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Chapter 1: The Obligatory Origin Story
Pearl Sinclair awoke with a skull-splitting headache. Although it was night, even the starlight was too bright for her. She shielded her eyes with her hands.
What had happened to her?
She rolled out of her bed and nearly crashed through her trailer’s walls. She grunted and stumbled around in her small bedroom until she could fumble successfully for the door. She entered the bathroom and sat on the toilet in the pitch blackness.
“Unnnh,” she groaned, cringing at the sudden loudness amidst the silence. “That’s the absolute last time I put them berries in my whiskey for flavor,” she noted with a Southern drawl. Soon, though, she raised her head up with a confused look on her face. “Now, just hold on a minute … I didn’t even drink whiskey last night!” She waited until her head cleared and stood up, looking at herself in the small dirty mirror on the wall above her white ceramic sink. She was a heavy-set gal, with emerald scales, pink lipstick on her lips, purple eyeshadow, and thick black eyelashes. She wore a simple pale blue cotton nightgown. She licked her lips briefly and shook her head.
She walked out of the bathroom and headed left down the short hallway, past the small living room-slash-dining area, and grabbed a pot of coffee in the kitchen on the far side of the trailer. “Fifty-three years old,” she mumbled to herself, “an’ I get stuck with the mother of all hangovers. Ugh.” She swished around the small amount of day-old coffee, shrugged, and chugged it down straight from the coffeepot.
Quickly, she spewed it out all over the kitchen counter.
It was whiskey.
She dropped the glass coffeepot on the counter and stumbled backwards, her eyes wide open. Whiskey? How could it be whiskey?
She gasped. The wooden walls of her trailer were sprouting leaves all over where she had spit out the magically appearing liquor.
She ran as fast as she could out of the trailer, still in her nightgown, over to a meadow where her friend Monica DeVertebrae slept at night, as there were no nearby caves that could hold a bright blue Apatosaurus her size.
“Monica! Monica! Come quick! My trailer’s done lost all its sense!”
Monica groaned and stood, blinking several times at the panicked megalosaur female below her. “Your trailer’s done what?” she asked groggily.
“I think it’s possessed or somethin’, darlin’,” Pearl exclaimed fearfully, beckoning Monica to follow her. “You gotta come see this. My trailer’s growin’ leaves!”
“Well, that’s an intriguing feature,” Monica noted dryly as she followed.
“And my coffee turned into whiskey!”
Monica stared at her running friend. “How much did you have last night?”
Pearl shook her head, panting, as she approached her trailer and stopped. “I … I didn’t have any whiskey at all, Monica,” she told her female companion. “I swear it was coffee when I picked it up. It wasn’t fresh, but it sure as heck shouldn’t have been whiskey!” She pointed to the still-open door. Monica carefully placed her head inside and looked around a bit before taking it back out and glancing at Pearl with disbelief.
“Pearl … did you get some of that Chia stuff and put it on your walls?”
Pearl shook her head, clutching her chest. “I got whole boxes of that stuff under my bed … but what on Earth’d make me put it on the walls? And why would whiskey make them leaves appear like that?”
Monica sighed and sat down on her back haunches. “Pearl – look, it’s not even dawn yet. Let’s get some more sleep, shall we?”
“Are you nuts? I can’t sleep in a trailer like that!” Pearl protested.
“Well, let’s look at this logically: what happened recently?” Monica asked. It was far too early in the morning for mysteries … and, quite frankly, this would be something Earl and Roy would have yelled about. They had always been involved in stupid, logic-less adventures.
Pearl stroked her double-chin, pondering everything that had happened over the last few months. “Well,” she began finally, “all I did yesterday was play some songs on my guitar, thinkin’ ‘bout Earl.” She sighed sadly. “I mean, I know in my heart he’ll always be with me, but still … sometimes I just get a hankerin’ for a sad country ballad.”
“So there’s nothing you can even remotely think of to explain these strange occurrences?” Monica continued, wishing she could go back to sleep.
Pearl shook her head again. “Ain’t nothin’ been happenin’ over these last few months, ‘cept Robbie gettin’ hitched.” She looked up at her large friend. “You wouldn’t happen to have any explanations, would you?”
Monica stared up at the starry sky. “I think you may still be having post-traumatic stress disorder. The last few years have been really hard on you. It’s been hard on all of us, really.”
Pearl stared at Monica. “Girl, even if my brain’s a coupla cards short of a deck, that still doesn’t explain why my trailer’s actin’ funny.”
Monica glanced at Pearl with a smirk. “Maybe the problem isn’t with your trailer. Maybe it’s with you.”
“You already called me crazy.”
Monica shook her head. “No, no … what I mean is … didn’t something weird happen to your brother Earl? Wasn’t he involved in some stupid sci-fi Wesayso stunt that one time?”
Pearl stared at Monica dryly. “One time?”
Monica chuckled. “Maybe you also inherited a gene that makes bizarre and highly unlikely events happen to you,” she continued, now slightly amused at the thought. “I saw him on TV ….”
