Yours Truly- the first installment in the Mamber Pamber Land Series

So last year my teacher had us write these creative stories, so I decided to write one about a place called Mamber Pamber Land (yes, I got the idea from a Geico commercial 🙂 ). I really liked writing about that, so I decided to wite a sequel, and for the next creative story we did, another sequel. I still like to write about that, so….yeah.

Anyway, here goes! (P.S. don’t you dare write about Mamber Pamber Land ’cause that’s MY idea, and I will hunt you down….and sue you (maybe, if i can find a lawyer))
It was a hot, hot, hot summer day, and the only friend I had was my adopted cousin Kevin. He was the only person who was with me at the time of the discovery of Mamber Pamber Land was Kevin. So, we went to the park…
“Hey, Kevin, what’s that thing over there?” I asked, pointing to a shimmering object. “Beats me. Race you to it?” “Only if you want to lose,” I said, running in the direction of the thing. “ Hey, you cheated!” Psh, like I didn’t already know that. Kevin easily caught up to me, but before either of us could win, the shimmering thing widened and sucked us in. All I could hear was the wind whistling gin my ears, and two people screaming at the top of their lungs; all I could see was black, and the occasional bumper sticker or eraser. What they were doing in a black hole or whatever it was, I will never know.
All of a sudden, it stopped. No sound, nothing but white. Then, bright colors, objects, land filled my vision as we were thrown rather roughly to the ground. It took me a couple of minutes to regain my bearings, and when I did, I saw the most beautiful land I’d ever seen. Knee length grasses blowing in the breeze, tall, thick oak trees, bright flowers I’d never seen before, along with weird berries. Fiery birds flew by. Hold on, fiery birds? They didn’t seem to be hurting themselves, but that didn’t stop me from staring in awe. Suddenly, all my memories came flooding back to me. My name was Georgia. I lived here, in Cary-Din; my two best friends were a dragon and a satyr (or faun, if that’s what you call them), and two years ago I’d been kidnapped by the “bad guys” of the world and saved by my best friends. I did a little dance. Wait a minute, where was Kevin? “Kevin! Kevin! Where are you?” I cried. Oh no, what if he’d been flung across the whole world? What would he do? Just because I lived here didn’t mean anything about Kevin. He could’ve been thrown into space, never to be seen again. Or killed, or even… no, it wasn’t possible, was it? If the land of what you call America, and India, and Antarctica is a whole New World, who knew? There could be millions of other little barbaric, or snooty, or completely alien and cannibal worlds! “KEVIN!” I screamed, “KEVIN! KEVIN KEVIN KEVIN!” where was he? “Over here! Help me!” I immediately dashed the way I’d heard his voice. It wasn’t just Kevin, it was a Cyclops holding him upside down with his hand clamped over Kevin’s mouth. Aw, dang it. Had I learned nothing from reading the Percy Jackson series, not to mention all the other books I’d read concerning these creatures? Cyclopes could imitate almost anything! I felt like smashing my head into a pole. Stupid! What was I going to do now? “Dis human was twying to twik me,” he said , “so I will eat him!” Suddenly, he dropped Kevin, who, as you may have guessed, landed on his head. The monster reached up and pulled an arrow from his shoulder. “ROAR! YOU HURT ME!” he cried. “No, der,” muttered Kevin as he rubbed his head. I looked beyond him to see who had shot the Cyclops. No one was there, unless they were behind that tree, but only someone really thin could fit behind that tree. Someone like my old friend Farley, the faun. The only problem with that idea was that Farley was no good at archery, but the girl at the vendor, who sold anything from flowers to old, used hubcaps…Ah-ha! That’s it! Marigold had shot that! She was good at archery, and, although at times she could yell so loudly that it was deafening, she could sneak up on just about anyone. It was all a matter of her keeping her trap shut, if she didn’t talk, then she was silent enough to make mice look loud. But, I still doubted it was her. Plus, every time she lands an arrow, she whoops and hollers and does sumersaults and, well, maybe Marigold hadn’t shot that. But if the fifteen year old hadn’t shot that, who had? Another arrow flew by, but it was wobbly and just barely made it to its target. Definitely Farley’s work. Now that I thought about it, the first arrow hadn’t exactly been “whizzing” by, either, but still, if it was Farley’s doing, he had improved… a little. I heard running feet, heavy feet. Hank, the son of the guy who owned our local department store – Albert’s Place – came charging at the cyclops, with a foot long fork in his hand, “RUN!!!!!” he yelled. Kevin scrambled to his feet and we made no hesitation to do so.
We ran to the Lighted Village, the very town that I’d grown up in. It was quite a ways away, and when we reached it, I just collapsed at the nearest doorstep, not bothering to see whose doorstep. Well, one thing’s for sure; it was the wrong doorstep.
