Vegemite: A Fable

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, underneath all other lands, lived a land called 'Down-under'. In Down-under, there was a big fluffy koala bear named Ken, a giant two-legged kangaroo that hopped through the bushlands named Karl, a tinier version of Karl with big glistening eyes called Wally the wallaby, a lazy brown hedge-like being called Wilson the wombat and a strange duck-like animal called Pat the platypus.

Ken, Karl, Wally, Wilson and Pat were sick of eating the same grass, sick of drinking the same water and sick of seeing the same boring old scenery. 
"Let's get out of here!" screamed Karl one day, hopping in from a hunt. "This place bores me!"
"Aye!" agreed Pat. "This water is slimy now. I can't swim through it properly and the fish can't see me, they've bumped into me a dozen times today!"
"Oath, no wonder why you've got a boofhead!" joked Wilson, slowly, in a monotonous voice. The crew laughed at his voice and not his joke.
"Struth, let's go then!" said Wally, in his little voice, marching on ahead of the group, off on a journey from Adelaide to Melbourne in search for new food. 
"Wait up, mates!" squealed Ken from the treetops. He leaped off a branch and, with a thud, landed on Wilson's back. 

And they were off. Ken held on so tightly to Wilson's back that his skin pulled backwards and made him look as though he had gotten a facelift.
"Blimey, would you fellas look at Wilson's face! Looks brand new!" joked Karl. Everyone erupted into laughter.
"Stop that," he tried, but they laughed even more.
"Sorry Wilson mate!" said Ken. He hopped off his back and walked beside him. "Didn't know thar'd happen." He tied some gum-leaves around his neck to entice him to keep moving. "Just make sure I don't eat 'em, hey mate? Don't wanna sleep around all day."
"No worries mate," replied Wilson.
"Oh get a tree," remarked Karl, and hopped faster away until he reached the edge of a cliff.

"Time to climb down, mates!" exclaimed Karl, excited at the fact that he could just about bounce off anything without getting hurt. This would be a very simple task for him. The crew looked down at Melbourne and its many terrains. In some areas it was snowing, in some areas it was tropical, and in some areas it was dusty. They could not believe their eyes. Off in the distance, it even began to rain in one area.
"Oh, I don't know about that, Karl, I don't like heights!" Wally started to shake and his behind Karl's big tail.
"Oh, blimey," said Karl, "we'll just have to leave you here then!"
Wally looked up at him with his big eyes and Karl's heart melted as they began to water.
"I'm kidding!" he continued. "Let's take that creek all the way down! Look out, Melbourne, here we come!"

When they reached the creek, they looked up to see strange trees. It looked as though sausages hung off them. They passed bushes and bushes of heath myrtles and soon Karl was fed up with having white petals all over him. "Let's take to the creek, shall we?"
The creek was icy cold, but refreshing. Wilson struggled to keep his head up so Pat agreed to swim below him in order to make it a little more buoyant. Ken clung to Karl's back this time, Karl splashing water all over those behind him as he stomped through the creek. 

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They ventured further into Melbourne and arrived at a nice little location just as the sun began to set, still on Melbourne's outskirts. It was foreign enough for them and they were happy. They slept well that night, by the creek, when all of the sudden Pat awoke to a strange voice. 
"Who's there?" he whispered out.
"Me!" replied a strange voice.
"'Me' who?"
A strange looking creature came out from behind a bush.
"Who are you?" Pat asked, intrigued.
"I'm Cyril Curlew, thank you very much. Who are you and why is your beak so wide?"
"What beak?!" exclaimed Pat, mildly freaking out. He woke the entire crew.
"Blimey, who's your mate?" asked Karl, eager to know who the strange creature was.
"Yeah!" said Wally, hopping out of his little leaf hut.
Ken and Wilson, who were spooning, woke up and rubbed their eyes. Wilson fell asleep again and Ken nudged him back awake.
"What are you all doing here?" Cyril asked.

"We want some new food. We were sick of our scenery but it looks the same here, I guess." Pat stroked his little head as he spoke.
"Ah," said Cyril, "new food..."
"Have you got somethin' for us to try?" Wilson asked, now wide awake.
"As a matter of fact I do!" He handed them a jar with dark brown spread in it.
"W-what's that?" asked Ken, anxious about eating something other than his gum-leaves. 
"It's Vegemite," responded Cyril. "I made it by accident. I found some wheat, it dried up in summer and I don't know. It just happened. I can't tell you the rest because I want to be famous for it. But you can have this jar to try it out."
"Thanks!" the crew cheered together.

