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Dirtside Dreamin’: A Twisted Fairy Tale

He asked how such a thing could be: How could he, a poor peasant boy from a land called Phucked, learn to fly like the people falling from the sky? | blueskiesmag.com
Written by The Fuckin' Pilot

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Originally printed in issue #42 (April 2013) of Blue Skies Magazine..
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He asked how such a thing could be: How could he, a poor peasant boy from a land called Phucked, learn to fly like the people falling from the sky?

Once upon a time, there lived a poor little peasant boy by the name of Phunnel. Phunnel was born and raised in a little Village called Dirtside in a land known as Phucked. As you can imagine, Phucked was not exactly a great place to grow up, or to be particularly happy, and for as long as Phunnel could remember, all he wanted was a way to a better life.

Phunnel would spend his days wandering Dirtside dreaming. He’d wander past the little matching shacks that the townsfolk dwelled in, with their brown yards and brown trees, yet Phunnel would see none of this because his eyes were almost always fixed to the sky. He would wander past the muddy pond the townsfolk would swim in and wash their clothes with. He’d wander past Dirtside’s general store, filled with shelves full of shit that nobody really needed. He’d wander past the village’s only source of entertainment, which was a little brown box nailed to a stand in the village square filled with puppets that did shit nobody really cared about, but watched all the time anyway. Yet none of these things would turn his gaze from the clouds slowly floating past in the only thing in Dirtside and Phucked that wasn’t shitty brown, the sky.

Phunnel would wander every day that he could. Come rain or come shine, if he was able, he was out wandering, out dreaming.

One gray and breezy day, Phunnel managed to wander a particularly long way from the mud and muck of Dirtside, and for the first time in a long time he was distracted from his dreaming. He was distracted by what was becoming a powerful and purposeful windstorm stronger than any he could ever remember. It began to blow so hard that the trees themselves struggled to hang on by their roots, and sometimes even failed. It threatened to throw Phunnel to the far side of Dirtside and beyond. He tried desperately to hang on to grass and fence post, to rock and root, yet the more he struggled, the harder the tunnel of wind pushed him. He clawed and scratched and fell flat on the ground, yet still the tunnel of wind was at him. Finally, as what he imagined was his final act, he stood tall, punched his arms over his head, threw his head far back and SCREAMED! He screamed, and to Phunnel’s astonishment he … FLEW!

At first, Phunnel could not believe that he was flying. He could not believe what he was seeing. In flashes he would see sky, then ground, tree, and then cloud, yet it all passed by blurred and out of control. He saw glimpses of Dirtside down below, being blown to the four corners by the tunnel of wind that had lifted him up. Phunnel tried as hard as he could to keep his eyes on the place he had tried so hard to blind himself to, because he was happy. Happy that no matter what happened, Dirtside was forever gone. To his amazement, Phunnel found that as he stuggled to keep the last bits of Dirtside in view he stopped spinning, he stopped twisting, he stopped sliding across the sky. The more he stopped thinking about flipping around and just stared as Dirtside disappeared, he stayed straight. He stayed calm. He stayed stilled, even as the tunnel of wind blew and blew all around him. Phunnel flew for so long, and flew so smoothly that little Phunnel fell asleep.

When Phunnel awoke, he simply could not believe what he was seeing. He lay on his back in the middle of a huge green field of grass looking up at an amazing blue sky, with soft puffy clouds rolling past and … PEOPLE!

There was no mistaking it! Phunnel watched in amazement as the people in the sky flipped and twisted, zoomed and floated, by themselves or in groups. He watched as they made shapes in the sky, and smiled all the while, without a care in the world! He watched as they floated to the ground, pulling wisps of clouds down with them, which they used to land ever so softly, on the far end of the very field where little Phunnel lay.

Phunnel watched as the people lined up and climbed onto the backs of big, goofy, happy looking birds. To his amazement, the funny birds just sat and hummed, while all the people climbed up their feathers, one after one. Just when it seemed that the birds could fit not one more onboard, it would hop and bound down the field and then suddenly take flight, with all the happy people squealing with delight and joy.

Phunnel watched as the birds flew up and up and up and up. He watched until he couldn’t watch anymore, and just when he thought he had dreamed the whole thing, down from the sky came these people that could fly.

Soon Phunnel gained the courage he needed to meet these flying folk, for after all, he himself had flown once upon a time. He asked how such a thing could be: How could he, a poor peasant boy from a land called Phucked, learn to fly like the people falling from the sky? As quickly as he asked it his question was answered, by a jolly man who called himself Drogue. Without waiting for approval, without waiting for a peep, Drogue grabbed little Phunnel, tossed him on the bird he called a Twotter and up and away they went. He told him how to hold himself, he told him to make sure and smile, he told him to trust old Drogue, and rolled them off the back of the happy flying Twotter and into the waiting sky.

Just like when Phunnel was caught in the tunnel of wind, at first he spun and twisted around, but with a few helpful pulls and pushes from Drogue he remembered what he had learned and once again, Phunnel flew. First with Drogue at his back, and then next to him, then simply zipping around, grinning all the while!

After days and days of flying around, and nights filled with dreams of flight, Phunnel began to find his place in this new flying world. He began to mix and mingle with the flying people, and the people with him, for they found that he had learned quickly in the arena of the sky. Soon the little girls who flew—and even some that didn’t—began to smile at Phunnel, chitter and chat as he walked by, and Phunnel liked very much that they liked him. He decided quite quickly that he liked one little girl in particular, ever so much more than the rest. She had silver hair, and a big bright smile, she had a gleam in her eye, and a nice big set of bouncy perky titties!

To his astonishment, it seemed quite obvious that the girl with the silver hair and the great big boobies they called Wrental liked him a lot too, for she sat closest to him at the dinner bonfire every night. One special night, after the most amazing day of flight where he did his best flying ever, Wrental told Phunnel that he should follow her out beyond the Twotter field and to the brook in the distance. He followed close behind, wondering what she could possibly want so far from the other flying folk, yet as she reached a clearing next to the brook and turned to face little Phunnel, he saw only the titties that she had freed from their hiding place, and let him play and play and play …

Months went by and Phunnel found he was as happy as could be. He flew all day every day, and played with Wrental and her fun bags every night. He thought that it would always be this good! Until one day, after a long day of flying, he could find Wrental nowhere, and nobody seemed to want to tell him where she’d gone. No one except good ol’ Drogue. “Son,” said Drogue to Phunnel, “Wrental was never your girl, it was simply your turn … She’s off with the face of a new boy buried in her rack, and I’m sorry son, but she ain’t coming back.” Phunnel was speechless, Phunnel was destroyed, and finally when all hope was lost, Phunnel began again to dream.

The very next day, ol’ Drogue looked all around for Phunnel, and finally found him standing in the very field and on the very spot where he had awoken long before. He walked slowly up to the boy, saw the look in his eyes and asked, “Phunnel, why are you standing in this field all alone, looking to the sky instead of flying with me?” Slowly, Phunnel looked Drogue in the eye, and with a familiar dreamy look in his eyes he said “I’m looking for that fucking tunnel of wind to come back and blow me away from that God Damned BITCH!”

Eventually little Phunnel found his way to another group of flying people and started teaching new people to fly. Almost every weekend, Phunnel ended up trashed at the Tiki Bar lying in a pool of his own vomit on the back deck and wondering if any of the new girls might blow him.

The End

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