Crocodile's Treason
Crocodile was, in the days when animals still could talk, the acknowledged
foreman of all water creatures and if one should judge from appearances
one would say that he still is. But in those days it was his especial duty to
have a general care of all water animals, and when one year it was exceedingly dry,
and the water of the river where they had lived dried up and became scarce, he was
forced to make a plan to trek over to another river a short distance from there.
He first sent Otter out to spy. He stayed away two days and brought back a
report that there was still good water in the other river, real sea-cow [manatee]
holes, that not even a drought of several years could dry up.
After he had ascertained this, Crocodile called to his side Tortoise and
Alligator.
‘‘Look here,’’ said he, ‘‘I need you two
"What are unseen poems?" His mystic mood melted into contractions of smile and he reached for the marker on the table adjacent to him. He'd just entered the class and was ready to set off a new discourse. The last class they'd had was with no consequence, as he was yet to have the assignment marked. Well, sundry teachers have their ways with works and keep abreast of distinct ingenuity when fostering the growth knitted at the interest of their passion. One of the students, a newbie, by name Cole, raised her hands as her smirk dazzled like the sapid sighs of the purpled eyes of heaven. Mr Brad acknowledged her: "Unseen poems as their names imply are the poems we haven't seen." "Like spiritual poems? Or poems written in the air?" Mocked, Bella. She'd hardly raise her hands t
"May we have the first group?" The man with the broad nose turned to Mr Brad who was adjacent to him. His nosy nose swayed to the leering of lusty lips as they picked steps to the syllabic rhythm tossed by the bounty brain. He was such the hideous type. Well, one can't be sure who to call comely and who not to, since bruised beauty is a porous plague of sundry states in sundry retinas. Mr Brad attested with a nod. He turned to his right and met the approval of Miss Stephanie which leapt at him even before reaching for it. Then again she ate the student standing on the stage up with the what-are-you-waiting-for Kinda gaze. Decoding, she served her stance on the the platter of assertions: "The poem is quite the religious. Its title takes its root from the Spanish phrase, "Reserata Carcerem" which in semantic denotations of its English counterpart is "Unl
"Are you speaking now?" His heart skipped like a gaunt gazelle's that a churning cheetah is bent on killing. Its light limbs in the air teasing the bruised breeze complementing the apt atmosphere. He needed to do something before his gazelle would be wrung at the neck by the purposed Cheetah. He decided to make it run in curves. Like the wanky waves of the sassy sea does. Or even like an asp or adder do when interest or zeal bewitched it. His light limbs aided the recently conceived idea and it was fostered. The Cheetah seemed to be wearing out; his own curves should be maintained: "You're beautiful!" Was that curve the next to prune? He couldn't answer that rhetoric. Who would? He didn't know if he'd said the right thing to her. He was afraid to plunge into the bothers eating up hi
"What'd you think about the governmental policies?" She passed the remote control over to him as he switched off the television. She ate her up with the was-that-why-I-passed-it-to-you Kinda ogle. The room was quite the elegant type. The wall television was such the long type that you'd use to mock your height if bent sideways. The sitting room was large. Five chairs in its heart were like placing a mustard seed on a banana leave. Their were arranged such that, three were to the left while the remaining two to the right. A marble table that could metamorphose into stool and flat surface divided the two sets. Churning chandeliers swung in gay to the pleasure they could extract from callous currents of the undaunted electricity. And remaining parts of the parlour were consoled with stools and vases. Twas quite a house! "What is there
"You were supposed to do that!" The owner of those words stood abruptly and paved the length ire makes you. Her visage began to shrink as wielded whiskers stood in awe of the marred mood. It was not actually rage, it was more than that. Probably she was wrong or she was not thinking straightly. Her thoughts had been smothered into smooth smithereens by his prior statement. She looked across the pack as her eerie eyes widened. She needed to calm herself. She needed to shun the raging cum lousy thoughts. Probably her stance was defected. Probably she was the one who was wrong. She couldn't be sure. She had the rage shunned but would admit it to him. She paved further, with her pride choking gaunt guts. Apt azure was beginning to etch a cluster of sketches on its cloth. Such designs of rare radiance and spooky seals. Its eyes shone and took a walk to the next Checkpoi
"Here's what we call a presentation!" His broad chin swayed to the syllabic acrobatics. He was on the top of the world. That was the kinda feeling he pruned whenever he was teaching. He felt like he was doing the best thing anyone on earth could ever think of. He adjusted his new gotten spectacles that pushed his nose to some eerie exhibition. He was savoring the moment! His eyes met with Sea's as the thought of what had happened on her day of presentation etched salient strokes of smile on his voluptuous visage. He wasn't actually making fun of her. How would he? What teacher does such to his students? Probably the crazy ones who by extensions are cheaters! After Vera 1915 had had her take with the mind blowing presentation, Sea had assumed her stance. She obviously was having sweat oozing out of her hands. How odd and wierd? Many would sweat
"Your turn" She had no idea what next to play. The game was already towards the ending and the board was locked. She tried thinking of something but it was to no avail. Lots of words like waves of the sea surged in ripples, coursing through her mental ken. She was made to feel stupid. Nobody said that to her, but she felt like she was. The feeling was strange and strong. She was quite the queen of words, but her brain was void at that moment. Like all the words had been swept out by some spiritual broom. She hated the thought. It was nauseating. She needed to do something urgently, but had no idea what that should be. That kinda game sucked twelve bags of annoyance. It was quite the educative one, but was matter-of-factly murderous. If using the dictionary was an option, she'd be very glad. If just to check up just a word, to affirm if the letters she was forming in her head pointed at
"You wanted us to talk." Wasn't that what she was expected to say? Of course! If she didn't say it, then she had no idea what else to say to the guy in blue T-shirt and grey jeans, with some sects of Loafers, seated before her. He wasn't so handsome like the disturbingly-handsome. He was simply breathtaking. He was comely and quite the good looking. She on the other hand was in a pink evening gown to-matched with some sassy Stiletto. She was quite prepared for the day, but had no idea if the guy was. She couldn't and wouldn't push him to talk. The best she could do was prick the string of a prompt which she'd done. What else could she had done? She'd walked into the guy some days back at the Cinema. That week had been tiring and strength sucking for her and she'd thereby knuckled under spending some of the hours of the nig