1. Welcome to the Muppet Central Forum!
    You are viewing our forum as a guest. Join our free community to post topics and start private conversations. Please contact us if you need help with registration or your account login.

  2. Help Muppet Central Radio
    We need your help to continue Muppet Central Radio. Show your support and listen regularly and often via Radionomy's website, official apps and the WinAmp Media Player. Learn More

    Dismiss Notice
  3. "Muppet Guys Talking" Debuts On-line
    Watch the inspiring documentary "Muppet Guys Talking", read fan reactions and let us know your thoughts on the Muppet release of the year.

    Dismiss Notice
  4. Sesame Street Season 48
    Sesame Street's 48th season officially began Saturday November 18 on HBO. After you see the new episodes, post here and let us know your thoughts.

    Dismiss Notice

Muppet Terror....

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Beauregard, Jul 7, 2005.

  1. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Thanks. Chose Guy to have a Jim character as lead-in to the portion. The Beetles just seem natural given the British connection. Thinking of a few songs for them to play should there be a need for another segment with them and Guy.

    But I'll deffer to Bo, since he's the one weaving this timely story so masterfully.
  2. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    Never again will we let them terrorise our lives...


    The Count von Count felt sick, his stomach cramping deep inside him. He forced himself not to remember. The death count was so high. Forget them. Think of the living. So much, he realised, to live for.

    There were times, when horror strikes deepest, that hearts grew fondest. Bringing people together, uniting.

    The Count squared his shoulders. Somebody needed him.


    Miss Piggy traced her fingers across Kermit’s face in the screen. She wanted, wanted to cry out. Kermit…the things he had said. She needed to call him, needed him to hold her. She’d find a nurse. Kermit’s face faded from the screen. Miss Piggy felt an emptiness inside. Her fingertips stayed touching the glass. She loved him so much.

    “Excuse me, Miss.”

    She turned. A voice she knew, something familiar. Then a face, the Count von Count. He was here. The Count took her hand, and her lips trembled as she smiled through tears.

    “Vot’s happened to you? Where vere you?” He pulled her into a hug, his formal exterior melting like the tears that melted against the soft, dirt struck skin of her face. Like the melted, scorched black plastic. Not now. Miss Piggy buried her head in his shoulder. He held her tight, his hand on her back.

    They seemed so small, the room so big. Couples sat, hands entwined. Others, alone, eyes vacant.

    “Are you alright?” the Count asked. “Your hair…it’s...”

    “It’s gone...” Piggy said. She pulled away, wiped tears with the back of her gloves.

    “Can we go home?” Miss Piggy asked.


    Rowlf sat alone on a bench in Hyde Park. He did not know how he had gotten there. Or why. He touched the tip of each finger to the other, one by one, a pattern. He needed a pattern today.

    Rowlf knew he should get to a phone. He’d check in with Kermit, and the others. Miss Piggy. She was in London with him, was she ok? Did she have her cell-phone? Why did they do this? What about other countries? Did Robin know what was happening? Bert would love those pigeons on the grass there. Where was he? Hyde Park. He didn’t know how he got there. He’d walked, maybe. Maybe he’d walked.

    Too much.

    Rowlf touched little finger to little finger.

    Who were they? There were terrorists. They were afraid. Afraid of change, or afraid of power, or afraid…of something. So they struck, passed their fear on. Thumb to thumb. They must have demands, a reason. Something strong enough for them to risk their own lives to make a point. Index finger to index finger. Perhaps this was the only way they knew, to ask. Rowlf shook his head. No excuse for lives lost. Certainly nothing could excuse the mindless killing of the people, their souls.

    Rowlf stood. He walked away from the bench, following a path beside grass. Live 8 had been here. People, hundreds of people, asking for others to live.

    Rowlf closed his eyes and tried to feel. His mind was numb from the day. Did he feel hate? Anger? They would not get away with hurting, injuring, terrorising. He would fight them. Rowlf opened his eyes.


    In the news office, Elsie Donnel covered the telephone receiver. “Mark, we got a dog on the phone, sez he ‘as in the train. Sez he’s gotta something that needs to be said on air.”

    Mark took the phone. “Yes. What can I do for you? You want to say what?!”


