Part One: Beginnings (Or, Why Adults Hate Telepathic Goldfish)

It was a cold day in March of 1993 the first time I laid eyes on the young man who would become Grymm. We were young, just barely midway through our grade school years and quite unsure of who we would become. I remember loving the X-Men, though this was before the cartoon had even aired. I think. Childhood memories become faded with the passing of years, and though many of mine remain quite succinct, some blend in with the leaves of passing autumn. In other words, I don't remember, but I'm secure in my ability to bullshit, so please bare with me.

Third grade was an odd time to be a youth, but it was still okay to like comic books back then. I was already thinking ahead, and had created my first ever superhero whose role I would don on the playground. His name was Super X, and he had the mutant ability to do whatever the hell he wanted, in terms of powers. He could fly, run really fast, possessed super strength, agility, fire lasers from his hands, read minds, and move stuff with his mind. All of the other kids on the playground claimed he was far too powerful, and when games of “X-Men” would be held, I was often sidelined or banished to pitiful role of Jubilee. Needless to say, those other kids were assholes and didn't understand my genius. Or my need to win at a game that essentially had no winners.

Grymm was the new kid and a manner about him all his own. He was quiet, withdrawn, and had the odd ability to make the other children afraid of him. I too was timid at first, if only because he spoke in that strange accent that sounded roughly squamous and snooty. I was blind and foolish.

My awakening came midway through the spring half of the year, when I laid eyes upon a sketch, nay, a masterpiece in the realm of fan art. It was a drawing of Garfield laying there upon the floor, the best I'd ever seen. In my opinion it was better than the comic, if only because it was real and it was mine. I praised fortune in the manner befitting my culture, uttering the joyful cry of victory “Cool!” The immediate retort came from the strange new kid, Grymm, who merely uttered something to extent of “Give it back, or I'll teach the class goldfish to read your mind.” Fear filled every part of my being, and in a strange twist of naive wonder, I actually said aloud “Can you really do that?”

“Sure I can,” he said with a shrug far too cynical for a child of eight, “I've been teaching goldfish to read minds since I was in kindergarten.” I was astonished. Here I'd been wanting play a person with super powers and destroy my friend's plans for total X-dominance when here was a child who could help me do so without joining in with their game. I said the only sensible thing I could think of at the time, although hind sight being twenty-twenty, I should have been more mature about the situation.

“Prove it.”

Lo and behold, after mumbling a few dulcet tones over the goldfish and shaking its bowl until it complied with his demands, the fish turned upside down and remained motionless in its bowl, commanding its higher brain functions to read my mind. Our teacher, Miss Smith, was not very happy with the fish's new found telepathic abilities and demanded to know who was responsible. I, in my infinite aw, remained silent and stalwart, although the teacher kept eyeing me and my new friend suspiciously every so often, determined to uncover the truth. She disposed of the mind reading fish the only she knew how- she flushed it down the toilet and got the class a hamster instead. I asked Grymm if he knew how to make a hamster have any super powers, but he just sort of shrugged and said something about a hamster being more expensive than a goldfish and how he couldn't afford to piss off another teacher by making the class pet spontaneously aquire ethereal abilities.

In the subsequent passing of years, I've had many goldfish, but have been unable to raise their telepathic abilities. But Ole' Grymm every time he'd come over to the house he'd teach them how. And every time and adult has come along and flush the poor thing down the toilet. I think adults are afraid of telepathic fish; afraid of them reading their minds. Or it might be because telepathic fish smell really bad. Upon realizing that I would never get to keep a psychic goldfish, I did what any normal child would do.

I got a cat.

It's been nearly fifteen years hence, and the stupid son of a bitch still hasn't learned to fly.

– Villemous Q. CreepKnight

(End Part One)

Holy lovecraft, as the realm of meetings go that makes far too much sense as to how you two met. I look forward to the next installment as always, as well as fabric shopping with creepknight (its nice to know you squeal and gasp like i do over the same things). In closing i have 2 things to add.
1, Stealth Bacon. nuff said.

2. Hooray for boas and underwear. I'm not sorry at all.

Love,
the minion of the walrus,
Rachel

InfernalKali
Holy lovecraft, as the realm of meetings go that makes far too much sense as to how you two met. I look forward to the next installment as always, as well as fabric shopping with creepknight (its nice to know you squeal and gasp like i do over the same things). In closing i have 2 things to add.
1, Stealth Bacon. nuff said.

2. Hooray for boas and underwear. I'm not sorry at all.

Love,
the minion of the walrus,
Rachel

It inly makes far too much sense because it had to be…. compressed and tweaked so that the common person could actually make sense of it. The complete and unfiltered truth is so completely mind-shatteringly awesome that it would… well… shatter… minds….
Yeah.

Hmm..well if my brain has already popped and fizzed and overrippened what then? I missed my harvesting date so no good there. What do u propose?

InfernalKali
Hmm..well if my brain has already popped and fizzed and overrippened what then? I missed my harvesting date so no good there. What do u propose?

Well obviously you're not one of the “common people” then. Congratulations! You're special!