The Battle Cry of Maraki (standard:humor, 0 words)
Author: Anonymous	Added: Jul 17 2001	Views/Reads: 3498/2	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The Battle Cry of Maraki

“Jump!” she screamed. 

Maraki lunged forward with uncharacteristic zeal that surprised even her
pleasantly lethargic self. Impending death presented itself in every 
fatal advance made by the smart-ass grasshopper that had found its way 
into the enigmatically neon orange tent that sat atop the ancient 
plateau built eons ago by her brother positioned in the center of 
Maraki’s substantial backyard. Ponce seized control of her hysterical 
friend to frantically inform her in the futility of trying to avoid the 
treacherous jaws of the now absent grasshopper. 

“You’re only making it worse. Ahh! If you calm down, it will be a lot
less painful. Do like me.” 

She slumped over, hands flailing about, screaming, in desperate need for
the situation to end with her and her friend’s un-timely deaths. Maraki 
now had followed suit, huddled up in a ball, hands over her eyes, 
imagining better days when a bowl of instant chocolate pudding followed 
by a nap meant that her day had been well spent. High school had been 
fun; she wished she were still there. And that pudding, oh the pudding! 
It hadn’t tasted the same when it wasn’t followed by a nap. Now that 
she was undeniably facing possible death, she would never become the 
great archaeological, Indiana Jones-esque explorer she had longed for 
so long to become. 

By the time Maraki had become thoroughly depressed over her pre-global
adventure demise, Ponce de Leone had discovered that the grasshopper 
was MIA and that peace could now be restored to the tent, which had 
half-heartedly fallen over during the escapades created by the cruel 
grasshopper that had mercilessly flaunted his power over the 
inhabitants of the easy-set-up tent that in its present state 
unquestionably resembled a crushed circus peanut. 

“We made it...” Ponce reflected. “ We made it!” 

“I knew we would. It was only a grasshopper.” 

Maraki was quite proud she had known all along that they would survive.
This called for instant chocolate pudding and a nap, but a stein of a 
fine blonde pilsner would do just well. A blue Kool-Aid cup, the prize 
awarded to two tragically wide-eyed kids who collected points snipped 
off every Kellogg product in their house, filled with lukewarm tap 
water would have to suffice. A victory for womankind, they decided, er, 
a victory at least. 

Maraki had long been ridiculous, her friend of four years decided. How
else could she explain her best friend’s inability to speak her native 
Swahili, which Maraki swore she knew fluently. Ponce questioned this 
not because Maraki’s family wasn’t from Africa, that posed little 
problem in her curly-haired head, she had never heard any of Maraki’s 
family speak in Swahili except her delightful mother, who spoke 
something else fluently, but as far as Ponce was concerned, it could 
well have been the language of the future, Esperanto. 

Ponce deduced that Maraki appeared to be so ridiculous because she was
always haphazardly falling asleep, regardless of time or place. This 
was also her best explanation for why Maraki couldn’t speak Swahili; 
she had fallen asleep during the many travels to her homeland, carted 
around by her younger sister to the many family happenings occurring 
constantly, er, so Ponce observed. 

Maraki, having defeated the enormously large insect that had threatened
her existence only thirty minutes ago, was ready for anything. She 
immediately went to work planning an excavation of Minoan Ruins she had 
seen on a calendar mailed to her by a nameless charity in hope of 
receiving compensation for the “free thank-you gift” enclosed. Her 
plans of fame and respect within the world of archaeologists were 
thwarted once again not by sleepiness, but the piercing shriek Ponce 
had without shame or reason yelped. 

“Ah! What’s wrong? Is the grasshopper back?” 

“Grasshopper? Where? Ah!” 

“Oh no! Quickly, let’s get out of here!” 

The two dashed out of Maraki’s room, past her delightfully bewildered
mother, and into Ponce’s car, which was expecting them at any minute. 
Once safely tucked away into the security of the startled vehicle, 
Maraki confided in her friend. 

“Today has been the scariest day of my life. Please, let’s never speak
of it again.” 

“OK. You know, we’re really quite pathetic. We must go on an adventure
to make amends. Or else, it is quite possible we will be doomed to be 
weak and feeble for ever.” 

Maraki couldn’t have agreed more with her friend as a Blondie tape was
popped into the radio and they predictably screeched off into the 
distance in search of ancient treasures and the meaning of life. 


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