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snuffypuffer

A Man, A Donkey, And a Dream

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This is the true story of how Donkey and Snuffy came to be. This is a very hard history, but one that must be told. If you like the first chapter, I will add more.

Donkey closed his eyes and sniffed the air. It was a beautiful day, there was a cool breeze blowing, and the sun was warm on his back. He breathed deep, taking in the smell of dirt and cactus and agave. He heard hooves coming up behind him, and turned just in time to see Margarita loping up. She brayed playfully, nudged his haunches, and galloped off into the tall grass. Donkey tossed his head and took off after her.

He cornered her between a tuft of soft grass and a stand of cactus. Margarita tried to dodge, but Donkey tackled her and they both went down into the soft grass. Donkey snorted softly and laid his neck across hers. Margarita was still huffing, but she nuzzled him softly, her hooves stroked his ankles. He had no concept of heaven, but as far as donkeys went this was pretty much total bliss. Soon Farmer Cortes would come out with a bucket of tamarindos, and he’d brush them both before putting his two prized burros into the barn for the night.

Until then, Donkey snuggled down next to Margarita and went to sleep with his head buried in her warm fur, listening to her heart beat softly.

There were voices. Muffled, but coming closer. He heard Farmer Cortes, the other man he didn’t recognize. He didn’t sound happy. The man he didn’t recognize was insisting on something. Farmer Cortes was trying to get around it, but he was unsuccessful. They got close enough for Donkey to hear their footfalls, and the conversation became clearer. The stranger was demanding that Farmer Cortes repay his debt. The Farmer insisted he had nothing to give. There were some harsh words Donkey couldn’t make out, then he heard a defeated sigh and heavy footsteps coming towards he and Margarita.

Something was wrong. There was something in Farmer Cortes’ walk, the way he hung his head as he came, that made Donkey nervous. He stood up, pinning his ears back and pulling his lips away from his teeth. What if Farmer Cortes was going to do something to Margarita? Donkey would not let that happen. He’d have to get through him first.

Farmer Cortes looked sadly at Donkey, twisting a length of rope in his weather beaten hands. Donkey snorted and stamped at the ground. The Farmer hung his head, and took a deep, long breath. He mouthed an apology, then slipped the rope around Donkey’s neck. He slumped and led Donkey back the way he’d come.

Margarita woke up, confused. She watched Farmer Cortes lead Donkey away. She bleated a question at them, Donkey could only look sadly back at her. He tried to bray reassuringly, but all that came out was a scratchy honk. He didn’t know any more than she did.

Farmer Cortes led Donkey to a short man in a red bandana. His pock-marked red face spread into an evil grin as the two approached. Donkey hated him immediately. Cortes dejectedly patted Donkey on the shoulder.

“This is your new owner, Donkey. His name is Chilito. I am very sorry, there was nothing I could do.”

Chilito bowed and took the rope from Farmer Cortes. “We are going to have a lot of fun together, you and I.” He sneered as he led Donkey roughly away from his home. He looked back, watching Farmer Cortes thrust his hands in his pockets and make himself as small as he possibly could.

Donkey hooted, trying to get Farmer Cortes to listen to reason. Nothing happened. He nearly tripped and fell trying to keep up with Chilito. The vile man only swore at him and pulled him along more roughly. Chilito loaded Donkey roughly into a dirty green pick-up, unceremoniously pushing him into the back before roaring away into a cloud of dust.

With a heavy heart, Donkey stood in the back of Chilito’s truck, watching his home, his only home, disappear behind him in the setting sun. He didn’t know where he was goiing, and he was afraid.

©2004 Michael Brandon Carroll

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snuffs ? this is your greatest work yet.

we sneered as donkey was lead away from his beloved.

truly touching. You have inspired Moe to continue writing his Moe story this week.

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Donkey's story is awesome! We laughed, we cried....more snuffy!!!

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snuffs ? this is your greatest work yet.

we sneered as donkey was lead away from his beloved.

truly touching. You have inspired Moe to continue writing his Moe story this week.

308271[/snapback]

This makes me really proud. I am glad I inspired you, Moe, now I am inspired to keep on writing. I look forward to seeing more of your Moe story.

Dot, we have to keep you wanting more, now, don't we

tongue.gif

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Snuffs, i love this story.

You have a tone which is simply delightful to the mind.