“Hey, you dang teenagers! Get off o’ my lawn before I whip you!” came an angry voice from inside the house, “Well? GET A MOVE ON!” I didn’t need to be told again, and neither did Kevin. We ran like the wind towards, well, we didn’t pay any attention to where we were going, and that’s why I ran into a glass window from a thrift shop. “Ow…” I moaned. “Hey, Tiff, you all right?” asked Kevin as he skidded to a halt. “No, Kevin. I’m dying for crying out loud.” The storeowner was looking at us peculiarly. We started to walk away. “Where are we, anyway?” asked Kevin, “the signs say Mamber Pamber land, but…” “That seems like an odd name?” “You can say that again.” “We should go this way,” I said, pointing in the direction of where I used to live. “Why?” asked Kevin, clearly wondering why I knew where we were. “Because, I think I used to live here.” He halted, “Say what? How would you know? You’re telling me, that after a year of living in the real world and being clueless on who you are and where you’re from, all of a sudden we get sent to some godforsaken place and wham, you live here? No. I’m not going to buy it, Tiffany.” “Technically, only part of it is godforsaken, as for the rest—“ “ WE ARE GOING TO LEAVE.” “NO. WE ARE GOING TO STAY!” “LEAVE.” “STAY!” “GO GO GO GO GO GO!” “NO, NO, NO, NO!” “YES!” “NO!” YES.” We continued on like this for a while, stamping our feet like toddlers and whacking each other upside the head with mallets, having what you might call “kitty fights,” all the while forgetting how dangerous being outside at night, all alone, with no moon or any source of light. The worst part about it was, though, that we had walked our way into the woods without even knowing it.
SCREECH! We stopped arguing upon hearing the sound. “W-what was that?” asked Kevin. “Out here, who knows,” I replied. Then we heard them; Heavy, loud footsteps, the shallow breathing, the singing. Well, we kind of smelled them before we heard them. They reeked like rotting meat, wet dogs, and your little brother when he hasn’t showered in a month. They sang like angels, though, and it paralyzed us. You see, these creatures are basically the brothers of Sirens, which, if you’ve ever read THE SEA OF MONSTERS, you’ll know that sirens are bird-women that lure sailors to their death with their singing. Well, these monsters are called Blares, and they sing like angels, and that singing paralyzes anything within a mile radius. The only way to survive this is either to be deaf, or REALLY thick in the head, to the point where you listen to nobody. Unfortunately, we weren’t either of these. I tried to recall anything, anything at all that had to do with Blares, but the singing was too powerful. I began to feel woozy, depressed, like I couldn’t want anything more than to be eaten. Somewhere in the depths of my brain, it clicked. Depression. That was how they killed you! They made you want to die, to listen to them, to leave all your worries behind. I tried to think of a happy time, happy thoughts, but all I got was the time I broke my nose, when Galadriel Stokes pushed me and called me a ninny when I was six. It wouldn’t work. I would die here, at age eleven, all because I couldn’t remember a happy moment in my life. Then I realized something: the singing had stopped. I looked around; the Blare was still there, but still as a statue, lying on his back, not breathing. I cautiously creeped over to see if he/it was really dead. I poked it, not the smartest thing to do, but, hey, I lived and that’s what counts. It/he/Mr. Blare didn’t move. “What… happened?” Kevin asked disbelievingly. I shrugged, “Let’s get out of here before we get killed by something else.” We made no hesitation to do so.
It must have been 9:00 PM by then, judging by the dropping temperature, the quietness, and the stars. Well, it really stank for us because it was well below 60 degrees, and all we were wearing were T-shirts and shorts, whereas the few people we saw were dressed in plain, boring, but warm robes and pants, along with the occasional scarf or hat or gloves. “If you lived here, then where do we go?” asked Kevin challengingly. I looked around, trying to see if I recognized the area. There were still many trees, but it was populated, a gift shop here, a Smart Mart there, a couple dozen houses or so. I let my eyes wander, and then, I saw it. The Snag, a 50-foot tall, burned, hollow, 10-foot wide snag, home to many small creatures. Around it was what used to be a circular meadow, two miles across, but now it’s mostly houses, some of those fact signs talking about how this poisonous weed lived here, that poor piggy cried wee, wee, wee all the way home, and, of course, it had roads. “Welcome to Snag Circle,” I said. “Snag Circle,” he repeated. “Yep, home of weeds, trees, my friend, and, of course, the Snag.” “Who’s your friend?” he asked. “Farley Ikeda.” “What’s the Snag?” “That dead tree.” “What’s…a…ah…a weed?” “Any plant you simply wish would die; a useless plant; Also known as a thistle, dandelion, a—“ “Okay, okay. We get the point now. Well, then, where does he live?” “Over there,” I said, pointing towards his street. I looked up, only to see that not only had clouds rolled in, but a raindrop had just landed in my eye. We started for his house, only to break into a run as in started pouring.
“Farley! Farley!” I cried, exasperated, “Open up!” I banged real hard on the door. A muffled voice came from inside, “Hold your horses!” the door opened, but it wasn’t Farley, nope, far from it. It was his older brother, Jonas, who looked nothing like Farley. Where Farley wasn’t even as tall as I was, Jonas was, like, freakishly tall. Farley had golden blond curls; Jonas had wavy brown/black hair. To top it off, Farley was scrawny and, at times, really nerdy. Jonas usually got C’s on all his report cards, with the occasional C+. “We don’t want to buy anything, thank you.” He shut the door. We knocked again. “Dang, those kids are annoying. Farley, go answer it.” We heard someone trip and fall on the door. “Yes?” asked Farley as he fumbled to open the door. As the door opened, I said, “Surprise.” Farley just stood there, not recognizing me, “Huh?” “Listen, we are freezing cold, drenched, lost and… who knows what else!” cried Kevin. “Georgia?” asked Farley slowly. “Surprise,” I repeated, shivering. “Where’ve you been for the past year?” he asked, dumbfounded. “To faraway lands.” Kevin and I said simultaneously. The faun opened the door wider and shoved us in. “Hey!” protested Kevin. Neither of us responded, Farley just ushered us up the stairs.

