Once Upon a Summer's End I Missed My Train
Mary Sue McClellan was everything anyone had ever wanted to be ever; however, no one but she realized that. As she trundled her small trolley towards the brick wall which would lead onto Platform 9 ¾, she pondered on exactly how much more enriched the lives of her classmates would be when her presence was presented to them. Look at her! She did not even need her parents to escort her to the train (that, or they simply refused). Gentle readers, compare your lives to hers and weep! For has there ever been one so tragic yet powerful in the way they proceed with the everyday drudgery? Mary had been made fun of once in grammar school, and since then she has considered Nelson Mandela, who spent twenty-seven years in a s\South African prison, her spiritual bosom buddy. Not that she envied the other girls with their fully endowed chests, or their curvacious, callypigian whatnots. She was far beyond such petty squabbles, although over the summer she did spit in Debbie Doole's yogurt because Debbie had had the audacity to ask "Yo, where's yo mama's flapjacks?".
Ribaldry was for muggletonians, thought Mary Sue.
As her young flesh passed through the brick wall leading to the magical platform, Mary Sue wondered why there was so much pain in the world. Then the train left without her.
"Heathenish sluts!" She cried, "You've left behind your better!" Ah, Fortuna! For the better to be bested by a train. But, young readers, our Mary Sue was nothing if not intrepid, and funny, and smart, and that special sort of pretty that takes people a while to notice. What was I saying? . . . Oh yes!
Mary Sue jotted down a few quick, yet brilliantly poignant lines of poetry detailing the hardship she has been through. Then she summoned her not inconsiderable surplus of moxy and, coupling it with a vast, sticky, store of gumption, she began the arduous journey to Hogwarts on foot.
It is no surprise that our beautiful, yet ever humble hero was able to formulate more genius in the form of poetical verse, though most of these lines were podalically inclined. Presented here for you, dear reader, is but a brief strip tease of our hero's work.
Walk walk walk
The blood pounds
The heart races
To be me is to be not me
I am lost
Though I know where I am
Walk walk walk
Daddy forgot my birthday
What angelic lips could have produced such seraphic intonations? Who needs a muse when you're Mary Sue? Such thoughts comforted Mary Sue as she wore a hole through her second pair of hot pink crocks.
It was nigh unto dusk when Mary Sue McClellan realized she was not alone on her lonely, individual road. She turned her head and was beholden to the Reverse-Centaur: man on bottom, horse on top...party EVERYWHERE. "Fear not, fellow traveler," the creature spake, "I have no digits with which to wield a weapon, and I have poor equilibrium. Though I do have a nasty headbutt." (A/N: Having a horses head would give this half-beast half-horse (who's the real animal?) a brain the size of a walnut. But this is a story about magic. So stick your logic where the vampires don't sparkle)
"Hail, traveler," said Mary Sue, "I am Mary Sue. No doubt you have heard tales sung of me?"
"Well met, but no, I haven't heard anything about you. My name is Gemellus, and I have been banished from my people for obvious reasons."
Mary Sue did her best to hide the surprise she felt when learning that she was not known of.
"That's very interesting, but if my problems were twice as great as yours I would be infinitely lucky." Mary Sue wrote more in her poetry journal.
"How could one so young be possessed of such hardships? Was your family slaughtered before you?" asked the noble homoequine.
"No, but Blaise Zabini thinks I'm a total spaz, and my parents don't get me."
"My parents were murdered simply for being the progenitors of such a monstrosity as I. And I am the only creature unfortunate enough to have to wear shoes on his hands." Gemellus gave a metalic clap then looked to the heavens as though for guidance. There was no reply.
"At least people don't make fun of your shoes," retorted Mary Sue, who was becoming tired of this hater's (for that is obviously what he was with his opinions and such) hate.
"I have naught but insults in regards to my hand shoes." For what seemed like the first time tears fell down from a horse's eyes.
"Your predicament still seems better than mine," said our gracious hero.
"I mean not to be rude, but your situation seems rather pleasant when juxtaposed with mine own," said the horseman.
"That's because you don't get me! God, you sound just like my therapist!"
With that Mary Sue decided to part ways with this downtrodden trotter. This forlorn filly. This stagnant stallion. She departed, but not before Gemellus nudged her repeatedly for sugar cubes. "I'll give you one," she cried, and threw into a ravine. He neighed, called her a tramp, and pursued the sweet treat into the watery depression, fending off several creek-bound fish in the process.
A few more lines of Mary Sue's poetry will suffice to explain the remainder of her journey.
The wind howls a frightful dirge
The blood in my feet make a youthful jig of my time
The trees rustle
I am alone
But the forest spreads a joyful new feeling through me
Oh wait, I'm just hungry
Now three weeks have passed since Mary Sue first left the train station with nothing but the clothes on her back and a bag full of cloths. It all seemed worth it now she could peer across the lake at the magnificent glow of the castle called Hogwarts. It was serene, but Mary Sue marked that it was critically bereft of something incredibly important. Something that would change the lives of all the students. That thing was herself, and her crocks. Having only stopped to defecate, and spew brilliant poetry, Mary Sue was a bit tired. She noted a large tree,and decided to take a rest under its welcoming branches.
"Ah, oldest friend of man, how you do so make a cruel world seem passionate!" she gently stroked the stiff wood of the tree, feeling the bark betwixt her fingers (the nails of which were in need of a good trim), "None but me seem to appreciate all of the wonder you possess, tree. I think Wordsworth and I would have been equals in so many things. . . Not that many, actually. I'm sure he couldn't write as well as I do. I probably am a more generous person, too."
Then the Whomping Willow crushed her like a bag of nuts.
Gemellus watched from afar. He was moved to the opposite of tears.