    Sam snatched the radio down off his shelf, and hurried down the stairs. “Listen up, folks,” he said. “Our dog is on the air.”

    “What?” Kermit turned. “Rowlf…”

    Robin squeezed his hand.

    “Yes, I’m Rowlf, Rowlf the Dog,” Rowlf said through the radio.

    “And you were actually on the scene,” the reporter was asking.

    “I was, I was in the train. I started out at King’s Cross. Three hours later…” he said. “And I’m here.”

    “And you have something you wish to say, not just to the nation, but to those responsible for today’s bombings, is that right?”

    “That’s right, yes.” Rowlf said.

    Kermit’s chest tightened.

    “I want to say,” Rowlf began. “That….I was affected today, I saw things this morning…I don’t want to remember. I wasn’t…that is, my physical body was not torn by them, but my mind, my heart, is broken for those who were hurt this day. However, I would not consider myself the dog I am, if I didn’t speak to those responsible. If I didn’t say how I feel, and let them know.” The brave dog paused. He left his words hanging in the air, then plunged on.

    “Whoever it was that did this, why ever it was done…it won’t work, because you cannot use us as levers in your plans, no way. I don’t know about the others who were on that train with me this morning, the woman with the rabbit, the man with the paper, the teens with their rad jackets…but I tell you from Rowlf, Rowlf the Dog, that I…I forgive you for what you done to me today. And because of that, because of my forgiving you, you can not use me, I’m no ammunition for your army. And that’s all this dog wanted to say, except, to the others who were hurt…forgive them, fight hate with love, then they have nothing, nothing on us, nothin at all.”

    Rowlf left a wake of silence. It took the reporter a long moment to gather herself. Sam shut off the radio. Kermit squeezed Robin’s hand back. It was going to be ok. The door banged open. Scooter ran in breathless. “Kermit, come quick.”

    “What is it?”

    “It’s Miss Piggy. She’s on the phone.”

    Kermit reached the door before Robin spoke. “Uncle Kermit?” Robin said.

    Kermit turned back. “Yes, Robin?”

    “They didn’t win.”

    The End
    LipsGF4Life likes this.
  3. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Quiet applause. That was a touching and timely story Bo.

    But... What happened to the Wild Impressario? He's still out there, somewhere in London's streets. Who knows what scenes he's witnessed. Just hoping he makes it OK back to the conservatory or wherever it was he was headed. Other than that li'l loose thread, the story was hexcellent, and I thank you for letting us contribute portions as well.

    Quietly applauding again.
  4. theprawncracker

    theprawncracker Well-Known Member

    :cry: I'm so happy.:cry: Yet so sad. :cry:

    It's great Piggy and Rowlf are okay, but I'm praying for the other's and their families.

    Such great writing Beau. Truly awesome.
  5. JaniceFerSure

    JaniceFerSure Well-Known Member

    Another great,moving,heartfelt story for the books Bo.Way to go.
  6. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    Thank you.

    Count, the Wild Imp is Skeeters story. I am leaving her to finish that spin-off story.

  7. TogetherAgain

    TogetherAgain Well-Known Member

    <stunned silence>

    They didn't win.

    <stunned silence>
  8. redBoobergurl

    redBoobergurl Well-Known Member

    Oh I love Rowlf. I loved his whole speech it was just perfect. I am still just shocked by the beauty of this story when it is about such a horrible thing. You did an amazing job Beau. Simply amazing.

    They didn't win.
  9. MrsPepper

    MrsPepper Well-Known Member

    LipsGF4Life likes this.
  10. Skeeter Muppet

    Skeeter Muppet Well-Known Member

    Faffner Hall - Part 2

    Sorry I took so long with this; my brain was attempting to write part 3 before part 2 was finished (silly brain). Part 3 may be coming along later tonight, it may not - it all depends on whether or not I get it finished before Mom and I have to go on button-check duty at ByronFest.

    This one came out to two and a half pages.

    Part Two: The Waiting Game

    The residents of Faffner Hall remained crammed into the television room for the next few hours, watching the unfolding events in London.

