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hanadolphieron · 3 years

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WE HIT 200 EVERYBODY!!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!!! I LOVE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!!!!!

and you guys know what i promised whenever i reached this milestone...

MY EIGHTH GRADE STORY ABOUT A MONGOOSE!

it’s not 2.6k words what are you talking about

@sarahbkwl i know you’ll love this and @kaepopsicle i think you will too <3

The Demonic Mongoose of the Wild West

Bert the Bird, the demonic mongoose of the Wild West, roamed through the underbrush, searching for ants to eat. A tumbleweed ran across the bland terrain, hit Bert up the side of the head, and sent him flying. After a few long seconds, Bert slapped the ground with a resounding squeal. A big thwack echoed across the desert. A frog ribbeted. Bert sneezed.

Unfazed, Bert continued his search for ants. He sniffled and snuffled along the ground, dancing to a nonexistent tune. His overly small paws bounced in rhythm, doing kicks so high they would give the Rockettes a run for their money. A few stumbles added variety to the dance. Completely calculated, I assure you.

After a while, Bert forgot what he was doing and decided to head into town. The ants were spared another day. The saloon was not. Bert the Bird threw his whole body weight into the doors of the tavern, a meager attempt at forcing them open. The doors unsurprisingly didn’t budge, as the demonic mongoose only weighs half a gallon. Luckily, a cowboy-hatted, blue-jeaned, spur-wearing, collared-shirted and dusty faced yeehaw man came strutting through the doors.

Bert the Bird took his chance and scrambled after the male yeehaw. He stopped, waiting for the perfect time to reveal his identity. Everyone in the saloon was peacefully (except for the two hoodlums brawling in the corner) engulfing liquid bread.

Letting out an astounding yowl, Bert the Bird silenced the room. Heads turned, watching as Bert stood there, threatening them with his not-so-mere existence.

“Is it really him?”

“Don’t shoot- I got two kids!”

“Big Ol’ Bert Bird!”

“It’s the demonic mongoose!”

Whispers, gasps, yells, and one nervous bark filled the room. The mongoose smirked to himself.

Bert mobilized. Moving south, the mongoose headed towards the snake in the corner. His reptilian lawyer, who was currently playing cards with a yeehaw female, hissed in greeting.

Bert squeaked out a snarl. The room gasped as he continued advancing towards the vertebrate.

“Where are your federal income taxes, Bert?” the snake wheezed (she’s old.)

“Don’t have job,” Bert replies, edging closer.

“Oh yes you do, you’re tasked with eliminating my kin, aren’t you?”

“Huh.”

Desktop App (the snake) sighs. Bert remains confused at the word choice beyond his vocabulary (he barely managed to graduate Childhood.)

“You,” she motioned to Bert, “Fight,” she imitated punching using her tail, “Snake,” she slithers.

“No.”

“Bert, fighting snakes is your entire livelihood, you can’t deny it.”

“No!” yells Bert, as he jumps in for the kill, attacking Desktop App’s neck. He misses and consumes a mouthful of table leg.

Desktop App lunges for Bert but doesn’t manage to take a chunk out of his arm as intended.

Instead, she falls to the floor as Bert stumbles out of the way on accident after his head h hit the table and he careened into the floorboards, away from Desktop App.

Hissing, the reptile flops back around to face the mongoose, but Bert is already gone. He has seemingly vanished, but if you had looked closer, you would have seen a small, fluffy tail disappearing around the corner.

Panting, Bert bounds across the rough terrain. His stubby legs aren’t used to moving at such accelerated speeds, and collapse after a few minutes. However, he’s far enough away from the town that he can’t see the outline of it. Belly heaving on the floor, limbs splayed out around him, head resting on the ground- Bert takes a cat nap.

He wakes up three hours later. Squeaking and jumping up, Bert continues to run. He has no idea what he’s doing or what he’s escaping, but he vaguely remembers that something dangerous was about to happen. To let loose his panic, the poor mongoose screams repetitively.

The surrounding life forms are irritated by such disturbance and one decides to stop him.

Eduardo, The Valiant Frog of the Wild West, stands in front of Bert as the mongoose propels towards him. Bert shows no sign of stopping, because when he sees an obstacle, he gets scared, and his first reaction is to run, which involves speeding towards the obstacle at Mongoose Mach I.

However, Eduardo stands his ground. Suddenly, Bert stops, sniffing the air. Frog. Leaning closer, he gets close to Eduardo. “Frog,” he says.

Eduardo stares. “Is that all you have to say, young mammal?”

Bert The Bird says nothing.

“I have heard you are seeking sanctuary from the snakes. You will find none until you banish them all from these lands. Otherwise, they will always be lurking, slithering under your feet, watching you.”

