Read Online The Pickled Apocalypse of Pancake Island by Cameron Pierce - Free Book Online
Authors: Cameron Pierce
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was having a seizure.
"Fanny!" I said.
I took my skull in my hands. Shouting hurt my brain.
My right fingers met a wetness that was neither syrup nor brine. I jerked my hand away and looked at it. My hand was covered in green blood. Oh my, what had I done? I felt around my head and my fingertips fell into a hole clawed into the back of my skull. As I slept, I'd tried digging a hole to my brain. Why had I done this? What compelled me to tear away my own head? Now that I'd registered it, the wound hurt. Bad. The wound had not hurt before I noticed it.
I put my own pain aside and went to help her. Being soft and round and flat, her body absorbed most of the impact that could potentially result in severe brain trauma, a severed tongue, etc. I decided there was not much for me to do and waited for the fit to take its full course. I sat down beside her quaking body. How did I let this happen? I was unaware that epilepsy was contagious. I pinched myself so as not to retreat back into my own pain.
After a while, she scaled back down from the sulfuric peaks of convulsion. She said that everything glowed.
"I want to be covered in light," she said. "I want to stand in the sun."
"Are you okay to walk? I'll carry you to the roof if you want."
"Don't worry about me. I feel spectacular. Yes, let's go to the rooftop." She looked at me, confused. "Your skull is bleeding. Why is your skull bleeding?"
"I woke up and found it that way. I don't know what happened. It's okay. My skull will feel better when we're in the light."
"Does it hurt?"
"It hurts."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
Hand in hand, we went up the stairs to the roof to stand in the green light.
The air was damp and heavy.
We looked out at the world, and what we witnessed was all wrong.
Fanny let go of my hand.
Thousands of green pancakes swarmed across the island. They shuffled toward the zucchini castle, drooling and moaning.
"What's happened to them?" Fanny said.
"They've been pickled," I said.
I tried to take Fanny's hand, but she pulled away.
The pancakes surrounded the castle. Out in the distance, the sea shimmered. It was as green as the sun. Right beneath us, leading the pancake mob, the door-obsessed pancake stood beside the flattened, rocket-humping pancake boy. The two stared at me with sad, accusing facial expressions. The door-obsessed pancake raised her right hand and pointed at me. "You," she shouted. "You put me in this state.” She was barely audible over the moaning crowd, but I heard her, and Fanny did as well.
"You've ruined happiness, Gaston Glew," Fanny said. "You've ruined happiness and you've lied to me."
She walked away. She left the roof. I made to follow her, but stopped short. There was nothing I could say or do. I'd pickled her planet and the last of her race. The prospect of a future together was bleak.
I stood on the ledge and peered down at the undead pancakes clawing and moaning at the zucchini door beneath. Fanny Fod was right. I had ruined happiness.
"Oh, Miss Door Lover, Mister Rocket Humper," I called. "I'm sorry for what I've done. I'm sorry. I truly am. Please accept my apology and turn back to your normal, happy selves. You're pancakes, remember? You can't remain dead forever."
But happiness was not eternal, or so the sun had said.
The dead green sun blaring down.
Every pancake in the front yard raised their flats heads to me at once. Their unmoving eyes fixed on me. Although green and sickly, the pancakes did not look depressed. They looked . . . hungry.
Pickle-shaped tongues lolled out of their mouths. The pancakes licked their lips and smacked their rotting gums. Together they moaned, " Haaaaappppiiiinnnessssss. . . ."
That was when they tore down the door.
I ran to the stairwell and skipped down the steps. The Cuddlywumpus was in danger. I'd infected it, and in turn infected the syrup ocean, ruining everything, but Fanny Fod and I still might escape. With a lot of luck and a little leftover happiness, we could
"Fanny!" I said.
I took my skull in my hands. Shouting hurt my brain.
My right fingers met a wetness that was neither syrup nor brine. I jerked my hand away and looked at it. My hand was covered in green blood. Oh my, what had I done? I felt around my head and my fingertips fell into a hole clawed into the back of my skull. As I slept, I'd tried digging a hole to my brain. Why had I done this? What compelled me to tear away my own head? Now that I'd registered it, the wound hurt. Bad. The wound had not hurt before I noticed it.
I put my own pain aside and went to help her. Being soft and round and flat, her body absorbed most of the impact that could potentially result in severe brain trauma, a severed tongue, etc. I decided there was not much for me to do and waited for the fit to take its full course. I sat down beside her quaking body. How did I let this happen? I was unaware that epilepsy was contagious. I pinched myself so as not to retreat back into my own pain.
After a while, she scaled back down from the sulfuric peaks of convulsion. She said that everything glowed.
"I want to be covered in light," she said. "I want to stand in the sun."
"Are you okay to walk? I'll carry you to the roof if you want."
"Don't worry about me. I feel spectacular. Yes, let's go to the rooftop." She looked at me, confused. "Your skull is bleeding. Why is your skull bleeding?"
"I woke up and found it that way. I don't know what happened. It's okay. My skull will feel better when we're in the light."
"Does it hurt?"
"It hurts."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
Hand in hand, we went up the stairs to the roof to stand in the green light.
The air was damp and heavy.
We looked out at the world, and what we witnessed was all wrong.
Fanny let go of my hand.
Thousands of green pancakes swarmed across the island. They shuffled toward the zucchini castle, drooling and moaning.
"What's happened to them?" Fanny said.
"They've been pickled," I said.
I tried to take Fanny's hand, but she pulled away.
The pancakes surrounded the castle. Out in the distance, the sea shimmered. It was as green as the sun. Right beneath us, leading the pancake mob, the door-obsessed pancake stood beside the flattened, rocket-humping pancake boy. The two stared at me with sad, accusing facial expressions. The door-obsessed pancake raised her right hand and pointed at me. "You," she shouted. "You put me in this state.” She was barely audible over the moaning crowd, but I heard her, and Fanny did as well.
"You've ruined happiness, Gaston Glew," Fanny said. "You've ruined happiness and you've lied to me."
She walked away. She left the roof. I made to follow her, but stopped short. There was nothing I could say or do. I'd pickled her planet and the last of her race. The prospect of a future together was bleak.
I stood on the ledge and peered down at the undead pancakes clawing and moaning at the zucchini door beneath. Fanny Fod was right. I had ruined happiness.
"Oh, Miss Door Lover, Mister Rocket Humper," I called. "I'm sorry for what I've done. I'm sorry. I truly am. Please accept my apology and turn back to your normal, happy selves. You're pancakes, remember? You can't remain dead forever."
But happiness was not eternal, or so the sun had said.
The dead green sun blaring down.
Every pancake in the front yard raised their flats heads to me at once. Their unmoving eyes fixed on me. Although green and sickly, the pancakes did not look depressed. They looked . . . hungry.
Pickle-shaped tongues lolled out of their mouths. The pancakes licked their lips and smacked their rotting gums. Together they moaned, " Haaaaappppiiiinnnessssss. . . ."
That was when they tore down the door.
I ran to the stairwell and skipped down the steps. The Cuddlywumpus was in danger. I'd infected it, and in turn infected the syrup ocean, ruining everything, but Fanny Fod and I still might escape. With a lot of luck and a little leftover happiness, we could
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