(even if you aren't vegan)
Toppet Stories/pabbo
OH, THIS LITTLE FELLOW! PABBO!
SO INTERESTING. SO, SO INTERESTING.
ISN'T THAT JUST THE FUNNIEST?
The mushrooms outside of town were many. Pabbo could smell them from his house on the edge of the village, tempting him, tantalizing him. Pabbo knew he couldn't go outside, though. That would be dangerous—he knew that all too well.
Weeks before, a fellow by the name of Gublow went outside the town walls. He smelled those mushrooms, the same ones growing on the old oak trees. They sure were beautiful, those mushrooms. The look, the smell; they all pointed to something that must have tasted extravagant. What business did Gublow have not getting them for himself and the village? That's probably what he thought—or at least, that's what Pabbo thought he thought—before stepping foot outside of the stony village and into the wild.
Gublow had been gone for several days when Pabbo heard the news. It was in the trees, they said, and it just swallowed him up. Poor Gublow was sucked up by the trees, never to be heard from again. At least, that's what they said. How could they have known without seeing it? Pabbo thought. Then again, how could they know if he's still alive? Pabbo's mind juggled the thoughts as he looked out of his window at the delicious mushrooms, plentiful as they were. Plump and succulent, they had to be. And they were just sitting there, waiting to be plucked from the ground!
So was Gublow.
Pabbo decided against it. He and everybody in the village knew that nature was no good. Not after what happened to Gublow, not after what happened to Lubba, not after what happened to Nuunuu...
Pabbo had no business outside.
One night, Pabbo heard rustling. Outside, not inside. Pabbo lit his torch with what little tallow he had left and peered out his window and saw the silhouette of someone or something. He recognized it, though, he knew that much. Upon further inspection, Pabbo noticed that the figure was picking the mushrooms that laid outside the village! Pabbo stifled a gasp as he watched the figure pluck the fungus, one by one.
Was it safe? Pabbo mulled over the thought. It was certainly close enough to the village to make a safe and hasty retreat, were there actually something outside of town: the trees were sparse, so nothing could hide out of sight: everything seemed fine. Pabbo let out a sigh of relief and watched the figure pick the mushrooms. One mushroom in particular seemed hard to pick.
Pabbo swore he saw a tree move. No, couldn't be.
The figure tugged and tugged at that particularly large mushroom. If that mushroom was a cut of meat, it would be the biggest, juiciest steak of them all, Pabbo thought. Just then, Pabbo thought he caught something in the corner of his eye. Nothing, he thought. Just a fly. When he looked back, he saw that the figure outside had successfully picked the mushroom and was making a return to the village.
Pabbo heard rustling. A gasp. A scream.
"Toppet, no!"
Toppet shook his head and started off down a brick road leading outside of town. Pabbo cut him off.
"Toppet, stop! You'll be eaten alive!" Pabbo said, panicking.
Toppet shook his head again and nudged Pabbo aside.
"I swear, I saw it!" said Pabbo. "I saw Rowlee get eaten! By a tree monster!"
Toppet ignored Pabbo and started striding off into the wilderness.
"Toppet! TOPPET!" Pabbo shouted, running after him—but stopping before he hit the dirt outside of town. "Toppet, get back here! I don't want you to die!"
Toppet looked back and shook his head. He went on his way, despite the warnings of his good friend. Pabbo looked at Toppet as he walked off—and then he looked at the ground in front of him. The brown, dried grass was his barrier, a mile-high fence he couldn't knock down. Pabbo was paralyzed with fear at the thought of stepping foot on the dry ground.
He couldn't do anything as he watched his best friend walk away to his own death. Nothing.
Maybe.
It was a day after Toppet had left. Pabbo was wracked with guilt, not stopping his friend from leaving. Toppet could be dead. That's all Pabbo could think about from the time he got up; and he was sure he'd be thinking about it all night. But I can't do anything. I can't leave town. Pabbo stared at his feet, then at the ground beneath them. The same rocky floor he's always had. I can't leave town because I'll die. But I have to leave town or Toppet will die.
I might die. Toppet might die. I might die, Toppet might die.
Grandfather Gridge walked into Pabbo's room. "Pabbo," he asked, in his regular shaky tone, "have you seen Toppet? He doesn't seem to be about."
"Yes. I was just going to get him."
GIVING UP THE SAFETY OF HOME? TO HELP HIS FRIEND?
HEARTWARMING! TRULY.
THAT WAS A SHORT ONE, BUT SWEET. SWEET SWEET.
I HOPE SO MUCH THAT YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY!
YOU KNOW I'LL BE BACK WITH ANOTHER!
TOODLE DOO!
