sad pickles, perhaps even less.
*
Dinner was the same as the night before. It was only our second night together, but I got the impression that Fanny Fod could only make one thing. Granted, pancakes and maple beer were the best things ever. Even so, I wondered how long it would be before I would tire of the monotony. The best things must get old at some point. I might even start craving brine chowder, for the sole sake of variation.
It was weird. We were totally meant for each other and we'd had such a great time last night, but neither of us seemed to feel much like being around each other right now. A nervous energy charged the air. It was apparent that we both had things to say to each other.
"You haven't touched your pancakes," I said.
"I feel full."
"How's the Cuddlywumpus?"
"You know that no one can ever find out about the Cuddlywumpus, right?" she said.
I shrugged innocently. "The cuddly what? You mean the Nothing in the dungeon?"
She smiled.
"I'm serious," she said.
"So how's the Cuddlywumpus?"
"Why are you so interested in the Cuddlywumpus?"
"Because I want to know this thing you love. I want to turn your love for the Cuddlywumpus inside out."
"I can't do this."
"Do what?"
"You were in the dungeon," she said. "While I was gone, you went down in the dungeon to see the Cuddlywumpus despite me specifically telling you not to do that. I told you that you were free to roam, but that if you cracked open the dungeon door even the slightest crack, you would not be welcome here. I threatened to kick you out. And you went and opened that door. You opened that door and you infected the Cuddlywumpus with your . . . well, you infected the Cuddlywumpus with yourself. So now I can't trust you in my castle."
I wanted to demand answers of my own. What was she doing keeping the poor thing locked up, milking it for all it was worth? Couldn't she at least provide the Cuddlywumpus a sunny room higher in the castle? But I was in no position to question her. She'd brought up her grievances first. Besides, this was her castle. Also, this was Pancake Island, not Pickled Planet. Arguing was probably taboo.
"Can you explain yourself?" she said.
I was festering. All my life, pickles had demanded explanations from me for the things I did. It was dangerous to try to explain what shouldn't be. It was better to be silent and let them think what they wanted.
"Well?" she said.
"Can we enjoy our dinner and talk afterward?" I said.
She lowered her head and picked up her glass and concerned herself with the beer. I took that as an affirmative. I had time to let my disjointed thoughts coagulate. Meanwhile, I turned my body over to my taste buds and gorged myself on pancakes and beer.
After dinner, Fanny and I went straight to bed. She did not check up on the Cuddlywumpus. She did not even speak its name. Fanny walked up the stairs in front of me, but I crawled into the big bed first. Like the night before, we gravitated toward the center. We wrapped our arms around each other. We wrapped our legs together. We could not have possibly been any closer. It was another greatest moment for me, but I felt that maybe it was not as great for her. Between the time I awoke and the time I noticed Fanny standing over me on the roof, something had changed. We were no longer the same pickle and pancake we had been the night before.
"I can't do this," she whispered.
She drifted off in my arms. No goodnight, no peanut butter kiss.
I fell into a dream about the faces. They tried to smother the zucchini castle. You will succeed, I said to them in the dream. You evil ones will succeed.
I did not want it to be true. I did not want the evil faces to succeed, because if they ever smothered me in my dreams, I would be lost forever. And now I had more than a dream to lose. I had Fanny Fod.
THE PICKLED APOCALYPSE
I awoke in shambles.
Fanny Fod writhed on the floor in a tangle of crepe blankets. Her blueberry eyes wobbled in their sockets. She
*
Dinner was the same as the night before. It was only our second night together, but I got the impression that Fanny Fod could only make one thing. Granted, pancakes and maple beer were the best things ever. Even so, I wondered how long it would be before I would tire of the monotony. The best things must get old at some point. I might even start craving brine chowder, for the sole sake of variation.
It was weird. We were totally meant for each other and we'd had such a great time last night, but neither of us seemed to feel much like being around each other right now. A nervous energy charged the air. It was apparent that we both had things to say to each other.
"You haven't touched your pancakes," I said.
"I feel full."
"How's the Cuddlywumpus?"
"You know that no one can ever find out about the Cuddlywumpus, right?" she said.
I shrugged innocently. "The cuddly what? You mean the Nothing in the dungeon?"
She smiled.
"I'm serious," she said.
"So how's the Cuddlywumpus?"
"Why are you so interested in the Cuddlywumpus?"
"Because I want to know this thing you love. I want to turn your love for the Cuddlywumpus inside out."
"I can't do this."
"Do what?"
"You were in the dungeon," she said. "While I was gone, you went down in the dungeon to see the Cuddlywumpus despite me specifically telling you not to do that. I told you that you were free to roam, but that if you cracked open the dungeon door even the slightest crack, you would not be welcome here. I threatened to kick you out. And you went and opened that door. You opened that door and you infected the Cuddlywumpus with your . . . well, you infected the Cuddlywumpus with yourself. So now I can't trust you in my castle."
I wanted to demand answers of my own. What was she doing keeping the poor thing locked up, milking it for all it was worth? Couldn't she at least provide the Cuddlywumpus a sunny room higher in the castle? But I was in no position to question her. She'd brought up her grievances first. Besides, this was her castle. Also, this was Pancake Island, not Pickled Planet. Arguing was probably taboo.
"Can you explain yourself?" she said.
I was festering. All my life, pickles had demanded explanations from me for the things I did. It was dangerous to try to explain what shouldn't be. It was better to be silent and let them think what they wanted.
"Well?" she said.
"Can we enjoy our dinner and talk afterward?" I said.
She lowered her head and picked up her glass and concerned herself with the beer. I took that as an affirmative. I had time to let my disjointed thoughts coagulate. Meanwhile, I turned my body over to my taste buds and gorged myself on pancakes and beer.
After dinner, Fanny and I went straight to bed. She did not check up on the Cuddlywumpus. She did not even speak its name. Fanny walked up the stairs in front of me, but I crawled into the big bed first. Like the night before, we gravitated toward the center. We wrapped our arms around each other. We wrapped our legs together. We could not have possibly been any closer. It was another greatest moment for me, but I felt that maybe it was not as great for her. Between the time I awoke and the time I noticed Fanny standing over me on the roof, something had changed. We were no longer the same pickle and pancake we had been the night before.
"I can't do this," she whispered.
She drifted off in my arms. No goodnight, no peanut butter kiss.
I fell into a dream about the faces. They tried to smother the zucchini castle. You will succeed, I said to them in the dream. You evil ones will succeed.
I did not want it to be true. I did not want the evil faces to succeed, because if they ever smothered me in my dreams, I would be lost forever. And now I had more than a dream to lose. I had Fanny Fod.
THE PICKLED APOCALYPSE
I awoke in shambles.
Fanny Fod writhed on the floor in a tangle of crepe blankets. Her blueberry eyes wobbled in their sockets. She
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