Mespitonia 2#


A bright light flashed across the entire jungle. The giant beauty flowers had burst open to reveal bright, vibrantly coloured petals and an explosion of glimmering, golden pollen flying everywhere. Beauty flowers, it must be known,  only open when the ruby moon aligns with the sun. This happens just once every year. The great, grey grum-grum immediately flew off screeching in disgust. Hay fever is common in grum-grums and the bird fears uncontrollable sneezing and itchy eyes more than missing a meal of  tender jessel meat.

“Such foul beasts have little, if no respect for beautiful sights”, I thought. My heart still pounding from terror.

Then came the swarms of humming pippastrels, desperate to feed on the rich sweet nectar of the flowers. We stood there, mouths gaped  in awe, surrounded by limitless beauty and melodious songs of the birds around us, but before anyone could ask where they were,  Flyp and Rolt were gone again.

Luckily Flynt saw them before they disappeared and quickly trailed them…

In the Jungle of Mespitonia (BBC2 500 words Entry)

Hi, I’m Croatl. A jessel of the Mespitonian Jungle, you know of us right? Small, large eyed mammals with the silkiest blackest fur, long whiskers, small nose, bushy tail and subtle but sharp claws. My family of seven live in our nest in the large, low bows of the white wool blossom trees. We love it here, out the way of predators like blam-bams and poisonous froads. The only nuisance is the harmless but noisy snoz-wozzal. Most days are never unusual, but there’s one day in particular that I will never forget.

As the sun crept above the emerald mountains, the pippastrels woke the Jungle with their melodious chirping. Flyp and Rolt must’ve been the first up. The mischievous twins always found a problem to stick their whiskery noses into. Today was no different. Already they were darting across the branches chasing killokios except the commotion had attracted a hungry grum-grum. The colossal bird had launched from its nest and was scanning the jungle for unwary prey.

Back at the nest, Scrip (the youngest in the family) woke me up. She said the twins had disappeared and complained she was hungry. So I did what I thought was right, I escorted her while she foraged for berries telling her which were poisonous and which weren’t.

Hearing the dreaded screech of the grum-grum sent us scurrying back to the nest to safety. The jungle can seem like the place of dreams at first, in fact it’s a dangerous place.

Flynt, my older brother, was on the back of a grazing snoz-wozzal searching for juicy, fat grubs nesting in the warm moss on the snoz-wozzal’s back. The screech of the grum-grum sent the terrified snoz-wozzal bolting; taking Flynt with it, back to the comfort of its herd.

At the nest our parents were looking worried. They were distressed because we’d all disappeared and a grum-grum was hunting. Then we heard them, Flyp and Rolt scampering towards us. Their terrified squeaks of help startled us. What followed was even more horrific.

In the snozz-wozzal herd, Flynt was calm, as he had just been brought to a clearing surrounded by juv-juv trees. Immediately he sped off to collect as many of the delicious, irresistible, sweet fruit until the screech of the grum-grum reminded him of the danger again. He reacted at once, dashing back to the nest, his claws scratching the trees as he leapt from bough to bough.

Back at the nest it was madness. My family were scampering all over the place in a panic. The grum-grum had us cornered; it’s eyes darting from one terrified jessel to the next. At this point, Flynt appeared, juv-juv juice still dripping from his mouth. He leapt into the air in one crazy bound and sunk his teeth and claws into the bird’s wing. Screeching in pain, the Grum-Grum whisked around and encaged Flynt in its monstrous talons.

From nowhere a low rumbling sound shook the forest and the giant beauty flowers began to shake…

On the Island of Mespitonia

This was from a long time ago, probably when I was ten.

On an unknown island in an unknown world, where the sun shines brightly and the flowers are larger than dinner plates and more beautiful than you can ever imagine, live peculiar creatures more odd than is possible dream up. One such is the snoz-wozzal. A large, fat, scaly creature with an otter like tail and a short dangling trunk on is face. Or the bunnut: a massive bird-like-mammal with a very long beak. All inhabitants knew their island as Mespitonia and despite their many differences (most were stupid) they generally all got along very well with each other, or at least they liked to think.

One day, a thunderstorm struck the island that was horrifying in its power and size. All the animals fled terrified into the vast, tropical forest. The stampede charged through the Trunkan village scattering many and trampling the unlucky to death.

One curious creature, a killockio, didn’t run in panic. The small, luminous blue amphibian stayed calm; in fact he even appeared to not have noticed the thunderstorm at all. Scavenging around on the forest floor searching for fallen fruit amongst the undergrowth, he couldn’t hear the mighty roar of thunder. The trees muffled the sound and the heavy raindrops couldn’t reach him through the canopy. His name was Emile.

Suddenly he spotted a lovely, juicy juv-juv fruit underneath a tree nearby. As he shifted towards it, a loud rumbling noise and a brown dust cloud came sweeping towards him. A giant herd of snoz-wozzals was bearing down on him and the enormous number of feet were sure to crush him as they carved a flattened roadway though the jungle in their panic.  In a lightening dart, Emile burst headlong at the prized fruit, stretching out to grab it with both toes escaping the stampede within an inch of his tail. But as he grabbed the fruit, a greedy grum-grum bird swooped down from nowhere. Snatched the juv-juv and flew off with it.

The great bird swept up into the sky, high above the canopy and into the rainstorm. Emile though was now dangling from the juv-juv fruit, still held firmly by his sticky toes. Eventually the thunderstorm died down and the grum-grum bird finally landed in its nest. Relieved from a queasy-making flight and glad to have stopped, Emile began feasting on the juv-juv fruit. The ugly bird began pecking on it as well. When the fruit was all gone, the grum-grum noticed Emile for the first time.

“Little killockio,” he grumbled in a low croaky voice, pressing his large red beak right up against Emile’s nose, “you have eaten half my fruit.”

“It was my fruit first,” complained Emile, “Spit out the half you’ve eaten since you snatched it from me!”

“What!” roared the grum-grum, ruffling his grey feathers to show he was really angry, “You disgusting little amphibian, how dare you…?”

But Emile never replied. He’d spotted another, even juicier juv-juv on a branch below and had vanished in a flash of blue.