What can I say, it's a totally pointless one shot. That's it. And I don't own the turtles. I'm just really afraid of plot bunnies.
"Stupid writer's block," I muttered as I stared at the blank computer screen. It sat there with its vast space of white staring me back in the face. I growled back at it and it mocked me. "Stupid plot bunnies."
I looked up when I heard a little huff. "Sorry guys," I gave an apologetic look to the little white balls of fluff sitting on the top of my screen. "I didn't mean it that way, honest." They smile and use their ears to wave at me, no offense was taken.
I took a good long look at my desk, cluttered with three ring binders, a yearbook, copier, a basket of bills, and bunnies. Lots and lots and lots of bunnies, all sorted out and sitting with their groups. Different little clique made up of genres if you will. Sometimes they intermingle. That's always fun to watch.
Towards the back of my wooden desk is the action/adventure bunny group. It's a strange sort of mix to look at. Some have on cowboy hats, ball caps, superhero capes, or are holding a motorcycle helmet. They're all sitting on ball point pens that have been laid out around their campfire. I smile as I watch them sipping on their coffee, trading stories, trying to outdo each other in the tall tales department. I stare wide eyed as it looks like two of them might have a go at each other. It's the 'John Wayne' bunny and the 'Steve McQueen' one. Apparently, someone muttered some fightin' words. It's okay though, one of the science fiction bunnies has stepped over and diffused the situation, in a logical sort of way I'm sure.
I like that group, the science fiction bunnies, they don't have any boundaries, you can write whatever weird little bits you want and it's okay because it's science fiction. As long as you can explain it somehow, be it logical or not, you can get away with it. I have to laugh at them. They're not the least bit interested in campfires and swapping stories. They're busy running around in their doctor and astronaut garb trying to solve the mysteries of the universe. Sometimes they stop, like before, and mix with the other groups. I've seen that happen. They'll trade ideas with other groups and soon, another little bunny pops into existence.
The fantasy bunnies in their shining armor with swords come walking past. They want to know when I'm going to post my next chapter. I placate them with the promise of soon. They start to ask me more questions but when I point out that their dragon is trying to eat the horse of one of the action adventure bunnies, they go running off and try to save the day. That's when I notice it. The action/adventure bunnies have used one of my certificates for a tent. I swear if it's my teaching certificate again, I'm going to kill them. The two bunnies sitting on top of my screen with me nod in agreement.
It's the angst bunny and the parody/humor bunny. For some reason these two, as opposite as they are, like to hang around each other. It's not like they have anything thing in common and it does seem a bit weird to me. I mull over that as I grab a handful of M&M's out of the bowl at my side. All the other groups can interact and get mixed in with each other as the writers plug away at their notepads and keyboards. And then I have to wonder, just how would one mix Angst and Humor. I shouldn't have done that.
No sooner had the thought popped into my head when another bunny popped into existence. There was a third bunny now sitting on top of the screen to my laptop. The poor thing. He looked like Marilyn Manson had been forced to take a trip to Wally World with the Griswold's, a dark look on his face with a tropical print shirt and biker boots. He did not look happy with me.
"Well that was real cute," I heard a gruff voice off to my right.
"Tell me about it," I answered him as I looked over. The turtles and their father were scattered about the top of my filing cabinet. Raphael was leaning up against the humidor at the back while Michelangelo happily observed all the bunnies laying siege to my desktop. Donatello was busy taking notes trying to copy down all the postulates and theorems being tossed about by the science bunnies.
"Excuse me, Elizabeth?"
I look over. It's Leonardo standing at the corner closest to me. He bows, he's so polite. "Yes?" I answer.
"Master Splinter wants to meditate for awhile and he was wondering if you still had that particular candle he used before?"
"The patchouli one?" asked and he nods yes. "Sure," I shrugged my shoulders. Quickly I reach into my desk drawer and pull it out. It's only a few inches tall now. I guess I'll have to go to the candle shop and pick up a few more. With another bow, the leader accepts the large bit of wax and carries it off to his father. I turn my attention back to the other turtles.
"So explain to me again why we're only four inches tall?" Michelangelo is poking at Donatello.
He rolled his eyes in aggravation, I'm pretty sure he answered this question just last night. "I told you Mike," the brainy turtle started with a hint of frustration in his voice. "We're cartoon and comic book characters. We're never any bigger than four inches on a screen or a page to Elizabeth so that's why we're this size."
