James Paige

Ogg Nayboomer and the Fla’arns of Tra’al
James Paige

With formious churnations, Rog Ogg Nayboomer lifted his p’nurk ashurn the lerg mundions of Tra’ali.

“Mullgow Tra’ali!” he began, “our first gronom besets us! Now is the k’lurn to set balsern our trovels, and to take up our marguls and knit!”

“Knit!” chorused the askanseled Tra’ali, clashing their trovels together with great formio.

But Ogg Nayboomer scowled. Snurk among the Tra’alim narselled him. He leaped down from the uld’low, and seized a margul from the aleenest Tra’ali.

“What h’murk of margul is this?” he demanded burmiously.

“One gifted to me ve’sek’varingly by my flune Gloriak.” said the Tra’ali neberously.

“Foma!” bellowed Ogg Nayboomer. “My pleen have never seen an opsorn fla’arnious wagoo than this pegl of a margul. Do you think to change this boozel-knitting from a boozel-knitting to a blurk-floshing?”

“Never” said the aleen Tra’ali.

“I also boast for this Tra’ali,” uttered the lurg Tra’ali boolsern him.

“Do you all boast?” shouted Ogg Nayboomer, looking fulsern the mundion.

“We knit as one!” came the formious de’ponk.

“So be it.” said Ogg. “Knit like the blurkhog of Pummelgog were agstern thee!”

* * * * *

So the lerg mundions of Tra’ali, sat glomsern their polmoons with their trovels mumsern them and they knitted boozels with their marguls from mog’bok until mog’nuk. And Rog Ogg Nayboomer knitted boolsern them. Being the lergest of the Tra’alim, Ogg Nayboomer needed no polmoon, and walked, marguls in p’nurk, as he knitted, overlooking the baleen of the oms.

Sorgenly, Ogg stopped, dropping his boozel and garfing formiously. “Who dares?” he demanded, seizing a margul and holding it sern boomsern his pleens.

The wagoo that he held was bargolly the same fla’arnious margul that he had taken from the blurkey Tra’ali only mog’hark.

“Our glub is facing churmious gronom, and you play Fla’arniak.” roared Ogg Nayboomer.

“But Rog,” said the Tra’ali in de’ponk, “behold my plurn of  boozels!”

Ogg looked amsern, and saw that indeed, the Tra’ali’s plurn of boozels sernly glomed his polmoon.

“How,” demanded Ogg with grof, “How do you so barmiously knit boozels with such a fla’arny margul?”

“Thus did my flune Gloriak teach me.” said the Tra’ali, “for my flune Gloriak and my berf Fla’arn are the same!”

Ogg Nayboomer gasped, and he raised his trovel to do that blurky baleen which he knew he must do.

But the other Tra’alim fulsern him siezed his p’nurks and stayed him.

“Fla’arns! Fla’arns!” shouted the Rog, struggling churnaciously. “All of thee Fla’arns!”

“Flunest Rog,” said the aleen Tra’ali. “We all knit in the blorp of the Fla’arnim. We are lagsorn boozel-knitters and opsorn boozel-fla’arners.”

“We beg toglosity,” said another. “We wogsorn meant to pa’bargol you!” He showed his margul which was also fla’arnious.

Rog Ogg Nayboomer fell to his p’thorks and wept.

After his pleen had no more spurks to shed, he stood, and with great neberosity he spoke “Gronom besets us. If we must knit as the Fla’arniak do, then so be it. The Fla’arn of Tra’al we shall be!”

THE G’NORP

Current mood: Far Away

I found an origami rose.
And because it was so beautiful,
I lifted it close to my lips to smell it.
And I saw that there was writing on it.
And I began to unfold it and read it.
And as it unfolded it became a book.

Who are we?
We are the sum of our memories.
How do we share our memories?
Through the sound of her voice?
Through the touch of her skin as we make new memories?

I went today and walked alone in her memories
And alone I could not understand them.
The places where she walked and laughed and lived,
offered to me only the faintest whisper of her memories.

I long for her. To know who she truly is.

As I read the pages fall away,
like rose petals.
But for each page I read, a new one is written.
And with time,
the reader and the story will become one.
And the book will never have to end.