Fable 4

This might be a bit long, but...here goes...

The sun beat down on the dusty pathways between the fairground tents. Sweat trickled down Dougald's back, and further, thanks to the plastic chair he was sitting on outside Madame Viva's Fortune Telling Palace.

The air might have smelt of cotton candy, but the stench from the farting warthog in the chair on his left drowned it out. To Dougald's right, and next in line for entry through the faded tent flap, sat an ostrich, his beak wrinkled in displeasure. Madame Viva was taking her time.

'Did you know that researchers have never seen an ostrich stick its head in the sand?' said Dougald conversationally.

The ostrich looked down its beak at him. 'I should not imagine that researchers have seen every ostrich, with or without sand.'

'True,' said Dougald. 'There's sand here. And an ostrich.'

The ostrich sighed and uncoiled his legs. 'If I must,' he said and shoved his head in the cigarette-butt strewn sand outside the tent.

Dougald darted past him and into the Palace, where Madame Viva, swathed in sparkly scarves, slumped over a crystal ball, with nobody in the seat opposite. Madam Viva snapped upright at Dougald's entry. 'What are you… Oh. It's you.'

'Hey, Evil. Mom sent me. She wanted to know why you didn't foresee her birthday.'

'I've been busy.'

'Sitting in here while customers wait outside?'

'No…with this.' Evil turned the crystal ball around and Dougald saw a computer screen. 'I call them my minions. Look, this one's a koala, isn't she cute?'

'What about that one?' Dougald caught a glimpse of a blonde in a hot tub with a glass of wine, just as Evil turned the computer back around.

'Never mind her. Look take this to Mom.' Evil reached into a cardboard box behind him.

'Novel Deviations…by Evil Editor. Wow. You actually got something published.'

'Who'll be the favourite son now?' cackled Evil. 'Fortune comes to he who waits.'

Dougald left the tent just as the ostrich pulled his head out of the sand. 'Man, you were lucky,' said Dougald. 'That warthog just let rip. Let him go in first. He looks like he's cooking up another one.'

The ostrich waved the warthog through the tent flap, past the sign reading: 'Twenty minute readings guaranteed!'

'Oh, yes, dear Evil,' thought Dougald, tossing the book in the bin. 'Farting comes to he who waits.'

--McKoala