spoken. It so surely shocked her, she dropped the rose right then and there.
Oh, my goodness! You spoke! she shrieked.
Ow! Did you have to do that? Of course I spoke; I have a mouth, dont I?at which Bluebell did sort of notice a slither at the center of the blossom, that moved as the rose spokeYou speakwhy should not I be able to speak as well? And please know thisI have nerves, same as you, and when I am dropped at great distances it hurts quite painfully, the rose said in a most prim and offended tone.
Bluebell stared at it for a moment with a bemused expression. I I
And to get back to my original point, before you so painfully and rudely interrupted me in the most ungallant of manners, would you please stop this petal-picking nonsense? It is quite inane and childish.
Bluebell kept stuttering, I I with the same complete astonishment lacing through her voice.
The rose put its leaves to its stems in a purely exasperated stance. For goodness sake, stop saying I so. It is quite discomfiting.
Bluebell shook her head quickly, as though to shake away invisible bugs. Oh, my, she murmured to the appeasement of the magical rose. She swallowed hard. Ah, pardon me, Miss Rose. I was a bit flabbergasted.
The rose studied Bluebell for a moment then sighed. All right, I understand. And please, my name is Melody. If youre to carry on a conversation with me, you must know my name. But you neednt name yourself, for Ive heard it a million times if ever. Youre quite popular, arent you, for a rabbit, anyway. But not everyone cares for your preposterous obsession with petal-picking me included!
Bluebell frowned, regaining her composure. Now wait just a minute, Rosethis is my garden, and I can do whatever I want with it, and anything inside of it. Im not going to let you insult me in my own home.
Its Melody, as I told you before, the rose replied, undaunted. And if thats how you feel, Ill just gather up my forces, and well all leaveand your garden will be nothing more than a pile of dirt.
Bluebell hesitated. What if the roseMelodywas capable of her threat, and not just bluffing? Bluebells garden was her most prized possession. She couldnt stand if it was suddenly ruined!
But, on the other hand, could she give up petal-picking forever? It was her favorite game in all of Blarneya.
Bluebell leaned back, thinking. Hey, rosah, Melody. Does the no petal-picking count just in my garden? Would that satisfy you?
Melody, as strange as it was, made an expression of gratified delight. Well, certainly! Not all of the roses in town are enchanted like I am, you know. And though I certainly do care about my mute, ordinary rose cousins, their own stupidity consents to their possible spoiling.
Bluebell blinked at Melodys answer, and nodded halfheartedly. All right then, I agree to your conditions, and promise I will stop petal-picking in this garden.
Melody smiled. Good! I can tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Bluebell smiled back, but as she turned around to go back inside her house, she allowed an expression of near-panic to flicker across her face.
But, nonetheless, it was the start of a wonderful friendship, at least as far as Absurdia was concerned. The next day there was a sign on Bluebells house: Bluebell and Melodys Rose Garden and Teahouse.
Underneath that, in fine print, it said, Petal-picking is strictly forbidden. Violators of this rule will be found worthy of an hour in the stocks.
The End
