Tag Archives: fables

Halloween Cometh

Werewolves are scary.

You’ve seen the movies.

A person growing into a wolf with bones stretching and cracking, with face lengthening outward into a werewolf mug.

Hands and feet turn into long sharp claws.

Growing twice the size of human dimensions.

Hair everywhere, top to bottom, coarse.

Humanity disappears as the wolf asserts itself.

The werewolf lives to kill and eat; he has the heart of a wolf after all.

And Halloween is prime werewolf night, in case you didn’t know.

So many humans just walking around disguised.

Werewolf delight.

What if werewolves are real?

Would you walk a bit more carefully in the full moonlight?

Your body tingling with the feeling that a vicious beast may tear into you at any moment?

Where the snap of a twig, you are sure, will bring instant death?

Scary stuff for sure.

Which brings me to this: I have a story for you.

It’s about a werewolf family on a Halloween night.

It is called “The Lonesome Werewolf,” and names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Is the story true?

Read it and decide for yourself.

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Willie Werewolf, the main character in this story, was drawn by artist Vincent Rogers — better known as Owsley — in Owsley’s younger days.

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Email: David Madrid

The Tree

There was a tree

It was a special tree

A sacred tree

It sat outside our chicken coop in the adjacent lot

Behind it was a desert of lush mesquites and prickly cactus

The tree was not alone

It stood with two trees to the left

And two trees to the right

The tree’s branches whispered

“Climb me. Climb me.”

So I did

I climbed the tree limb by limb until I was high up in the leaves

From up there I saw the entire world

Beginning with the chicken coop below

I saw the rooster strutting about

His hens much impressed

Lover Boy I called him

He was the meanest rooster that ever lived

I saw the graveled road that led to our house

I saw my dad drive up the road when he got home from work

I ran inside and scooped the dimes in his lunch box

My dimes, purposely left there for me

I saw my backyard where my dad killed a tarantula

Where my mother hung our just-laundered clothes to dry

I saw my neighbor’s backyard where I had suffered a run-away horse incident

The tree embraced me

I was safe

It enveloped me and breathed

Absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing sweet oxygen

I was cloaked

Nobody could see me

Nor did anyone know where I was

I moved about within the tree sometimes for hours

The tree revealed the universe to me through colorful stories

Full of adventure, heroics, danger, happiness and joy

Each limb offered a tale

I was on a ship at sea, a barrelman in a crow’s nest

I spotted land and saved the crew from dehydration

Beautiful island people swam to our ship to greet us

I was also a cowboy tracking bandits from above

Woe to the outlaw that rode below me

I was Tarzan the Ape Man living in my tree house

I was in a vessel making for the edge of space

Avoiding black holes

In that tree I could be whatever I wanted

Wherever I wanted

The tree was magic

It held the mystery of the cosmos within its leaves

Does the tree still stand?

I do not know

What kind of a tree was it?

Again, I don’t know

Nevertheless; in my mind it will always be my tree

The moral: Value the tree, for it is a giver of life

And a keeper of imagination

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Dedicated to my dad Joe Madrid on this Father’s Day, June 18, 2023. May his spirit dwell within the trees.

Where’s the punctuation? you ask. I wasn’t feeling it when I wrote this piece. Sometimes we can break the rules of writing to have a bit of fun. Learn your punctuation though. It is important for most your writing and your grades in school.

A BB to the Buttocks

“Pull down your pants and bend over,” my big brother Joe instructed me one cold winter morning.

Joe was my hero; I worshiped him as a nun worships Jesus, so when he commanded; I complied.

Five neighbor kids gathered to witness Joe’s proof that a shot in the butt with a BB didn’t hurt.

My brother and I got BB guns for Christmas, and we showed off our rifles, which led to the butt shot.

I was about 4 years old, my brother 2 1/2 years older.

I pulled my pants down to a respectable level, (upper cheek) bent over and waited to prove my sibling correct.

And then … bap! went the BB gun. Splat! went my left cheek, and the projectile stung like an angry wasp.

Ouch!

My screams were those of a crazed dying baboon, and the commotion brought our mother out of the house.

She assessed my wound, a little uplifted red splotch.

She assured me I would be OK.

I’m sure my brother got punished for his low-down dirty deed, but I don’t remember.

He insists I deserved to be plinked for being stupid enough to listen to him.

I still trusted Joe, though the Jesus glow rubbed off him, and a bit of a devil glow showed, which taught me to beware.

Now I am happy my brother shot my buttocks, because it left us with a story to tell as I have just done.

The neighborhood kids saw Joe’s claim as bogus, and no one else volunteered to be shot.

A week later, a BB I shot at a water meter — at my brother’s direction, I must add — ricocheted and plinked Joe in the eye.

He wasn’t blinded, but he was angry, and he accused me of revenge for the butt BB, which was silly, because I had no control over the ricochet.

That bouncing BB did teach us something: actions can have consequences beyond getting in trouble by your mother.

Moral: Karma: Sometimes a BB to the eye equals a BB to the butt.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Happy Thanksgiving 2020

FabulousFables.com wishes you a Happy Thanksgiving.

This year I am thankful for many things, and by many things I mean stories.

I am thankful that I can share my stories through FabulousFables.com.

