A/N Hello, everyone! I'm back with another story I doubt I'll continue or finish because it's utterly ridiculous. I haven't even really started writing it down yet and it's ridiculous.
First, some explanation behind the story would be helpful, huh? Does anyone remember But What if Animals Did Walk?Computerfan...Louis, Goldie, Kapp'n, Kabuki...a cave, a trial...a kinda interesting title because animals walk anyways except here they do it on two feet but we all knew what he meant...one of the most popular AC fanfics in the universe...sounds familiar now? Well, he's been working on his sequel on fanfiction.net, which initially was posted here in beta as But What if They Kill You Too? but didn't last. His sequel has made it well past the halfway mark, I'd say, and finally made it past a cliffhanger...we waited months. It was worth the wait, I'd say. I recommend you give it a read, but do keep in mind there's a significant dose of vulgar language.
Well, he hasn't updated it in a while for a few reasons I won't go into, but he's alive and well, last I heard...but he explained his reasoning behind writing BWIADT in his latest update:
"I write for my reviewers more than I write for myself, really, and that may not be 'right' - and I'm certainly not saying it to sound attention seeking... but at the end of the day, isn't writing meant to be to provide entertainment for those that read it? The main reason I wanted to be a writer was, to be honest, to read fanfiction based on my work... fan-art, forums, discussions, polls... all of that. I love to know what YOU think's going to happen, who YOU like, what you WANT/don't want to happen, etc. etc."
Well, Josh, old buddy...here you go.
Purrl has always been my favorite character in his stories, and he once joked with me in a review of my series of oneshots on fanfiction.net that I should write a oneshot about Purrl. He hinted he wasn't serious, but at the same time, I think he kind of wanted me to. Josh himself said he wanted to see fan works of his fan works, basically. He is stealing no more from Nintendo than I am from him in the following work. I may rewrite some of his scenes from Purrl's perspective (in first person or in third, I can't decide for certain as I write this), but I plan to be original, too. If Computerfan is too busy to write or just doesn't have the will to do it anymore, I say his legacy shouldn't end. When Elvis stopped singing, did people stop listening and covering his songs? When Einstein died, did people drop his theories? No, Josh isn't dead, not as far as I know, and he's not retired either...but he has, sadly, lost a very important part of writing...his motivation.
Please don't take this story too seriously or regard it as part of the BWIAD timeline. I write this for fun and in the hopes that one day, good ol' Comp'll see this and be rejuvinated.
Consider this a tribute to a legend, history made in the Animal Crossing Community...
...and no, I'm not talking about Josh anymore. I'm talking about his interpretation of Purrl.
ON WITH THE STORY My claws were being dug into the wooden door behind me as I held on for dear life. There, on the wall in front of me, was an enormous spider. I have seen many small spiders before, and I had considered them large then...I have never seen such a spider of this size then and I do not believe I ever shall again. Perhaps this flashback of which I am alluding to is so traumatic that the spider's size is emphasized, but that is a minor detail. It does not matter how many centimeters it was. All I know is that it was big, and I say that is good enough, kitten.
I suppose I ought to elaborate upon who I am. I do not see why this is necessary since you should already know who I am, but nevertheless, I shall elaborate. I am Purrl, kitten, one of the...more stylish residents of Honevray. I am a calico, a rare and beautiful kind of cat. My mother was a calico as well, but my father was a tabby. Male calicos are an even rarer...type. I suppose we are at least lucky I am here, no? What else is there to say? I am not going to share my age or weight, but young and light should suffice. I say "kitten" at the end of my sentences for a variety of reasons, none of which you shall know yet.
I was born in a poor family...it is shocking, I know, especially considering how glamorous I am now. My mother and father were left behind by their parents, and they left me behind when I was of age. It was a cruel world then...humans saw no other use in walking, talking animals like me but to make them into slaves. Sometimes we were actual houseservants and sometimes we were toys; pets for ingrates. My parents decided abandoning me was best for all of our futures, kitten. My only physical memory of them is an old, purple hairbow and a tattered blanket. It is the only unfashionable piece I have never disposed of. My mother made it before I was born and I remember having it all my life. It is stained with tears, dirt, and other substances. Sometimes, on sleepless nights, I will take it out from its storage and just hold it as I used to. I fall asleep in minutes. I do not want anyone to see it. I do not want anyone to know about it. This is my life and my secret.
