Thank you!

“You’re just a penguin, we don’t do flying,” said the elder.

What did he know. All that old rockbreeder ever did in his life was eat fish and caw. Rocket had dreams and ambitions. He had always been fascinated by that giant round egg in the sky and wondered what kind of penguin would emerge if only someone could reach and hatch it. He had asked his parents if anyone had ever tried and they told him to focus on diving lessons and eat enough fish to become a big and strong bird. Later, when Rocket was one of the better divers in his age group, he had told his peers about his dream to hatch the big egg in the sky. All they did was burst out in ridiculing cawing and they told him that he was of his rocker. However that did not deter Rocket from realizing his dream.

One day, during a particularly cold period, where the sea formed sheets of ice as far as the horizon, Rocket had found a cave made out of rotting wood. His parents had told him that these caves were made by naked monkeys, who inverted them to float all across the seas, for they were mediocre swimmers. In this cave he had found something odd. A collection of wet thin wooden sheets, bound together in something that looked like the skin of a really old walrus. The sheets had pictures of the giant egg in the sky and naked monkeys in a pod, connected to the longest piece of wood Rocket had ever seen. It was as long as all the penguins in his waddle if they would lay down head to tail. Rocket cawed at the image of that in his mind. Further pictures showed the pod slinging around the middle where the long piece of wood was secured. They looked to be going faster than Rocket could ever swim and he was the fastest swimmer that the elder said he had ever seen. When Rocket had reached the last picture, he found what he didn’t know he was looking for. The pod was send flying off into the sky right towards the giant egg. Left in awe, Rocket made sure that the pictures were imprinted into his little penguin brain. This was how he would get to the sky egg and proof his waddle wrong.

Rocket had been collecting wood for over three breeding seasons. Mostly from more of those wooden caves that would strand in the ice once in a while. Or the remains of those caves on the bottom of the sea, when he had time to collect it when the others were busy fishing. He’d spend countless nights connecting all the pieces, assisted by the light cast onto him by the egg in the sky. As if it knew that it would finally be hatched if Rocket could get this thing to work. When he had finally finished the pod and constructed everything outside on a remote and desolated stretch of ice, he was confident enough to tell the others.

“What do you mean, you’ll fly and proof us wrong?” asked his mother.

“Don’t entertain him, honey. He should focus on getting a partner and breed his own nestlings.” said his dad.

“But you don’t get it. I know it’s going to work!” yelled Rocket.

His dad looked at him with a worried expression. He knew his dad would understand, if only he saw it for himself. His dad had been considered a dreamer once. That was until the previous elder had humiliated him in front of the rest of the waddle. From then on his dad had been an exemplary penguin who never faltered in his duties. Sometimes, late at nigh, he would speak about his dreams to Rocket, while looking at the sky egg and in those moments Rocket could hear the sadness in his fathers voice.

“Dad. Just invite everyone to watch. If it fails, I’ll give up and find a partner and I’ll even double my fishing duties for the rest of the waddle. Just give me this one chance, to proof that it can be done!” pleaded Rocket.

“Fine. I’ll ask around, but don’t expect too much. I’m only doing this because you’re my son. Not because I believe in all this flying nonsense.” said his dad.

Rocket knew that that was a lie. His father did believe in him, he could feel it.

It was actually sunny, the day that almost everyone had gathered to see Rocket do the impossible. This made it all the more easy for Rocket because the slightly melted ice would accelerate his pod even better. When he waddled in front of the gathering he gestured everyone to be quiet with his flippers and as the cacophony died down it was time for the last piece of the puzzle.

Rocket walked up a hill some way from the place where he had secured his device. At the top of the hill, he had rolled and secured a giant boulder. It had taken him ages to get the thing up there and more than once it had rolled down that same hill and almost squashed Rockets dream there and then. Eventually he had secured it in place with a piece of wood that was left over from his apparatus. With a deep breath Rocket looked toward the horizon and lifted his gaze up to where the giant egg in the sky was faintly visible. With a jump on the piece of wood, the rock came down and crushed the ice below with loud noise and a splash of seawater from underneath almost reached the waddle that had followed his actions with amusement and scepticism. After the wave retreated back into the sea, a giant piece of ice stuck out sharply into the sky. This would serve as the ramp that would launch Rocket into space.

Rocket bowed before his audience and even though he was met with the familiar ridiculing cawing as before he thanked everyone for coming. He turned around and walked towards the pod. He opened the hatch that would give him entry inside and sat down on the makeshift cushion he fashioned from fluffs of baby seal fur he had found while building. He closed the hatch and pushed the button that would start the spinning.

The wood creaked ominously when the device started moving and the crowd had moved from cawing loudly to quiet whispers as they watched with confusion. With each rotation the apparatus moved faster and in no time the pod carrying Rocket was moving to fast that it was hard to keep track with your eyes. Rocket was pressed hard into the back of his seat and he had to push down the nausea, as vomiting while taking flight wouldn’t be a great look for a new-born hero. The story everyone would tell to their nestlings would be one of heroism and determination, not one of vomit and laughter.

