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Beauregard
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Visions, but only illusions... By, B. Regard
Rating: PG
Story: Told through the eyes of Gonzo, this semi-dark story explores the hopes and dreams of the Muppets minus Kermit
Polougue:
Brilliant light assaulted his eyes. It was brighter than anything else in the universe, yet pleasant, well, more than pleasant, it was perfect. Daniel stepped through the doors, bathing for a moment in the glory, warming in it. The privilege he felt to be meeting The Boss again was more than he could express. The doors closed behind him, and he felt a shove tugging every nerve and part of his body, then he was in The Boss’s garden.
“Dani-el,” The Boss said. “Dani-el, fancy seeing you again so soon.”
“Hi, um, hello." He shifted under the Boss's gaze. "You wanted to see me."
“If I remember correctly,” The Boss said, waving a finger. “You wanted to see me.”
“I did?”
“Yesterday, at your desk. Dani-el, I see all, hear all. You were thinking you wanted to see me. Well,” The Boss waved a hand. “Here you are. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, um.” Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yes, it was, about the Muppets. Kermit.”
“I realise that. You are wondering about the others, the others in universe where Kermit was never born.”
“I was, yeh, but, I mean…what happened to them? To Gonzo, and Fozzie, and those guys?”
“Oh boy.” The Boss sat on her sofa, and lifted a cup of coffee. “You had better sit,” she said. “I see you don’t know that much about the space time continuality thing."
"Oh, you mean the butterfly flaps its wings in the jungle, and a tsunmi trikes England, thing?" Daniel asked.
The Boss gave him a look. "It's a little more coplicated than that. Here.” The Boss handed him the controls. “Check the tic-tac-toe thing, and dial up a screen. There’s something I’d better show you.”
Gonzo walked. It was dark. It was cold. His only belongings were the guitar on his back, the rucksack hanging off his shoulder, and the brick tucked under his arm. He’d packed up and started walking after the stupid frog had lost his only customer of the day. He’d had an audience for just seconds, then, Blam! The frog came and ruined it.
Gonzo passed the bright lights of Doc Hopper’s French Fried Frog’s Legs restaurant, and felt his stomache rumble. Still, he’d never stoop to eating frog’s-legs. He couldn’t afford them anyway.
Gonzo walked through the iron gates, and found himself in the small plot of grass and scanty flowers that called itself a park. There was a bench, and a small pond. It was Christmas Eve.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t get better lodgings, Amy,” Gonzo said, setting the brick down, and sitting on the back of the bench. “But at least it’s…well, at least, yeah.” He stopped. There was nothing good about this. “Hey, be glad you don’t have to eat. You just get to dance.”
Amy the Dancing Brick stared up at him. She said nothing. Did nothing.
“Or you could, if you would,” Gonzo went on. “Ahh, Amy. What a pair we are, hey. You and me. A weirdo and a brick.”
The brick didn’t reply. It was a brick.
Gonzo dumped his bag on the cold ground, and leant the guitar up against the bench. “I’m jealous of you, you know…” He sighed. “You don’t know. You don’t even know what I’m talking about. And you’re not even listening to me!” He kicked the brick, and it fell onto the floor, lay there. “Why can’t you care!” Gonzo shouted. “You’re a stupid brick!”
He grabbed it in his hands and shook it, but the brick didn’t respond.
Gonzo slumped back onto the bench. “I’m talking to a brick,” he said. “I’m Talking to a Brick!” He caught the brick, and threw it, lobbing it as far from him as he could. The brick sailed in the air, and seemed to hang for a second in the still silence that followed his outburst. Then it dropped, smashing into the black water of the pond with a splash. The water returned over it. All went quiet.
Gonzo stared at his hands, shocked at what he had done. “No,” he said. “Nooooo. I shouldn’t have done that. Come back. Come back!” He ran forward, tossing off his jacket. “Amy, I’m sorry.” He leapt into the water, and splashed to the middle. Searching through the blackness. “Amy, you must be here, Amy.” He fell under the water, sinking. Then he rose, water streaming off him, and pouring in his eyes. “No. No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Amy, I love you.”
