Whew, it’s been busy. Sorry that I haven’t been posting much in the last couple weeks, but as finals are coming up, I’ve had several important priorities to divert my attention. That said, I’m back, and I hope you enjoy this story!
No one saw it coming. In fact, it’s rather unlikely that anyone could have seen it coming. No one expects the world to end the way it did. Well, except for Ulhart the Utterly and Certifiably Crazy-Insane. We only found out too late how true his predictions about the Apocalypse were. But perhaps you could forgive them: after all, contradictory prophesies about a green chicken epidemic and and invasion of mauve elk are pretty unbelievable.
The transformations began about three months ago, as the winter snow melted to reveal growing grass. A farmer would be in his barn, feeding the chickens, turn his back, and Wham! – one had turned green. The next day, it would be two more. Soon, there were enough of them that they began to get vicious. They’d attack the farmers, villagers, anyone who got in their way, and then drink their blood. We’re still not entirely sure why they did this, but we suspect it had something to do with red being the opposite of green.
Anyway, after about a month of this, the king of the land summoned me and a few other random adventuring mercenaries to his throne room.
“As you are well aware,” he said gravely. “ Ulhart the Utterly and Certifiably Crazy-Insane was perhaps not so utterly and certifiably crazy-insane. In fact, he was right.”
“About the chickens, or the elks?” asked one of the less current of my new party members.
“The chickens,” answered the king. “Anyway, they’re terrorizing the countryside. If you don’t do something, we may indeed have an Apocalypse on our hands. The chickens have taken down all the farmers and everything having to do with the color red, and the army was no use against their green fury. You are our last hope.”
So we sat together and pondered: just how does one defeat an army of chickens, where even a conventional human army had failed? After a day of thinking, one thing was for certain: conventional tactics would be of no use in this situation. So what could we do that would be outside of the metaphoric box? After another day, I had it.
“I have it!” I exclaimed. “Chickens can’t fly – we just need them to jump off a cliff!”
“Great,” replied one of my companions. “But which one? And how would we entice them into such a foolish action?”
“The Great Gorge. We’ll put a tower in the middle, and paint it red.”
So we went to the Great Gorge and constructed this red tower. Over the month that it took to build, we built with all the haste we could muster – every time we looked on the horizon, we could see pillars of smoke as the chickens conquered city after city.
But then our work was done. Now, the chickens didn’t come after it immediately – how could they know about it? So we spent the third month traveling all over the country, looking for the chicken armies and baiting them toward the tower. And it worked. They followed us, all the way to the tower…and into the gorge, where they died.
Thus the kingdom was saved, but only just. After all, all the farmers were dead, and everything with the color red (well, almost everything) had been destroyed. Cities were burned to the ground, and it was with gravity that we celebrated our Pyrrhic triumph on ruins of what had once been lively cities. But at least we knew that, if we could conquer the chickens, we could very well beat anything else that came our way, and we could survive the next few hard years.
And then the mauve elk arrived.