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|More from Fruipit||Romance/Humour||G||Extremely positive (ffn)||No update page|
| || And this is Katara, my flying sister.
This article is considered humorous and should not be treated too seriously.
|I'm Slowly Going Insane|
26th August, 2013
I am a tart.
You may be thinking that the statement above is an interesting one to begin a story with. I disagree. What better way to begin to explain myself, than to introduce myself? So, hello.
I am a tart.
There are several types of tarts. 'Tart' can be used as an adjective to describe a food that is slightly sour and hard to eat—imagine an orange that isn't quite ripe. 'Tart' is also a noun for a woman who behaves promiscuously. The verb of that is, of course, to 'tart oneself up', or to improve the appearance of a person or item superficially. I am, naturally, neither of those. No, I am the most innocent, most pure form of the word.
To repeat, expand, and reiterate;
I am an open pastry case. Within me is a juicy, sweet filling of appleberry and melongrape, and if I do say so myself, I smell delicious.
It will be unfortunate when I get eaten, although I suppose that's the natural order of things, isn't it? You are created, cook for a spell before actually entering the world in your completed form (yes, I am talking about you humans, too), by which time you know you have a limited frame in which to live. Generally, your own lives depend on nothing more than yourself, which is quite the opposite for me. I know I am going to die, and considering the one who created me is well versed in the art, I suspect it shall be soon. But, before I become too morbid, I have to stress that there is hope. It is fairly chilly, and if I somehow were to be forgotten about, I would have the entire night to think and reflect. I'm not sure what about, but I'll come to that if I make it that far.
You must be wondering by now several things. The answer to most of them would be, "I don't know," or "instinct"—and not the same one as the daft water boy. I know what the most pressing question is; regardless whether you think so or not. It is, after all, my story, and I'm telling it. The most interesting and valid question;
Why would I be forgotten about?
To answer that, I must direct your attention towards two characters you didn't realise were there, because I hadn't introduced them yet. I want you to meet my maker. His name is Aang.
He's currently standing in the middle of the room, freaking out and fidgeting because the girl he likes isn't back yet. It's why he made me.
Now, I'm not entirely sure why he's nervous. Starting with the general positive attributes, he's the Avatar. So, he already has an advantage over everyone else in the world. You can give him another one because his name is Aang, so he's even better than another million or so people. That he's still a boy to you humans, but old enough to drink that delicious fermented grain you people sometimes mix into my filling means that he's mature, too. He is nice—he put a lot of care into me (no blood, sweat or tears, thank Croissant), which tells me two things. One is that he likes baking—and is good at it—and two; he really likes this girl. It's kind of sweet. There are, of course, more specific attributes that the female gender might find appealing. He smells good, he dresses well, and he's extremely polite, always bowing and thanking people. That, and he's loyal. Now, I haven't had an opportunity to really take a look at his affections, but as she has just entered the room (sending him into a severe tizzy, might I add), now would probably be a good time to be quiet and allow me to observe.
I must say, I find this girl rather intriguing. She has a certain vulgar charm that just makes her feel warm and delightful. For those who missed what went on, I'll reiterate (quickly. I don't want to miss anything). After beaming widely, Toph Beifong (I do believe that is her name) gave him a swift jab on the shoulder, sniffed the air, and then walked into the kitchen. Piffle, I had hoped to se- oh, wait!
He's brought her back out to the living room (thank goodness. I can't move, obviously). Now, shush. This is the good part.
I am, after all, at the perfect vantage point to witness his fidgeting as he tries to think of what to say, and her impatient tapping. She tenses to move, a step as she forces him to act. He won't let her walk away, though. A slight twist of her foot, and a tilt of her head and- yes! Score!
I've always found you humans to have the strangest ways of expressing affection, but watching these two kiss gently (because neither one of them have any idea what the heck they're doing) is sort of rewarding. It's cute and as all propriety is thrown out the window (along with her headband. Whoops...), I can even see a little blush on their faces.
You realise what this means, don't you? Because, I'm watching Toph push Aang to the ground as she awkwardly (not nervously, no, never!) bites her lip and he runs his thumb over her face. You know what happens now?
I'm not getting eaten! Hah. I'll have a lot of fun watching these two suck the faces off one another. After all, you can find entertainment in everything, and this is more fulfilling than self-reflection. Now, you probably should leave, and before you argue, I have two reasons. It's not good to spy, and you're talking to a pastry. You need help.
Wait- wha- what are you doing! No! Don't eat me! I'm all dry and crd an m filng s hrf fhs.... jspifj.... ghjtyfbhjmn.....
Notes: it's currently 1:30am. I'm sick and have a research assignment due in about 9 hours. I have no idea what's going on, and I'm posting this before I regain my sanity. I have no idea what this was, and I had no idea how to end it, but pretty much, I feel like the pie at the moment....
For the collective works of the author, go here.