The Title of the story is simply "Nonsense Tale", and it is copyright.
So, here we go.........
(Where our story starts badly, and goes rapidly downhill from there)
It was a cold Knight. So he came inside and warmed himself by the Friar.
‘Hey, don’t stand so close to me – or I’ll call the police’, said the Friar.
The Knight moved away a little, and then moved away a lot. Something was troubling him – was it his old war wound? Or was it something else…
He decided it was something else, as he’d never been to war. He hadn’t even been to heated disagreement, let alone war. But he still didn’t know what the problem was, so he paced up and down for a bit. After a while, he stopped. He stopped because it was quite difficult pacing up and down, as that meant leaving the ground and he found that gravity required him to keep one foot on the ground at all times. Therefore, he wasn’t really pacing at all. He decided instead to pace to and fro – which was much easier.
As he was pacing, his mind did cartwheels. He told his mind to stop mucking around, and concentrate on the problem in hand. His mind argued that it thought the problem was in mind, not in hand, and that it had no idea there was another problem to deal with. The Knight wearily asked his mind to stop being so pedantic, and to help him out. His mind did one of those ‘Oooooh’ noises, whilst lifting up an imaginary handbag, and agreed to help.
Suddenly the Knight stopped. His mind, unprepared for this sudden stop was thrown forward and nearly came a cropper. ‘Careful!’ said his mind, dusting itself down.
But the Knight wasn’t listening. He knew what the problem was; the problem was that he appeared to be in the beginning of a story that seemed to be being written completely off the cuff, with no planning or structure or any idea as to characters or plot or anything.
‘You’re right’, said a chicken as it ambled into view. ‘This Writer always does this sort of thing. He started writing me into a story years ago, then got bored and just left me in it without so much as a thank you, or nothing. I tell you, that Writer is a…’
Suddenly a huge lion leapt out of nowhere, and with a mighty roar it devoured the chicken - silencing its bitter rant about the Writer. Before the Knight could react, the lion leapt out of sight and was gone.
The Knight stood there, waiting. The Writer waited too. They both waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, the Knight said to the Writer ‘look, are you going to give me something to do or not?’
‘You mean, apart from complain?’ asked the Writer sarcastically.
The Knight was tired, confused, and not in the best of moods. But he liked the Writer, he believed in the Writer, and because the Writer was the only other person in this story he could interact with, the Knight decided to not argue the point.
‘What about me?’ said the Friar.
‘What?’ said the Knight
‘What?’ said the Writer.
‘Me? Remember me?’ said the Friar, ‘I was here at the start of the story – I did that Police joke, you know ‘don’t stand so close to me?’’
‘Oh yes’, said the Writer, ‘I’d forgotten about you.’
‘Thanks a lot!’ said the Friar, ‘But I’m still here, surely I have a part in this story?’
‘He’s got a point,’ said the Knight, ‘we could use him.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said the Writer – ‘not enough comedy value’
‘Oh come on, please?’ begged the Friar, ‘Can’t you just give me a small part?’
‘From here, it looks like you’ve already got a small part’, chuckled the Writer.
‘Good one!’ laughed the Knight.
‘That’s not very nice – and you’re not very nice either’ said the Friar in an angry voice.
‘Don’t push it’ said the Writer, ‘I could always write that lion back in – he’s just round the corner, sitting in a wok’
‘Sitting in a wok?’ scoffed the Friar – ‘how ridiculous!!’
The Knight agreed, ‘Yeah that is a bit random.’
‘Really?’ said the Writer, ‘if he keeps on whining like that, then I’ll make sure that lion will be out of the frying pan, and into the Friar’.
‘Oh, bravo’ said the Knight sarcastically, ‘all that for one crappy joke – I bow to your superior intellect.’
‘I could give the lion a tin opener’, said the Writer, staring at the Knight.
‘Seriously though’, said the Knight, ‘I loved it - thought it was very witty of you’
‘I thought you might’, said the Writer.
‘Tell you what’, said the Writer turning to the Friar, ‘I’ll see if I can write you in to the story a little later on – ok?’
‘Promise?’ said the Friar
‘No’ said the Writer, ‘but I’ll see what I can do’.
‘That’s better than nothing’, said the Knight
‘I suppose so,’ said the Friar, ‘see you in a few pages’. And with that the Friar left.
‘So’, said the Knight, ‘What now?’
The Writer stared at the blank pages. Inspiration didn’t appear to be home this evening, only her sisters: Frustration and Depression. Not fancying an evening with either of those two beauties, the Writer turned to the Knight.
‘So, what do you fancy?’
‘Well, that Frustration bird looked hot – I quite fancy her’
‘Are you sure? Pursuing her might be hard work and not very rewarding’.
‘True – but I like a challenge.’
A smile appeared on the face of the Writer – just above his left eye. He quickly dragged it to its proper place, and beamed at the Knight.
‘If it’s a challenge your after – I’ve got just the thing’
‘Really?’ said the Knight, ‘what is it?’
‘It’s a challenge – haven’t you been listening?’
‘I know it’s a challenge! What I meant was, what type of challenge is it? Cos if it’s one of those eat-a-bowl-of-cereal-for-breakfast-and-then-one-for-lunch-drop-a-dress-size-in-two-weeks types of challenges, I’m not interested!’
‘Don’t be daft!’ said the Writer, hastily hiding a bowl and a cereal box behind him, ‘This is a real challenge - one which will not only challenge all of your bravery and skill as a Knight, but all of my talents as a Writer too.’
‘Why will this be a challenge for you?’ asked the Knight.
‘Because I haven’t a clue what it’s going to be yet’ said the Writer.