Usuki Singing Stars #53: Alan's Short Story (collab)

     Alan folded a piece of paper and slipped it into an envelope. “Hey Pat, can you mail this for me?” the blue Shoyru slid the envelope across the kitchen table.

     Patricia opened it and withdrew the folded piece of paper. “Um, what’s this?” asked the faerie Shoyru. “All I see are green and blue crayon scribbles.”

     “They’re not scribbles,” Alan scoffed, “it’s my story. I’m going to get it into the Neopian Times and become rich and famous!”

     “Huh. Well, are you sure you don’t want to draw a comic instead?” Patricia suggested. “Because if anybody from the NT tried to read this they’ll….um, have some trouble.”

     Alan rolled his eyes. “Neopians that send comics aren't smart enough to send stories. I’m big enough to send a really good story for everyone to read and like.” He turned to Brayden, who was sitting in his high-chair. “You liked the story when I read it to you, right?”

     Brayden slapped his tray. “Bloogawa!” screeched the baby Shoyru. Marc, Alan’s Puppyblew, barked.

     “See Pat? There are two smart thinkers who think my story is worth reading.” Alan crossed his arms over his chest. “So I should send it out right away. But first, you need to buy a stamp--make sure it’s a Shoyru one since they’re the best ones.”

     “I think it’ll be much better if you, um, rewrite the story before you submit it,” said Patricia. “Plus, it’ll help you practice your letters.”

     “Sounds boring. Can't you do it for me instead?” asked Alan, smiling hopefully. “If you do, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day.”

     Patricia rolled her eyes. “And what will you be doing? Goofing off while I do all the work?”

     “I don’t know the meaning of those words.” Alan waved a hand. “I’ll do the talking, and you do the writing. Then, when I become rich, you can visit me in my solid-gold house.”

     “All right, I’ll help you,” Patricia sighed. “Just promise me you won’t get yourself in any trouble. Or make any messes.”

     “Deal!” Alan leapt off his chair and ran around the kitchen. “I know my story's going to be the best one ever!”

     ***

     Alan watched Patricia place a shiny back contraption on the living room table. “What’s that?” he asked. Brayden and Marc inched towards the table, mesmerized.

     “It’s a typewriter. I’m going to use it to write your story,” Patricia explained. “As I type, your story will appear on the paper.”

     Alan nodded. “Perfect. Now we can get down to work.”

     “Alright. Just start whenever,” said Patricia.

     “Okay.” Alan looked around the room. The Neovision was playing a toothbrush commercial starring a yellow Ixi. Brayden was crawling on the carpet, following Marc as he stopped at the sofa and sniffed it. Alan ran towards Marc and chased him around the room, Brayden squealing with glee and Marc barking.

     After Alan tied a red blanket over his shoulders, Patricia said, “Alan, don’t forget about your story!”

     “I didn’t forget. This is all a part of the story,” Alan insisted. He struck a heroic pose. “This is the story of Neopia’s most famous superhero: Chet Flash!”

     “Ploobah!” Brayden clapped.

     Alan ran a lap around the sofa. “Chet Flash is the fastest Zafara in the world! And he’s really strong; so strong that the Defenders of Neopia have him save an entire army of petpets from the evil Dr. Sloth!”

     “What does Chet look like?” asked Patricia.

     “I don’t know.” Alan jumped onto the sofa and began jumping. “Make something up. But make it good.”

     Groaning, Patricia whipped up a quick paragraph. “There. He’s a yellow Zafara,” she said.

     Alan stopped jumping. “Now say that Chet Flash is the coolest Neopian in the world, and that he has a hundred million toys.”

     “Maybe later. Right now, I need a snack.” Patricia stood and left the room.

     Alan looked at what Patricia typed up. He pulled the paper out of the typewriter and examined it. “Brayden, does this look right to you?” he asked, showing the paper to his baby brother.

     “Plabooblah,” said Brayden, pointing to the text. “Kababloo!”

