Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there was a rock named Mark. He was smooth, grey, oval-shaped, could fit in the palm of your hand, and he was owned by a loony witch lady who lived in a hut in the mountains. This lady can be most easily identified with that crazy cat lady who lives down your street in the eerie run-down house with her 72 cats—all of which you know are out to get you. However, the witch didn’t have 72 cats and she didn’t’ live on a street corner. She did, though, have two cats, a parakeet, a rabid monkey, plenty of snakes, bats, and large hairy spiders, and, of course, the beloved pet rock, Mark.
One day, Mark’s mental owner decided she had to go grocery shopping; and, by grocery shopping I mean wandering the mountain catching scurrying creatures, picking up dead carcasses, and finding unsuspecting victims to bring home for dinner. Small children and lost mountain yodelers tended to work nicely. So, the woman left her little house and put Mark in charge while she was gone. The rock listened to her explanations of what to do and he didn’t interrupt, seeing as how rocks don’t talk. Satisfied, the witch locked the door behind her and shuffled on her way.
Carrying a wicker basket and wearing a shawl over her grey head, the witch began down a little trail through the enchanted forest. After all, every story needs an enchanted forest. In said mountain forest of enchantment, the witch sat down on a small boulder beside the trail and waited patiently for something to pass her by. After a few moments, she spotted a squirrel climbing down a tree swiftly, its fluffy red tail trailing behind it. When it came to the ground, it hesitated, sniffing the air and slowly scampering around in a squirrely manner. The crazy witch lady smiled, and pointed a finger at the squirrel, zapping it with a mild spell. The creature let out a shriek of pain as its heart exploded and then collapsed on the ground, twitching slightly before laying still. The woman frolicked over to the dead squirrel, picked it up, and then skipped back to her boulder, sitting back down as she dropped the animal into her basket and covered it with a handkerchief.
Back at the cottage, Mark, the pet rock, was managing things. Actually, he wasn’t really managing things. He was just sitting upon the table doing nothing. But let’s face it, what does a rock actually do? The parakeet fluttered in its cage, screeching slightly, and the rabid monkey swung around the room, chattering and throwing things. In the back of the house, the snakes and spiders remained in their jars, and up in the attic, the bats were sleeping. Mostly uneventful, aside from the rabid monkey.
That was, until the witch came back. With her, she had three travelers. Smiling brightly at them as she opened the door, she hurried them all inside and set her basket down in the kitchen.
“Would you dearies like some tea before you return on your long journey over the mountains?” she crooned sweetly, starting to brew some tea before they even replied. The three travelers looked about the room, shuffling nervously and eyeing the rabid monkey, hoping it wouldn’t sink its foam-covered teeth into their legs.
The witch, trying to be as “hospitable” and “kindly” as possible, shooed the monkey into its cage and fed it one of the dead squirrels she had caught. Then she placed some grain beside the rock, patted it fondly and told him that he had done a good job watching the house while she was away.
The three travelers glanced amongst themselves. The witch opened the parakeet’s cage and started making small-talk about the right herbs used to close wounds and such as she gave the bird some grain as well. Before she shut its cage, the teakettle screamed, and she shuffled into the kitchen, pouring the tea into cups and putting a dose of poison into each one.
While she did this, the parakeet flew out of its cage, gobbled up the food that had been set out for the rock, then went back and ate its own food.
The travelers glanced amongst themselves again and quickly backed out of the witch’s hut, running away.
That lady was mental.
When the witch came back to the table with the tea, she was surprised and displeased to find that the three people had vanished, and therefore, a decent meal was gone.
Throwing the tea tray down in fury, she spun upon the rock named Mark. “WHAT?! You were too busy eating your food you couldn’t find a way to keep them from leaving? You are such an imbecile sometimes, Mark! No dessert for you!” As the witch stormed to her room, the parakeet let out a cry of dismay.
The end.
Yay! Random!
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