A/N: Hi! This is just a short story I wrote about Fire Coming Out Of The Monkey's head. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I sadly don't own Gorillaz =(
It was May 22, I think. It was sunny out, and Happy Ville was peaceful. We, the Happy Folk, lived on a foot of a great mountain. Here we lived out our peaceful lives, innocent of the litany of excess and violence that was growing in the world below. Our very existence was a mystery to the world, obscured as it was by great clouds. Over us was the great mountain, the monkey. To live in harmony with the spirit of the monkey was enough. I lived in the village, with my family. We were happy, growing our crops and loving each other, but little did we know we were blinded by our happiness. Every day, we would wake up and smile at the rising sun. We'd go outside, and water the crops, while giving a friendly wave to our neighbors. The children would play and they would laugh, playing ball or tag.
We respected the Great Spirit of the Monkey, doing our very best never to upset it, and live out our peaceful lives. When the corn grew, we would harvest it, and if we had enough, we would throw a feast. We always smiled, keeping our chins up and our spines straight. What was fun about it was there was simply nothing to worry about. Every day was cheerfully the same, with happiness running through our bodies, we stayed positive. Life was great, until they came.
No one even noticed them. A small crowd of strange folk; they came in camouflage, and hid behind dark glasses. They crept around the village, yet no one noticed them! We only saw shadows. You see, without the trip to the eyes, the Happy Folk were blind. We kept living out our peaceful lives, but the whole time, we were blinded by our happiness, and we thought nothing in the world could hurt us when there was no violence where we would rest.
We didn't even see the strange folk climb up the mountain of the Monkey, their long fingers stroking the rocky edges. They found their way up into the higher reaches of the mountain. We were still blinded, not seeing them find their ways into hidden caves, and when they found the right one, they couldn't believe their frightening eyes. Around them was a place where all good souls come to rest. The Strange Folk covered in the jewels in these caves above all things, and soon they began to mine the mountain, its rich seam fueling the chaos of their own world.
Meanwhile, back in town, we slept recklessly. Our dreams were like Hell, as if shadowy fingers were digging away at our souls. The next morning, we woke up, and stared at the mountain. Why was it bringing darkness into our perfect lives?
And as the Strange Folk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain, holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of the Monkey. For once, us Happy Folk were fearful, for we knew that soon the Monkey would stir from its great sleep! No more did we think about happiness, we thought about if we were going to live or not. And then…. Came a sound.
Boom.
Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space. We all stood there. What have they done? We thought. We knew what was going to happen. The monkey erupted, ash was everywhere. There were no screams. There was no time. The mountain called Monkey had spoken. There was only fire. And then, nothing.