A story about thestrals written for the Golden Snitch forum. I'm not sure if this story follows Thestral Lore perfectly, but I'm not shooting for any awards, just a bit of writing under my belt. I'm tired and this is dark. I'm done writing dark stuff for a while, but maybe someone will like this train-of-thought stuff.
Something keeps trampling my melons! I don't know what, but I can hear them, I can see my melons exploding, can't handle it I can't, the melons are just, BLEGH! The trampling stampede comes and BLEGH! the melons explode. Ooh I wish I could see the beasts that do this to me, I grow those melons for charity! Charity, I say!
I toil in my fields for hours, days, years, months, centuries, galaxies, millenium, the Earth! I can't tell you how many hours I've toiled to raise my melons, and these demon beasts that I can't even see take it upon themselves to trample my poor melons! Gah! can't handle it, I'm going insane.
My wife, Bertha, bless her empty heart, doesn't believe me. She says I'm senile, going crazy, that of course there's no invisible demon beasts trampling my melons, but what does she know? All she does is sit inside and knit and listen to that damned radio! She doesn't come outside for nothing, and I'm out here toiling for millenium to raise these melons from birth! These juicy melons don't deserve what they get, and I don't, neither, with that woman telling me I'm senile... I'll show her.
I love my melons, but I don't love them smashed, I love them eaten by starving children of evil men who leave them in the gutter! St. Seamus' Shack for Sold Sprogs! These children are just left in the gutter by evil men and picked up by eviler men and sold for slavery! I tell you, it's sickening, and I grow my melons to feed them! AND THESE BLASTED DEMON BEASTS DON'T EVEN HAVE THE NERVE TO SHOW ME THEIR UGLY HORNED AND HOOVED FACES AS THEY RUIN MY MELONS!
Sorry for shouting, I'm slightly upset about my melons.
I can hear that woman now, that horrid woman I married a billion years ago, yapping about my health and how I should stop pacing and stomping and huffing and puffing, but what does she know? What has she done as I toil for eons out here in this field to feed the slave children? She's about eight tons of fat, she is, sitting in there as I feed her scrap melons and she listens to that damned radio and knits some nonsense tea cozy or what-have-her. I swear I'll tell her off one day, but for now it's all yes dear and stop being mean and want melons? but not so much the last one now, because my melons are being trampled by these invisible demon beasts, see?
Ohhhh I swear, I swear it, these beasts. They'll kill me and kill all those demon children that I feed. I, yes, I feed these demon children so that the enslaved beasts of burden will stop trampling my melons. I can't believe they'd do that, but they would. And now that woman! THAT WOMAN IS TELLING ME TO CAN IT! SHE'S TELLING ME TO CAN IT! AAAAHHH! I'll show her. I'll show her? Where's my hoe? Where's my till? I'll show her. There it be, where I left it, next to the carrots. I feed that woman with those carrots. I feed her and she stomps them! She stomps her food like some kind of beaver.
Ahh, that's better. She's quiet, now. The ground is running red with the melons, now, and they're... the melons are coming from her! The melon juice pours from her noggin! Right where I bonked it! I bonked her with this hoe, with this till, and bonk! The melons come from her noggin! I knew it, I knew it. I'll bury her later, I've got to check on my dogs.
My dogs are trampled! I give these dogs to charity! Charity I tell you! And they're being trampled by these awful hairy hairless dead-looking things, it's uncanny! It's an outrage! These... what are they? I heard about this in school... thestrals. I thought you couldn't see them though? Wait, I couldn't! Why can I see them now? They're trampling my melons! No, that's not it... I'll bonk them... that's not it...
They trampled my wife! That's it, the melon water flows from her noggin where these, um, these thestrals trampled her! And now that she's dead, I can see them trample her and trample my dogs! I'll show them, I'll show these, these thestrals. can't handle it, I'll show them, I can't handle it. Where's my hoe? Where's my till? I'll show them. Where's my noggin?