Pearl nodded. “I did too – Captain Impressive, he called himself.” She chuckled with nostaligia. “Never was too clever with names. Fran was the one who named the kids up ‘til … up ‘til,” her voice began to waiver, “the little darlin’ came along.”
“I thought the Elders named the kids?”
Pearl nodded again. “Yeah, but you gotta call ‘em somethin’ ‘round the house until you get an appointment with an Elder,” she replied. “Earl never was the creative type, at least not after that little run-in with Fran’s brother in high school.”
“He wasn’t always struggling to put on his own shirt?” Monica teased.
Pearl grit her teeth and clenched her fists briefly. She sighed, however, and laughed it off. “Yeah, he could be kinda slow. He wasn’t always that way, of course. Daddy always got after him for making some of the best grades in school.”
“What about you?”
Pearl smiled knowingly. “Let’s just say I took a likin’ to Social Studies, mahself.” She sighed happily. “Namely, studyin’ the many ways to socialize with males.”
They laughed a bit together, sharing in the sudden nostalgic mood.
“But, seriously,” Pearl continued, “you’re not honestly suggestin’ I’ve become some sort of superhero, are you? I mean, who ever heard of a female superhero?”
“I think the humans come up with them quite regularly,” Monica answered with a tone of approval in her voice. “From what I’ve been reading, humans worshipped femininity before the patriarchal system supplied the very same glass ceiling we were always cursed with.”
Pearl nodded slightly. “Hard to believe they’ve come so far, ain’t it?” she asked Monica.
“So what do you plan to do with your powers, if that’s what’s really going on?” Monica asked with a smirk.
Pearl shrugged. “I don’t reckon turnin’ coffee into whiskey is pretty useful in the world-savin’ market,” she mused. “An’ havin’ a magic trailer that sprouts leaves when I spit on it is only good for turnin’ a few heads, is all.”
Monica stood up. “Well, you could always go amaze and astound those ‘modern’ humans. I bet they haven’t had a good laugh in awhile.”
Pearl shrugged. “I ain’t some cheap floozy, Monica.”
Monica laughed. “Well, it’s not like you gained the power to snap your fingers and generate world peace. If there is a higher force in the universe, it seems to like giving out party gags more than anything else.”
Author’s Note: I don’t own Dinosaurs. You can thank Disney and the Hensons for that little gem. This is gonna be rated Teen for language, violence, etc. Nothing too major, as this is another attempt at comedy.
Pearl Sinclair awoke with a skull-splitting headache. Although it was night, even the starlight was too bright for her. She shielded her eyes with her hands.
What had happened to her?
She rolled out of her bed and nearly crashed through her trailer’s walls. She grunted and stumbled around in her small bedroom until she could fumble successfully for the door. She entered the bathroom and sat on the toilet in the pitch blackness.
“Unnnh,” she groaned, cringing at the sudden loudness amidst the silence. “That’s the absolute last time I put them berries in my whiskey for flavor,” she noted with a Southern drawl. Soon, though, she raised her head up with a confused look on her face. “Now, just hold on a minute … I didn’t even drink whiskey last night!” She waited until her head cleared and stood up, looking at herself in the small dirty mirror on the wall above her white ceramic sink. She was a heavy-set gal, with emerald scales, pink lipstick on her lips, purple eyeshadow, and thick black eyelashes. She wore a simple pale blue cotton nightgown. She licked her lips briefly and shook her head.
She walked out of the bathroom and headed left down the short hallway, past the small living room-slash-dining area, and grabbed a pot of coffee in the kitchen on the far side of the trailer. “Fifty-three years old,” she mumbled to herself, “an’ I get stuck with the mother of all hangovers. Ugh.” She swished around the small amount of day-old coffee, shrugged, and chugged it down straight from the coffeepot.
Quickly, she spewed it out all over the kitchen counter.
It was whiskey.
She dropped the glass coffeepot on the counter and stumbled backwards, her eyes wide open. Whiskey? How could it be whiskey?
She gasped. The wooden walls of her trailer were sprouting leaves all over where she had spit out the magically appearing liquor.
She ran as fast as she could out of the trailer, still in her nightgown, over to a meadow where her friend Monica DeVertebrae slept at night, as there were no nearby caves that could hold a bright blue Apatosaurus her size.
“Monica! Monica! Come quick! My trailer’s done lost all its sense!”
Monica groaned and stood, blinking several times at the panicked megalosaur female below her. “Your trailer’s done what?” she asked groggily.
“I think it’s possessed or somethin’, darlin’,” Pearl exclaimed fearfully, beckoning Monica to follow her. “You gotta come see this. My trailer’s growin’ leaves!”
“Well, that’s an intriguing feature,” Monica noted dryly as she followed.
“And my coffee turned into whiskey!”
Monica stared at her running friend. “How much did you have last night?”
