The Cocka-monkey's Tale

November 19, 2009
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Once upon a time there lived a cocka-monkey. Yeah that's right, half cackatoo, half monkey. He lived in the sky, in a Jungle of cloud, and swung from the white branches and ate white bananas. The cocka-monkey was alone but he was happy anyway - there was something comforting and peaceful about his purely white home. One day, though, something happened. The cocka-monkey was carelessly swinging through the trees, picking bananas as he passed, when all of a sudden he saw a black bird perched on a branch. The cocka-monkey was awestruck, so jolting was the sudden sight of black amidst the whiteness of the clouds. "Wow," said the cocka-monkey as he sat down on a rock, "That's definitely going to take some getting used to". Slowly, however, his eyes began to adjust, and life eventually returned to normal. The cocka-monkey still relished in the whiteness of his jungle, he just often avoided that one dot of black on that one cloudy tree. Many days passed in the cocka-monkey's cloud, and he passed them with silly cocka-monkey things. Then one afternoon as the cocka-monkey was resting in a cottony flower bush, something appeared in the corner of his eye. Caught in the branches of a lovely white oak was a big balloon of the most piercing red. The cocka-monkey could not help it; his mouth dropped in shock and he froze in his place. The red would not blend with the white, nor the white with the red; the color of the balloon simply sliced through the cloud and burned a whole in it's soft pale skin. "Well," huffed the cocka-monkey once he finally caught his breath, "This kindof sucks". And it did suck. But then as the days wore on, the sharpness of the baloon's color began to fade. Soon, the cocka-monkey was able to glaze over the blotch of blood-red, just as he had done with the bird's gaping black. The cocka-monkey returned to his jungle of white. He realized that if he squinted his eyes and turned his head to one side, the cloud almost looked as it had before. Almost. Then one day, as the cocka-monkey was picking white bananas from his favorite tree, he saw something crawling up the tree's cloudy trunk. With growing anxiousness he leaned towards the wood and frowned when he saw a family of green beetles. Their vibrant shells dotted the tree's fierce white, sprinkling the cloud with color. "That's it!" yelled the cocka-monkey at the beetles and the jungle, "I'm not letting any more colors destroy my white home!" The cocka-monkey meant it, he really did. But as time went by more things appeared in the cloud, blending the white untill there was nothing left. The jungle became a swab of chaos, a fog of dizzying colors and shades. The purity of the trees melted into madness, the simplicity of the whiteness drowned in confusion. All this the cocka-monkey watched from the corner of the cloud, slouched in defeat on a color-less rock. It started to rain. First the cocka-monkey thought nothing of it and continued to stare sadly at the remnants of his home, but then he noticed something - the colors were fading. The cocka-monkey's eyes brightened as he watched the dyes that had suffocated his cloud drip off the trees. A grin dared to lift the ends of his lips as he traced the colorful streaks of h--- down the trunks and into the sky. Slowly white began to show in the Jungle, purer and more dazzling than ever before. The cocka-monkey nearly jumped for joy and smiled a smile almost as bright as the sun. Quickly, however, he noticed something else - he was melting too. A sinking feeling swelled in his stomach as he saw his toes turn to dust, a wave of decompisition spreading up from his feet. Slowly his limbs began to crumble, transforming him into a powder that covered the ground. Then finally the wind arrived to set him free, and carried him weightlessly into the blue sky.





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