Short Stories by Ch’erie de Perrot Click on any underlined title below to be linked to that story: “Mopoke and MorePork!” “Fuchsia’s Story”   “Mopoke and MorePork!” AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is the tail, and feathers, of two cousins. One lives across the ditch (Tasman sea) in New Zealand, the other in Australia.. Now these two winged creatures of the Owl family are distinct one from another as you will see, not just in size or appearance but in....well you read for yourself, I think you'll get the gist of it. BTW I'm the Narrator :) ~*~ Our Story begins pretty much like any other story... In the lush fertile bush lands, amid the mist, neath the mountains..... "Oi Can you just get on with the story, squawk Mo and More"? "Fine, I was just trying to give you a decent intro, but it's your call, "says me the Narrator :) Now Mo has just flapped in on a good tail wind from across the sea, and so he finds More, sitting in his perch in the bush... and they greet each other with the usual courtesies of close cousins. "G'day More, how's me little mate gettin on, out here in the middle of nowhere." "Yeah good Mo, nice of you to just drop in like this, and a bit less of the little if you don't mind eh!" "Nice pair of birds aren't they!! "So what brings you over to my neck of the woods, at this time of the night eh Mo," says More wryly! "Miss me did yah"? "Oh no, you know, just looking for something to do, thought I'd stretch me Big long feathers out," says Mo with a distinct air of superiority! "Typical, you just can't admit that you miss me, and our conversations can yah," More clucks with a snicker." So what's happening over the ditch Mo? Anything interestin?" "Nah mate," says Mo, shuffling about," same old same old. "Ere I have had something pressing on my mind though, that I wanted to ask you." More of course is expecting a controversial question, as he knows his cousin well and thinks to himself, ‘I bet we are in for another big noting session here tonight.’ "Oi I haven't indicated that I am thinking any such thing, says More, "No and I haven't either," says Mo." "Well, if you want I can just move on, you can write this story yourselves!! "No alright," they both chime in, "go on, jumpin the gun as usual." I know these two birds, so I know what's coming haha!. "More, about that night call of yours!" "Oh yeah, what about it, MO?" "Well, it's occurred to me that it's a bit, errr odd, for want of a better word, Mo chirps." "Nothing odd about it, clucks More, indignantly, it's been the call of our ancestors for hundreds of years, in fact I believe it was actually noted in the Guinness book of records as being the most eeeerrieee night call..." "Take a breath there little mate, speels Mo, you'll wind yourself." "Not amused," says More, and begins to preen his feathers furiously! "Can you get your head outa your feathers for a minute and just listen to me when I'm talking to you," says Mo with a leer on his face! "What and listen to you prattle on about my perculiar night call, Huh, says More with an equally silly look on his face! "Ah not nice there, if you don't mind..."OOOOPS sorry, just an observation, says narrator smiling. "Alright Mo, get it off your chest, you're gonna bug me all night anyway, so let's just be having it," sighs More. "Well don't you think that calling out Pork is a bit, you know, odd." “Nuffin odd about it, why should it be odd, name one thing that's odd about it, go on I bet you can't?” "HAHA,"Chuckles Mo, "two right it's odd, I mean who is going to take Pork seriously, and besides it doesn’t really mean anything,” Mo sneers, at his smaller and more feisty cousin. "Well if you think that Pork dosent represent anything in particular, then what do you call, Poke, eh," says More, Poking fun at Mo, literally! "Let me tell you what it represents, it means, aaaamm, well it means that at least I am poking around looking for food," says More assuredly. "Oooh,” chirps More, “is that what it means, and all this time, I thought you just couldn't pronounce Pork properly,,” he says with a laugh! "Now that will be enough cheek outa you, you of the smaller species." "Why does it have to be Pork anyway, like, can't you say Lamb, I mean to say, there's no shortage of them around here, is there," says Mo calmly! By this time the heated exchange between these extreemly close cousins is rather excited and loud, so any interjectory remarks that I make at this point will more than likely be lost on them!! haha, I like being the Narrator! "Right that's it, I'm telling you that my call is appropriate, there's nothing wrong with it" says More, Jumping up and down and flapping excitedly on his perch, "Besides there are plenty of wild bush pigs around here," he huffs! "All right, all right, little mate, says Mo, in such a condescending tone, that aggravates More even...More," Don't get you're feathers all in a flap." "Lamb!" "Pork, pork, Ok." "And I'm not little either, just finer built, thanks!" "Are so, chirp chirp." " Am not." "R so," says Mo and pats More on the head." "Not little, and it's Pork," More retorts loudly. "ARE SO, and it's lamb," Mo chimes back!. And so it goes, on through the night, where even the screech owl takes flight. So if you happen to be out hunting on a crisp cool night, and hear the sound of Lamb, or Pork mentioned, in an eeeerrriee tone, like the distant call to a smorgasboard dinner, don't worry, it's just these pair, arguing as usual over nothing, in the heart of the lush fertile bush lands, amid the mist, neath the mountainous, rugged, undulating terrain of the shores known as Aotearoa! There I said it, Nice to have the last word, isn't it! "You could talk underwater with a mouthful of marbles" ~The End Ch'erie de Perrot ©Copywritten 11/06/07 CAL ( Copyright Australia Ltd) All Rights Reserved   “Fuchsia’s Story” Fuchsia lived in a glorious garden, surrounded by her peers, each one alike, yet unique in their own delicate loving way. They all co-habitated together in a peaceful environment, happily conversing daily with each other. No problem was too great, or too small, for they had pledged long ago, that to love one another was the greatest gift bestowed upon them. One particular Morning, as the first rays of light peered quite anxiously through the Midnight hues, Fuchsia opened her sleepy, though intensely golden eyes. She saw the worried look upon Dawn's face, and wondered what could be his trouble this morn. There was no unusual signs in the heavens above, no rumbling neath her