Writer's Cramp entry - Groundhog prompt, 666 words
|Writer's Cramp prompt: Tomorrow is groundhog day. Write something about the groundhog but not about seeing his shadow or not.
If you want to truly understand what it means to be pompous, selfish and disgusting, examine the life of a groundhog. Specifically, a famous groundhog. I've known Phil for more than 5 human years (almost 30 of our own!), and I'm certainly none the better for it. In fact, I wish he were dead.
You see, he's been living this life of "luxury", pleasing the stupid whims of humans every February 2nd while the rest of his brood scapes to get by on field grass and scummy pond water. As soon as he saw the opportunity, he left everyone behind like they were a bad disease.
Here's something you probably don't know: "Phil's" real name is Spitomonous Wrecher, or "Spit" for short. It's a family name, so don't ask. The human's Phil is really a collection of several hand-picked hogs over the years, chosen for their exceedingly great talent for kissing the rears of their human captors. Phil, or Spit, was perfect for the role.
It all started on his 5th (groundhog years) birthday party. I'd made a special effort to decorate the tunnel - he was my only grandson after all. He gets ready to make his wish and he stops, stares up at Hydrana and says:
"What's it like to be Human, Ma?"
Hydrana was a little taken aback. "I don't know. I mean they live their entire lives above ground, so how good could it be?"
Spit paused, blinked and smiled a bit. "Just wondering. I bet it's fun," he says before blowing our his candles - in one breath.
Well, it wasn't too long after that when Spit was spotted topside by a Human. I could see him from my room as I peered through the airhole. Spit turned to face the man and immediately walks over to him. I mean, can you imagine the gall that takes?
Well, this Human looked very pleased. When Spit went topside the next day, he walked right into the cage that was placed for him. As he was whisked away, he looked back as Hydrana, now screaming bloody mary from the main hole, and just smiled.
He's been the special "Phil" ever since. We occasionally hear stories of his "Phil"andering around the Humans. He gets special food, filtered water and the occasional warm water bath. He stopped by one evening, while we were feasting on wilted dandelions and moldy carrots, with a half eaten candy bar in his grubby paw. We never get those in the field. Sloppy Humans leave all over the place in their world, though. Spit was drunk, too. Who knows what caused that.
"What's happening, Wrechers," he said. A distant gleam in his eye stared right through us.
"You're stupid," little Spracha, my new favorite grandchild, belts.
"No, you're stupid...you're all stupid!" Spit was screaming without knowing. "I'm smart. I got out of this grub infested tunnel and away from this dying field. I'm living the good life."
Hydrana fumed. "Well isn't that grand? Have you forgotten everything we taught you? Like independence. Those Humans have you wrapped around your finger all for some show once a year. What about us?"
"Sorry, Ma. I've moved up. This place is for suckers." Spit stumbled forward over his own feet and then righted himself.
"Then get out of here, we don't need you here!" I shouted. I would have hit him square in the head if Spracha wasn't watching.
"Punxy Phil is outta here!" Spit threw some dismissive wave our way and turned his back.
"It's Spitomonous - it was good enough for your great uncle." Hydrana cried and ran inside. Spit paused for just a second and continued his irregular walk away from the tunnel, away from his real life.
From that day on, we haven't heard from Spit. We get along fine. Hydrana breaks down every once in a while, but I don't have it in me. There's too many other things to worry about, like our next field grass meal.
Word Count: 666