A/N: This story's been languishing on my hard drive for about a year now. It was written for a short story contest, the night before the deadline, and I totally hit a wall on what would happen next. In the end, the story wound up with the omnipotent author annoying the heck out of one of the characters. Enjoy!
Are we there yet? piped up the annoyingly cheerful voice from the back of the carriage.
No, not yet, replied the driver through gritted teeth. That had to be the fourth time in the last five minutes he'd heard that question. He glanced at a signpost on the road side: Fox Hollow, 20 miles. He slumped a little more in his seat and muttered, If I have to put up with twenty more miles of that honey pot back there, I swear I won't be responsible for my actions.
Suddenly, a voice from somewhere ahead of him said, If I have to put up with your griping for twenty more miles, I swear I won't be responsible for my actions.
Who said that? asked the driver, looking up and down the road, but seeing no one.
Me, you lackwit, replied the voice. Up here, pulling the carriage.
Confused, the driver asked, The horse?
No, the frog who's pulling the carriage.
That's funny, I seem to recall hitching up a horse this morning, and you look an awful lot like a horse to me
No, Lackwit, I was being sarcastic. Of course it's the horse talking!
I don't think so. I've had this horse for three years and it's never said a word to me. I'll bet you're an evil spirit who's trying to corrupt me. Well, it won't work. And with that, the driver stuck his fingers in his ears.
Hey, hold onto the reins, Lackwit! the horse shouted.
The driver, suddenly realizing the stupidity of what he'd just done, grabbed for the flapping reins. I'm still not going to listen to you, you know. Horses aren't supposed to talk.
Do you think I'm as dense as you? the horse asked. Of course horses aren't supposed to talk. I, however, am not a horse.
So you really are a frog?
No, of course not. I am—was—Master Edward Pennock, head of the South Waltham Wizards' Guild.
You're a wizard? Well, that's almost as bad as an evil spirit—But not quite, he hastily added after the horse gave him an very un-horselike glare. They trotted on in silence for a while before the driver spoke again, breaking the silence. So, how did you end up like that, Ed?
Master Pennock, if you please, the horse corrected.
All right. So, how did you end up like that, Master Ed?
Well, it's a long and interesting story, Master Pennock started.
Yes, far too long for five pages, interrupted a voice.
The driver yipped in fright. Who's that? That wasn't the young miss's voice! Not another talking animal, is it? Don't tell me that dragonfly there is another wizard in disguise!
The new voice sighted in exasperation. No, it isn't another talking animal. It's me, the author. You see, I had this story all planned out, sort of, but it just isn't working. I only knew what was going to happen up to the Master Ed' part. I thought of that during lunch today. It's a sort of pun, you see. Master Ed' sounds a bit like Mister Ed,' who's this famous talking horse—
I've never heard of any other talking horses, and I have traveled extensively throughout Europe and even all the way to Constantinople, and I have never heard of this Mister Ed,' Master Pennock said. Come on, driver, let's continue on. I need to tell you my story. The horse/wizard opened his mouth to tell his tale of transformation, but no words came out. He sat there for a minute, gaping like a fish, before ranting, What is this? I can't seem to be able to tell the driver how I became a horse!
The author frowned. I know. I tried to tell you before, I don't know what to do for this part of the story. I'm not suffering from my usual writer's block, but the exact opposite—this story can go in so many directions that I can't choose one. You, she said, Master Pennock, could've done any number of things to have ended up like this. Your apprentice, Mandy, could've accidentally knocked over a jar of horse feathers into your cauldron.
She did? Master Pennock blurted out. I knew that girl was trouble the minute I laid eyes on her...
Wait, I'm not finished, the author rushed on. You could've caused the accident, adding horse feathers instead of snail whiskers, or maybe it ws a punishment for something you did, or perhaps another wizard was mad at you, or you could've
The wizard-horse snorted. Me? You're saying this was my fault? Surely you must be joking. I'm Master Edward Pennock, head of the South Waltham Wizards' Guild. I don't make careless mistakes.
I think you do, on occasion, the author interjected. Everyone has to make mistakes sometimes. And there is no such thing as the South Waltham Wizards' Guild. I made that up.
You did not!
I did.
You did not!
I did, too. I also made up Fox Hollow, which you're currently headed to. I even made up you. Do you want to know what you're named after?
No, I don't want—
A street sign. A street sign I saw on my way to Eagan High School.
Liar! Pennock happens to be the name of one of South Waltham's most prestigious families! the wizard raved.
Hey, how come I didn't get a name? asked the driver. He got a fun name and title and a town he lives in—how about me?
Oh, you, the author said dismissively. You weren't really going to be in the story very much after this, so I didn't go through the trouble of making up a name for you. At least you have a bit more of a part than your passenger in the carriage. I'm not even quite sure who she is.
As if on cue, a voice from inside the carriage asked, Are we there yet?
The author rolled her eyes. You see? That's all there is to her. A syrupy little voice which asks, Are we there yet?' In fact, I'm getting kind of sick of all three of you. I don't know what to do with you anymore, now that your story has dead-ended. Maybe I'll write a story about that apprentice, Mandy, and her hedgehog.
You'd write about her rather than me? Master Pennock demanded.
Well, I don't know. I might like the bit about the hedgehog, the driver said, earning him an irritated glare from Master Pennock. asked the driver. I think hedgehogs are kind of cute.
Are we there yet? asked the voice from within the carriage again.
You see what I mean?, the author asked. This story is going nowhere. I'm afraid I'm going to have to get rid of you three.
How is she going to get rid of us if she doesn't know where the story is going? Master Pennock demanded. If she gets rid of us, the story will end, and since she doesn't know how to move forward, this story cannot end. Therefore, she can't get rid of us.
I wouldn't be so sure of that, Master Ed, said the driver. There, up in the sky, was a dragon, with gleaming blue-green scales and monstrous bat-wings soaring overhead. The dragon swooped down, picked up the carriage, driver, passenger, horse and all and carried it off to its lair. The three characters were never heard from again.
Yeah, that was pointless, I know. Hey, do you hear that? It's that little button down there. It's saying, Click me, click me. Please, I really would liike feedback--let me know if you loved/hated it, why you did, opinions on whether the rutabagas will really take over the world, etc.