Rating: PG
Story: Told through the eyes of Gonzo, this semi-dark story explores the hopes and dreams of the Muppets minus Kermit
\/ /\ \/ /\ \/ /\
Polougue:
Brilliant light assaulted his eyes. It was brighter than anything else in the universe, yet pleasant, well, more than pleasant, it was perfect. Daniel stepped through the doors, bathing for a moment in the glory, warming in it. The privilege he felt to be meeting The Boss again was more than he could express. The doors closed behind him, and he felt a shove tugging every nerve and part of his body, then he was in The Boss’s garden.
“Dani-el,” The Boss said. “Dani-el, fancy seeing you again so soon.”
“Hi, um, hello." He shifted under the Boss's gaze. "You wanted to see me."
“If I remember correctly,” The Boss said, waving a finger. “You wanted to see me.”
“I did?”
“Yesterday, at your desk. Dani-el, I see all, hear all. You were thinking you wanted to see me. Well,” The Boss waved a hand. “Here you are. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, um.” Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yes, it was, about the Muppets. Kermit.”
“I realise that. You are wondering about the others, the others in universe where Kermit was never born.”
“I was, yeh, but, I mean…what happened to them? To Gonzo, and Fozzie, and those guys?”
“Oh boy.” The Boss sat on her sofa, and lifted a cup of coffee. “You had better sit,” she said. “I see you don’t know that much about the space time continuality thing."
"Oh, you mean the butterfly flaps its wings in the jungle, and a tsunmi trikes England, thing?" Daniel asked.
The Boss gave him a look. "It's a little more coplicated than that. Here.” The Boss handed him the controls. “Check the tic-tac-toe thing, and dial up a screen. There’s something I’d better show you.”
\/ /\ \/ /\ \/ /\
Gonzo walked. It was dark. It was cold. His only belongings were the guitar on his back, the rucksack hanging off his shoulder, and the brick tucked under his arm. He’d packed up and started walking after the stupid frog had lost his only customer of the day. He’d had an audience for just seconds, then, Blam! The frog came and ruined it.
Gonzo passed the bright lights of Doc Hopper’s French Fried Frog’s Legs restaurant, and felt his stomache rumble. Still, he’d never stoop to eating frog’s-legs. He couldn’t afford them anyway.
Gonzo walked through the iron gates, and found himself in the small plot of grass and scanty flowers that called itself a park. There was a bench, and a small pond. It was Christmas Eve.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t get better lodgings, Amy,” Gonzo said, setting the brick down, and sitting on the back of the bench. “But at least it’s…well, at least, yeah.” He stopped. There was nothing good about this. “Hey, be glad you don’t have to eat. You just get to dance.”
Amy the Dancing Brick stared up at him. She said nothing. Did nothing.
“Or you could, if you would,” Gonzo went on. “Ahh, Amy. What a pair we are, hey. You and me. A weirdo and a brick.”
The brick didn’t reply. It was a brick.
Gonzo dumped his bag on the cold ground, and leant the guitar up against the bench. “I’m jealous of you, you know…” He sighed. “You don’t know. You don’t even know what I’m talking about. And you’re not even listening to me!” He kicked the brick, and it fell onto the floor, lay there. “Why can’t you care!” Gonzo shouted. “You’re a stupid brick!”
He grabbed it in his hands and shook it, but the brick didn’t respond.
Gonzo slumped back onto the bench. “I’m talking to a brick,” he said. “I’m Talking to a Brick!” He caught the brick, and threw it, lobbing it as far from him as he could. The brick sailed in the air, and seemed to hang for a second in the still silence that followed his outburst. Then it dropped, smashing into the black water of the pond with a splash. The water returned over it. All went quiet.
Gonzo stared at his hands, shocked at what he had done. “No,” he said. “Nooooo. I shouldn’t have done that. Come back. Come back!” He ran forward, tossing off his jacket. “Amy, I’m sorry.” He leapt into the water, and splashed to the middle. Searching through the blackness. “Amy, you must be here, Amy.” He fell under the water, sinking. Then he rose, water streaming off him, and pouring in his eyes. “No. No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Amy, I love you.”
