The Imaginary Clay Battles of Bear and Anteater Dolphin
"You won't find any ratty, catty ants to suck up here in my cave," said Bear with eyeless anger and testosterone.
"Then allow me to meet your grizzly growl of impertinence with one of your very own neon glass stalactites," sneezed and wheezed hyper Anteater Dolphin, all vengeful and like a samurai. The crystal cave echoed the baritone moan of a black bear pinned to the cold floor. The cave bats imagined there would be nothing more to see than bear blood and tragedy. Thirstily, they licked their mini fangs.
But before those bats could sing for supper, the supine bear became aware of a ready stalagmite at arm’s length behind his head. So he punched and freed it and clutched it for a sword, curling up and twisting loose the bloody dagger from his hairy rib. O he kicked his foe in the trunk-like snout, and without even a shout he stood and swung and sliced the mixed up creature’s head from off his sealskin shoulders. The explosive blood bloomed like a flower of red mud. Now the pink fat cat bats had more to drink. But the bear’s rage did not subside, there was no relief. Instead he quickly died from all the precious blood released through his enormous wound. And the bats got sick from all they watched, all they drank and all they ate. The moral of this gruesome tale is that fighting is a waste.
"Then allow me to meet your grizzly growl of impertinence with one of your very own neon glass stalactites," sneezed and wheezed hyper Anteater Dolphin, all vengeful and like a samurai. The crystal cave echoed the baritone moan of a black bear pinned to the cold floor. The cave bats imagined there would be nothing more to see than bear blood and tragedy. Thirstily, they licked their mini fangs.
But before those bats could sing for supper, the supine bear became aware of a ready stalagmite at arm’s length behind his head. So he punched and freed it and clutched it for a sword, curling up and twisting loose the bloody dagger from his hairy rib. O he kicked his foe in the trunk-like snout, and without even a shout he stood and swung and sliced the mixed up creature’s head from off his sealskin shoulders. The explosive blood bloomed like a flower of red mud. Now the pink fat cat bats had more to drink. But the bear’s rage did not subside, there was no relief. Instead he quickly died from all the precious blood released through his enormous wound. And the bats got sick from all they watched, all they drank and all they ate. The moral of this gruesome tale is that fighting is a waste.
Comments
P.S. good moral