"We were human size on the new movie and she saw that," he countered.
Again, Donatello rolled his eyes. "She hasn't written any movie based fics yet. And until she does, we'll stay comic book and TV size."
The argument seems to have worked but then I noticed Mike's eyes perk up.
"She wrote one based off the first movie!"
I grimaced as I gave him a pitiful look. "I saw it on video Mike," I shrugged my shoulders. "Sorry." Great, now he's pouting. I sigh once more. This is getting me no where. I shoo the little bunnies off my laptop and close it up. Resting my chin in my hand I just sit and stare.
"Got any more M&M's?"
I look up. Mike doesn't stay mad at anyone for very long. "Sure," I answer and pass the bowl over. All four brothers grab at the bowl, one in each hand.
"Hey Don," Raph asks, a mouthful of candy coating. "How come they don't make any purple M&M's?"
"I don't know," he ponders for a moment, scratching at his chin. "They have red and they have blue, I don't see why they couldn't make purple." Donatello looks up at me, hopeful. "Skittles has a tropical mix with purple in it, could you get those?"
Great, another opportunity to disappoint a ninja. "I can't," I start to explain. "They use mango flavorings in those mixes and I'm highly allergic to mangoes."
"Really?"
"Yep. My throat swells up and I can't breath."
"Oh… well… I understand," Donnatello smiles and happily bites on another M&M. He's so sweet and understanding.
For awhile there, it's nothing but silence. It's just me and four 4 inch sized mutant ninja turtles munching away on candy, watching the little bunnies go back and forth between genre groups on my desk top.
"Can't sleep?" Leonardo asks me.
"Nope," I toss a green bit of chocolate in my mouth.
"Insomnia?"
"Yep."
"Have you tried meditating?"
"You know Leo," Raphael starts up. "Not everything can be solved with that meditation bit. Why don't you just leave her alone?"
"I'm not bothering her," he argues back. "I'm just trying to give her a helpful suggestion."
"You're bugging her!"
And I slide down in my seat, defeated. My butt is hanging of the edge of the chair and I rock side to side. I'm so far down on the chair my fingers are scraping the carpet on the floor. Brushing my blonde hair from my eyes, I start singing "Roses" to myself. After a few minutes I realize I'm being stared at. I stop.
"We didn't mean for you to stop," Leo tells me. "You're pretty good, keep going."
"Yeah," Michelangelo adds. "Please?"
"Maybe later guys I'm trying to work on my stories, I'm stuck."
"Well," Michelangelo looks back at his brother's. "We could help her out guys."
Instantly, all four turtles hop down and stroll over, taking seats on my now closed laptop. I lean forward on my elbows and start to explain the different groups.
"I think," Raph let's out a laugh. "We can safely say that those are the romance bunnies." And he points to a group that's composed of six bunnies. Each with their respective partner and steadily kissing away. "What's that over there?" he indicates with a jerk of his head.
I see what he's talking about. There's a bit of a rustling sound coming from behind a stack of balled up paper. "Smut bunnies," I tell him, slightly embarrassed.
He gets up and walks over so he's leaning on my arm. "When do I get that one written," Raph gives me a devious smile.
I reach my hand over to reveal that the two bunnies are each taped to a pencil. They can't really move or make a noise. "Never," I smile back at my favorite turtle. "I don't write smut."
"You will later," he smiles slyly and continues leaning on my arm. The smug little thing. "Here," I say and drop another piece of candy in his lap. "Eat some chocolate and you'll be fine."
"Hey Elizabeth," Donatello asks. "What's with those guys over there?" and he points to the far end of my desk with his bo staff.
"The wangst bunnies," I answer and move the bowl of chocolate to an empty space right by my laptop. Now everyone can get to the M&M's.
"Wangst?" Leo looks at me and gives a nod of thanks as he reaches to grab a blue one.
"It's tragic angst with no hope in sight. They whine and cry because no matter what happens, life will always be miserable. Sometimes they even get drunk, do a few drugs, or anything else that will 'numb them to the misery that is life." I added that last part with a bit of sarcasm.
"Can't you just mix them with another genre and make them happy?" Donatello spoke up.
"It doesn't really work." I shrugged my shoulders. "No matter what, they like being depressed."
