Letters from the Other Side of the Rain.
DISCLAIMER: All poetry found herein is, like all poetry, based on true fiction.Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Dear Humanity,
I blame this officially on the good folks at PPN. You know who you are, damnit. :) In other words, a thousands thanks to the Papen people. Ghostwritten, Polly Moopers, who seems to show up in my blog over and over and I don't know why, and of course Skeleton Horse, who made the manip that pushed the Irish fairy over the edge in terms of writing the Charlie Brown/PotO madness.
Attention: I do not own either of these adorable tales. No I don't. Also, please don't take this story seriously.
Please.
Also, the references to a "Faust brand," are jokes on some of the older Peanuts comics, in which Charlie Brown was obsessed with the popular Davie Crockett franchise. (It was big in the 50s, apparently.)
Dramatis Personae
Erik Brown, a sweet young Phantom who can't seem to do anything right. He resides beneath the elementary school auditorium in a small town.
Gingersnap Giry, his friend and confidante, who tends toward the sensible and straightforward - sometimes to the point of rudeness.
Linus "Daroga" van Pelt, the student council representative determined to change Erik's antisocial ways. His nickname, daroga, meaning "policeman" in Farsi, comes from his somewhat inexplicable fascination with the Persian culture, as well as his tendency to keep Erik in line.
Carly van Pelt, the loudmouthed fussbudget of the block, determined to grab the spotlight in every possible situation. She also might have the teeniest crush on Erik, constantly leaning on his organ when he's trying to play.
The Little Yellow Headed Girl, or is she The Little Brown Haired Girl? It's certainly odd the way it seems to change. The girl Erik admires and adores from afar. What is her name? Perhaps Erik can find out from Carly - if she ever stops talking.
And who could forget. . .
DeSnoopy, Erik's drama king faithful dog and sometime rival for The Little Yellow/Brown Headed Girl's affections, and of course Philstock, DeSnoopy's bird friend. Some say they're almost like brothers.
Chapter One
Good Grief
Erik Brown found himself in a difficult situation. He sat, hands neatly folded in his lap, in the dugout, watching Joey "Pig Pen" Bucket foul tip ball after ball after ball. He knew he would have to go up to bat soon, and there was a terrible problem with this. Poor Erik Brown. He was a mere seven years old, and having to deal with such complex problems as he did troubled him greatly. Erik lived, you see, beneath the elementary school. It had occurred to him soon after beginning elemenaty school himself that other people might find this remotely odd. Erik did not find it odd in the least. For as long as he could remember, he had lived alone in his little lair, dressed in his yellow striped shirt and black cape, cloaking one side of his face with a white mask.
Every morning, Erik Brown would wake up from his Louis Phillipe bed and make his way to the kitchen, where he would devour his favorite Faust brand cereal before taking DeSnoopy and his bird friend, Philstock, for his morning walk around the labyrinths. From 8:30 to 9:30, he practiced his organ playing. Erik loved to play the organ. He had a small organ, for his small hands. At 9:45, Erik popped through the elementary school floor to arrive at school. School was a sore spot for Erik. He couldn't seem to concentrate. Whenever he tried to focus on the board, the white letters would turn into musical notes, and he would hear music in his head.
At 12:00, he would proceed to his special seat at Lunch Table 4 1/2, where his friend Gingersnap Giry, the lunch monitor, and sometimes her little cousin, Megsy, who always called him "Monsieur," would talk to him. Gingersnap Giry was nice to him, he guessed, if a little unsubtle. Sometimes he let Daroga L. Van Pelt the student council representative sit with him, but Daroga L. was a bit too moralistic for Erik's tastes. The way Erik saw it, it didn't really count as doing something wrong if no one really minded, did it? It couldn't, could it?
And besides, mostly no one minded.
Also, Daroga L. had the misfortune to have a sister, Carly, who was determined to take the floor and then saw it open so that everyone else fell through. She kept fluttering her eyelashes at Erik and saying things like, "If we ever got married. . ." Erik wondered what she meant by that. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of "marriage." He was sure that he didn't like Carly.
Now, however, the idea of marriage was becoming more appealing. And yet Erik Brown feared that he'd mess everything up if he couldn't get a hit at bat. Why? Well, you see, there happened to be a little girl watching the game from behind a tree. She looks shy, thought Erik. Boy! I'd like to be her friend! I wonder if she wants to be my friend? He was about to call out to her, but then his mouth was full of sawdustyness and his legs felt like strawberry Jell-O. Erik thought for a moment, and decided that this, then, was the "love," thing he'd heard the grownups talking about. She was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. He decided to call her The Little Yellow Haired Girl. Or - was her hair brown and curly? Somehow, it seemed to change. It was cute anyway, Erik thought.