...Ah, yes, the spider. Ugh. I think I will postpone that for another time. It is late, and I want a slice of fruit.
Short first chapter, I know. Hopefully this will stick with me so that I may write more tomorrow. If you like it, let me know!
Life is too short
to be lived in the fast lane.
I remember back in the good ol' days when Compy and his crew basically ran this board. Memories of the past five years are just flooding back to me now. Users come and go, but it's nice to see a tribute to the work that has shaped ACC's fanfics and fanfic competitions. Looking forward to reading more.
Thank you for the Reese memories (7/9/13-9/27/17)
Computerfan, honored you checked this out and posted publicly for the first time in...*flips vehemently through calendar* Hope you'll be satisfied with the result. This first chapter should hopefully be unusually short. I'm glad you like my version of Purrl! You know I like yours...check me for contractions, haha.
Liv909...you did the flag thing! I remember those days when people would do that and butterknifing! Ah, butterknifing! These new icons ruined it! haha, jk! Love 'em. And love that you flagified this, too! Didn't really know Josh had a "crew," though. Hope you enjoy this tribute.
...Right, the spider. I had almost forgotten.
As I was saying, I was backed up against an old, wooden door trying to be as far away as possible from the eight-legged menace. I know he was staring at me, imagining me with an apple on my mouth, bound upon a charger. Oh, how morbid!! I may retch at the thought of that...wretch! Let us move on.
However, my roomate in that accursed orphanage, Mitt, was brave enough to "defend" me...or, more appropriately, had the gall to gawk at the creature like a slobbering idiot while I was having a panic attack. Oh, do not think I do not like the boy...I did. Though I did not then.
He was a young lad of about fourteen years of...no, not in cat years. We cats age no faster or slower than humans do. I do not know why it matters or how it works, but all I know is he was fourteen years of age. Mitt He was a bit taller than I was, and was sure to grow all the more. He had black fur, with a white abdomen and white "socks." ...Why did I say "had"? It is not like he no longer has it. He likely still retains his appearance, but he is taller and possibly a vagrant. Correction: he is probably a vagrant. But he was sweet. Even if he was sometimes a dunce.
Back to the spider...for, what, the third time? Why did I have to start with the spider? Oh, me and my big, adorable mouth.
He, she, it should have been dead by now, but alas, Mitt was uncooperative. "Relax. It’s just a spider," he scoffed, stepping back, deciding that saving me was not so important after all. I have no idea why he thought that. He claimed that because it "wasn't poisonous," I would be fine...then he began to second-guess himself. Oh, good old Honest Mitt. Never a liar...to me anyway...but it did not really matter how poisonous it was. I wanted it gone. It was big and ugly.
I was large in proportion to it, he told me comfortingly (so I thought of one my size and I grew rather faint). Of course, it had me beat in legs, I argued...tiny little legs, scuttling on the...hurp...wall...ugh, how disgusting!
He retorted that I had sharp claws and teeth, but I did not want to poke or eat the spider, so I did not understand that reasoning either. Mitt had a male mind, that is certain. He just decided he would leave it alone and just relax in bed. What a slob! Despite my commands, he did not budge. The spider then disappeared into a crack in the corner. At least he...or she...was gone for now. Hopefully it would be gone forever. I never saw it again.
Mitt...oh, Mitt. He was a sweet little kitten, and needed someone to talk to. He, too, was abandoned by his parents, but had been at the orphanage for years longer than I. He had a roomate before, he claimed, who was much meaner and masculine than I was. "He was a bully," he grumbled, thinking of him one night. "He was no team player. He bossed me around a lot...even more than you." I may have bossed him around some, but maybe it was because I was a petite young feline that gave him the strength to refuse me. I am quite certain he had a fondness for me, but he never admitted it. I can tell these things.
He was kind, selfless (most of the time), and always there to wipe up my tears when I let him see them. He was perhaps the only true friend I had ever had.
Life is too short
to be lived in the fast lane.
Computerfan: Hahahahahahaha that's impossible. No one can write your Purrl better than you! Me writing better than you in the first place is a laughable concept enough...ain't no reason you can't continue writing about them! Could be a flashback thing for BWIADT, idk...up to you!
