my spirits. Its sheer loveliness seemed to restore my faith that everything in Creation had a purpose. I went to pat it on the head, but just as my hand reached out to smooth its tousled blond forelock, the Unicorn snapped at my hand with surprising venom.
I was so shocked that I stumbled backward, tripped, and crashed into a tree. Steadying myself on the tree’s thick trunk, I noticed that it was shuddering all the way up its huge height. Suddenly a threatening, groaning sound emanated from deep within it, transfixing both the Unicorn and me. A laminated tag fluttered to the ground. I picked it up. It read TREE OF MISHAP. I looked at the Unicorn. It was ambling toward me. It seemed to be smiling in a rather sinister fashion, its surprisingly sharp white teeth glistening in its mouth. I felt inexplicably nervous. I heard a snap from far above me in the tree and a hard fruit, the size of a boulder, plummeted down onto the Unicorn’s head. There was a loud crack.
Well, I couldn’t help but laugh. The moment reminded me of Uncle Hiniel’s Tuesday night skull-crushing sessions in Hell. However, unlike the tortured imps, the Unicorn did not get up and stagger around comically with a completely flat head. Instead, after a few less than droll convulsions, it lay completely still, its legs splayed out beneath it, its tongue lolling out of its mouth, and a dark, viscous liquid oozing from one of its ears. I shouted to it, but got no response.
It was at that precise moment, as my words faded into the air, that I suddenly felt irresistibly drawn toward the Unicorn, like an iron filing is drawn toward a magnet. It was a compulsion like I had never felt before, but it felt natural. Before I even knew what I was doing, I found myself leaning over the Unicorn’s body. My hand was reaching toward its chest, being drawn closer and closer, when I heard an irritated voice say, “Well, that’s just great, isn’t it?”
Unicorns: Unifriendly.
The spell was broken. I looked around me to see whether the Tree of Sarcasm was anywhere nearby, but the voice seemed to be coming from the Unicorn itself.
“Pardon?” I ventured.
“I said that’s just fucking marvelous,” repeated the voice, louder now. It was definitely coming from the Unicorn, but its mouth wasn’t moving.
“Hello?” I proffered.
“Oh! A ‘hello’! That’s what I get, is it, after crushing my skull in with a bloody great fruit.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. The Unicorn was still not moving, but the voice was getting louder and louder.
“Oh, you’re sorry, are you? You’re sorry! Well, doesn’t that make everything better! I’m sorry too. Sorry I ever laid eyes on you!”
The dark liquid continued to spill out of the Unicorn’s ear. It was so dark and rich, it transfixed me.
“What happened?” I asked. I had never seen anything like it before.
“You’ve only gone and killed me.”
The word “kill” sent a flush of excitement coursing through my body.
“I’ve what?”
“You’ve killed me, you prick! I’ve died, I’m dead, passed away, terminated. I am an ex-Unicorn and you’re the reason why, you nonce!”
There it was again. The word “die.” So this is what God had been talking about with Adam and Eve. I felt warm and fuzzy inside.
“Oh,” I said, spinning in the enormity of my discovery. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Oh no, thank you very much. You’ve done quite enough already.”
“Has this ever happened to you before?” I ventured.
“No, you fucking idiot,” replied the Unicorn. “It’s never happened to anyone before.”
And he was right. At this early stage of Creation nothing had died—not a fallen angel, not a blade of grass—everything was bright and shiny and new.
“Well,” I said, vainly trying to placate the creature, “at least you’re the first.” The Unicorn mulled this over.
“Yes, I suppose that’s some consolation. I’ll probably get in the record books, won’t I?
I was so shocked that I stumbled backward, tripped, and crashed into a tree. Steadying myself on the tree’s thick trunk, I noticed that it was shuddering all the way up its huge height. Suddenly a threatening, groaning sound emanated from deep within it, transfixing both the Unicorn and me. A laminated tag fluttered to the ground. I picked it up. It read TREE OF MISHAP. I looked at the Unicorn. It was ambling toward me. It seemed to be smiling in a rather sinister fashion, its surprisingly sharp white teeth glistening in its mouth. I felt inexplicably nervous. I heard a snap from far above me in the tree and a hard fruit, the size of a boulder, plummeted down onto the Unicorn’s head. There was a loud crack.
Well, I couldn’t help but laugh. The moment reminded me of Uncle Hiniel’s Tuesday night skull-crushing sessions in Hell. However, unlike the tortured imps, the Unicorn did not get up and stagger around comically with a completely flat head. Instead, after a few less than droll convulsions, it lay completely still, its legs splayed out beneath it, its tongue lolling out of its mouth, and a dark, viscous liquid oozing from one of its ears. I shouted to it, but got no response.
It was at that precise moment, as my words faded into the air, that I suddenly felt irresistibly drawn toward the Unicorn, like an iron filing is drawn toward a magnet. It was a compulsion like I had never felt before, but it felt natural. Before I even knew what I was doing, I found myself leaning over the Unicorn’s body. My hand was reaching toward its chest, being drawn closer and closer, when I heard an irritated voice say, “Well, that’s just great, isn’t it?”
Unicorns: Unifriendly.
The spell was broken. I looked around me to see whether the Tree of Sarcasm was anywhere nearby, but the voice seemed to be coming from the Unicorn itself.
“Pardon?” I ventured.
“I said that’s just fucking marvelous,” repeated the voice, louder now. It was definitely coming from the Unicorn, but its mouth wasn’t moving.
“Hello?” I proffered.
“Oh! A ‘hello’! That’s what I get, is it, after crushing my skull in with a bloody great fruit.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. The Unicorn was still not moving, but the voice was getting louder and louder.
“Oh, you’re sorry, are you? You’re sorry! Well, doesn’t that make everything better! I’m sorry too. Sorry I ever laid eyes on you!”
The dark liquid continued to spill out of the Unicorn’s ear. It was so dark and rich, it transfixed me.
“What happened?” I asked. I had never seen anything like it before.
“You’ve only gone and killed me.”
The word “kill” sent a flush of excitement coursing through my body.
“I’ve what?”
“You’ve killed me, you prick! I’ve died, I’m dead, passed away, terminated. I am an ex-Unicorn and you’re the reason why, you nonce!”
There it was again. The word “die.” So this is what God had been talking about with Adam and Eve. I felt warm and fuzzy inside.
“Oh,” I said, spinning in the enormity of my discovery. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Oh no, thank you very much. You’ve done quite enough already.”
“Has this ever happened to you before?” I ventured.
“No, you fucking idiot,” replied the Unicorn. “It’s never happened to anyone before.”
And he was right. At this early stage of Creation nothing had died—not a fallen angel, not a blade of grass—everything was bright and shiny and new.
“Well,” I said, vainly trying to placate the creature, “at least you’re the first.” The Unicorn mulled this over.
“Yes, I suppose that’s some consolation. I’ll probably get in the record books, won’t I?