Eaten by Goats: A Thanksgiving Parable
Dec 2, 2010 13:29:51 GMT -8
Post by Marbletoast on Dec 2, 2010 13:29:51 GMT -8
Written for a Thanksgiving writing contest. 
Yes, it's ridiculous. Har!
__
Eaten By Goats
A Thanksgiving Parable
In a cold country, in the mountains, in a village, in a house lived a little girl with course dark hair and wicked eyes. She was the most ungrateful girl that ever lived. She was so ungrateful, her parents named her Nang. That is just how very bitter a child she was, for we all know what the Atrocious Nang of Narth said to the Venerable King in the thirty-second year of the Overwhelming Waters, and it doesn’t bear repeating.
Nang was not an ugly girl, which only goes to show you that you shouldn’t trust anything. Nang’s course dark hair made lovely braids, and her wicked eyes were bright and green, and everyone liked them. They liked Nang’s eyes, but they hated Nang. Nang was also very poor, which also goes to show you that nothing can be trusted. Lovely, poor children ought not behave as Nang did—not even in the worst of tales, which this one isn’t.
Nang loved animals. She loved to kick them, and bite them, and tie loud, clattering things to their tails. The number of times she begged for a pet is higher than Nang herself knew how to count. Her parents liked animals, too. They liked them enough to refuse Nang a pet for many years. After all, they were very poor people, and pets were very expensive, because you had to feed them instead of eat them, like other animals. Every month, Nang’s parents put aside whatever extra they had to buy special things like shoes and shingles. All they ever had were six pennies, and sometimes a plum from the tree behind their house.
But just as the Water eventually came into the village after Thirty-Two years of the old dike holding, so Nang’s parents eventually said yes.
They gave Nang a goat.
Nang hated the goat. She hated the goat before she even knew she had a goat. Just after her mother and her father said, “Oh, for Soovi’s sake, yes, you can have a pet!” (for we all know how, for Soovi’s sake, a great many unfortunate deeds are accomplished, and they hardly need mentioning here), she decided that she hated whatever it was they would bring home to her.
To no one’s surprise, she was right. She hated the goat, through no fault of the goat’s. She was a fabulous nanny, as they go. She wasn’t too large, but she wasn’t very small. She had a neat set of horns right between her pointed ears, and she would eat anything offered to her, and a great many things beside. Nevertheless, Nang hated the goat. She screamed and she cried and she threw herself onto the floor. The goat didn’t mind, but her parents certainly did.
“It is a horrible goat!” Nang said, kicking the poor beast. “You must hate me.”
Her parents did not disagree, but Nang wasn’t listening. On and on she ranted until, at last, she wore herself out and collapsed into a little pile of despair. Her parents went to bed, and the goat ate her stockings. In the morning, Nang had no more love for the goat than she’d had the day before, and she told the goat so.
“You are the most awful animal in the world,” she said.
“That’s pretty steep praise,” said the goat, “coming from you. I would have placed myself second, at best.”
Nang became very surly with the cheeky goat, and pointed to the door. “Go back to wherever you came from. I don’t want you any more.”
“Are you sure?” said the goat. “You could kick me, and bite me, and tie clattering things to my tail if I stayed.”
“I don’t want you. You kick back, you taste horrible, and you’ve hardly got a tail at all. Go back where you came from.”
“Are you sure? Your parents worked very hard to find the nicest goat they could for six pennies and a plum—that’s me.”
“I don’t care. I didn’t want a goat. Go back where you came from.”
“One last chance, Nang,” said the goat. “Do you want to keep the gift that cost your parents more than they could afford, to make you happy?”
“No—absolutely not. What a ridiculous idea.”
“Alright.” The goat turned and left Nang at the door of the little house, headed for the rocky hills outside the village. Nang promptly began wailing, because she had no pet, and Nang’s parents went to work as quickly as they could.
Nang was still screaming when the goat came back. She stood in the doorway until Nang noticed her. “What are you doing here?” Nang said. “I told you to go back where you came from.”
“I did,” said the goat, “and I’ve come back again. Only this time, I’ve brought my friends and my family. They are very hungry, you know.”
So the goats ate Nang, because she had been so very ungrateful for the good things her kind parents did for her.
