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Le Scorp! by Toujours Padfoot
Format: Short story
Chapter 5: This is the last chapter!
This is the first sentence of the last chapter!
I have dancing shoes. I own them on my hands and not my feet, because I use my feet to finger-paint. But neigh – I do not wish to discuss them. So I won’t! I will discuss something else instead! In the next paragraph!
Eggs are supposed to give energy. I know this because I read it before and the label was not science fiction, which I assume is the fiction that is science, because there is no such thing as science. If it were real, my eyes would be squares instead of cylinders, like the shape of the wind.
It has been many consecutive days and nights and more days and less nights because there are always more days than nights. I am told that I just do not know about the nights because when I sleep, they decide to present themselves, which I find offensive. I am a lady of the night, a man of the moon. Why dost thou dare to hide thine self from thee? Figurative yelling!
Now I am yelling out loud. It is decided. I decided it myself, which is usually how things happen. It is a process, but not chicken. There is no processed meat in Hogwarts or I would know about it. I have very dainty ears and they would have heard such things. Also my nose is dainty. It would have smelled it before my ears could hear it because my nose is farther away from my face than my ears. My eyes do not know anything. They are inside of my head most of the time.
“How dare you!” I yell. There. Now I am reality yelling.
This imbalance of night/day experience has caused me great woe. The trees lost their leaves and it was sadness, a nightmare that knows no physical boundaries, which is what Albus says to me when I want to breathe down his neck. I wander away like a confused newly-hatched duckling that was not born a duck, but became one through osmosis.
Trumpets are blaring. I imagine that in trumpet language, they are ordering me to stop yelling over them. I stand at the window and yell, anyway. You only are a trumpet, which rhymes with crumpet! Crumpets are tasty! You cannot control me, trumpet-that-rhymes-with-crumpet. You have no legs, and if you did, you would not have the kind of legs that would look good in high-heeled shoes. Someone has to hold you all the time in order for you to function. I do not take orders from instruments that are constantly snogging people to insure survival.
The trumpets are telling the seventh-years to leave. This is custard-dairy at Hogwarts, as the trumpets traditionally tell the seventh-years when to leave. I am slinking around like a fox at the window because I do not want to leave with them! There are things remnant to be learnt, to be boiled in cauldrons and then eaten later at evening-time when no one is looking. I point a conductor’s baton at the congraduating students but nothing happens. This is because I did not use my wand. My wand isn’t silver, which does not compliment my hair with beautiful haikus, so I ignore it.
Chocolate milk mustache on my face! I wipe it away! Chocolate milk mustache on my sleeve! Woe!
I am having a change of heart. I feel my heart changing, probably to an oval shape so as to make room for my various gallbladders. I have been inside of forms, the noun of this action being that I have been informed, that I have lots of gall. Theretofore, it is only a matter of time before the centaur finds out that I have been eating all of his mallowsweet, because it makes my gallbladders enlarge. The mallow is never sweet but I always hope it will be every time, because my mother calls me sweet and she never lies to me. She has a business relationship with Father Christmas and knows secrets about what makes footballs move so quickly. She will not share this mystery with me.
Hypocrite! I am supposed to share everything!
My narrator is currently engaging in the vanishing act of chocolate pancakes and she wants to inform my fans that they are delicious.
Scatter, trumpets! I detest you because I have not taken de test at the end of the year like I was supposed to, the one you are supposed to complete before the Sarah money. No one has congraduated me all day and it is not thoroughfare. I will not sit for this! Which explains why I am standing!
I jump out of the window. I am coming, fellow students!
I am digesting this morning’s eggs because they make me vivacious. My stomach has been saving them for this point, the point where my arms flap and my head looks at the ground which is getting much bigger than it was when I was looking at it from my window. Both of my shoes are gone.
I am looking for my shoes when I see my hair. I am still flying at this moment. My hair is falling around my face and the sun is shining through it, and it looks and smells like butter. I am making a mental note to thank my mother later, for visiting me during the months where powdered sugar was all over the grounds but always melted before I put it on my breakfast. She has obviously given me this buttery hair complexion, as my father does not eat carbs. And by carbs I mean carbon monoxide. It is against his values.
After mentally delivering my mental note for mother’s farm-assist saying thank you for the medicine that gives me my mother’s jeans and not my father’s, which never fit, I look at the ground again. I am still soaring, and also dancing. As it turns out, I had not been looking through a window at all. I had been standing on the roof. This must be why my shoes escaped me. They are very particular and they do not partake in roof-standing, because heights are fearsome creatures. I have never met a height I was not taller than while standing on top of it, and find my shoes’ notions to be ridiculous.
I am doing the salsa in midair!
It is the last day of school forever!
I am going to granulate!
I choose this moment to reflect on my life. It has been a catapultuous life. My body is half-man and half-boy. The left half is man and the right half is boy. This is why I only have to shave one armpit. When I was ten I found my nanny’s sticker collection and applied them all to my eyelids, which were then too heavy to open. The only way I could see was by swimming underwater. I do not know how to swim so I did not see at all that weekend.
When I was eight years old, I was finally born. The Healers said that my mother coddled me too much, and the pictures of her looked very bad because she looked like an obese toothbrush, but she disagreed. She wanted to wait until I was ten years old to give birth but by then I was trying to learn how to play table tennis and all I could find were kidneys. Those were very dark days, literaturely.