“And that’s where I’ve been.” I finished. Kevin was pretty silent throughout most of the story. I think he still thought this was all a dream. I pulled the borrowed blanket around myself tighter. “Are you sure you haven’t gone mad?” “Ninety-nine percent.” He seemed to believe this, “so…what are you saying? You realize you’ve been missing for almost a year? Presumed dead?” I thought about this for a moment. “Yeah.” “I want to go home,” Kevin said in a tiny voice. “Let’s go tell someone then!” exclaimed Farley. He had kept asking that, but Kevin and I said no, no again, and, once again, no. Kevin and I glanced at each other. “I guess…” “Alright-y then! It’s about time!” I stopped him, “but not yet…” he groaned. “Well, then what ARE we going to do?”

“Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea,” mumbled Farley to himself. There we were, sneaking out at the crack of dawn, headed for the only person who could ever help us get Kevin back home, the quaint, the itchy, the clever and mushy, the one and only….B. Tee the Marvelous. I am sure you have no idea who B. Tee the Marvelous is, and why he is quaint, itchy, clever, mushy, one and only, and marvelous. Well, I am not sure why he is quaint (I don’t even know what that means, anyway), or mushy, but I do know why they call him itchy. The reason is that he lives sort of in a cave-like structure, with running water and all, but he is itchy because poison ivy and oak tend to grow there. He is clever because, well, he just is, I mean, his whole house is practically MADE out of strategy books and such. He is well known for giving answers, but he is also well known for driving people insane. I guess the only reason he’s marvelous is because he used to be a famous magician, and his 5th cousin’s daughter’s cousin’s mom’s brother’s kid is the king’s niece. Another reason may be because he knows so much, and also…well, I think that’s all. Oh, I see I forgot to mention that he’s like, two hundred something years old. Don’t ask me how he’s still alive, but he is.
“I don’t want to go!” whined my friend Reep, who, by the way, is a dragon. “Too bad, that’s life,” said Farley. “Please, Reep? For me?” I pleaded. We needed him. He was the only one who could fly, breathe fire, and eat his way out of almost any situation! “Only if I get food…” he said. “Somebody eats a lot,” muttered Kevin to himself. “It’s my hobby!” exclaimed Reep. Kevin scootched away from Reep. I dug out a Tootsie Roll from my pocket. “Here. Now will you come?” Reep looked skeptically at the candy in my hand. “Maybe…” “alright then!” said Farley. I put my freezing hands in the pocket of the gray robe I was wearing over my clothes. Kevin took out the map. “First we have to get across the Really Big River, then we have to go through the Very Scary woods, and then we have to dodge geysers and hope the ground doesn’t give way beneath our feet when we cross the Whistling Geyser Plains in order to reach his house/cave,” read Farley. We stared at him. “Well, that’s just the easiest thing in the world, ain’t it?” asked Reep sarcastically. “Cant we just phone him?” I asked. “Well, he can only be reached by one phone, and you have to pay $5 to use it for seven minutes. Also, it’s by the beach,” stated Reep. “Well, it IS a whole lot easier!” Kevin and I said. “True.” “Why is this place called Mamber Pamber Land anyway?” Yeah, I know, it’s really off topic. “Well, they took a vote, country-wide, on whether or not they should change the name to M. P. Land. Mamber Pamber Land won,” stated Reep. “Ah.” “Hey, if all we have to do is phone him, can’t we PLEASE just tell an adult?” asked Farley for the hundred-millionth-gazillionth time. We groaned. It WOULD be a lot easier, but where’s the fun in THAT? We considered this, and agreed. So, we told my mom.
We got in the news, and eventually, we did call Mr. B. Tee. What he said, though, is to be mentioned in another story. With all due respect,
Georgia Camney.


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