Hello, viewers. Sorry to take so long, but I was waiting for this. This is a adoption from a fellow writer- GhostsThough. Call it a early Christmas gift for you all. I am changing some things from the present chapters he has given me, but it will be mostly the same, then after that, I shall have freshly new chapters to spin the story further. So, enjoy, my viewers! -Traveler.
There are many stories within many worlds. One of those stories has a unique people called Whos. Now, there are several homes of Whos in different environments; like upon a speck that's resting upon a flower, or far deep within a snowflake. This snowflake is unique for it never, ever melts, being made of everlasting ice, and there, in the deep throes of the mountains, is a town of Whos.
The Whos are different yet similar to humans. They have snub noses, 12 toes, and are very varied of size from six inches high to just six feet high, and being in a all-winter environment, they wear thick coats to ward off the cold.
There are two seasons; the mild and the harsh. From March to August, it's the mild season. From Sept to Feburary, it's the harsh season. Now, there's two ways to have kids; the natural way which takes eight months, or the pumbersella delievery which happens around the time of Christmas which is happening now.
Just on the stroke of midnight, a litter of pumbersellas swirled and danced in the icy air. Each were colorful with baby blue colors, and they were sent into a downward decent to Whoville grounds, a town filled of Who's. One by one, cries broke the silence in the air from the children, but one.
A pumbersella just skirting the group contrasted the others with its looks alone. The umbrella attached to the basket in which a baby laid was in a bad state. The canopy that allowed flight was chancing to fall away with its tatters marked into the fabric. Dirt and animal feces were strewed across the umbrella, taking away its natural colors.
Endangering the child wiggling around in the confines of blue and green blankets was the threat the cold gave off with its cold bites. Just luckily, the hair coating its body supplied warmth, but that alone was not a barrier that would hold for much longer, even with the assistance of blankets covering it.
A warning knell was played as a signal that the children were coming to their chosen parents from Whoville. Heads of Whos peeked out from the threshold of their doorways, cupping reddened hands around their eyes to see through the white haze in search of a pumbersella. Wishful prayers were sent in hopes that this is the day their family is complete. And as the babies were sent to doorsteps, no one noticed the gale that sent one particular pumbersella off track.
The wind pushed with harsh blasts of snow flurries, driving the child north to Mt. Crumpit. Through all the whips of cold, not one sound had left the victim of the cruel treatment that nature brought to it without freewill. Instead, the baby just clenched tiny fists into its covering, smacking gums all the while as the chill of winter brought nothing but discomfort to its small form.
No hope seemed to be left for the child as it could not cry out with wales of help. The newborn, ever since descending from the heavens, would forever hold a serenity of quietness. As one final gale of air shoved the child into something solid, resulting in a loud 'THUD' and a jostle of balance as it fell against rock, the baby only hoped for one thing: a savior.