    As images of the seriously injured and the walking wounded flashed across the screen, Riff and Mimi searched for a familiar face or a lock of wild, orange-colored hair, with little to no success. Every time the number of fatalities increased Mimi felt a renewed sense of grief rising inside of her. She refused to believe that the Wild Imp was among those who had been killed, but every minute that passed without word from or about him chipped away at her resolve.

    They were all present for the Prime Minister’s address, most of them nodding in agreement with what was being said. Even Farkas had joined in, occasionally voicing his agreement with what was being said.

    And they all listened attentively as Kermit delivered his message to London and the world.

    We are all in this together. You, and me. England, America, the very world.

    Riff nodded, squeezing Mimi’s hand and shooting the Southerner a reassuring smile.

    I’m asking you. To be strong. To fight it, fight your fear.

    Fughetta inhaled deeply and exhaled, even though she didn’t really need to. For as many years as she’d been around, both in life and in her existence as a phantom, she thought she had seen it all. Yet happenings like this, and what had happened in Madrid and New York City in previous years never failed to affect her. In some way Fughetta was glad; it meant that she wasn’t becoming apathetic.

    Miss Piggy…Rowlf…my friends, my good friends, they are in London. Rowlf was on a train. I haven’t, haven’t heard from Piggy. But I will stand strong, for them.

    “So will we, Kermit,” Mimi said to the television screen. Boppity had told the rest of them earlier about his phone call, and that Rowlf and Piggy were also unaccounted for.

    I don’t…I don’t hate them. I pity them.

    Farkas’ smile turned into a half-frown at the frog’s words. Why on Earth would you pity a group of people who committed such cowardly acts, possibly taking the easy way out by killing themselves in the process? They didn’t deserve pity, not from those they had hurt or the friends and family thereof. And certainly not from Farkas Faffner.

    Besides, he was the antagonist, the bad guy of the house. Hating was part of what he did. Feeling justified, Farkas turned his attention back to the television.


    After Kermit’s address was finished, Fughetta reached over and turned off the television to the protests of almost everyone present.

    “Now, now, calm down everyone,” the phantom said. “As much as we would like to, we can’t spend all day sitting in front of the television. So let’s all go about our business for the rest of the day as we usually would. It’s the best thing we can do right now.” There were some more muttered protests, but everyone complied.

    “But what about Wild?” asked Mimi. “How’re we gonna know that he’s all right?”

    Riff replied, “We have the phone number for that hotline we can call about missing persons; we can check that. And who knows? Wild could be calling us at any minute.” Passing by the teens on the way back to the attic, Farkas shot a half-believing look at Riff. “C’mon, why don’t we go work on that song of yours? We could have it ready for Wild to look at when he gets back.”

    Mimi nodded. “Okay.” The two teenagers headed upstairs. Fughetta couldn’t hide a small smile upon seeing that Riff had slipped an arm around Mimi’s shoulders. Assured that the two of them would be fine, Fughetta departed to begin her rounds around the house.

    Time seemed to slow down in Faffner Hall. Fughetta’s mind and attention were only half on her patrol of the grounds, and her distraction caused her to solidify in the middle of floating through walls, and get stuck more than once.

    Up in the attic Farkas was working…or trying to. Earlier he had been in the midst of devising yet another scheme that would silence music in the halls of Faffner Hall forever, and make him a sizeable profit in the process. But now, after hearing the news of the bombings in London, his heart just wasn’t in it.

    What was worse, it was making Farkas think. He thought about all of the methods he had used in the past to try to wrest control of the building from Fughetta. At one point, he had attempted to use dynamite to blow up the hall, then pin the blame on the residents and collect the insurance money. Naturally Fughetta had put a stop to his plans. But even so, Farkas had to wonder…did that make him no better than those that had bombed the subway stations and the bus?

    On the second floor, Riff and Mimi were having a similar problem. Their minds were too full of what had happened that morning, and of concern for Wild, to concentrate on anything else. They tried with little success to work on Mimi’s melody, and after an hour with no progress decided to give up. Having missed lunch because they had been so caught up in the news, the two teenagers ventured down to the kitchen for a snack.

    When they arrived, Mimi and Riff found they weren’t the only ones there; Farkas was busy fixing himself some food when they entered. “Hi, Mr. Faffner,” Mimi greeted their landlord.

