Narrative Writing Class Short Story: A Twisted Tale of Toddler Terror
- Kim Christesen
- Oct 16, 2023
- 3 min read
Narrative Writing
Fall 2023
A word of caution, dear reader, before you begin what is sure to be the most miserable monstrosity ever created by a single classroom of middle school minds. For herein lies the product of a plot generator, a Mad Lib if you will, of wholesome childhood characters gone rogue combined with outrageous adjectives and innocent nouns.
Operating under the pen name Nancy McNugget, the Fall 2023 Fast-Paced Narrative Writing Class worked as one using plot-generator.org.uk to produce a short story which, quite frankly, was in need of some editing. While some names have been changed to protect the innocent, the violence contained within their deplorable tale remained untold--until now.
Big Bird looked at the sharp sausage in his hands and felt homicidal.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his deplorable surroundings. He had always hated the bloody Dollar Store with its raw, rapid, random, middle-aged, knife-wielding roaches running underfoot. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel murderous.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Peppa Pig. Peppa was a morbid, wild rat with fat eyelashes and ginger toes.
Big Bird gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an athletic, mildly irritating, tequila drinker with greasy feathers and a hideously ugly beak. His friends saw him as a dainty, dirty demon. Once, he had even rescued a cruel, yet adorable killer bunny from a burning building.
But not even a person who had once rescued a cruel, yet adorable killer bunny from a burning building was prepared for what Peppa had in store today.
The blood moon teased like rampaging sea sponges, making Big Bird joyous with rage.
As Big Bird stepped outside and Peppa came closer, he could see the puzzled glint in her eye.
"I am here because I want bacon," Peppa bellowed, in a lanky tone. She slammed her fist against Big Bird’s chest with the force of 3260 flamingoes.
"I friggin hate you, Big Bird!" she screamed.
Big Bird looked back, even more outraged and still fingering the sharp sausage.
"Peppa, I feel the need, the need for speed," he replied.
They looked at each other with unstable feelings, like two puny, panicky platypuses dancing at a malicious roommate's best friend's cousin's ex-girlfriend's house warming party, which had reggae jazz funk K-pop easy listening classical rap music playing in the background and two terrifyingly delicious uncles stabbing to the beat.
Suddenly, Peppa Pig lunged forward and tried to punch Big Bird in the face. Quickly, Big Bird grabbed the sharp sausage and brought it down on Peppa's skull.
Peppa's fat eyelashes trembled and her ginger toes wobbled. She looked depressed, her body raw like smoggy, sweaty scissors.
Then she let out an agonizing groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Peppa Pig was dead.
Big Bird went back inside and made himself a nice shot of tequila.
THE END
Auto Praise for Morbid Peppa Pig
"I feel like I know Big Bird. In a way, it feels as though I've always known him."
- The Daily Tale
"About as enjoyable as being pelted with hail while taking in laundry that has been targeted by seagulls with the squirts."
- Enid Kibbler
"Saying ‘The blood moon teased like rampaging sea sponges’ is just the kind of literary device that makes this brilliant."
- Hit the Spoof
"I could do better."
- Zob Gloop