And we all know how her parents reacted to the news that their lovely little girl had been eaten by goats, so I won’t bother repeating it here.
Fin
Yes, it's ridiculous. Har!__
Eaten By Goats
A Thanksgiving Parable
In a cold country, in the mountains, in a village, in a house lived a little girl with course dark hair and wicked eyes. She was the most ungrateful girl that ever lived. She was so ungrateful, her parents named her Nang. That is just how very bitter a child she was, for we all know what the Atrocious Nang of Narth said to the Venerable King in the thirty-second year of the Overwhelming Waters, and it doesn’t bear repeating.
Nang was not an ugly girl, which only goes to show you that you shouldn’t trust anything. Nang’s course dark hair made lovely braids, and her wicked eyes were bright and green, and everyone liked them. They liked Nang’s eyes, but they hated Nang. Nang was also very poor, which also goes to show you that nothing can be trusted. Lovely, poor children ought not behave as Nang did—not even in the worst of tales, which this one isn’t.
Nang loved animals. She loved to kick them, and bite them, and tie loud, clattering things to their tails. The number of times she begged for a pet is higher than Nang herself knew how to count. Her parents liked animals, too. They liked them enough to refuse Nang a pet for many years. After all, they were very poor people, and pets were very expensive, because you had to feed them instead of eat them, like other animals. Every month, Nang’s parents put aside whatever extra they had to buy special things like shoes and shingles. All they ever had were six pennies, and sometimes a plum from the tree behind their house.
But just as the Water eventually came into the village after Thirty-Two years of the old dike holding, so Nang’s parents eventually said yes.
They gave Nang a goat.
Nang hated the goat. She hated the goat before she even knew she had a goat. Just after her mother and her father said, “Oh, for Soovi’s sake, yes, you can have a pet!” (for we all know how, for Soovi’s sake, a great many unfortunate deeds are accomplished, and they hardly need mentioning here), she decided that she hated whatever it was they would bring home to her.
To no one’s surprise, she was right. She hated the goat, through no fault of the goat’s. She was a fabulous nanny, as they go. She wasn’t too large, but she wasn’t very small. She had a neat set of horns right between her pointed ears, and she would eat anything offered to her, and a great many things beside. Nevertheless, Nang hated the goat. She screamed and she cried and she threw herself onto the floor. The goat didn’t mind, but her parents certainly did.
“It is a horrible goat!” Nang said, kicking the poor beast. “You must hate me.”
Her parents did not disagree, but Nang wasn’t listening. On and on she ranted until, at last, she wore herself out and collapsed into a little pile of despair. Her parents went to bed, and the goat ate her stockings. In the morning, Nang had no more love for the goat than she’d had the day before, and she told the goat so.
“You are the most awful animal in the world,” she said.
“That’s pretty steep praise,” said the goat, “coming from you. I would have placed myself second, at best.”
Nang became very surly with the cheeky goat, and pointed to the door. “Go back to wherever you came from. I don’t want you any more.”
“Are you sure?” said the goat. “You could kick me, and bite me, and tie clattering things to my tail if I stayed.”
“I don’t want you. You kick back, you taste horrible, and you’ve hardly got a tail at all. Go back where you came from.”
“Are you sure? Your parents worked very hard to find the nicest goat they could for six pennies and a plum—that’s me.”
“I don’t care. I didn’t want a goat. Go back where you came from.”
“One last chance, Nang,” said the goat. “Do you want to keep the gift that cost your parents more than they could afford, to make you happy?”
“No—absolutely not. What a ridiculous idea.”
“Alright.” The goat turned and left Nang at the door of the little house, headed for the rocky hills outside the village. Nang promptly began wailing, because she had no pet, and Nang’s parents went to work as quickly as they could.
Nang was still screaming when the goat came back. She stood in the doorway until Nang noticed her. “What are you doing here?” Nang said. “I told you to go back where you came from.”
“I did,” said the goat, “and I’ve come back again. Only this time, I’ve brought my friends and my family. They are very hungry, you know.”
So the goats ate Nang, because she had been so very ungrateful for the good things her kind parents did for her.
And we all know how her parents reacted to the news that their lovely little girl had been eaten by goats, so I won’t bother repeating it here.
Fin