So firmly, firmly did Erik Brown vow, as he stepped up to the batter's box, that he would knock this one out of the park. He tried to knock the dust off his sneakers, like Joe DiMaggio, but succeeded only in hurting his feet. He tried to tap the bat against the plate to produce a menacing sound for the pitcher's benefit, but misjudged the distance of the plate, and made no sound at all. He heard a giggle from The Little Yellow/Brown Haired Girl. He felt a little piece of himself die. Behind him, from beneath his catcher's mask, he heard the encouraging, reasonable voice of Daroga L. Van Pelt.
"Don't worry, Erik. You'll hit this one a mile." Erik was suddenly full of confidence. He hefted his bat and swung once, for practice. It felt good. He hoped The Little Yellow/Brown Haired Girl had been watching. Then the pitch came, and Erik Brown swung with all his might.
WHOOF. BIFF.
The sounds of a ball blowing by and hitting a catcher's glove. Erik suddenly realized that he had closed his eyes. The second strike came before he could anticipate it, and he had to restrain himself from ducking. I didn't even swing, thought Erik, mortified.
Okay, he'd do it this time. Erik could feel Daroga L.'s encouraging eyes on his back. He shouldered his bat, full of pride, and then - he saw the pitcher's face for the first time.
Carly Van Pelt.
She fluttered her eyelashes, and in that moment Erik knew that he was doomed. He shut his eyes and counted to three. When he opened them, he was lying huddled on the ground of the batter's box, sobbing. Daroga L. Van Pelt was looking rueful and patting him on the back. "I really don't think you have anything to worry about, Erik Brown. Here, have some of my sandwich. It's foie gras on rye, your favorite. Gingersnap Giry made it."
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Erik took a bite.
"You'll be okay, won't you, Erik Brown?"
Erik sniffled. "No. I know nobody likes me. Especially not The Cute Little Yellow/Brown Haired Girl." He blushed a bright red under his mask.
"Who?" wondered Daroga L.. "Oh, the shy girl. I think she went off for a stroll with DeSnoopy. She seems to really like him."
Erik's eyes got big, and he felt the foie gras on rye stick in his throat. "I. . .I. . .oh no, Daroga L.."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing takes the taste out of foie gras quite like unrequited love."
Daroga L. sighed. "Good grief, Erik Brown."
Phew.
Much love,
Kat
I blame this officially on the good folks at PPN. You know who you are, damnit. :) In other words, a thousands thanks to the Papen people. Ghostwritten, Polly Moopers, who seems to show up in my blog over and over and I don't know why, and of course Skeleton Horse, who made the manip that pushed the Irish fairy over the edge in terms of writing the Charlie Brown/PotO madness.
Attention: I do not own either of these adorable tales. No I don't. Also, please don't take this story seriously.
Please.
Also, the references to a "Faust brand," are jokes on some of the older Peanuts comics, in which Charlie Brown was obsessed with the popular Davie Crockett franchise. (It was big in the 50s, apparently.)
Dramatis Personae
Erik Brown, a sweet young Phantom who can't seem to do anything right. He resides beneath the elementary school auditorium in a small town.
Gingersnap Giry, his friend and confidante, who tends toward the sensible and straightforward - sometimes to the point of rudeness.
Linus "Daroga" van Pelt, the student council representative determined to change Erik's antisocial ways. His nickname, daroga, meaning "policeman" in Farsi, comes from his somewhat inexplicable fascination with the Persian culture, as well as his tendency to keep Erik in line.
Carly van Pelt, the loudmouthed fussbudget of the block, determined to grab the spotlight in every possible situation. She also might have the teeniest crush on Erik, constantly leaning on his organ when he's trying to play.
The Little Yellow Headed Girl, or is she The Little Brown Haired Girl? It's certainly odd the way it seems to change. The girl Erik admires and adores from afar. What is her name? Perhaps Erik can find out from Carly - if she ever stops talking.
And who could forget. . .
DeSnoopy, Erik's drama king faithful dog and sometime rival for The Little Yellow/Brown Headed Girl's affections, and of course Philstock, DeSnoopy's bird friend. Some say they're almost like brothers.
Chapter One
Good Grief
Erik Brown found himself in a difficult situation. He sat, hands neatly folded in his lap, in the dugout, watching Joey "Pig Pen" Bucket foul tip ball after ball after ball. He knew he would have to go up to bat soon, and there was a terrible problem with this. Poor Erik Brown. He was a mere seven years old, and having to deal with such complex problems as he did troubled him greatly. Erik lived, you see, beneath the elementary school. It had occurred to him soon after beginning elemenaty school himself that other people might find this remotely odd. Erik did not find it odd in the least. For as long as he could remember, he had lived alone in his little lair, dressed in his yellow striped shirt and black cape, cloaking one side of his face with a white mask.