    “Riff, Mimi,” Farkas replied. There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence, then Farkas hesitantly asked, “So…how’s that song of yours coming?”

    The kids blinked, looked at each other in surprise, then looked back over at Farkas. “Uh, kinda slow,” the blue-haired girl admitted. “We’re…having trouble concentrating, y’know?” The older man nodded in understanding.

    There you are!” Fughetta’s proclamation preceded her materialization in the kitchen. Looking at Riff and Mimi sympathetically she asked, “Couldn’t concentrate, hm?” The two teens shook their heads sadly. With nothing else to talk about, Mimi and Riff sat down at the kitchen table to eat their snack. Farkas moved over to another counter, leaning against it and trying to watch everyone without it actually seeming like he was watching them. Fughetta just hovered in the middle of the room. No one spoke.

    Then, from across the hall, in the main office, came the ringing of the telephone.

    Mimi bolted for the office, with Riff right behind her and Farkas right behind them. The three of them nearly collided with each other as the Southern girl struggled to get the office door open. “It’s stuck!” she exclaimed, turning the handle and pulling.

    “Oh, move out of the way!” Farkas griped, pushing her aside. He turned the handle and pushed the door open, then entered the office and picked up the telephone. “Hello?”

    Mimi blushed, realizing that she’d been trying to open the door the wrong way. “Oops.”

    “It’s okay, Mimi,” Riff reassured her.

    “Excuse me, but I’m on the phone!” Farkas snapped at both of them. “Yes, this is Faffner Hall. I’m Farkas Faffner; I own this building. Mm-hmm. He is? All right. Yes. Thank you for calling. Goodbye.” He placed the receiver back on the cradle, and turned to see Riff, Mimi and Fughetta staring at him expectantly.

    “Well?” Fughetta asked.

    Riff added, “Who was it?”

    “Royal London Hospital,” Farkas responded. “It’s about Wild…”

  11. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member


    As images of the seriously injured and the walking wounded flashed across the screen, Riff and Mimi searched for a familiar face or a lock of wild, orange-colored hair, with little to no success. This I love. I feel that pain, I watch that screen, and search for that lock of wild hair...

    We are all in this together. You, and me. England, America, the very world. *gasp* You used my speech! Thanks it's lovely of you.

    I’m asking you. To be strong. To fight it, fight your fear. omg, this gets me every time...*holds back tears*

    Time seemed to slow down in Faffner Hall. It certainy does, and I feel that time...

    Farkas had to wonder…did that make him no better than those that had bombed the subway stations and the bus? Oh my! This is heat renching. It really is. Oh...wow...

    Farkas hesitantly asked, “So…how’s that song of yours coming?” Even having not seen Faffner Hall episodes...I know how much this line means.

    Mimi blushed, realizing that she’d been trying to open the door the wrong way. “Oops.” That was....beautifull.

    “Royal London Hospital,” Farkas responded. “It’s about Wild…” Oh my!
  12. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    So..um...are we gunna get part three?
  13. Skeeter Muppet

    Skeeter Muppet Well-Known Member

    *chuckles* Yes; I just have to write it first. You, of all people, should know how that works, Beau ;)

    In all seriousness it'll probably be sometime later this afternoon. I have to be in a parade.

  14. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    I see. I thought you said before you'd already typed it. And yes., I know how it works. On another note, I'd love for you to write more Fan-fics in this world. It's great because I never watched Faffner Hall and it looks great fun!
  15. Skeeter Muppet

    Skeeter Muppet Well-Known Member

    My brain wanted to type Part 3 before Part 2 was finished.

    I said no, and made it write Part 2 ;)

  16. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    Oooh! I see. I do that all the time. I desperatly want to type the Why Couldn't we Ride scene of Visions, but Only Illusions but I can't...oops...just gave something away...
  17. TogetherAgain

    TogetherAgain Well-Known Member

    Oh, I know that feeling, too! In fact just the other day I was writing something and then I realized it couldn't happen until the end of the story! So I drew some funny little blue lines in my notebook that say "Wait! Don't read this yet! Go to the next blue line first!" and then there's one that says "Alright, now skip ahead to that third blue line" on one side and on the other side it says "Okay now you can read!" Trouble is I haven't gotten to the third blue line yet. And if you understood all that, congratulations, you know how to navigate my notebook. Anyway, this thread isn't about my notebook, it's Muppet Terror, so let's get back to that, shall we?
  18. Skeeter Muppet

    Skeeter Muppet Well-Known Member

    Well here it is, Part 3, the conclusion of the Faffner Hall portion of 'Muppet Terror'. This part was definately the longest, coming out to almost five pages. I hope everyone enjoyed this story.

