The History of the Habrigale (Needs a Better Name)

The true history of Australia, and the ancient history of the world. Read this book at your own risk, as discovering how joyous life once was may bring your grief.

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5. Chapter Four: The Meeseynians

 

This, patient readers, is the point at which I divert your attention to a far more modern story line: the story of how the language of the meese came to be remembered, and the history of the Habrigale was therefore translated correctly – by me.

I was originally going to relate only the truth of the matter to you, but was informed that it would not be wise to do so until towards the end of this history. Otherwise you might end up terribly confused. Or, rather, even more terribly confused. And so I went about gathering together some myths that were written in very recent times.

I was not aware that the following stories had been written until I began researching the original history of the Habrigale. However, though such writing comes across as (in some cases) completely ridiculous in our culture, such writings are still very much accepted and even appreciated in today’s non-human cultures. Therefore I have obliged these creatures by adding in their mythical accounts of how their history came to be accurately translated again.

                Please do not expect any of it to be correct. I will tell you the true tale towards the end of this history, as was suggested to me by the elves. Similarly, do not expect to understand any of the following tales. Non-human beings really do have a quite different way with words.

The first tale I will relate to you is titled ‘The Meeseynians’, and was originally written by Homar (by no means the writer’s real name). I believe this anonymous author to be a hobbit, as he confessed to having no plot for the tale, and the style is quite unorganised. It is as follows.

                This is an epic story, written in the style of Homer and Euripides. It is short because it does not have a plot, and is the tale of the Meeseynians, and how they came to be. It may not be completely true.

               

                The story begins on an island, where monsters and penguins roam the streets, and only the bravest dare take on the waves. These bold few are known as surfers, their weapons known as surfboards.

                Our heroes were not as brave as these surfers, and wasted no time hiding themselves in a tiny little room. Their names were Joseph, Rebekah (his kind sister), Olivia, and Stephanie.

                The four were incredibly bored one day, when – completely unexpected, probably even to you – in walked a moose.

                The moose spoke (which shocked them even more) the following words. He said, ‘Children, you have been chosen as of five minutes ago to bear the legacy of the moose. If you are forever faithful to us, all will be… pretty cool.’

                And so saying this, the mystic creature departed, leaving behind only a pen with a picture of a moose on it.

                Joseph was the first to speak. ‘Hey, he left a pen! I shall pick it up… but wait, what is happening? Now I hold it…’

                A smaller girl entered the room here, and promptly behaved precisely as a member of the ancient Greek chorus, filling the public in on important details (preferably in rhyme).

                                ‘You are brought into the enchanted world of Meese!

                                Where Meese are glad and free!

                                You only have to look around,

                                If you do not trust me.’

                So they looked, and indeed, they were in a new land. It looked exactly like the last one, only they saw things differently. For example, instead of rain outside, they saw snow, and instead of moths and butterflies they saw fairies.

                It was then that Joseph and Rebekah’s older brother Samuel dared to enter.

                                ‘Be warned, and be scared!

                                He is to be feared!’ Warned the Chorus.

                He was now their enemy… but not really. More on that later.

                Sam spoke promptly, half joking, half not. ‘I am Sam, the evil one (but not really),’ though he really should have said the last part louder, because no-one heard him, ‘and I, with my assistant, will take over this land of Meese!’

                Then Joseph, pen in hand, replied, ‘Brother! Evil one!’ And he did not add ‘not really’, because he had not heard that comment, nor had anyone else present. ‘While I hold the Meeseyn pen of power in my hand, I also hold kindness in my heart! We shall not fight!’

                But Stephanie, slow to think and quick to speak, asked, ‘Sam, who’s your henchman?’

                Sam replied indignantly. ‘Henchperson! Be politically correct!’ Then he sighed. ‘And he is Jacob.’

                Stephanie wondered what the point of being politically correct was when the henchman was obviously not a woman, and turned to the door, expecting Rebekah, Joseph, and Samuel’s eldest brother Jacob to walk through at any moment.

                But Jacob knew naught of anything, and frowned upon hearing his name.

                ‘You called?’

                While things weren’t really all that bad, the Meeseynians trembled with terror at Sam’s threat of war, until Olivia (fairest and wisest in the land) gave Joseph counsel.

                ‘You too, must find a henchman.’

                ‘Henchperson!’ Sam shouted instantly.

                But Sam the evil one (but not really) need not have been so politically correct, for, much like the last time, another male person was called, as Joseph (pen in hand and kindness in his heart) promptly called Lachlan, whom he renamed Hoodie, emulator of nobility and justice.