Soon the crew began to put Vegemite on anything they ate. Ken spread it on his gum-leaves, Karl spread it on grass and occasionally ate some off Wilson's back as Wilson ate from Karl's Vegemite covered grass piles. Pat spread it onto molluscs that he found in the creek and Wally dipped his berries into it. It was delicious and they eventually finished the jar.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Ken, "what'll we do?"
"We'll go get more!" Karl got up and hopped off to Cyril's nest. "G'day Cyril!" he beamed as Cyril woke up.
"What is it, buddy?"
"We want some more of your Vegemite, please!" chirped Pat.
"We love it!" added Ken.
"Yeah!" agreed Wilson.
Wally nodded all the way through.
"I've got three jars left. Use them wisely, I can't give away any more, mates."
"Thanks!" they all responded.

That night they ate up all three jars and woke the next day to a mouth full of ulcers. They could not speak. They wondered back up along the creek back home and weeks later they healed and they never spoke of Vegemite again. Ken ate plain gum-leaves. Karl and Wilson ate plain grass. Pat ate plain molluscs.  Wally ate plain berries. 

This is all my fault! thought Pat. I need to fix this.
He snuck later that night into the creek and followed it down to Cyril. Cyril was fast asleep. Pat broke into his Vegemite cabinet and retrieved the last two jars and placed them in the creek. He watched them float away into the distance. No animal from the crew ever spoke of it again.

Months later, Pat's friend from America, Sassy the squirrel, sent him a message with her friend Fred the falcon. It read:
'Hey Pat. Just had a spoonful of yucky brown stuff from an Australian jar. Yuck.'
To which he responded:
'Hey Sassy. Easy on how much you eat. It's nice until you eat the whole jar. Try.'

The Snarling Hind who Guarded the Bridge

Hast thou seenest the snarling hind which protects that there bridge? It growls and hisses at any attempting passer, shaking and spitting and twitching until its eyes slowly squirm out of its ravenous eyes.

It allows not the entry of any mere friend nor foe - in fact, entry past this bridge is unauthorised. The hind has permitted not the entry of one friend nor one foe for an entire decade. Though it grows weak and weary it never ceases to protect what is located beyond the bridge, carved into a great wall of sapphires and other precious gemstones which resurface every night time, and gleam upon the touch of the very moon's beams.

The hind's body is covered in deep scars, scars etched into its skin from years of struggle in battle, yet it stands its ground, its big hazel eyes scanning the vicinity. It chants, "Noli Me Tangere," in a rare squeak, for it is indeed wild to hold, though it appears somewhat tame. What this magical hind protects is far from its own reach, for the hind is a figure of the protected's imagination, and it has broken free from the realm of the possible into the realm of reality to protect the sanctity from which it came. The constant silence that once twirled through the hind's realm like the peaceful flutter caused by butterfly winds had transformed into that of a giant's violent roar, shattering both the peace within the hind and the peace around it.

Virginia, the busty brown-haired maiden who once danced with straight shoulders now lay curled up beneath a tree that had branches decayed and covered by poisonous a moss. She layed down, her creamy white face turned to the tree's trunk, and has remained that way, motionless, yet sobbing silently, and at some times, wailing, for the entirety of that decade. Some days, her wailing is so loud that it is haunting. The villagers nearby become very uneasy, and as though the sky can hear her also, it begins to rain, at times thundering to cover the sound of her soul being ripped apart by her memories.

One night, Virginia's wailing was so loud that her voice alone was louder than the thunder. A villager's daughter's mirror had began to crackle from the corners, the cracks breaking through the glass towards the center at a speed faster than the spread of a flu epidemic. The little girl cried in vain as the shards fell from her mirror, landing on her face. The girl's face was scarred, and the villagers finally had an excuse to disturb the hind's keeping of its peace. Like they were hunting for a witch, they gathered their pitchforks and sticks lit aflame and matched to the bridge in unison.

The hind was unprepared, and lost its fight after the third villager. The rest of the male villagers then viciously stabbed at the hind's carcass until every drop of its blood had seeped out of its thin body. The male villagers then led the rest of the villagers across the bridge. When they got to the tree, they found no sign of Virginia. The tree was full of life, and it flourished, its bright green leaves dancing merrily in the wind. The villagers were confused. The knew not the location of Virginia, and they could not see the bridge, for it now also disappeared. The villagers were trapped in a realm of luscious fields of green, and the tree that appeared to resemble the breathing of a human.