     “I know. Pat didn’t make Chet Flash as cool as I wanted him to be,” Alan grumbled. He scratched Marc behind his ears. “Another problem is the lack of pictures. How can you read a story without any pretty pictures to look at?”

     Marc barked and hurried away. When he came back, he was carrying a red crayon in his mouth. He placed the crayon on the floor and barked.

     “You’re right, Marc,” said Alan. “If Pat isn’t going to make this story interesting, then I’ll have to do it! I’ll show everybody at the Neopian Times how great my story is with my drawings!”

     Placing the paper on the ground, Alan drew a red Shoyru and two red clouds. Then he handed the crayon to Brayden while we got up to get his crayon box. When he came back, Brayden was drawing several red scribbles all over the paper.

     “You think the Shyoru should go through a sandstorm to reach Chet Flash?” asked Alan.

     “Blaffobah,” said Brayden, handing the crayon back to Alan.

     “Now we need to draw the part where Chet appears and defeats an army of hungry Skeiths!” Alan drew a yellow Zafara with a snazzy white t-shirt and red cap. Chet was holding a sword and was fighting three blue Skeiths, and the red Shoyru was flying overhead in the red swirls Brayden had drawn.

     When Patricia returned, she saw Alan admiring the drawing he produced on the sheet of paper. Marc was stamping dirty paw prints all over the paper, and Brayden was staring at a little green baby Shoyru Alan drew in the top left corner.

     “Alan, what did you do?” Patricia gasped. “You ruined your own story.”

     “No I didn’t,” Alan scoffed. “The story needed pictures, so I added them. Brayden and Marc both agree it looks so much better now!” He held up the sheet of paper to Patricia. “Now you can mail it to the Neopian Times! Make sure you use a Shoyru stamp.”

     Patricia shook her head. “There’s no way I can send this, Alan. They’ll just reject it.”

     “They’ll never reject a cute kid like me,” Alan insisted. He turned to Brayden. “As my lawyer you agree, right?”

     Brayden nodded. “Goobah,” he said, pointing to the paper.

     “See? And Brayden’s never wrong about these things,” said Alan confidently. “So get an envelope, buy a Shoyru stamp and let’s send this out right away!”

     ***

     “Alan! The NT finally sent you a response!” Patricia saw Alan and Marc running down the stairs. Brayden crawled eagerly to the entryway.

     “Open it! Open it!” Alan chanted, jumping excitedly.

     Patricia opened the envelope, unfolded a piece of paper, and read it aloud:

     “Sorry, Alan. I guess your story won't be in the Neopian Times.” Patirica frowned and dropped the envelope.

     Alan picked up the envelope. “Cool! Look, it has a star border!” Alan showed it to Brayden and Marc.

     “Do you want me to submit your story again?” asked Patricia.

     “Nah. It’s way too good for the NT anyways,” said Alan confidently. “I’d rather sell it for millions of neopoints!”

     Marc wagged his tail. Brayden banged his rattle on the floor. “Paboo!” he cheered.

     Patricia felt confused. “So you’re….um, not upset about your rejection?”

     “It’s not the end of the world, Pat,” Alan said matter-of-factly. “I had fun making my story, and I can send them a hundred other stories I know they’ll like much better than this one. Besides, I got a cool new envelope!”

     With Marc following right behind him, Alan ran around the entryway. “In my next story, Chet Flash can fight Dr. Sloth with an army of Puppyblews! Then he’ll open a lemonade stand and be rich! Pat, make sure you write all this down.”

     Patricia laughed. “You keep making up stories, Alan. And one day, you can write them yourself!”

     “Nah. Writing’s your job,” said Alan. “It’s what makes you part of our team.”

     Beaming, Alan stopped running and grinned widely. “Someday I’m going to be a world-famous Neopian, and the Neopian Times is going to make me even more famous! Just watch and see, Pat: someday all of Neopia will know Alan Winston and his Talented Team of Storymakers!”

      The End.