    Part Three: Loved and Lost, Lost and Found

    The car ride from Faffner Hall to Royal London Hospital was an eerie, uncomfortable one. The car was silent for the whole trip, and not just because Farkas had outlawed use of the radio (he wouldn’t even listen to his talk radio stations, Mimi noted later). Riff and Mimi were silently contemplating what the visit would be like when they got there. All Farkas had told them after he had gotten off the phone was that Wild was in the hospital; he said nothing about the Impresario’s condition, how badly he had been hurt.

    As Mimi looked out the car window, she couldn’t keep herself from imagining worst-case scenarios. Did Wild have any broken bones? Had he been hit by flying debris from the bombs? Would he be unconscious and hooked up to tubes and machines, like she had seen on television shows? Was he dead?

    “He’s not dead, Mimi,” Riff answered, as if he had been reading her mind. “If he was, why would Mr. Faffner be taking us to visit him in the first place?” Nearly the entire population of Faffner Hall had wanted to go to the hospital to visit the Wild Imp, and in the end the landlord had limited it to just the two teens.

    “You’re right, Riff,” Mimi agreed. “I’m just…scared, y’know?” Riff nodded in understanding.

    The butterflies in both teens’ stomachs didn’t settle down as Farkas pulled into the hospital parking lot and as they entered the building. They didn’t settle as the receptionist directed them to the ward where their friend was. And they didn’t settle as the trio walked down the hallway and were met by two gentlemen, who introduced themselves as Wild’s friends Fahz Plagal and Joe Minor.

    “You must be Wild’s friends,” remarked Joe, a shorter man with receding brown hair.

    “Don’t look at me; I’m just the chaperone,” sniffed Farkas. Everyone else ignored him, and Riff and Mimi introduced themselves to the two other men.

    “How’s Wild. I-is he okay?” asked Riff.

    Fahz, taller than Joe with salt-and-pepper gray hair long enough to be put in a ponytail, replied, “He’s got a concussion, and he had to have stitches where he got grazed by some shrapnel, so they’re keeping him overnight for observation. But aside from that, Wild’s fine.”

    Both teenagers sighed with relief. “Can we go in and see him?” asked Mimi.

    “Sure; the nurse said someone had called Faffner Hall, so we were just waiting for someone from there to show up,” Fahz explained. “We’ve been here since early this afternoon, when they brought Wild in, so we’re going to head back to the hotel.”

    “Sorry your plans got ruined,” the blue-haired girl apologized.

    “Hey, it couldn’t be helped,” Joe said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

    Riff was hit with a flash of inspiration and said to the two men as they started to walk away, “Well, you’re welcome to stop by Faffner Hall sometime. We’d love to have you!” Farkas shot the fuschia-haired boy a Look for the suggestion.

    Fahz and Joe grinned. “Thanks. We’ll certainly take that into consideration next time.” Farkas let out a noise that might have been a whimper, but it went ignored. The two men said their goodbyes, and went on their way. As soon as they had gone, Riff and Mimi turned back to look at the door to Wild’s hospital room.

    “Well?” Farkas said after a moment or two. “Are you two going to go in, or are you going to stand out here until visiting hours end?” The teens looked at each other, then Riff stepped forward and opened the door.


    The room was quiet as Riff and Mimi entered, the only sound that of the door closing and latching behind them. Wild appeared to be sleeping; the top end of the bed was up at an angle so that Wild was sort-of sitting up, he was facing away from the doorway, and his eyes were shut. A portion of his forehead was covered with a bandage, and part of his arm was similarly dressed. His wild hair was in more disarray than it usually was.

    “Wild?” Riff called, but not too loudly.