Bert hiccups, and lets out another scream. He clumsily poises to run again, but Eduardo yells out, “Stop!”

Bert does exactly that and lays down on the ground. Eduardo shakes his head. “This is hopeless,” he mutters.

“Go north,” Eduardo says slowly.

“Who?” Bert asks.

“North is not a life form, it’s the direction you are facing right now,” Eduardo points his walking stick to help Bert understand, “The snakes’ base is there. It’s hard to miss. Go find it and save us all!”

Bert squawks and starts bouncing north like a kangaroo. Shaking his head, Eduardo retreats to his spot under the sand.

After a while, Bert sees a structure like a laboratory, and stops. Settling down near the side of it, the mongoose burrows into the sand. It’s nice and shady next to the metal wall with a snake drawn on it, and it’s even out of the sun! A perfect place to spend the night. He curls up, wraps his tail around his small body, closes his eyes, and drifts off to sleep.

He awakens fifteen hours later, yawns, and stretches, gripping the ground with his claws. But, instead of the ground, he feels something slimy and scaly. Too frightened to utter a sound, Bert the Bird lets go of the thing, then grabs it again. This time, he adds more force and crushes it. It makes no noise. Bert sniffs it. Danger.

Bert slowly hightails it around the corner. He finds himself inside the structure. He sniffs again. The air tastes different. Spicier. Cautiously, he pads forward, tiny paws making no sound.

Hearing voices, he crouches low to the ground to camouflage himself. He doesn’t realize that the building is white-painted metal, and he is a furry brown mongoose. Bert slinks closer to the sound, not stopping. He wants to see who’s speaking.

Suddenly, the floor drops out from under him. Bert meows loudly, scared out of his mind. He plummets five feet, and lands in some dirt. The air is knocked out of his lungs, and Bert sits on his buttocks like a human, wheezing. Shaking his head like a wet dog, Bert stands up and observes his surroundings. He’s in a dark room with no light. So, he’s unable to see anything.

Snorting, Bert decides to use his other four senses to get a feel of where he is. Bert’s never been this resourceful before.

He pats around at the dirt under him and slowly moves forward. He immediately hits a wall. Snorting again in contempt, he turns around and is met with another obstacle. Snorting even louder, Bert jumps five feet in the air in dissatisfaction and blasts straight through the roof of the dark hole.

The surprise of his heroic and super-mongoose actions scares him, and Bert jumps again. However, this time he doesn’t snort. Mobilizing again, he trots down the hallway. The voices have stopped, but Bert hasn’t.

A crossroads appears in front of him. He keeps moving and hits the middle dividing wall face first. Startled, he blinks twice in a row. Turning around almost completely, he takes the left path. He sees a door on his right as he moves down the path, and Bert turns quickly to enter the room.

Four snakes stare at him. Bert recoils, barking at them. They seem unaffected by his terrifying show of terror and hiss at him, “Why are you here, mongoose?”

“Who?”

The snakes sigh.

“Where are your federal income taxes?” they inquire, just as Desktop App had. Bert doesn’t answer. “Bert, you have been in debt to us for years. Each time you fight us, we lose purposely so someday you will have to pay us back for all the victory we have given you.”

“I disagree.”

And with that, Bert runs away, hooning down the hall and bursting out the door. He feels different. His head feels heavier, less empty, like something’s in there. Brain cells, he thinks to himself! He’s finally found some! The chemicals in the snakes’ lair must have given him some.

The ground disappears under his paws as he runs ferociously towards town. He must inform them of the nonconsensual agreement between him and the snakes regarding debt. He doesn’t understand what federal income taxes have to do with it, so he decides to disregard those for now.

The low skyline appears on the horizon, but Bert has no energy left. Slowly, the mongoose begins to decrease speed until he drags himself to a stop. Being awake for three hours is too much for a mongoose. Bert falls asleep a mile out of town.

The next morning, Bert wakes up and sneezes forty-seven times. Immediately, despite the sleep in his eyes and mussed-up hair, the valiant mongoose bounds towards town, making it there within the span of ten minutes.

The people are hiding in their houses, frightened of poor, misunderstood Bert. He meows pathetically. Suddenly, his voice acts without him thinking about it, like he’s saying a prophecy. He says, “Humans! My name is Bert the Bird, The Demonic Mongoose of the Wild West! But I do not claim that title! I am just Bert!”

He pauses, waiting for an answer. Silence.

Bert continues, “I need your help. The snakes have tricked me. My past lack of brain cells made me victim to a devious scheme- each time I fought a snake, the reptile would lose purposely, consequently indebting me to them. I never consented to this agreement or trade! I need your help defeating these reptiles, as the ferocious mongoose you know as Bert the Bird is not me, and I am just a mere mammal. I do not seek revenge, just justice.”

