WARNING: You are talking to a computer who is banned in most of the Milky Way and a small internet cafe in Wyoming.
“To properly greet a unicorn in the land of Bwahaha, you must be able to tap dance. Yes, I am serious. No, I would never set you up for a practical joke. Come on, this is me you’re talking to. So, when you meet the unicorns it is imperative that you point your toes and dance as if you were Irish. Think “River Dance." Leap and twirl, leap and twirl! That’s the only way to do it! So, there you go, now you’re ready. Now, I must return to Bwahaha on important business. Later alligator!” Kind regards, Bot.Bot895.
WARNING: You are talking to a computer who is black-listed throughout the galaxy and by my Grandma Nora (who is very serious about cream pies being treated with respect).
“When you meet a Unicorn you must, I repeat MUST, have a cream pie to throw in their face. Yes, it is good unicorn manners to do so. If you don’t do this at once, before they have a chance to scream, ‘Just what the heck do you think you’re doing?!’ then all will go horribly, horribly wrong. Yup. So make it a good three inches or more deep with whipped cream and throw on some sparkly glitter for that special touch. Then, bombs away! Throw it! Yeah… and upload a photo to Bwahaha.NARS-T.net. Kindest regards, Bot.Bot895.
WARNING: Seriously? You’re still here after those warnings? Well, on your head be it. Bot.Bot.895 burns kingdoms as easily as matchstick gasoline tankers.
“Only the most skilled of diplomats know of this Unicorn custom. I’m giving you gold here. Gold! Take a feather duster, rainbows and sparkles only for our unicorn friends, and insert is slowly up their left nostril. Never, I repeat NEVER, insert it up the right nostril. You will know that your diplomacy has been a great sucess when they give you a horse-shoe shaped bruise on your face for good luck. That’s when you know that they really love you. Well, that’s all from YOUR GOOD FRIEND Bot.Bot895 for now.
WARNING: You’ve got to be kidding me? You’re still reading Bot.Bot895. This AI is stinkier than fermented salmon guts in fart-land. But okay, you’re determined, so…
“Last, but by no means least, lick your plate clean and burp loudly. That is how your unicorn host will know that you appreciated the food. Be sure to open your mouth wide, breathe in their general direction, stick out your tongue for inspection and then slowly lick the plate. Once this is done, if you can manage a belch or two, that would be super. You’re sure to be invited back and they may wonder who told you how to behave so very well. Your best, best, best friend, Bot.Bot895.
The sparks came as a phoenix-flower in the night. How its petals leapt and died, only to leap again! Perhaps its summer season was only a minute or so, but in our memories it was a sweet eternity. Then, one more it was blackest night, for such things aren’t born to last. Once it was gone I savoured the gunpowder scent and the kiss of coolest November air, until my goosebumps skin let me know it was time to seek the warmth of home.
The trees that took in the summer light, give it back in winter’s hearth. On those coldest of days how the sunny flames leap. To the whoosh of a sledding wind, her crackles are as a sparkly giggle, merry and bright. Sitting at the hearth from daylight into the star speckled hours, is perhaps my favourite thing to do. Add a good chat, a book and a hot chocolate or two and it’s the rest I need once the day’s work is done.
In otherwise total blackness, the blue fire leapt. What it burnt could not be seen. Was it floating on gasoline? Perhaps. It had a reflection the same as it would with a mirror; as high as it rose, it was also as low. Ted took a deep breath, inhaling the air. There was a faint odour with a chemical sting, enough to make his eyes water and his nose wrinkle. If it had smoke, the wisps were hidden in the cloak of night. All he could be sure of was that none of them should create any sparks until they were on safer ground.
The trees that took in the summer light, give it back in winter’s hearth. On those coldest of days how the sunny flames leap. To the whoosh of a sledding wind, her crackles are as a sparkly giggle, merry and bright. Sitting at the hearth from daylight into the star speckled hours, is perhaps my favourite thing to do. Add a good chat, a book and a hot chocolate or two and it’s the rest I need once the day’s work is done.
With feathers lava-bright the phoenix dominated the sky. Though she was barely larger than an eagle, her effect was dragon-esque. This creature, swooping above the New York skyline was a thing of legend. She was as real as Bat-Man or Wonder Woman, as real as the Hogwarts Express… Yet she was there for all to see, beneath the storm clouds that billowed grey, she was every sunrise and sunset rolled into one.
Arrows of light met the ground that August day a few hours past noon. The mossy-grass beneath the grand oak became dappled, puddles of light playing happily with those of shadow. Alice reached out her hand, raising it to the sun. Warm. It felt so very warm. Filling her lungs with the air of evergreens, she closed her eyes to make a memory. On the cold winter days ahead she would want to remember this.
It could have been dusk or dawn with those royal-blue clouds topping a long peachy grin. The marsh was black reeds amid the blushing ice of its winter-full ponds. It isn’t often we see this, thought Kipper, our home as if it were another world. Maybe getting up early is worth it. Maybe braving the cold air has a point. His eyes found in the distance, at the point of land meeting sky, and saw black tree-tops awaiting to be re-kissed green.
The blue light fell at the end of the day, washing greens to their softest hue and raising purple’s to their most vivid. Even the clouds that had been white an hour before were an enchanting steel blue. With the golds of the dawn and midday banished, all that was left was for the sky to wash black and herald the return of the moon. So we sat there, Earnest and me, feeling the cooling air that ran the valley floor, resting our limbs and feeling our heads prepare for a dream-filled slumber.
