Pumking Babble, Live at Hamburg

I'm gonna take a moment out of story telling to write down an idea for a story I had at work just a few minutes ago- so it doesn't stray far off.

This story revolves around a blonde girl with ocean-blue eyes named Low-E (a musical reference). She wears black clothes, a red apron, and eventually commands an army of cartoon ninjas that only come alive when she has enough imagination thriving in her.

She lives a boring life in a rich neighborhood as a bagger in a store (she is 17 years old) and her nerdiness is only excelled by her secret love for adventure.

In her days in this boring job, she day-dreams a war against the minions of Normalcy who try to bring her back into reality. Her actions as she commands her ninjas through battles are executed through fast-paced songs in which she must match the beat and melodies of said songs in order to win. The final fight has her building courage to leave the boring lifestyle in pursuit of a more fulfilling career.

I think I need one more pumpking... one was NOT enough!

The Build Up

No matter how soft I played the strings, the standard tuning would always become undone and it bothered me so much. The rattling the headstock made was a minor auditory discomfort, but having to re-tune the strings every 5 minutes was really annoying. I don't know anything about how to stop the rattling, and yes, the strings were old- I could simply change the strings and problem number two would have been solved. However, if I can't fix both problems at once, then it wasn't going to happen.

It's December 6, 9:24am. The year is irrelevant to me, always has been. I group the events of this December day with the ones of previous December 6's if you get what I mean. Every day is a day to remember. However, I lost track of how old I am. 23? 24? 27? The number is only relevant when I have to respond. All I can remember about my earlier days was an old picket fence facing me, I'm sitting under an orange tree. There was also a big turtle moving about. A fountain carved of volcanic rock. And then they came for me. I would never see my family again.

The life I had left, was spent in training. I don't feel like I need to know who they were. I'm not curious about what I left behind. That old white picket fence, the paint was flaking off. Maybe it was for the better, to leave that childhood prison behind. Now, I'm a man.

I'm a man on a mission.