"Nah," Michelangelo shook his head and took another bite of his candy. I was going to need to refill the bowl soon. They're only four inches tall I have to wonder where they put it all. "All they need is love," he continues. I watch as he calls over a couple of the romance bunnies and points them over to the wangst group. Happily the two bunnies go over, arm in arm with a bouquet of posies and a bottle of wine. It doesn't take long. Soon the wangst bunnies have them convinced they are now murderers of life because they picked a live flower which is now in the process of dying and then lead them on to believe that all life is meaningless. Then they all get drunk on the bottle of wine and cry.
And we all sit there and stare. It's like our own little movie theatre, 21 different groups of bunnies, sometimes intermingling, sometimes keeping to themselves, just depending on what my feeble and tired brain comes up with. And that's when it happens.
"I wonder what would happen if you did a mix of all of them?" Michelangelo asks. And my mind begins to race. Horrified of the unlimited number of possibilities, I grab my laptop and the bowl of candy and push myself under the desktop. The turtles aren't far behind and soon join me, finding comfortable places on the carpet.
There's a rumbling like thunder from overhead and my ceiling splits apart. My ceiling has split apart? Great. I hope Donnie can figure out a way to fix that one. Looking out, it's a sea of white covering my furniture, floor, and everything else in the way. It's a torrential downpour of plot bunnies as they continue plunge to the floor. After awhile, you can't see anything but white. There is the occasional break in the vastness as the bunnies begin to set up camp, per say, and make themselves comfortable. To my right is something like a mosh pit, there's a grill going over to the left. One group has even set up a stage in the distance. I have a veritable Bunny Stock '07 going on in my living room. Now how do I explain this to my husband?
"Great, just great," I grumble as I peek out from under the wood furniture. "Now how am I supposed to write all of that?" And everyone is sitting in silence, trying to find a way to help me; Michelangelo is giving me a pitiful look.
"I believe I may be able to help," a voice answers from a darker shadow of our new hiding spot. It's Master Splinter. Thank God.
Quickly, he sends Leonardo and Raphael on a mission to collect as many papers and pens as possible from topside. Meanwhile, Donatello and Michelangelo begin herding the various bunnies into their groups.
Raphael and Leonardo return with their hands full, their father sends the four of them out, each with pen and paper to begin writing down the basic plots for each bunny. To speed the process along, I have a group line up in front of me and begin jotting down their little snippets as well. It takes awhile but within 3 hours time, we seem to have them all written down.
"Now," the wise old rat sits beside me. "Read through each story. If you do not like it or do not choose to work on it, ball it up."
I smile, leave it to Splinter to have the answers. You gotta love the guy. So I start reading, out loud of course, the turtles snickering and sometimes out right laughing at the weirdness my mind comes up with. Soon they start with a thumbs up and thumbs down system on whether or not I should keep it. Most of them are a thumbs down. Thank God because I don't think there's anyway I could explain how the four of them end up in a bowl of carnivorous cheerios.
Each time I ball up a plot, that particular bunny disappears. Soon enough, well not really. It's close to daybreak by the time we get to the last few. I'm exhausted and hungry, the M&M's are low, there's only four left. I need sugar so I go to grab for them only to be stopped by two little green hands. Michelangelo.
My shoulders slump in disappointment but I don't say anything. I don't want to be a bad host. He doesn't get far. Raphael and Donatello both have a hold of his arms and take the candy from his grip. I smile thanks as Leonardo passes them over to me but I hand two back to him. Using his swords he cuts them up into five pieces and passes them out as I toss my two into my mouth. I mull them over, sucking on the candy shell as I think things through.
Briefly sustained from the small jolt of sugar I lift the lid to my laptop and plug away, my fingers furiously tapping away at the keys, the turtles and rat cheering me on as words speed across the screen of my laptop. I finally have a story all figured out. And they're shouting my name.
"Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth," someone shakes my shoulder.
"Huh?" I look up, my eyes half open, my face stuck to the flat desk top. It's my husband.
"Honey," he whispers. "It's midnight; you should have come to bed hours ago." He's trying not to laugh at me as I pull a post-it note from off my forehead. "Did you finish your AP syllabus?"
Slowly I sit up and stare at my screen, not sure what to make of the words in front of me. Garey looks at it too and sighs. "Sweetie," he says as he helps me up from the chair. "I don't think the College Board will view plot bunnies as a professional term, especially since it's a painting class not writing. C'mon," he starts to chuckle. "No more M&M and peanut butter sandwiches for you before bed." And I sigh. I've got a lot to fix when I wake up.