When I was thirteen I received my Hogwarts letter, although I wasn’t thirteen, I was eleven. I had gone to a play park and the slide was very long. So when I started sliding down it I was eleven, but by the time I got to the bottom I was thirteen, and my letter was waiting and someone had already opened it because they’d gotten impatient. My father hollered at me for clutching the sides of the slide for such a long time. I ate a lot of bugs. I had to cook them with my ascot instead of my shoes, since my shoes had hay-baled on me due to their narcoleptic fear of heights ganging up on us.
When I was fourteen, I painted a picture. It was of me and it is still the most fabulous picture I have ever seen. My mother animated it with magic and sometimes I talk to the portrait of myself, which is hanging on the ceiling of my four-poster bed. Mostly we just admire each other and communicate with telegraphic images inside our brains.
When I was fifteen, I was only a year older than fourteen. I took a nine-hour bath because I wanted to dissolve my arms and re-grow new ones. I would very much enjoy beefy arms. They would be arm-y (I cannot use ‘handy’ here because it is the wrong body particles) for lifting objects of great mass. Like my arms. I would lift them a lot and show them to various people. Everyone would be watching. Everyone would be commenting in whispers of wonder, mostly in Siamese. My cat at home would be purring loudly. My father would still be on his business trip that he left for two years ago. I would be staring at my magnificent muscular armor like everyone else, because when I woo everyone I also woo myself. It is the curse of being so woo-able. The plural form of this is wool. This is why I enjoy winter; I wear it all over me and it makes me famous.
When I was fifteen-and-a-half, I signed up for singing lessons. I did not get picked because I did not know I was supposed to sign with my name. I thought I was supposed to make signs. I glued lots of posters to the hallways with my face designed from dried macaroni noodles on it, but was never contacted. I assume it was because I have 60/60 vision and do not need contacts for extra time between blinking.
To save space in my interior organs (I keep a few of them inside my ears), I sing with my trachea and not my sound box. They said I could never have a dreamy voice but I have proven them wrong. I had a harmonica installed in my windpipe and that is your proof.
The grass looks like salad. It makes me hungry.
There are lots of people around me. I have landed in a rave! Except I have not landed yet. I reach out to wave ‘hello’ at them and suddenly I am in a tree. The branches are trying to hug me. I have not given them permission to defile me with their bark! They have stolen their bark from dogs! I shun thieves in all forms, especially pineapples. They protect their apples with pine and I do not approve of this. It is misleading. If you are going to advertise apples, they should not be covered up with tiny swords.
I am wearing a glittery jumpsuit. It was a very practical choice for today’s activities. There are holes in it from where the tree is currently battling me with its twigs of doom, but I am deciding not to mind. I am risqué. Hole-showing is the newest trend. Everyone, commence your mimicking of my wardrobe! And by that I mean that you need to ward everyone off of my robes! They are mine and I refuse to share, no matter what my mother says!
My father said he was in Portugal but I saw him in his office in our house on the fourth floor! I said, “Hooray, you have returned!” and he said, “This is only a dream! Go back to your room,” and I said I would, but I actually went to the fireplace because I like to stick my head up the chimney and see where the smoke goes after it’s done whirling around over the burning logs.
If I had a guitar, I would settle on this branch right here and play a song. It would be an afternoon of whimsy.
“Stringed instruments!” I beckon. “I am going to perform for you! You are my masses.”
I am lying on the ground. There are branches underneath my face. Also dirt. It is interrupting my mouth-breathing. I try to nose-breathe but that is not working correctly, either. I remember to use my ears, which are on both sides of my face and not underneath it, being squashed. Now that I am using them, I am hearing voices.
“He jumped off the roof!”
“I always knew he would do it!”
“I’ll bet it’s because they wouldn’t let him transfigure himself into a knight so that he could play in the chess tournament. He’s been trying to do it for weeks.”
“Mr. Malfoy.” Someone is rolling me over like a long wooden pin-thing that flattens dough. “Are you all right?”
“I have decided to gradue my fate,” I declare in secret. “But don’t worry, I don’t mind if you tell anyone. It is not that big of a secret.”
“You need to go to the Hospital Wing. It looks like your arms are broken.”
“They were already like that. I was using them for Beater bats earlier. It hurts less when you take the bones out first.”
Professor Sprout’s eyes are large. I make mine larger. She cannot win this duel!
“Your head looks like it’s on backwards. You should probably get that examined.”
Everyone is gazing fondly at me! Delight! I would relish this if I had a sandwich to put relish on. “There will be no winging to any hospitals, I replied,” and also replied without quotation marks. “Let the graphication begin!”
“You’re only in sixth year,” Sprout says. “You don’t graduate until next year, I’m afraid.” I find it boggling that she is afraid of this. That is a stupid thing to be afraid of. I am realizing in present-tense that she has teeth in the back of her mouth.
“You should have that examined,” I say to her.
She is looking confused. 'Yowl' is one letter away from 'owl'.
I am unconscious.
THIS IS THE END OF THE STORY. YOU WILL LOVE IT. YOU WILL TELL YOUR FRIENDS LATER ABOUT WHAT YOU WITNESSED.