    At first the boy wasn’t sure that he’d been heard, but then Wild stirred and turned so that he was looking in the teens’ direction. “Riff, Mimi!” the Impresario exclaimed weakly. “How nice of you to come visit!”

    “How’re you feeling, Wild?” asked Mimi.

    “Oh, I’m fine! Just a little bump on the head, that’s all,” their friend replied. “There’s people here who are much worse off than I am. Poor souls,” he added, shaking his head sadly. Changing the subject Wild asked, “So, did anyone else from Faffner Hall come besides you two?”

    Riff shook his head. “Just Mr. Faffner; he drove us.”

    Wild arched an eyebrow. “Really? How did Fughetta convince him to do that?”

    “I don’t know,” Riff answered. “Actually, he didn’t seem to against it when he offered.”

    “He offered to drive you here?” The other eyebrow rose to match its mate. After a short pause Wild wondered aloud, “Who is that man outside, and what has he done with Farkas Faffner?”

    The three of them laughed, which seemed to break the tension some. Then Mimi looked at their friend. “What happened, Wild? We were so worried; we heard about what happened on the bus and in the Tube, and we then we didn’t hear anything from you…what happened?”

    “What happened?” Wild sighed and settled back into his pillow, his gaze focusing on a corner of the ceiling as his eyes took on a faraway look…

    Wild had been on the bus, near the middle of the top deck, heading for the Marble Arch where he’d planned to meet Fahz and Joe for the day. He’d been looking forward to their get-together for weeks, ever since he’d found out that his two old friends were coming up through the city on their way to visit Ray, Zola and the kids.

    When the driver announced that they were taking a detour through Tavistock Square Wild hadn’t been too concerned; he had always liked that area – the statue of Ghandi, the cherry blossom tree in memory of Hiroshima. And he had been wanting to see the Conscientious Objectors memorial that had been put up there.

    Although Wild wasn’t paying much attention to his fellow passengers, there was one young man who didn’t escape his notice. The poor boy seemed agitated, constantly looking around and digging around in his bag for something. ‘Perhaps he’s misplaced something,’ Wild thought to himself. He considered going over and offering his assistance.

    Wild had just started to get out of his seat when the boy’s bag – and the boy – exploded.

    At first the realization of what had happened didn’t register in Wild’s mind, not until a couple pieces of shrapnel sliced across his arm and forehead. The roof had been blown apart at the rear portion of the bus, and there was presently a fire raging there. The bus swerved as the driver tried to regain control after the explosion, then came to a sudden stop.

    Clapping one hand to the cut on his head, Wild numbly followed a group of other passengers down the stairs. The smoke from the explosion and subsequent fire was making it difficult to both see and breathe. Part of Wild couldn’t believe that this was happening, that he had actually witnessed someone blowing up the bus…and themselves in the process.

    Outside, through the windows, he could see people milling about already helping those who were off the bus. This was good; he’d get off, find someone to look at his injuries and then telephone Fahz and Joe to let them know what was going on and so that they could change their plans if need be.

    Then someone pushed past Wild – he could hardly tell who it was through the smoke, save that it was someone who was in a panic, or else just in a hurry. The push was hard enough to cause Wild to lose his balance. He stumbled forwards, arms flailing in an attempt to grab something to keep himself from falling down the stairs completely.

    His head struck something hard, and he fell.

    Wild landed at the bottom of the stairs. He lay on the floor, barely conscious, watching the feet of other passengers passing him by with a sort of detachment. It hardly phased him when someone stepped on his hand on their way off of the bus. He didn’t care that blood from the cut on his head was running into his eye. And he wasn’t even aware of the two men who picked him up and carried him off of the bus to safety.


    “Hmm?” Wild shook himself out of his reverie and looked over to see both Mimi and Riff regarding him in worry. “Sorry. I…don’t really remember much about what happened. I heard the explosion, and then I must have hit my head on something. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here at the hospital, and Fahz and Joe had already found me.”

    “That’s okay,” Mimi assured him. She reached out and took his hand. “We’re just glad you’re all right, Wild.”

    “Yeah,” echoed Riff. Something about Wild’s explanation didn’t really sit well with him; there was something that the Impresario wasn’t telling them. But, if Wild didn’t want to tell them it was his choice.