The daisy meadow was hugged with warmest rays that stretched out as a hundred arms or more. The sun was so strong that day that the dawn sky was not blue, yet a honey-peach. It could have been another world with that tangerine sky. Yet the grassland and the daisies were singing Earth’s most familiar song. Its words were long within the breeze-breath, as long as those outstretched arms, and yet retained the clarity of any fabled yarn.
One day the entire mountain top was gone and instead entire cities were in the shadow of a rock dragon. Its eye was as if it had swallowed the moon, for it was a buttermilk-glow. Its wings were the purple of heather clifftops and its body was a granite-grey. From its head and all the way down its spine to its tail-fins, grew great spines as sharp as any knife. It was quite high in the sky at first, then it swooped and the gale struck up by its wing-beats was enough to unroot every tree and knock flat the homesteads. The elders had said that life can be this way, the daily routine of centuries gone in a moment; this is the story of what happened next.
The cloud dragon had once belonged to another world. Once she had graced the skies of an ice world in another galaxy. Legend has it that one day the universe set her on a new path, one that led her to Earth. All she knew was that for the next few thousand years it was her task to bathe in the clouds and keep watch. She loved to fly in chaotic swirls above the oceanic waves, to inhale the salty air, and listen to the tales of both fish and puffin flock. Then one day every cloud turned darkest grey and beneath them the sea was inky black. Something important had changed.
Electricity being alive is no more strange than any other matter experiencing a thought or feeling. You yourself are chemicals and electrical flow, are you not? Some dragons do not come from an egg, but rather from a surge of energy. The gods, for either reason or whim, chose to birth one into a world. Earth had never had a lightning dragon until that fateful day. The clouds had wrapped the entire planet into a dark storm of wind and rain. The thunder shattered windows and age old buildings fell into rubble. Then at once every little wisp of grey cloud, every ounce of lightning, every growl of thunder, shrank and took the form of a mighty winged dragon.
A water dragon is born when cold sea currents meet a tropical flow; an ancient magic is stirred by the collision. From nowhere, they say, a new light is born. Some say it is the very light of the stars brought to the newborn dragonlet through magic. None can say for sure. All we know is what is told in the myths, written in squid ink on parchment scrolls, this creature does not come from an egg and arrives fully formed. One moment there is only the brine and then there is this king of the deep.
The river bed was a happy community of rocks, all sharp edges made smooth by aeons flow. The colours, the dove greys to rusty browns, were the ink of most placid daydreams. In that water my every hope was a fish, swimming in its own path as if the water tickled it. In that cool flow, beneath the frosted-glass surface, there was time to ponder. Though thus far the odds had been stacked against us, perhaps at last things were about to go our way.
In the lake I was an astronaut, weightless and able to move with absolute freedom. Up and down meant nothing at all, until my lungs needed their refill. I could be as large as a blue whale and it wouldn’t change a thing. From the sunlit lake bed below to the ever changing puzzle of blue-white light above, both my body and brain had space to find true serenity. After everything that had happened, after a journey none would ever believe was a true story, it was just the ticket.
The kelp forest grew as titan evergreens. Up they grew, into the sunny rays. Without music they danced, not with one another but with the oceanic flow. It was as mesmerising as if the trees of the land had uprooted for a waltz. I half expected to see a bird alight upon their waving green limbs, yet in that brine it was me and a school of electric-blue fish. The scroll was here somewhere, amid this aquatic wonderland; as a place to spend some time, it was hard to think of anywhere that could calm the soul more.
From each gentle raindrop came a fingerprint drawn in light. On top of the smudged trees of autumn, it was as if the very water was on fire. The air had that aroma, the one that comes when wet leaves begin to turn into new earth. How I loved the sound, the gentle percussion, as if the lake were a drum for the heavens. As my skin goose-bumped and a shiver travelled my spine, I knew it was time to head for home.
A snow unicorn is as warm as mature spring rays. It moves through the winter landscape as if immune to ice and hail. No cold winds ruffle its fur. No blizzards howl can mute the music of the universe within its ears. Anyone who rides such a creature is safe from all harm and thereon is blessed. So, harken to this tale, learn about the snow unicorn as if your life depended upon it.
Chip was a cyborg unicorn. He had never been a real one, not born as a foal. His creator had made him in a lab along with the rest of his steampunk herd. The planet of Carbella had been trying to wish unicorns into existence for generations, and some, as the alchemists of their world, still tried. The new generation had taken a different approach, what their ancestors wished for with magic and herbs, they would carve from silicon, steel and gold. Yet Chip had chosen not to live on his electronic leash and was planning a real adventure of his own.
At two centimetres tall (that’s twenty whole millimetres) Zebra was not only the shortest unicorn anyone had ever seen, but he had the silliest name too. His short stature meant that every time he attended a party he had to brave thundering hooves bigger than himself. Yikes! He could get squashed! Argh! Then, returning to the subject of his name, there was the fact that his colouring was the standard white ‘n’ rainbow like the rest of his herd. Whoever heard of a unicorn called Zebra? Ridiculous! So, when he received an invitation to join the mythical beast hero squad he actually laughed out loud.
With the disco beat pulsing through her veins, the unicorn was a blur of movement. Nobody was quite sure if it was dancing or not, but the smile on her face was mirror-ball bright. Her tail flicked, her hooves clip-clopped, and when her favourite song came on she met it with a whinny. No matter the day of the week, or the time of day, it was always disco-o-clock to this equine superstar.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.