Sleegi: Thank you! Glad you're bringing back your old story, too. I never actually read it, but now I can! Huzzah!
To all those who flagged or keep up with this thread, don't hold back on the comments...they're much appreciated, even if it includes scrutinized criticism.
It just came to me that I don't have chapter names...with respect and homagery to BWIADW/T, I should probably name these chapters. The first one could be named "Purrl, the One and Only" and the second, "The Spider" of course.
The Orphanage and Humans:
It has come to my attention that I have neglected to reminisce properly about my previous living quarters at the orphanage. I apologise, kitten.
Of course, it would be a stretch to associate the dreaded orphanage with life or any form of the word...except its antonym, perhaps. Mitt and I shared a tattered room on the second floor. This "room" had almost no room for one young feline to dwell within, let alone two rambunctious youngsters such as we. There were two "beds," which were cheap mattresses on broken wooden frames. I could have told you they were cardboard boxes if it wasn't for the stuffing and springs sticking out. The pillows were actually very soft, but also very thin, so they did not profit much. I had to fold mine over a few times and sleep on my paws for maximum comfort. There were thin sheets and a ragged (and ugly) duvet, which I liked to wrap myself in. The beds and/or the floor creaked whenever any weight was applied to it. The floor was hardwood and cold. The doors were wood, the walls were wood, the window had only a curtain and no glass...we lived in a shack. The worst human orphanage in the area was only one floor (rather than our two) and had hard pillows and no beds. However, that human orphanage was one rare case of a horrible juvie equivalent—the animal orphanages were quite often this bad.
You see, humans and animals did not get along where I came from, and that was the case for many cities around me. Humans certainly had dominance over animals, what with their fancy thumbs and everything...but those same people had a habit of flaunting their greatness in the most obnoxious, hateful way. There was no grace, no tact, no mercy, no love...only dominance and power.
I touched on this before, but I will elaborate...animals were slaves to the humans. Some cleaned, some cooked, some worked fields, some worked other jobs...some were forced to act like talking cats. Oh, it was horrid! They would be whipped into walking on all fours, crawling into their master's lap and snuggling up to him or her like a child, and having to play with his or her children however they demanded...it was as if we were unfeeling and meant to be robots. Animals did not mind working under humans...in the idea itself. It was that overconfidence of humans and that disrespect they showed...not to mention the abuse...that made me and thousands of other animals in our city resent not only the bad, but automatically all humans. In our orphanage, we were slaves—not servants, as my parents became—bona fide slaves.
We did not cook the meals at first, but it was not long until the cook (a very poorly paid human whom I almost pitied) quit and we were forced to make the meals. The humans running the facility oversaw the work. They did not do it. They did not do any of it. I was shoved and kicked a little, but I was actually one of the best-treated in the facility. I was obedient. I had to be.
Downstairs was as bad as upstairs. There was a very nice room that belonged to the humans...but the kitchen, dining room, and "classroom" were all rubbish. The humans rarely ever came upstairs, but when they did, it was usually for punishment.
There were only three, originally four, humans...the first was the headmaster, I suppose. He was a fat old man with yellow teeth who hated every non-human on the planet. He referred to us all as "worthless," or "trash," and it was rather confusing. He never called me "trash," though...and he never called Mitt "worthless," so I suppose he was not entirely random in his choice of name. His voice was like a crack of lightning whenever he spoke, and when he was angry, it was a hurricane of fury. I occasionally still have nightmares about his dreadful, disgusting, raspy voice...
The second was a persnickety old woman, his sister. She was the teacher of the school and the woman who essentially gave us our minor orders...the big ones came from the headmaster. The third human, a young, quiet man, said nothing and probably thought nothing. He executed the punishments (usually) and captured those who resisted. He did not look strong, but he also did not look evil. He just was. The fourth was the cook, a cranky old woman with sort of nice intentions. She liked animals deep inside...she just would not admit it. It was because of her that I had any faith in humans at all in the future. They could be kind.
I spent years of my life here, some with Mitt and some without. I may tell of my anecdotes of the orphanage, but I grow weary and distressed as I think of this. I think I need a break before I continue. I apologise, kitten.
Life is too short
to be lived in the fast lane.