    The door opened, revealing Farkas in the doorway. “All right, you two. That’s enough. Don’t tire him out,” the older man ordered. As the two teens said their goodbyes to Wild and filed out the door, Farkas looked over at him. “I’ll come back tomorrow to drive you back…drive you home. That all right?”

    “Uh, sure. That would be fine,” Wild agreed. “Thanks, Mr. Faffner.” Farkas waved it off.

    Riff looked over his shoulder back into the Wild Impresario’s room before he left. He saw Wild settling in against his pillow, closing his eyes in sleep.

    Or sorrow.


    The next afternoon Wild came home from the hospital. Although he was under doctor’s orders to take it easy for the next couple of days, that didn’t stop the other residents of Faffner Hall from throwing him a small Welcome Home party. Wild told everyone else the same story he had told Riff and Mimi at the hospital, and then by unspoken agreement the subject wasn’t brought up again. Naturally there was music involved, which sent Farkas hastily retreating to his attic although not before telling the Wild Imp, “Good to see you’re all right.”

    Later on in the day the party had wound down and most of the partygoers had gone their separate ways, including the guest of honor himself. While everyone else left to do their own thing, Riff and Mimi included, Fughetta floated off in search of the Wild Impresario.

    She found him in his bedroom, sitting and staring out the window. A pencil and a blank piece of staff paper were laid out on his desk, but both appeared to be untouched; definitely not a good sign. “Wild?” the spirit asked gently.

    Wild turned around at her summons. “Hmm? Oh, hello Fughetta,” he greeted her before turning back to the window.

    “Wild, is everything all right?” Fughetta asked him. “And don’t try to brush me off by saying everything’s fine. The others might have been satisfied with that answer, but I want the truth.”

    “I never could put anything past you, could I? Very well,” the Wild Imp sighed. “You’ve probably figured this out by now, but I remember more about the…the bombing than I’ve let on.” He told her about sitting on the upper deck of the bus, and how he’d been only a few seats away from where the bomb had gone off.

    “I close my eyes, and I can still see that young man. How nervous he seemed; he must have realized the bomb was going to go off prematurely or else that something was wrong with it. And I was going to go over and talk to him.” Wild looked up at Fughetta, who had floated closer to his chair. “If I had moved faster, or gotten up earlier, I could have been killed right along with him.”

    “But you didn’t, and you weren’t,” Fughetta reminded him. Wild signed heavily. “I’m reminded of something that young frog Kermit said in his message yesterday. That they can’t win if we don’t allow them to make us afraid. Just…think about that, Wild.” The phantom glided out of the room.


    She stopped in the doorway. “Yes, Wild?”

    “Don’t tell anyone else what I told you, please? Especially Riff and Mimi. They don’t need to know everything,” Wild requested.

    Fughetta nodded. “I promise, Wild. It’s between you and me.” With that she faded away.

    Wild remained in his chair after she had gone, looking out the window at the setting sun. His head, as well as his arm, still hurt. Running his hand over the bandage on his arm Wild mused that he’d probably have a scar there. He’d have a scar on his heart as well, left by the young man.

    But Fughetta had been right. He would always remember that day, but it wouldn’t do him any good to think of the what-could-have-beens for the rest of his life. If he did that, he might as well just never come out of his room again! And those responsible for the bombings of the bus and the subway would have succeeded in their mission.

    As if by magic, a melody started to form in Wild’s head, and he smiled. A song! he thought. A song to remember those who were affected, and bring back a little hope! Yes, that’s perfect!

    Humming to himself, Wild turned back to his desk. He picked up his pencil and began marking notes on his paper.

    As long as Wild could still make music, they wouldn’t win.

    The End

  19. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    A song to remember those who were affected, and bring back a little hope! Yes, that’s perfect!

    Yes, yes, that is perfect. he shivers I got reading that line were...wow...and I could even hear the music...wow, Kim, you did a great job...
  20. Skeeter Muppet

    Skeeter Muppet Well-Known Member

    Thanks :) It took me all of three or four days to write, which is a record for me. Came out to 10 full pages and part of an eleventh.

    Maybe I ought to try a longer one...


Share This Page