I'm with Dot. Let's read some more!

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Thank you Burnsy, as another highly praised writer, that means a lot.

This story was actually a lot easier to write than many of my others have been. Everything just fell together.

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Dot, we have to keep you wanting more, now, don't we

tongue.gif

309139[/snapback]

I am quivering with anticipation. tongue.gif

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Dot, we have to keep you wanting more, now, don't we

tongue.gif

309139[/snapback]

I am quivering with anticipation. tongue.gif

309190[/snapback]

A quivering Dot is a well Snufferized Dot

devil.gif

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laugh.gif....you are incorrigible!

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Heartrending and touching, with a hint of happiness lost.

Your ability to mould and use a group of 26 letters, stringing them together and make a moving story is nothing short of astounding.

An effect on the reader; good or bad; is what every writer endeavors to achieve. So long as it makes them feel something. When someone reads a paragraph or a chapter, and they feel nothing… blank, and simply move on to the next; then the writer has failed. But you are a master at getting a reaction.

I don’t thing there is one story that you have posted that has had a negative response by the members on UM: an achievement all in itself.

Snuffy, get something sorted, get it to the publishers. I don’t want to have to be saying this in 6 months or a year’s time. Don’t waste your potential.

Live your dreams!

Glen

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Snuffy, That is a great story! You got talent! If i would write a story it would be like: "There once a cheese. Suddenly a girl came in and looked at the cheese. The cheese thought (yes it is a magical cheese) i want to be buy! The girl wanted it but her mom said no!..."

And then I'm getting mad because it's so stupid! So... Keep up the good work Snuffy!

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Snuffs, when are you going to post the next installment?

Dot original.gifwub.gif

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Soon, very soon. grin2.gif

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[Excitement] I can't wait !!! [/Excitement]

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And here is the second part, this happens two years later......

Mexico just may be the worst place in the world. Carlos was sure he’d be dying here. This was because he’d come down with the worst case of dysentery he’d ever had in his life, and his band mates seemed to have no interest whatsoever of finally getting out of this god-forsaken hell-hole. Dirk had hooked up with one of the girls from the bordello where they worked, and as long as Troy and Randall got free booze they saw no reason to leave. Carlos, on the other hand, hated it here. Not only had he been stuck in the bathroom for the better part of the last week, but the whole “making his living in a band” thing was rapidly losing it’s luster.

Back home in Tulsa, his band, Dirtnap, had been making quite a name for themselves. They’d appeared in the Spot, the Tulsa World’s entertainment section, several times, even making the cover once. They were a step away from getting signed to a major label, then Dirk got the bright idea of touring Mexico, and everything had gone to sh** after that.

Now Carlos sat in a dingy bordello bathroom, swatting flies and squeezing out whatever moisture remained in his bowels. He hoped it subsided enough at least to get through the set tonight. Playing guitar was the only thing that truly made Carlos feel free. Even if they did play the same set of songs each and every night for the past month and a half, being on stage still set his mind at ease. Even if it was to a sad straggle of apathetic drunks. He shivered and heard something plop into the toilet below, warm water splashed his bare buttocks. Carlos thought for a moment that with all the pain and energy it took to get out, it may be his pancreas.

Minutes later, he finished his session. He staggered back into his hovel and collapsed face first into his dirty mattress. Gria must be in one of her **** it all moods, because his sheets should have been cleaned today. God, he missed clean sheets. Troy was sitting on his bed across the room, reading a magazine. He looked up when he saw Carlos come in.

“Did you die in there or something?” there was laughter in his eyes.

“I wish,” Carlos meant just that.

“Wuss, you can’t die just yet, we’ve got a big thing going on after our gig tonight.”

“What’s that? Are we going to be publicly executed?”He was half-hoping that was true, also.

“No, you freak. There’s gonna be a donkey show tonight.”

Carlos’ insides turned. “What?” He thought the execution may have been better.

“Carmelita does one every two months. Come on man, how many times in your life do you get to see a real, live, honest to goodness donkey show?”

“Once every two months if Carmelita does it.” Carlos thought he could probably go his entire life without seeing a donkey show. A very, very disturbing thought occurred to him.

“Wait a minute? Isn’t Carmelita Dirk’s new girlfriend?”

“Yeah, and if she can please a donkey, just imagine what she can do to you.” Troy got a far away look in his eyes.