Pearl shook her head, panting, as she approached her trailer and stopped. “I … I didn’t have any whiskey at all, Monica,” she told her female companion. “I swear it was coffee when I picked it up. It wasn’t fresh, but it sure as heck shouldn’t have been whiskey!” She pointed to the still-open door. Monica carefully placed her head inside and looked around a bit before taking it back out and glancing at Pearl with disbelief.
“Pearl … did you get some of that Chia stuff and put it on your walls?”
Pearl shook her head, clutching her chest. “I got whole boxes of that stuff under my bed … but what on Earth’d make me put it on the walls? And why would whiskey make them leaves appear like that?”
Monica sighed and sat down on her back haunches. “Pearl – look, it’s not even dawn yet. Let’s get some more sleep, shall we?”
“Are you nuts? I can’t sleep in a trailer like that!” Pearl protested.
“Well, let’s look at this logically: what happened recently?” Monica asked. It was far too early in the morning for mysteries … and, quite frankly, this would be something Earl and Roy would have yelled about. They had always been involved in stupid, logic-less adventures.
Pearl stroked her double-chin, pondering everything that had happened over the last few months. “Well,” she began finally, “all I did yesterday was play some songs on my guitar, thinkin’ ‘bout Earl.” She sighed sadly. “I mean, I know in my heart he’ll always be with me, but still … sometimes I just get a hankerin’ for a sad country ballad.”
“So there’s nothing you can even remotely think of to explain these strange occurrences?” Monica continued, wishing she could go back to sleep.
Pearl shook her head again. “Ain’t nothin’ been happenin’ over these last few months, ‘cept Robbie gettin’ hitched.” She looked up at her large friend. “You wouldn’t happen to have any explanations, would you?”
Monica stared up at the starry sky. “I think you may still be having post-traumatic stress disorder. The last few years have been really hard on you. It’s been hard on all of us, really.”
Pearl stared at Monica. “Girl, even if my brain’s a coupla cards short of a deck, that still doesn’t explain why my trailer’s actin’ funny.”
Monica glanced at Pearl with a smirk. “Maybe the problem isn’t with your trailer. Maybe it’s with you.”
“You already called me crazy.”
Monica shook her head. “No, no … what I mean is … didn’t something weird happen to your brother Earl? Wasn’t he involved in some stupid sci-fi Wesayso stunt that one time?”
Pearl stared at Monica dryly. “One time?”
Monica chuckled. “Maybe you also inherited a gene that makes bizarre and highly unlikely events happen to you,” she continued, now slightly amused at the thought. “I saw him on TV ….”
Pearl nodded. “I did too – Captain Impressive, he called himself.” She chuckled with nostaligia. “Never was too clever with names. Fran was the one who named the kids up ‘til … up ‘til,” her voice began to waiver, “the little darlin’ came along.”
“I thought the Elders named the kids?”
Pearl nodded again. “Yeah, but you gotta call ‘em somethin’ ‘round the house until you get an appointment with an Elder,” she replied. “Earl never was the creative type, at least not after that little run-in with Fran’s brother in high school.”
“He wasn’t always struggling to put on his own shirt?” Monica teased.
Pearl grit her teeth and clenched her fists briefly. She sighed, however, and laughed it off. “Yeah, he could be kinda slow. He wasn’t always that way, of course. Daddy always got after him for making some of the best grades in school.”
“What about you?”
Pearl smiled knowingly. “Let’s just say I took a likin’ to Social Studies, mahself.” She sighed happily. “Namely, studyin’ the many ways to socialize with males.”
They laughed a bit together, sharing in the sudden nostalgic mood.
“But, seriously,” Pearl continued, “you’re not honestly suggestin’ I’ve become some sort of superhero, are you? I mean, who ever heard of a female superhero?”
“I think the humans come up with them quite regularly,” Monica answered with a tone of approval in her voice. “From what I’ve been reading, humans worshipped femininity before the patriarchal system supplied the very same glass ceiling we were always cursed with.”
Pearl nodded slightly. “Hard to believe they’ve come so far, ain’t it?” she asked Monica.
“So what do you plan to do with your powers, if that’s what’s really going on?” Monica asked with a smirk.
Pearl shrugged. “I don’t reckon turnin’ coffee into whiskey is pretty useful in the world-savin’ market,” she mused. “An’ havin’ a magic trailer that sprouts leaves when I spit on it is only good for turnin’ a few heads, is all.”
Monica stood up. “Well, you could always go amaze and astound those ‘modern’ humans. I bet they haven’t had a good laugh in awhile.”
Pearl shrugged. “I ain’t some cheap floozy, Monica.”
Monica laughed. “Well, it’s not like you gained the power to snap your fingers and generate world peace. If there is a higher force in the universe, it seems to like giving out party gags more than anything else.”
Author’s Note: I don’t own Dinosaurs. You can thank Disney and the Hensons for that little gem. This is gonna be rated Teen for language, violence, etc. Nothing too major, as this is another attempt at comedy.