When the pod was rotating so fast that Rocket could see nothing but a blend white and the occasional black he knew it was time to launch. He pulled the lever and the pod was catapulted with a speed that no penguin had ever witnessed. The pod barrelled towards the ice ramp and as it slid down the slick white surface, Rocket made one last salute to his fellow penguin-kind. The pod shot off the ramp into space, starting its travel towards the big white egg in the sky and as his waddle watched him fly, Rocket knew that he had accomplished his dream and with that last fleeting thought he slid into a satisfying slumber.

Yes. Thank you for the nice words and observation.

Hehe, made me chuckle. Loved it!

DAY 1

We’ve managed to capture the target according to plan. Initially he seemed terrified of the prospect of being captured. However, since we’ve put him down into the sensory deprivation chamber, the target seems to have gone quiet. Usually they scream and beg for at least 24 hours, but the target might have slipped into a state of hopelessness already. Nonetheless we’ll have to keep taps on him, to make sure that the intended goal is accomplished as set by our benefactors.

DAY 4

The target seems largely unresponsive. Only interaction occurs when we bring him food twice a day. Target seems to have adapted a strategy of total compliance. There is an uncharacteristic absence of pleading or defiance. There are no signs of mental degradation yet, but it’s admittedly hard to assess properly because of the unorthodox response by the subject. For now things can progress as scheduled.

DAY 7

The target showed first signs of hostility. When the target was lifted outside of the deprivation chamber for a full assessment the response was aggressive. This response is according to expectations, yet I can’t shake the feeling that the subject was more annoyed by the fact that we seemed to be interrupting, rather than the predicament he finds himself in. Subject showed no signs of physical or mental decline. He seems to have an extraordinarily strong disposition compared to previous subjects.

DAY 12

There seems to be no change in the mental well being of the subject. By now all previous subjects showed severe psychological regression and physical decline. Yet this one seems to be as fit and capable as day one, if not more so. Outward appearance seems peaceful and relaxed, rather than any signs of distress. Subject seems grateful for the sustenance if provided, but does otherwise no interact with any of our staff.

DAY 20

We’ve held a crisis meeting with our department of experimental psychology, staff and representatives of our stakeholders. The subject still shows no signs of mental decline. This is far outside of the scope of expectations and poses an enigma for our team. Benefactors originally expected final results by this time and while we’ve managed to negotiate a longer scope for now, they’re not happy with our progress. Pressure is building within all departments of our operations. We cannot fail.

DAY 34

It’s been over a month. Subject seems unaffected still. Some of our staff handed in their resignations as there seems to be an increased mental toll to those that interact with the subject on a daily basis. The subject expresses gratitude and happiness and while this could be signs of psychological regression, there is severe doubt amongst our team that that is the case. If someone asked my honest opinion on the matter, I’d dare to say that the subject is experiencing tranquillity on a level rarely seen in ordinary society.

DAY 50

Most of our team has been let go. Benefactors have largely retracted financial backing and we’re posed with a dilemma. Some of our psychological experts are fascinated and want to go on studying the subject. Others feel it’s time to move on and clean up. We’ve discussed the possible discontinuation of our experiment logistically with the remaining staff. They expressed a vehement reluctance to cause any harm or distress to our subject. A bond seems to have been developed between those that interact with him on a regular basis, even though the test subject rarely interacts with his captors.

DAY 100

There are only 4 of us left. Experiment has been deemed a failure. Test subject can be considered unaffected both mentally and physically. Some of his handlers have actually joined him in the deprivation chamber. They also seem unaffected and largely at peace. Subject initially was happy to share his food with the newly joined. After interference of union lawyers we were forced to provide separate food packages to the former handlers as well. George, the only psychologist left has been having nightmares about the experiment. He describes vivid hellscapes full of tranquil people judging him.

DAY 250

I write this in my momentary reprieve from daydreaming meditation. We were wrong. I have never felt such bliss and revelation. Joining the others as late as I did was a mistake. This is what it means to be human. Food is now provided by the organization that took over operations, in search of true liberation for humanity. New acolytes join us daily now.

Both rats and pidgeons aren't more dirty or disease ridden that other wild animals. Rats are actually really good at keeping themselves clean.

Both animals are however adapted to human civilisation and present in large numbers. This causes more contact between these animals and humans and thus many more instances in which disease can spread.

Thank you! It was a great exercise to keep it really small, but still tell a story. Really enjoyed the prompt!

He felt a tingle on his cheek, where the wisp of wind touched aging skin. Breathing in deep smells of fresh cut grass and blooming roses, life wasn’t all that bad. He rubbed his thighs with his hands to stem the slight ache of walking that accompanied him everywhere nowadays. Oh how he remembered the days where he could walk for hours on end without tiring. Aging wasn’t the struggle people made it out to be. You just had to pace yourself a little more. Sitting here on this bench in the park, under the budding branches of the birch trees was true bliss.

