King Baby invited us on a special day out. Sophie insisted on driving. The rest of us perched on the roof.
We arrived at King Baby Island, where the inhabitants had erected a 700ft tall statue of their glorious monarch. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses. There is always room for fresh slaves in the abyssal milk mines.”
King Baby was happy to show off his latest invention, a grid of pure green energy capable of ensnaring the unwary. The grass that grew beneath was of the highest quality, no doubt well-fed by the natural products of decay. King Baby explained that he did not think it proper to leave the foolish unpunished.
At this point, King Baby was set upon by a ravenous grandmother. She had obviously been lurking in the foliage for just such an opportunity. Luckily, King Baby had made provision for this eventuality, and he released the ‘flare’ sibling.
Alarmed by these developments, we had no choice but to leave the youngest member of our party in the clutches of the ravenous grandmother.
King Baby revealed a cunning plan to disguise himself as a piece of chocolate. It seemed a shame to leave, but apparently King Baby Island had a self-destruct mechanism that was automatically activated if it detected the presence of a ravenous grandmother.
Happily, King Baby managed to reclaim the ‘flare’ sibling mere moments before King Baby Island was destroyed forever.
Standing on the boat, as we sailed away from the devastation of King Baby Island, we saw a ruined pedestal, and these words appeared: “My name is King Baby, King Baby of King Babies. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.” Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level (greenish) sands stretched far away.
The stories in my book, Tales From The Storystream, are not quite as strange as the adventures of King Baby, but they are close...