                Hoodie, emulator of nobility and justice, glanced around the room curiously and frowned. ‘What is this I see? My sisters, Stephanie and Alycia.’

                Joseph frowned too. ‘Who, her? That girl? She’s just the chorus.’

                Steph spoke quickly again. ‘What is her point?’

                Olivia helpfully explained things. ‘Her job is to fill us in on stuff in rhyme.’

                Sam brightened up here. ‘Hey! I get that!’

                Sam, the evil one (but not really) was ready for war, so (seeing Joseph was too busy talking to Hoodie) he turned to Rebekah, his sister, friend to all she knew and knower of all. But she would not let him speak.

                ‘Speak not, my brother, for war would be terrible! Our job is to protect the meese…’

                The chorus piped up at once.

‘Meese, meese! Only saw meese!

                                For that is the plural of moose!’

                Steph, quick to speak and slow to think, spoke again. ‘Did that rhyme?’

                ‘No.’ Bek answered her silly question. ‘Anyway, brother, as protector of the meese…’

                                ‘Meese! Meese! Only say meese!

                                The plural of moose is that word!’

                ‘That was much worse.’ Sam pointed out. ‘What was the point of that even? Anyway, can’t you just get a rhyming assistant or something?’

                The chorus nodded eagerly.

                                ‘A good idea I hear!

                                Still, the evil one you must fear!’

                And so Katie, quick thinker, good worker, and epic rhymer, was brought in to help the chorus. Bek happily addressed her.

                ‘Katie, quick thinker, good worker, and epic rhymer, you would be more help to us than to her!’

                ‘Sounds like more fun than helping the chorus.’ Katie replied. And so she, Katie, quick thinker and epic rhymer, moved over to her friends.

                ‘How may we stop Sam?’ Bek asked.

                                ‘The evil one, but not really!’

                ‘Would you stop that!?’ Sam shouted at the chorus. Then, smiling a little, he turned to Joseph. ‘Looks like she’s given up on the rhyming thing.’

                Joseph only frowned, having finally heard that last line in Sam’s epithet. ‘What does she mean ‘not really’?’

                Olivia yet again found herself explaining things. ‘She’s been lying! Sam is not evil at all!’

                Hoodie was not particularly bothered by this news. ‘Can we still have a war?’

                The chorus was eager to contribute.

                                ‘Without blood there is no redemption.

                                Without war there is no elation.

                                To the death you must fight,

                                To make things right!’

                Sam the evil one (but not really) didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Hey!’ He cried. ‘I wasn’t serious about the war thing! I just wanted a pen!’

                And so, as if on cue (because it was) the mystic moose reappeared, and handed out pens to all present (though not the chorus, because she had annoyed everyone), including Jacob, he who is symbolic of the world.

                Jacob only stared at the pen blankly. ‘What’s this for?’

                The chorus gave a little jump. ‘War!’

                Hoodie growled. ‘Silence, Chorus!’

                ‘She’s Alycia.’ Steph corrected.

                Katie stepped in here, eager to put the whole affair to rest. ‘I am quick thinking, hardworking, and epic at rhyming, and I know how to solve everyone’s problems: just give her a pen.’

                Joseph was eager too. ‘I am kind, I shall give her mine!’

                Bek shook her head. ‘But I am friend to all, I shall give her mine!’

                ‘She can have mine.’ Steph offered.

                ‘I am noble,’ Hoodie cut in, ‘I shall sacrifice my pen!’

                Olivia spoke quietly. ‘I am wise, I do not need a pen.’

                ‘I’m closest, I’ll just give her mine.’ Sam offered.

                ‘But you are the evil one!’ Katie cried (even though he wasn’t really).

                At this point, all drew their pens and there was an epic battle, that I can’t be bothered describing. All were wounded, and many pictures were drawn. Finally, as Hoodie (emulator of nobility, etcetera, etcetera) gave a dramatic cry while ink dried, Jacob (he who is symbolic of the world) stood up, put down the book I forgot to mention he was reading, and said:

                ‘I hate moose, and this pen is ugly. She can have mine.’

                And while all others gasped, Alycia, the chorus, snatched up the pen. Jacob, symbolic of world (and possibly the only one in this story that I haven’t made completely insane), rolled his eyes and walked off.

                But the friends never forgot the Meese, the land of the Meese, or the language of Meeseyn that this story is written in. It is the only language the pens can write in.

                And so they got together once a month just to speak it, and sometimes the mystic moose would say hi.

                And they all didn’t die.

The End (of this tale)

 

 

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