As told by: The bed
Facing a Chinese aggression from under the bed is like being in a real bunker. The movement is limited and the visibility is reduced to viewing of passing legs. One has to be prompt with a ‘rat-a-tat’ report of a rifle, though emitted through one’s vocal cords, on a first sign of an approaching leg. Presence of our members namely, the school- bag, shoes, assorted boxes, sporty and non sporty implements, crowd the area, making the whole experience more life like. All legs are marked as enemy. Crawling through the obstacles in this ingenious bunker, to time one’s rifle shots, is an act of bravery. Sometimes though, the owner of a passing leg does not take kindly to being hit, painfully, by a pebble disguised as a bullet. The consequences are rather painful to the ears of the shooter. Our friend posing as a brave Indian soldier, thought it better to change his strategy after a humiliating counter attack on his bottoms. His rifle, a battered air gun had been impounded and he was left with no choice but a hand to hand combat.
Hiding under the bed, in a darkened room he waited patiently to ambush an enemy. Spying a passing leg, he caught hold of it, letting out, what he considered an effective ghoulish victory cry. Only the owner of the leg, his elderly nanny, fainted, frightened to death. She had to be taken to a doctor, where she told a weird story of a ghost under the bed. As for our friend, he sat in the corner, spewing venom against inconsiderate nannies that fainted at a slightest provocation. How would he grow up to be a great soldier? He calmed only when his mother threatened to wash his tongue with soap, though, he kept muttering under his breath for a long time.
The resident dust under the bed heaved a sigh of relief as our friend was barred from conducting his strategic military operations from under the bed. The bunker wore an abandoned look as the boxes and company were sorted and assigned places and new roles. Even the umbrella had to leave for a place on a kitchen hook. Without being aware, it had functioned as radar. Now, with some missing spokes, it had retired to a quiet, hassle free life, and was ready to tell its story.
Facing a Chinese aggression from under the bed is like being in a real bunker. The movement is limited and the visibility is reduced to viewing of passing legs. One has to be prompt with a ‘rat-a-tat’ report of a rifle, though emitted through one’s vocal cords, on a first sign of an approaching leg. Presence of our members namely, the school- bag, shoes, assorted boxes, sporty and non sporty implements, crowd the area, making the whole experience more life like. All legs are marked as enemy. Crawling through the obstacles in this ingenious bunker, to time one’s rifle shots, is an act of bravery. Sometimes though, the owner of a passing leg does not take kindly to being hit, painfully, by a pebble disguised as a bullet. The consequences are rather painful to the ears of the shooter. Our friend posing as a brave Indian soldier, thought it better to change his strategy after a humiliating counter attack on his bottoms. His rifle, a battered air gun had been impounded and he was left with no choice but a hand to hand combat.
Hiding under the bed, in a darkened room he waited patiently to ambush an enemy. Spying a passing leg, he caught hold of it, letting out, what he considered an effective ghoulish victory cry. Only the owner of the leg, his elderly nanny, fainted, frightened to death. She had to be taken to a doctor, where she told a weird story of a ghost under the bed. As for our friend, he sat in the corner, spewing venom against inconsiderate nannies that fainted at a slightest provocation. How would he grow up to be a great soldier? He calmed only when his mother threatened to wash his tongue with soap, though, he kept muttering under his breath for a long time.
The resident dust under the bed heaved a sigh of relief as our friend was barred from conducting his strategic military operations from under the bed. The bunker wore an abandoned look as the boxes and company were sorted and assigned places and new roles. Even the umbrella had to leave for a place on a kitchen hook. Without being aware, it had functioned as radar. Now, with some missing spokes, it had retired to a quiet, hassle free life, and was ready to tell its story.
Hey this is becoming interesting. Waiting for the next story.
ReplyDeleteso we know why our minders were so fit and slim..
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