There’s a valley in the mountains
where the blue grass grows,
where the blue wind blows,
where the blue sky glows.
There’s a shepherd in the valley
searching wide and deep
for his lost blue sheep;
never stops for sleep.
There’s a valley in the mountains,
bluest place I’ve seen.
This story is based on a title suggested by Larissa via Facebook.
“I’m an utter failure,” moaned Willy the possum. “If only I had gone to the Interstate with my brother Ben. I could’ve really been somebody!”
Willy flopped down beside a pothole on the back-country road and sighed wretchedly. “Goodbye, Linda.”
Perhaps symbolically, the truck driver didn’t even notice the bump.
Vigafray suggested the title this story was written for. I interpreted it as a play on the classic, erm, play, Death of a Salesman, which I’ve never actually seen or read. Maybe that’s why this story is so depressing and not funny. I don’t know. So sue me. The lack of humor in this story is just another in my long line of failures and uselessnesses. (Heh, there are so many “S”es in “uselessnesses”. Hee hee.)
The cow jumped over the moon.
The rabbit, which had a raging teenager-style crush on the cow, tried to follow. Unfortunately, the rabbit overshot its target and jumped over the sun instead.
They both landed in the ocean. Neither one survived. It was horribly depressing.