Seven caffeine addicted witches curse Earth, after their request for handing over of all cocoa and coffee is met with blank human stares. Our dear Earth is now a cuboid. And Barrens, is it's only inhabited village.
People of Barrens are hexed to fo...
Dedicated to my ma and pa who sneak up on me to check if I'm studying or ogling the phone.
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Crazy old boots make the best writers, but I am the looniest of them all. A boot in a cursed land.
'What curse plagues this shoe's land?' one might wonder. Before I unwrap the answer to that question, let me introduce my young master.
He thinks he is the best looking fellow in Barrens– the last village on Earth, with his twinkly blue eyes and impeccable style. But being the one graced with his stinky, stubby-toed feet everyday, I clearly disagree. Scaring away the hormone gods early with his crooked yellow teeth, he needs to step on a wooden stool to open the topmost kitchen cupboards. A fat slab of butter on hot pancakes for breakfast, all goes up to his googly-moogly cheeks.
With that kind of daily diet, he should be chubby and dead. But if he was, I wouldn't be writing this, would I? No, sadly he is, technically, still alive. And somehow manages to stay lean, despite his extravagant eating habits. His physique, in my opinion, is a reincarnation of horseradish root.
Two paragraphs featuring his vanity should be more than enough. If Rain– my master, is reading this book then he should be fuming by now. Turning the whole house upside-down in a desperate search for me. It's a good thing that he never remembers where I am.
The only tiny detail I didn't mention is that every villager in Barrens can move in only one direction. At least, until the last time I was there. One more thing, it's probably not even important: they have magic, cursed magic.
It happened a few centuries ago, in the year 2017. Barrens was known by some other name back then. People walking down the streets were drunk, texting and happy on a cold Sunday afternoon. Icicles hung down kids' noses as they played chase, when an alien spaceship landed in their midst.
History books add that when the discoidal flying object eclipsed the dim winter sun, its shadow shrouded the whole village in darkness. But surprisingly, later, after it double-parked in the market's handicapped parking spots, it appeared to match the size of a garbage truck.
From the graffiti adorned shiny, silver saucer emerged a gaggle of seven witches. Hundreds of people witnessed the whole debacle and tweeted immediately, but one account told about it in harrowing details.
It was the account of a bald middle aged man flexing his flabby arms, named– hungryfox1978.
Below is the narration in beloved Hungry fox's words, sans the hash tags and colourful language. They have been replaced by the word 'clucking' wherever possible, to maintain the emotions of his swearing.
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