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I was, am and probably always will be, a male, blue
Gelert. My name, something that I knew from the moment that I hatched, is Sulliion.
It is a beautiful evening, as it always is,
at the Money Tree. My owner and I are trying to get some free items to feed
ourselves, or at least, to feed me. I’ve never seen my owner eat any Neopian
food. I don’t think it matters, because I cannot get any of those items, anyway,
not before someone else does.
"Drat."
"What?"
"Failed again."
"At what?"
"Money Tree."
"Cry me a river."
"It was a ghost, mother."
"Hmm, is that true, or is my little Gelert making
up a story to cover his own failed attempt at freeloading? Not quick enough,
were we Sulliion?"
"Oh dear, my full name. You must be quite mad
at me now, mother."
"All in good humor, Sull."
I sigh. I do that a lot. Sighing, that is. And
a lot of eye rolling. Then again, so does my owner, which is probably where
I pick it up.
We are a classic owner/pet duo, poor and left
scrambling for worthless items at the Money Tree. I’m not all that good at it,
and neither is mother. (My owner) ?It isn’t so bad, though. I have my red Kacheek
Plushie, more of pink color, really, and a blue Lupe Plushie. It is a light
blue color, almost mauve. I hate it. I’m a Gelert. I should have a Gelert Plushie.
A blue one, preferably, as I’m blue. Neopets should all have a Plushie that
looks like them. It should be a law. Wait, what’s a law?
I look up at mother and sigh again, this time
throwing in a nice shoulder slump. I wish I am starry, or maybe silver. But
I’m not. I’m blue. Ah well, it’s nicer than red, at least. Red looks burgundy
on Gelerts. I despise burgundy. Mother imitates my sigh, exaggerating it largely
with great flourishes of her hands. Hilarious.
I try to be an intellectual, sophisticated Gelert,
despite my "average" intelligence level. How can something as abstract and complex
as intelligence be measured by a small piece of text in a beige box on a Pet’s
lookup? There are many frames and planes of intelligence. It is not something
as simple as, "average" "above average" and "genius". A genius Pet will still
be reduced to a slobbering animal is exposed to a succulent morsel of food.
Ah, food. I am hungry. I always am, actually.
I think that mother can sense my distress. Or maybe she just hears my stomach
rumbling. Either way is fine… I just want some food. She rummages in her bag
for a moment, her "inventory", before drawing out an old piece of Omelette.
I give her my best look of disgust, with a raised brow and a partially opened
mouth. As if I’m going to eat that. It’s been sitting in her bag for weeks.
She shoves it in my mouth. I cough, sputter and
gag as the omelette, or part of it, anyway, forces itself down my gullet. It
won’t allow me to eat the whole thing in one bite, though. Now there is half
an omelette. Surprisingly, it still tasted fine, even after being encased in
mother’s inventory for so long. I eat some more of the omelette, and, strangely
enough, find my hunger to be satisfied. How strange. There is still three thirds
of the omelette left. I toss it onto a protruding branch of the Money Tree where
it sits, perfectly poised and balanced, on the wood.
Before I can blink, a Quiggle comes and snaps
it up, choking it down without so much as a thought as to who was eating it
before her. Honestly! If I was that careless, than I’d probably be suffering
from some terrible disease right now…
"Still hungry?"
Mother has interrupted my train of thought once
again. Drat. I snort and sneer; doing my best to look like a surly teenaged
Gelert, even though I am only about ten hours old. That’s another odd thing.
I was born ten hours ago, yet I already have a complete vocabulary and a fairly
good understanding of astrophysics. Oh, life just got complicated. I must be
moving on into those confusing adolescent years. I must not show it, though.
I retrieve my stoic composure.
"No mother, I’m fine."
I suppose I sound too haughty, because she then
replies with,
"Well, you’re pretty uptight for someone who
doesn’t wear any clothes."
"I wear fur, mother, which the Neopet equivalent
of clothing," I reply angrily, curling my long, ribbon-like tail around my ankles.
Speaking of which, how do I support that tail, anyway? It’s about three feet
long and thinner than a length of yarn! I open my mouth to ask mother, but she
cuts me off. She chuckles, and ruffles my head.
"Do you want to visit the Snowager?" she asks.
"Why? All he doe is sit there. He won’t let
us get past. It’s eleven PM at night, but he’ll be awake!" My voice is growing
shriller now. "He’ll be awake! Even though he was asleep at four! What’s with
that?"
"I know why you’re so cranky!" she says, standing
upright with her hands on her hips as though she’s just been elected queen of
Neopia.
"You want a petpet, don’t you?"
I roll my eyes again, and shift uneasily. "No
mother, I don’t want a Petpet."
"Nonsense," she responds, still too set on her
notion to even consider what I’m saying. "All the pets want petpets these days."
She is speaking quite loudly, and people are
beginning to stare. "Mother, I don’t want a petpet!"
"Well, Sull, you’re just going to have to wait
for awhile until our current financial situation gets a bit better," she muses.
"For crying out loud! I don’t want a petpet!"
I shout. Now everyone is staring. "It’s just one more mouth to feed, anyway."
I continue. She laughs and pats me head again. I can just hear her saying, Poor,
disillusioned Sulliion…
"Silly Gelert! Petpets don’t need to eat."
I rub my temples feverishly. I can feel another
rant coming on. "Now that just doesn’t make sense!" I bark, my hackles beginning
to raise. "That’s the problem with this place! Nothing makes sense! The Petpets
don’t need to eat! You can’t eat pickled olives…" I grab a copy of The Neopian
Times, Issue Three, off the Money Tree. "—And you can’t even read these! The
pages are stuck together!" I shake it up and down in the air to demonstrate.
Mother is looking nervous.
"Calm down, Sull. The people are staring…"
"They were staring before, mother! They can’t
see us, anyway."
Now she’s confused. "What do you mean?"
Oh, I’ll show her what I mean. I have reached
a revelation.
"We aren’t real, nothing is! We’re just pixels,
suspended in a pixilated world, where only my owner can see me, and she isn’t
even here! She’s on the other side! She’s looking at me, not the other way around!
Now she is fading, I can’t see, I’m not real! I’m just an image…" I trail off,
I can’t seem to be able to speak any longer…
"I know how to set everything back to normal
for you, Sull," Mother says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the red,
(not pink, red. The text says red) Kacheek Plushie and hands it to me. I sigh
happily as I bury my muzzle in its musty scent. Everything falls back into place.
The people are still staring; the petpets need to eat, The Neopian Times Issue
Threes are readable…
"Wow! This is such the coolest toy!"
Fin (The End)
Note: Confused? Yeah, me too. Think about it for awhile, it’ll all fall
into place soon. Ah! I think I just got it! No wait, there it goes. Oh, and
here’s my little disclaimer. Sulliion is an imaginary character, and so is his
owner. I got his name by scrambling up the letters of the word "illusion". Clever,
huh?
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