Carlos didn’t want to be imagining what Carmelita could do to him. He buried his face back in his pillow and waited to die. God, please, get him out of here.

Chilito, the slimeball bordello owner, greeted the band as they walked onto the stage that night. He had very special news for them. They, Dirtnap, heavy metal sensation, would be providing the sound track for the special event being held later that evening. The rest of the band were ecstatic, Carlos was only hoping he didn’t crap his pants.

He managed to forget most of his problems once they actually started playing. Carlos got into his zone, he really liked the crunch he got from his old amps. Dirtnap blasted through a pair of Iron Maiden songs, Dirk pacing and looking menacingly out into the crowd, the rest of the band hunched over their instruments. Carlos knew the music so well by now he didn’t even have to think.

He looked out at the smattering of people through the smoky red and blue lights of the dance floor. For a few moments, it didn’t matter that he was in hell on earth. It was only him and his guitar and everything was right with the world.

The show passed, Carlos barely thinking of anything at all besides the sounds coming out of his instrument. After the big finish of the night, they did a particularly excellent version of Killswitch Engage’s “the End of Heartache,” there was a five minute break before they provided the music for the upcoming donkey show. Carlos decided that during the set he’d have to find somewhere else to look. Some things were just wrong, and this was one of those things.

Their first song would be the B-52’s “Love Shack,” which was creepily fitting. Carlos began to feel a stirring in the pit of his stomach. Please, not now, he thought. Just a few more minutes.

It was Carlos’ job to shout “Love Shack, baby!” at the appropriate intervals. Them having the style they did, they gave an otherwise jumpy song a plodding creepiness that made Carlos’ skin crawl. The roiling in his stomach was getting worse, he’d have to get to a john soon.

Carmelita pranced onto the stage in a pale yellow cheerleader outfit. Her black pig-tails bounced to the music. She stood akimbo, like she was ready to give a cheer, when two swarthy men led a bleary-eyed donkey onto the stage. The poor burro looked like he could barely stand up on his own, let alone perform for the handful of rowdy partiers there for the show. This was the part where Carlos had to find something else to look at.

He found an interesting looking glass on the bar, he was trying to pay attention to it, when he felt something let go. Warm, sticky wetness spread through the back of his pants, in the middle of his saying “love shack baby!” for at least the third time. His eyes went wide, this was not happening. Oh dear god this could not be happening. He dropped his guitar and ran for the nearest toilet. All reason left him. There was some kind of commotion on the stage as he passed.

Donkey was tired, so utterly and completely tired. He walked on shaky legs towards the bowl of oatmeal and blue, diamond-shaped pills he was relying on more and more to get him through all these shows. He hated it. All these women smelled and were mean to him afterwards. He’d already had too much tequila, and he was not feeling well. There was a fuzzy, dark feeling in the back of his throat. The blue pills would help him, at least with the part of the show everyone was interested in. Then he could crawl back to his pen and sleep for awhile.

Donkey took a few bites, trying to shut out the taste. The food here was horrible, always had been. Never anything near as good as the sweet hay from Farmer Cortes’ ranch. His eyes stung for a moment as he thought of the sun on his ears and of running with Margarita. These times were far away, now. His heart broke to think of them. Now he was only Donkey, a sideshow performer in a dirty no name town in bum **** nowhere, Mexico.

Herculito and Juan drug him onto the stage, where Carmelita was already working up the crowd. Juan shoved him forward, and he staggered out onto the dim stage. Carmelita looked at him amorously and coyly winked at the crowd. She wore too much make up, her face looked like it was made of cheap plastic.

Donkey’s vision swam in and out of focus. Carmelita turned to the crowd, gestured rudely, and saucily made her way to Donkey. She got down on her knees and began caressing Donkey’s neck. She smelled like old booze and rotten tomatoes. He shook, the fuzzy feeling in his mouth was getting worse. Carmelita nuzzled him, pushing her face into his shoulder. The fuzzy feeling rushed upwards, and Donkey glurged the contents of his stomach down Carmelita’s back. She recoiled, horrified. Donkey stumbled sideways and blacked out.

Carlos woke up in his room, sweating and naked. He didn’t dare move, unless the runs came back. He lay there staring at the ceiling, watching a house spider crawl across the grimy brown tiles.