Next to him sat a young man, visibly exhausted. Not in a physical way, that made you catch your breath, but emotionally. The deep rims under his eyes spoke of hard times. The boy didn’t speak, or even acknowledged that he shared the bench, but he didn’t need to. Benches were made for two people, so two people sat on it side by side. He was curious about the life the young man lived. Whether he enjoyed the youth that was only given to him briefly. Did he go to school or had he found a job early in life? Maybe the boy didn’t have a job, a home even. Could the lad be homeless? That would explain the periwinkle stained bags under his eyes and his frail posture. Must be hard not having a safe place to sleep, having to struggle each day for food and water. Maybe he wasn’t homeless. He could’ve recently be confronted by the many other ills life throws at you. A break up or the death of someone close. He had forgotten that despite being contend with life at the end of it, it hadn’t always been this way. He too had known tough times. The visible strain on ones face wasn’t unfamiliar.

Maybe there was something he could do to lift the weight of struggle ever so slightly for this downtrodden youth. He took in the panorama of a park at early spring. Wind making trees wave at one another. Birds chirping and hopping from one spot to the other. People walking their dogs and talking to each other.

There! Under that old sturdy oak tree. A cart with wafts of smoke rising. The smell of freshly grilled sausages lifted by the currents of air until it reached his aging nose. He could hear the growling that betrayed the hunger of the human being next to him. He must have smelled the same smells. Oh how he remembered the torturous feeling of an empty stomach betrayed by scents without sustenance. He slowly raised his protesting body from the bench, his popping joints betraying his age to the world. If the young man next to him had noticed, he kept that fact to himself as he kept his eyes staring to whatever was in front of him.

He had reached the cart and found himself lucky with the absence of a queue. With clear and precise language he ordered two sausages on a bun and dropped the coins as payment in the salesman's hand. With both hands occupied he slowly made his way back to the bench, feet slightly scuffing over the path he walked.

Arriving at the bench sitting down was trickier than usual. Keeping his balance took more effort now that his muscles strained ever more. With slightly more force than anticipated he sat his aching body down on the creaking planks. Catching a few audibly breaths he took the bun in his right hand and put it out in front of the young man. The boy tilted his head and met his eyes. He nodded and the fellow grabbed the sausage bun with both hands and fervent eager.

On a quiet noon in early spring two men sat next to each other sharing food on a park bench under budding birch trees. Not a word was spoken, but within the silence a friendship bloomed out of compassion and gratitude between young and old.

Timor stood at the edge of the balustrade, watching over the spectacle below. His arms trembling from fingertips up to his elbows. It wasn’t out of his own volition that he was present at one of the most violent scenes his fearful mind couldn’t have imagined. Even his worst nightmares paled in comparison to the dread that he currently experienced. It would be an understatement to say that Timor would like to be anywhere but here right now.

“Come on, Timor!” said a high pitched voice originating from a translucent blue whimsical creature that perched itself on his shoulder. “It’s now or never.”

The creature didn’t seem too bothered by the brutal onslaught in front of them. It was more preoccupied by Timor’s supposed destiny and whatnot. Never bothered asking what Timor’s input was on that destiny. If it was up to Timor, destiny could kindly fuck off and he would be having a nice cup of tea with a biscuit, somewhere in a tranquil, quiet and most of all peaceful forest, far from the nearest human congregation. Alas, Timor was born with generational magical powers that played a key part in some prophecy that fate had in tow for the kingdom he was – without his consent – birthed in. Thus his job was to cease all fighting below, or his homeland was doomed. He didn’t exactly know all the ins and outs of this war. All he knew was that some far away place dropped off an army on the doorstep through a series of magical portals. The king had mustered an army of his own and currently they were stuck in a stalemate of sorts, but since the villains of the story could decide to reinforce their army at any point in time of their choosing, it was up to Timor to tip the scales.

“I know you can do it, Timor.” the apparition whispered in his ear.

“I don’t.” Timor replied. “I wouldn’t be too opposed to just have this play out and take my chances with a new overlord."

”Don’t be daft you idiot!” The voice suddenly taking on a more aggressive tone.

“Fine!” Timor said as he let out a deep breath.

Timor let go of the timber in front of him and took a few deep breaths to calm his fear and focus his mind. I just have to do this and then I can be back home by supper, he thought.

He raised his arms up high and started to chant a whole string of words that he had memorized under the tutelage of some old man that he was introduced to as part of his training. Above the battlefield large tears started forming in the fabric of the atmosphere. Behind them an endless sea of dark red that cast an ominous glow down on the fighting masses. For those with sharp ears a distant rumble could be heard, for those with less sharp ears it took a few seconds to pick up on the increase in rumbling that now transformed in more of a heavy tremor that was inescapable. Maybe even the deaf could feel it. Through the crimson holes came down massive meteors, each the size of a tavern. With large tails of roaring fire they dropped on the armies below. Not a single living being stood a chance as they were devoured by rock and fire, leaving massive craters in their wake.

“Can I now get my cup of tea?” Timor asked, while dusting himself off.

The fairy just looked at him dumbfounded and did not respond.

Stomach acid and your own digestive enzymes break down the bromelain (the pineapple enzyme).

You know how your saliva has enzymes that help break down foodstuff? So does pineapple. While you're breaking down the pineapple a bit with your enzymes, the pineapple is doing the same to your tongue. That's what makes it tingle.