sturdy green trunk. For her it was as a trunk, for it made up the most part of her body, though her head was the most dazzling colour array. Dawn continued to widen his yawn, like a chasm opening up, bereft of the usual smile he greeted her and her flowery friends with as a general rule! Sensing something quite terrible was about to happen that morning, she decided as a precaution, to hold on to the large dew drop, that was nestled amid her petals. She thought it best to keep him safe, not knowing why. Usually when the Sun came out after Dawn had opened the curtains, Dewy would like to drop down upon the bladed grass below, forming a small pool, with which many others heartily drank. He did this unselfishly each day, and knew how much others depended upon him, breaking the overnight thirst. Fuchsia and her friends, glanced at each other, realizing something was amiss, and they too clutched tightly to their precious dew, still no real reason, just a gut feeling. Suddenly the air was permeated with a strange odor, which curiously they recognized. It smelled of one the animals that came to drink, yet, in a more stale commodity. Puzzled yet curious, they all began to peer towards the direction of the smell, until they could see two rather large looking objects. The smell they knew, the shape a complete mystery, and instinctively they knew death was in the air. The creature, tall in stature, yet rather attractive with it's slender trunk, cumbersome leaves resembling more of packed baskets, appeared to have a mane of long black leafy tresses. With a hint of reserve, and thoughts of a foray, this is what Fuchsia and her friends figured of the newcomer to their part of the garden. This big garden they lived in, amid taller tree's and smaller shrubs! The stranger had long slender leafy arms, and began to move them systematically about, placing a rather inanimate object upon the ground, just in front of it's face. It's eyes focused intently upon..Fuchsia. A sudden Panic flowed through her veins, filling her stamen up and causing shudders right to her core, while dewey, began to get angst. Shuddering and trembling without control, as her senses went into overdrive, she inadvertently opened her outer petals, realizing the danger she placed dewey in prematurely. He was not yet ready, but this morning, there seemed no choice. Helplessly, after panting hard, trying for dear life to hold onto him for those precious moments longer, his weight bore down her outer petals, and in a nanosecond, he slipped, clean off her protective cover, and began to fall. What seemed like forever for Fuchsia, and her amazed friends looking on at the spectacle...he continued down down down.in a motion that was as though a camera, something they knew nothing of, was keeping his ultimate drop, and subsequent splash slower than usual. Then it happened! He hit a blade of grass below,on it's tip before the ground, with the stranger still keenly observing! Instead of making a sploshy impact upon the ground, something strange happened, which they had not seen before, though tales from their forefathers had spoken of this Dewey split, like he been neatly sliced in two, one half landing in one spot, the other half neatly nearby. Simultaneously, a flash of light penetrated their eyes, blinding them quite neatly for some minutes. As they recovered from the flash, they realized that Dewey was gone, long gone, and the stranger, had vanished from sight, never to be seen again. An important event had taken place that day, though the stranger did not know just how important, let alone how deadly, was the amazing discovery she had made,documented, photographed, and entrusted to her colleagues in a far off land, long way away from Fuchsia and her delicate world. The Fuchsia's went on with their lives, each day opening for Dawn, smiling at the sun, allowing their Dews to function as they should, and of course being a most wonderful eye candy to anyone who passed by their way, though they never saw a large plant quite like that one ever again. The following morning, as usual Dawn arose, and woke up the sleeping beauties. His mouth was wide as a yawning chasm, his face in terrible anguish, and his colour, deathly pale, like he himself was on the brink of death. Overcome with the sight, all the Fuchsia's dropped their dews, their petals dropped low, and they shuddered and shook, waiting for as it were, some cataclysmic event. Then it happened! An immense blast of light blinded them, as though the entire heavens had unleashed a punishment, that they knew nothing of. Reason and sense left all, and they stood silently still, with bowed heads, petals drooping nearly to the ground, their upright trunks weakening, till they leaned over, nearly touching the earth below. The shock of this sudden immense, bright white light was too much, and they surrendered to it's verocity, laying upon the dew laden grass below, feeling their entire beings beginning to shrivel up inside. They suffocated and died, right there amid the terror stricken tall tree's who were suffering with scorching, some afire, yet the sun had not even graced them with his presence. What had happened? What had destroyed the peace, the beauty, the tranquility of their world! Those who remained asked the question, and enquired amongst the tree's who had survived, speaking in hushed tones for fear of another onslaught. Dawn was never the same to them, and each morning they needed reassurance from generation to generation, as the story was handed down to each new plant and it's seed in turn. All Mother Nature spoke of this, and to this day it has never left the lips of all plants in gardens everywhere, especially where Fuchsia lived, for they were the one's who felt the worst impact. They knew they never wanted to see such a terrible light again, or feel the overpowering illness that followed. As time went on, stories of such an event filtered back to the Fuchsia Garden, that other notable plants and creatures in other far away places had suffered the same fate. Nature had lost something, and this loss it seemed was forever! Dubious is the Dawn, just ask the Fuchsia's, ask the Grass blades, and talk to the tall tree's, dubious, wondering if ... As for Dew drop, he never lost that feeling of guilt, and forever blamed the catastrophe upon himself...though he was indeed as innocent as the Morning Dew!! Ch'erie de Perrot ©Copyright 2009 CAL Copyright Australia Ltd All Rights Reserved   Ch’erie de Perrot’s Poetry Page Website Home Page