There was a crash, and Carmelita came charging into the room. She was snarling, and brandishing a long knife. Dirk came in behind her, his greasy hair hung over bulging, red eyes. They started ransacking the place. Carlos hopped up, for a moment her forgot all his other concerns. He fumbled for a pair of shorts while Carmelita stalked towards him.

“Where’s the burro?” She demanded, pressing the knife into his neck. Carlos shrugged.

Dirk shoved him, Carlos lost his balance and flopped back onto the bed. He felt a rumbling in the pit of his stomach again. Dirk glared at him, growling.

“What the **** was that about? Leaving the stage in the middle of a set like that!”

Carlos snapped. “I was crapping my pants, you ****! I had to....”

“I don’t care what you had! You failed me. Pack up your sh** and get the **** out of here.”

Carlos glared at him. “What?”

“You heard me, your services are no longer needed.”

Dumbfounded, Carlos stood up. Carmelita took a swipe at him, Dirk held her back. Watching the hooker with the knife, Carlos packed up what little he could throw into a bag, took his guitar, and glared at Dirk. He told him to rot in hell, turned, and stormed out into the sweltering Mexican night.

The bordello lights flashing behind him, Carlos headed off through the town. He shifted his guitar and kicked at the dirty ground. How the hell was he going to get back to Tulsa with no money in the middle of nowhere? To make matters worse, he had an attack of the dysentery again. He dashed off the road, finding a low tree to drop trou and do his business. To add insult to injury, he got swarmed by biting insects as soon as he hunkered down. Carlos cursed and swatted at the cursed flies, he thought his life couldn’t get any worse, and then it did.

Something was moving in the corner of his eye. Carlos turned and saw the sex donkey stepping cautiously towards him. And now Carlos had a pet. Wonderful. They could roam the countryside fighting crime together. The donkey stopped right in front of him, and nudged his side.

“What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

The donkey raised an eyebrow and honked softly. Carlos saw that someone had packed his bags, too. Seemed that his new friend had been sent away, too.

Carlos stared at the donkey while he finished his business. Donkey stared calmly back at him, as if he was asking him to hurry up and get back on the road. He grabbed a handful of nearby leaves, wiped, stood up, and faced his new traveling partner. What to do? What else could he do. He scratched Donkey’s ears and the two walked together into the flickering light of the sleeping town.

They walked for hours, until Carlos’ legs burned. He bent and grabbed his knees, looking around in the moonlight for a place to sleep for the night. He found a banged up pick-up sitting off to the side of the road. He led donkey towards it, helping him up into the bed. He covered the both of them with a smelly tarp, and was out as soon as his head hit the hard metal truck bed.

When Carlos woke up, he saw puffy white clouds passing above him. He squinted against the brightness and stuck his head up. They were moving. They were far from the town he’d come from, unfamiliar farmland whizzed by on either side. He looked into the cab of the truck, seeing a man in a battered black sombrero jostling obliviously in the driver’s seat. He apparently didn’t know they were there. He looked over at Donkey, who was still curled up, asleep. Carlos sat up to watch the land streak by. He didn’t know where life was leading him now, and deep down, part of him didn’t care.

©2004 Michael Brandon Carroll

Edited by snuffypuffer

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Donkeys past is indeed a cruel world of unchecked bodily fuctions. We are saddened by this veil of darkness in the life of such a jazzy critter. But towards the end, Snuffy does offer us a light at the end of a stinky tunnel. And indeed this tale is told with much skill and wholesomeness.

Thank you snuffy. we are a better Moe on this day.

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We do say thankya, Moe grin2.gif

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I never guessed Donkey had such a dark past...the poor dear sad.gif

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Good story Snuffy!

I like it!

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Very good story Snuff. I have a little something for you:

user posted image

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aw poor donkey... his past is so tragic, but its well told. Keep it up snuffs!

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Wow Snuffy! This is fantastic!! original.gifthumbsup.gif

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This is part three, and the real beginning of Carlos and Donkey's journey. there are many miles yet to go...

Donkey was standing in a field. Puffy white dandelion heads stretched to the horizon in every direction. He wondered how he’d gotten here. He turned in a circle, trying to find a road or some sign of the man he’d been traveling with. He saw nothing but cottony flowers, so he began walking. One direction was the same as the others in this place, it would seem. Light came from some indistinct place above him. Donkey saw a speck far up ahead, he couldn’t quite make out what it was. As he got closer, he saw that it was something alive. A few steps more and he stopped dead. Standing directly in front of him, looking anxiously at him with big, wet eyes, was Margarita. Donkey’s heart stopped, sputtered, and started again, now nearly beating right out of his chest.

