Monday, November 28, 2011

Son of Gimli

I was a dwarf, beard and all, and Gimli was my father.  I was a teenager and I wanted to be a warrior like my dad.  We were fighting in a war that had started over the government declaring pizza a vegetable.  My old high school was on the pizza-is-not-a-vegetable side and other schools joined them until there were so many people we took over a huge convention center and subway station.

The war was all out, and the collective of schools drafted a bunch of us into an army, including me and my father because everyone knows dwarves are awesome fighters.  But it was a futuristic war and we had guns instead of axes.

We were sent to take over the whole subway system, but the other side was expecting us so we had to go over land rather than through the tunnels.  They were numerous and really well equipped and they picked us off left and right, but a small group of us made it to the next station.

Our mission was to set off these bombs that looked like grilled hamburger patties in tinfoil packets.  Once we saw what we were supposed to do we just about deserted, because the bombs wouldn't give us enough time to get away.  We'd been sent on a suicide mission.

My father gave a rousing speech about how it was our duty and an honor and all that and got us all worked up, so we ran in screaming and set the bombs and took any cover we could get.

I survived.  A few of us did.  But my father didn't make it.

We took a now-captured train back to the base.  When we arrived, our base was full of enemy soldiers occupying the station.  Our side had surrendered even before we got to the other base and nobody had told us, so my father had died for no reason.  I started screaming and crying and ripping up anything I could get my hands on.

I went to the area where the administrators were but they wouldn't let me in to yell at the people who had sent us on that stupid mission.  They had my father's axe though and I took it and destroyed a bunch of stuff in the room, and they kicked me out.

I slid down a long railing because angsty teenage dwarves don't take no fuckin stairs.  Some kid at the bottom was totally awe-stuck, and told me it was an awesome "bloggerface" (apparently that was what that move was called).  I sneered at him and headed off to go pick a fight with the soldiers.

But then Donato Giancola appeared.  He hugged me (he had to kneel down, me being a dwarf) and told me he was upset about Gimli's death too, but that sometimes we do our parents the most honor by not being like them, and that I didn't have to fight.  Gimli wanted better for me.

I realized he was right and I cried a bit and then kissed the top of his head and left the convention center to go become my own dwarf.

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