Basset Abducted

Awaken children of Cornwall! Awaken! Set the cats a-yowling in Bude, set the dogs a-howling in St Ives, set them both a-growling in Truro! Set the man in the picture box to declaring a state of emergency in every hamlet, farm, and multi-story tenement! For Gogmagog has come to Briton looking for a bite to et! He has come by the Giant's Causeway and with a hop, skip, and a jump has landed in Briton and decided to dine on the future of Cornwall! Awaken children! Climb into the beds of your parents and shield yourself with their love and their quilts!
Alas, they cannot hear. 
Here comes the giant chieftain now, knocking bricks from sills onto cobbles in streets and still they do not hear. And here he stubs his toe on a horseless carriage, causing it to cry out in alarm, and still they do not hear. With each step he takes he comes closer to finding suitable prey and it breaks my heart to see it.
By hook or by crook he has snuck his way into Briton for the umpteenth time and another poor poppet shall be gobbled up tonight all for a lack of proper ears. It's enough to set me to tears for a dozen years and drown Dartmouth.
Hark! Perhaps not all is lost! The brute only grows more confused as he searches for the scent of his favorite meal, children of loose morals. It has been an age and a half since he's stepped foot in grimy Briton. The scents, sights, and sounds have all twisted and turned into new sensations. How shall he pick a vile little child to eat? Morality has gone all gray and relativistic in these modern days, and he can hardly tell the kindhearted anarchists from the corrupt clergymen now!
I've spoken too soon. Optimism has proven itself the philosophy most inclined to disappoint, for Gogmagog has caught a scent. There in Newquay he has found Richard the Cold-hearted. With a creaking of bones Gogmagog peeps into Richard's room. Delicately he slides his long pointed nail between child and bed and scoops poor Richard out. And with nary a peep the toe headed boy who cuts his sister is all et up.
Pay heed children! The price for sneaking into alleyways and skinning cats is to pay rent in a giant's belly! And even-so, I would save poor Richard. I would deliver him home safe and sound with sweet dreams if not for cowardice. But all is done, a wicked child has been punished by a monster with no right to do so and these children can rest safe until they spawn little psychopaths of their own.
Wait, Gogmagog has caught another scent? He cannot be after another child. One child is his allotment, it is the way of things. A cloud of anger has passes over his brow... oh! And now he's leaped straight over that condominium! He's in a real rush! Barreling forward with teeth bared and hackles raised, Gogmagog has found a foe in Cornwall! A foe! How grand! 
A dashing knight on winged horse will teach him what for! How can the Chieftain eat a pudgy child with his eye speared, tongue split, and ears boxed? How can he sate himself on corrupted innocence if he's a loose pile of rubble in a junkyard?
This shall be quite the show indeed. Gogmagog, tossed out of Briton once again! He won't ever be able to live this down! I shall wash myself in the red flecked foam that passes through the rocks that tear his corpse a't 'Lam Goëmagot'.
Where has he gone?
NO! One child of loose morals to et, Gogmagog! That is your allotment! No knight quarters there you stupid giant! No malcontent child slumbers there, dreaming of Cherry Bomb Fairies! He does not hear me! Or does not care! I said no! That is the home of Basset Gwinnel! I tell you true giant, you'll not touch a knotted hair on his head while I yet stand! You'll not tug a stumpy leg on that clay miner's son! You'll not snap the bones of he that climbs trees and towers over Cornwall! 
I am sorry my children. While I am a coward, this friendship outweighs cowardice pound for pound. I love each and every one of you in Cornwall, but there is one I favor above you all. Kissess, sweet dreams, and perhaps goodbye. Giant or no giant, I'll eat his tongue and use his bones for low income animal shelters.
I go to war.
A brief and unsatisfactory war that was. I failed you Basset, and in failing you in such a spectacular manner, I've forever failed every child of Cornwall. I erred gravely. I sought to save your life from being et when too late I realized I should have slit your throat to save your soul from being stolen. Children, I have internal hemorrhaging. My tummy feels warm and full as my lifeblood leaks into it. I must sleep, but before I do, have one more tale to fill your dreams so that you may never forget my favorite poppet.
Once upon a time there was a poor couple who wanted a child more than anything else. They swore to love him with all their hearts (which were large indeed) no matter how small he was. A barren womb and little pay conspired to deny them a child by the usual, and the unusual, methods available to man. But far away as I stalked a rat in Penzance, I heard the Madonna's prayer and the Clay Miner's honest labor. So I abandoned my prey in Penzance and broke a window to their kitchen in Truro. Ever so sneakily I crept up to their bedroom and squatted on the Clay Miner's chest. I took from him a kiss and turned to his Madonna and gave her back the kiss. 
It took more than a month for them to realize and jump with joy, which the waiting was driving me insane. So you can see why I was unhappy to learn that even more waiting was to be done, eightfold more waiting. Eightfold is not the way of things so I hastened things along to sevenfold. A more loud babe I had never had my eardrums perforated by. 
It took sevenfold more waiting on top of that for the babe to become interesting. I had expected him to be smaller, much more so, but it is not normally my place to to answer wishes of any kind, much less this kind and therefore I can only provide rude approximations. 
The child though! A wild child! Such noise from something so small! Such property damage from tiny little arms! So many trees holding dear the skin of his knees! And such kindness! A child never shared more candies and thank yous in all of Briton. Such foolhardy courage. Six kittens saved from drowning by a boy who could not swim? How? Because according to him good cannot fail. Perhaps that was my failing. I did good, but was not good. So, as I breathe my last, I can only hope that he remain good despite what is about to befall him, for then he will be safe, because I cannot bear to think that he could have been wrong. 
This isn't how tales end, with inane rambling and no proper 'The End.' but I cannot keep my eyes open children. 
Goodnight Cornwall. Sleep tight. Fight the good fight. And don't let the giants bite.
-The Chattering Monkey, the Scaredy Cat, the Flighty Sparrow, the Bag Lady, Unknown
Category:Fiction