Margarita stamped at the ground, bleated, and nudged him. Donkey honked back, his heart flying. Margarita tossed her head and galloped back the way she’d come. Donkey honked a question and ran after her, kicking up cottony fronds as he went.

He couldn’t catch up, Margarita always seemed to be just in front of him, a few feet too far away. Donkey tried to run faster, but his legs got too heavy. He felt like he was running in deep mud. Margarita got further and further away. Donkey’s front hoof landed wrongly, and he stumbled...

And jolted awake in the back of a moving pick-up. Donkey lurched and banged his head against the back of the cab. Carlos jumped, startled. The impact also stunned the driver, he swerved and slid onto the shoulder, throwing Donkey and Carlos backwards.

The driver of the truck hadn’t known they were there, after all. He came bustling out of the cab with a great clamor and fury. He swore and gestured wildly, his sombrero bobbing back and forth on his sweaty head. He grabbed Carlos’ guitar and slung it into the dusty road. Carlos watched him do this as if he’d just been stabbed in the gut. The man shouted some more, glared at the two of them, and turned back to his pick-up. He slammed the door and roared off in a cloud of dust.

Carlos collapsed onto the side of the road. He put his head into his hands, and massaged his temples. He laid on his back, stared angrily at the sky, and bellowed “Fuuuuuck!” so loudly that Donkey jumped. Carlos beat his fists into the ground and stood back up. He walked over to his broken guitar, picked it up, and screaming, he spun around and hurled it into the ditch. “Thank you, Jesus!” Carlos balled his fists at his sides and barked at the sky. The vein in his neck bulged.

He turned and glared at Donkey. “It never gets any better!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he cut loose. Donkey pawed at the ground, all the screaming was making him nervous. They’d made it out of the brothel, that, at least, was a good thing, wasn’t it? Now it was just a matter of finding his way back to Farmer Cortes, and Margarita. His traveling partner, however, was caught up in his tantrum.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He sat back down on the road shoulder. “I’ve been living in a ****ing brothel for three months, and a goddamned donkey gets more tail than I do. What the **** is wrong with me?” He sighed. “I just wanna go home.” He sat there punching the ground for a good six more minutes before standing back up and taking his bag. He rolled his eyes at Donkey, “Well, come on then.”

Donkey thought it over, this guy didn’t seem completely stable. He thought of the people he had been living with, and decided a small step upwards was still a step in the right direction.

They walked together in the general direction the truck had gone. There was barely any traffic, what cars there were passed without even slowing. After awhile, Carlos didn’t even bother to put his thumb out. Donkey was afraid all hope had left his angry new friend.

Carlos’ malaise was infectious. Donkey soon began walking with his head down, as well. With the two of them staring at their feet as they were, they were nearly run down by a dirty red and green bus. It swerved and skidded to a stop a few yards ahead of them. Carlos shoved his hands in his pockets, expecting more bad news. Donkey perked his ears up anxiously. The sun was on its way down, and the air was getting a bite to it.

The bus’s door rattled open, and a gangly brown man in a stained green turban stepped cautiously out. He surveyed the two of them, and, after convincing himself they were no threat, he walked slowly towards them.

“What are you thinking? Walking in the centre of the road in this way? Do you want to get hit?” The man spoke in a thick Indian accent, and he waved his arms broadly as he went. Donkey thought perhaps he wanted a hug.

Carlos rolled his eyes, “Maybe,” he said sarcastically.

The man looked around, “Where do you sleep tonight, sir?”

Carlos shrugged, “Don’t know.”

“I cannot let you sleep along the road. Please, allow me to offer shelter. You never know what lurks these parts after dark.”

Carlos didn’t see how it could get any worse, so he accepted. Donkey didn’t see what other choice he had.

The man extended his hand, “I am Kumar, I am very pleased to make your aquaintance.” They followed Kumar onto the bus. At least they weren’t sleeping on the ground tonight.

©2004 Michael Brandon Carroll

Edited by snuffypuffer

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Snuffs...Donkey's story is so bleak crying.gif

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Be patient, Dotty grin2.gif

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