Every morning, Erik Brown would wake up from his Louis Phillipe bed and make his way to the kitchen, where he would devour his favorite Faust brand cereal before taking DeSnoopy and his bird friend, Philstock, for his morning walk around the labyrinths. From 8:30 to 9:30, he practiced his organ playing. Erik loved to play the organ. He had a small organ, for his small hands. At 9:45, Erik popped through the elementary school floor to arrive at school. School was a sore spot for Erik. He couldn't seem to concentrate. Whenever he tried to focus on the board, the white letters would turn into musical notes, and he would hear music in his head.
At 12:00, he would proceed to his special seat at Lunch Table 4 1/2, where his friend Gingersnap Giry, the lunch monitor, and sometimes her little cousin, Megsy, who always called him "Monsieur," would talk to him. Gingersnap Giry was nice to him, he guessed, if a little unsubtle. Sometimes he let Daroga L. Van Pelt the student council representative sit with him, but Daroga L. was a bit too moralistic for Erik's tastes. The way Erik saw it, it didn't really count as doing something wrong if no one really minded, did it? It couldn't, could it?
And besides, mostly no one minded.
Also, Daroga L. had the misfortune to have a sister, Carly, who was determined to take the floor and then saw it open so that everyone else fell through. She kept fluttering her eyelashes at Erik and saying things like, "If we ever got married. . ." Erik wondered what she meant by that. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of "marriage." He was sure that he didn't like Carly.
Now, however, the idea of marriage was becoming more appealing. And yet Erik Brown feared that he'd mess everything up if he couldn't get a hit at bat. Why? Well, you see, there happened to be a little girl watching the game from behind a tree. She looks shy, thought Erik. Boy! I'd like to be her friend! I wonder if she wants to be my friend? He was about to call out to her, but then his mouth was full of sawdustyness and his legs felt like strawberry Jell-O. Erik thought for a moment, and decided that this, then, was the "love," thing he'd heard the grownups talking about. She was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. He decided to call her The Little Yellow Haired Girl. Or - was her hair brown and curly? Somehow, it seemed to change. It was cute anyway, Erik thought.
So firmly, firmly did Erik Brown vow, as he stepped up to the batter's box, that he would knock this one out of the park. He tried to knock the dust off his sneakers, like Joe DiMaggio, but succeeded only in hurting his feet. He tried to tap the bat against the plate to produce a menacing sound for the pitcher's benefit, but misjudged the distance of the plate, and made no sound at all. He heard a giggle from The Little Yellow/Brown Haired Girl. He felt a little piece of himself die. Behind him, from beneath his catcher's mask, he heard the encouraging, reasonable voice of Daroga L. Van Pelt.
"Don't worry, Erik. You'll hit this one a mile." Erik was suddenly full of confidence. He hefted his bat and swung once, for practice. It felt good. He hoped The Little Yellow/Brown Haired Girl had been watching. Then the pitch came, and Erik Brown swung with all his might.
WHOOF. BIFF.
The sounds of a ball blowing by and hitting a catcher's glove. Erik suddenly realized that he had closed his eyes. The second strike came before he could anticipate it, and he had to restrain himself from ducking. I didn't even swing, thought Erik, mortified.
Okay, he'd do it this time. Erik could feel Daroga L.'s encouraging eyes on his back. He shouldered his bat, full of pride, and then - he saw the pitcher's face for the first time.
Carly Van Pelt.
She fluttered her eyelashes, and in that moment Erik knew that he was doomed. He shut his eyes and counted to three. When he opened them, he was lying huddled on the ground of the batter's box, sobbing. Daroga L. Van Pelt was looking rueful and patting him on the back. "I really don't think you have anything to worry about, Erik Brown. Here, have some of my sandwich. It's foie gras on rye, your favorite. Gingersnap Giry made it."
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Erik took a bite.
"You'll be okay, won't you, Erik Brown?"
Erik sniffled. "No. I know nobody likes me. Especially not The Cute Little Yellow/Brown Haired Girl." He blushed a bright red under his mask.
"Who?" wondered Daroga L.. "Oh, the shy girl. I think she went off for a stroll with DeSnoopy. She seems to really like him."
Erik's eyes got big, and he felt the foie gras on rye stick in his throat. "I. . .I. . .oh no, Daroga L.."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing takes the taste out of foie gras quite like unrequited love."
Daroga L. sighed. "Good grief, Erik Brown."
Phew.
Much love,
Kat
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