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by Milky Puppy
Tanger loved to roam the plains. He'd been roaming the plains
for over 50 years now. He figured he'd roamed most of the world's best
plains. Of the plains he had roamed, he had a few favourites - naturally
and quite understandably. What plain roamer can look you in the eye and
tell you every plain's the same to them? No, every plain roamer has a
special plain. A plain just a wee bit closer to his heart than all the
rest. A special plain, which he wouldn't mind roaming again. A plain
with which he feels a certain unique bond, as if he was put on this world
to roam that plain, and that plain was created for no other purpose than
to be roamed upon by he. And when a plain roamer is roaming that one
special plain, why, it's a beautiful thing ... and all nature is at harmony,
and little woodsy creatures come outside and watch in awe, and say to one
another (in woodsy-ese) "That man is roaming his one special plain," and
then they nod, and keep on nodding, and don't stop until they're good and
done, by which time they've usually made themselves sick.
In any case, Tanger was now roaming just such a special plain.
He'd roamed some beauts but this one really took the cake. It was so
flat, and covered in so much wheat ... it really put ideas into a plain
roamer's head. The sky all around was blue, with little bits of magenta
for variety. Fluffy white clouds skitted across the horizon like
sheep at play. The wheat swayed lazily back and forth, back and forth in
the breeze, almost like the welcoming wave of an old friend. Tanger's
heart was filled with warmth and contentment.
"I love you, plain," Tanger said, his voice filled with emotion.
"You're just saying that," the plain replied.
"No, I mean it. I really feel on top of the world when we're
together. I think I could happily spend the rest of my life roaming
you," Tanger said with conviction.
The plain hesitated. "You just like the way I look," it countered.
"No! No. There's so much more to it than that. It's a whole
feeling of belonging, of acceptance ... and of deep, burning passion that
can't be contained much longer!" Tanger exclaimed, tearing off his shirt
and throwing it to the wind.
"Oh Tanger!" cried the plain, as the two drew together in a
Several hours later, the passion between the two had been fully
expressed. Tanger had packed up his plain roaming things and was preparing
to be on his way, when he heard the gentle sobbing of the plain.
"Wh... what are you doing?" the plain asked amid tears.
"I got what I wanted," Tanger replied flatly, hoisting his gear
over his shoulder.
"Why won't you stay?" asked the plain.
"You're just a damned plain," Tanger scoffed, and roamed away, to
roam over other plains.
Just a damned plain...
just a damned plain...
just a damned plain...
So, thought the plain, it was just a damned plain, was it?
* * *
Twenty-two years had passed since that fateful night between
Tanger and the plain. Tanger had continued to roam across many plains,
and had seduced several more - always telling them that THEY were that
one special plain. Eventually, however, the plain roaming life had lost
its charm for the aging Tanger, and he had headed into the city where he
had become a famous artist, who painted plains and only dreampt about
roaming upon them. His work was motivated by a true love for the plain
roaming life, and his art was very widely appreciated.
Tanger was working on a painting of a certain plain, just touching
up some of the wheat and attempting to make it a bit more
life-like, when he heard a knock at his door. Tanger cursed this
interruption of his important work and headed to the door.
At the door stood a beautiful young brunette, dressed in a
sweater and loose dress pants. She had a very pretty smile, and Tanger's
anger faded away and was forgotten.
"Hello?" Tanger said, looking the girl up and down with curiosity.
"Hello. I brought you this," said the girl. Her smile changed
from a friendly smile into a vengeful grimace, as she pulled out a slice of
blueberry pie from her pocket. "It's from that plain you used for cheap
thrills - just a damned plain, eh? Well it managed to bake this pie!" the
girl yelled bitterly.
"Oh," Tanger said. "Well I think it got all dirty in your pocket
so I'm not going to eat it."
The girl looked frustrated. "I am half plain. You... are my
father," she said, as though she'd practiced saying it many times, and
intended for this fact to startle Tanger entirely.
"How about that," Tangier said. "Anything else?"
"No," the girl replied unhappily.
"Goodbye," Tanger said, offering a small wave as he shut the door.
He sat back down in front of his easel and concentrated on getting
back to putting some zest into that wheat. After a few minutes he
realized it just wasn't working. He snapped his brush in half and threw
the pieces to the floor in frustration. It wasn't working.
Damn it, he thought, the plain had baked a blueberry pie.
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