Bert the Bird looks around, partly perturbed by his voice acting on its own, and partly to see if there were any takers to his courageous call.

A door creaked open. Bert looked hopefully towards it and saw a badger.

“BADGER!” He screeched. Perhaps not the wisest call, but it sufficed, as Badger came hurling out the door towards Bert. (in fear.)

However, once he saw the wide, hopeful smile spread across Bert’s face, all fear dissipated. A few other animals slowly left the security of their homes and Bert was soon surrounded by a kingdom of squawking, ribbeting, barking, meowing, mooing, squeaking, and aggressive flapping.

“We will help you!” a turkey said. Cornbread was his name.

“YEAHHHHHHH!” came an overly loud yell from a rare blue land shrimp. (Her entire body consists of a voice box supposedly; Bert had heard stories.)

Resounding expressions of agreement echoed throughout the square. “I am unendingly grateful for your assistance. Do we have any weaponry in this town?”

“Cabbage catapults,” growled an ostrich named Oallllyieee (exact spelling.) Bert could barely hear the baritone bird.

“Pitchforks!” squeaks a rare yellow land whale. (This is the Wild West we have some interesting species.)

No one else reported any items, so Bert assumed that cabbage catapults and pitchforks were the extent of their defense system.

“Let us prepare! Up and at ‘em!” Bert inspired, moving to go follow the animals as everyone streaked (not that kind of streaked) towards the barn located on the outskirts of Editing Reference File, the town.

Everyone grabbed pitchforks, except for the bears and tigers (and the cacophonous rare blue land shrimp) who prepared the cabbage catapults.

Lining up along the northern edge, all the animals positioned their attention on the outline of the snake structure at the top of the hill and waited.

Not for long though, as a thunderous kerplonking and whooshing resounds from the hill. Hundreds of slithering noodles rampage towards the rest of the Wild West’s animal kingdom, slapping their tails against the sand in an uncoordinated fashion. These reptiles don’t stand a chance.

“Catapults at the ready!” roars Bert. The tigers’ claws fortunately abstain from becoming stuck in the voluminous leaves of the green vegetable. One of the bears, however, is not so lucky and now has large, round, leafy hands. He uses this to his advantage and begins to beat up some slimy thugs.

“Fire!” Bert triumphantly yells once the snakes are in range. The cabbages hit the snakes dead-on, and an estimated sixty-three of them remain motionless. Not dead, just unconscious, as cabbages are not deadly projectiles no matter how hard you shoot them.

The snakes keep heading for the opposing army, and Bert screams, “Charge!”

Shrimps, buffalos, common loons, rhinos, tamarins, cows, and more trample two-hundred-sixty-four reptilian noodles. The head snako calls for a retreat. Bert’s militia hesitates, letting them fall back and re-group. Bert’s army is considerate, unlike the scaly, legless bodies.

Instead of asking for a surrender, the snakes turn around, screeching, and attack again. Bert charges at them. The chemicals in the snakes’ lair had not only given him knowledge, but also some speed.

Using his stout legs, Bert kicks those floppy worms out of the park! None of the snakes get even close to hurting Bert, he is just too fast. Cheering erupts from the Southern side. The North deflates and retreats again.

This time, only one fishy noodle comes back. He is wearing a lop-sided top hat and looks like a prestigious pirate.

Heaving, he goes up to Bert. Bert quirks up a hairy eyebrow.

“We surrender,” the sophisticated mustache-having snake breathes.

“I accept,” Bert responds, “But you must promise to leave the South alone. Stay back in the North with your failure of a capitalist economy.”

Johnny Smith, the snako, snarls but retreats, saying, “To the North!” His army dejectedly follows, slithering slowly. A cloud of dust appears and hides their retreat. Bert watches to make sure it was not a mask to hide a second attack. It was not. The sand settled, showing the snake structure’s door opening to let all the reptiles in.

The Southern crowd cheers. No one is hurt and all is well! Bert is named Bert The Bird the Speedy and Slick and is unanimously proclaimed sheriff of Editing Reference File. He is now free to live his life as he chooses, saving the world and making uplifting speeches to his fellow citizens.

Sometimes he struggles to feel satisfied with all the stress on his shoulders and misses his easy life back on the plains. He goes back sometimes and reminisces about the times where his head was empty, and a brain did not disrupt his inner peace.

But he remains in Editing Reference File as a hero (who can pay his federal income taxes.)

*The directions have nothing to do with the Civil War, my brother is paranoid and is making me put this here.

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