Origlet ficlet: Tale of the bear
Mar. 20th, 2005 07:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Once upon a time there was a bear. And this bear didn't like eating salads. The only thing this bear wanted to eat was human thigh bone. Well, not the actual bone but the flesh on the bone. The bear loved to hold the thigh bone in her big bear paws, corn-on-the-cob style, and gnaw that meat off, tooth by tooth.
The only problem was that the bear lived in the northern reaches of Manitoba and sometimes there was no human to be had month in, month out. The bear tried moose, chipmunk, wolf, fowl and even snake but it just wasn't the same.
Something had to be done.
The answer came one lonely summer's morning: emigration! Emigration to some place where the supply of human was plentiful and the eating sublime. Off to sunnier pastures! Onward and outward!
The bear loped off, down Highway Number 91.
No sooner, though, had the bear hit her first deliciously-smelling prime target, a hamburger joint off the Southern Interstate Exchange, that something went 'pop' and the bear fell down dead.
The 'pop' had been the sound of a bear-hunting rifle, shot by Jeremiah Kleinstein who burst into gleeful yeehaws and ran onto the tarmac without doing up his trousers (he had been engaged in a quick piss behind the storage shed when the bear had trotted into view).
So, the end of the story is this, and the moral of the story is thus. But perhaps this story has no moral and is simply another tale of the death that will get us all in the end.
No matter how desperate our cravings.
The only problem was that the bear lived in the northern reaches of Manitoba and sometimes there was no human to be had month in, month out. The bear tried moose, chipmunk, wolf, fowl and even snake but it just wasn't the same.
Something had to be done.
The answer came one lonely summer's morning: emigration! Emigration to some place where the supply of human was plentiful and the eating sublime. Off to sunnier pastures! Onward and outward!
The bear loped off, down Highway Number 91.
No sooner, though, had the bear hit her first deliciously-smelling prime target, a hamburger joint off the Southern Interstate Exchange, that something went 'pop' and the bear fell down dead.
The 'pop' had been the sound of a bear-hunting rifle, shot by Jeremiah Kleinstein who burst into gleeful yeehaws and ran onto the tarmac without doing up his trousers (he had been engaged in a quick piss behind the storage shed when the bear had trotted into view).
So, the end of the story is this, and the moral of the story is thus. But perhaps this story has no moral and is simply another tale of the death that will get us all in the end.
No matter how desperate our cravings.