I am thankful for stories in all their many forms: those passed down verbally through generations, newspaper articles, new stories, old stories, short stories, books, movies, television, true stories, fiction, fables.

Songs. The great storyteller songwriters. Willie Nelson. Johnny Cash. Dolly Parton. Sade. Bruce Springsteen. So many more.

I am thankful for the imagination of a child telling the first story. The recollections of an older couple at the Thanksgiving table.

Even gossip, that nasty habit, is the telling of stories.

I am thankful for the great works: The Bible. The timeless classics. The Outsiders. The Trilogy of the Rings.

The great story tellers: Charles Dickens. Stephen King. George Orwell. J.K. Rowling. There are too many to list here.

It is the story that sustains us.

The stories, regardless of genre, that reflect our world, our lives.

They are stories made of stardust.

So with great thankfulness and humility, FabulousFables.com offers you a Thanksgiving story: Gilbert the Dancing Hummingbird.

Enjoy.

By David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2020 FabulousFables.com

A Horse’s Tale

A Wild Ride Up 14th Street” is a true story that has been embellished for your entertainment. What is true and what is exaggerated is up to you to decide.

The setting is a simpler time, a time of no cell phones, when mothers sent kids out to play and didn’t worry about them once they were out the door.

It was a time of no pandemics, a time when freedom was a way of life, and kids were afforded the opportunity to learn freedom’s lessons.

This story isn’t so much about lessons learned — though lessons were learned — as it is about adventure and heroics on 14th Street.

Enjoy “A Wild Ride Up 14th Street“, a piece of untold history.

By David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2020 FabulousFables.com

Happy New Year and Peaceful New Decade

I wish you a fabulous New Year and a peaceful New Decade.

Let me be so bold as to issue a plea.

Let us keep our hearts peaceful and full of love. The only way to defeat the forces of evil, is by love, and with love, comes peace.

It will take love in each of our hearts to turn this new year and decade into the positive future we deserve.

We must recognize the humanity of those with whom we interact. It does not matter what color they are, what religion they are, what ethnicity they are, what they believe, or even how they behave.

We are all children of that force that created the universe, the all-powerful, unconditional loving force that turned us from stardust into humans. Call him God. Call him Allah. Call him the Great Spirit.

He is the same. Always.

We change.

So let us change for the better.

Let us be kind to one another. Let us love one another. With love in each of our hearts, we defeat the evil that besets this Earth, and a new day will dawn, an era of peace and goodwill.

Love and Peace

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2020 FabulousFables.com

Rastas Boodrow: Mathematical Mastermind

 

Rastas Boodrow was just like many other little boys in that he loved games. All kinds, but especially sports. He was good at sports. He loved computer games as well, but Rastas didn’t own any.

Rastas preferred to play outside anyway.

Rastas was poor. His parents earned minimum wage. His dad worked two jobs, but the family never got ahead. Financially, they were losing pace, not even running in place, one illness away from homelessness.

Rastas was different from most the neighborhood kids because he was Jamaican. He was darker than his peers; he had dreads, and he dressed in second-hand clothes and wore old beat-up sneakers.

Whereas, most children his age — Rastas was 7 — would be ostracized for their poverty by their classmates, Rastas was not.

Rastas was popular. He was an exceptional athlete. He was fast. He was strong. He had a winner’s heart. Everybody wanted to be on Rastas’ team.

Rastas was also smart. He liked to read books, and he loved the intricacies of math. Not just adding and subtracting, but now multiplying and dividing, fractions and decimals, meters and milliliters.

Oh yes, he was advanced for his age when it came to math. He was born with numbers running through his mind. He was a genius who already pondered the possibility of endless mathematical probabilities. Maybe that is why he was a bit weird.

Rastas had a compassionate heart. He loved deeply.

He loved his parents even though there were no gifts for him or his sister Amancia under the tree. Christmas was two days away, and nothing.

Rastas knew something would appear on Christmas night from his parents.

It would be clothes or shoes. The real gift would come from Santa Claus. Rastas and his sister would rely on Santa Claus for a perfect gift just like they did every year.

This year, Rastas wasn’t confident he made Santa’s nice list. He dreaded landing on the naughty list. Especially when he wanted a special gift.

He wanted a red bicycle. That wasn’t too much to ask was it?

Rastas imagined the many possibilities a bike would give. He would be mobile, go where he pleased.

No more rides to the library. Rastas didn’t own a phone, so he read books. The library was a magical place, and Rastas didn’t understand why he didn’t see more young people there. Rastas also read above his age level. That’s how he knew so much about math.

He also loved the fantasy books. He imagined he was in the worlds he read about. Leaving this world for a while was comforting.

Rastas was at the age that little boys begin to develop a strange sense of humor that can sometimes lead to cruel pranks.

Though he loved his sister Amancia with all his being, he sometimes pranked her. She didn’t hold it against him. Amancia was just as her name reflected: one who loves unconditionally. There was no doubt  Santa would be good to her.

Rastas also didn’t obey his parents as he should.

They came home tired and still made dinner and helped with homework. And how did Rastas repay them? By doing dumb stuff like hiding his clothes under his bed rather than hanging them in the closet.

Now I know that sounds stupid. Rastas didn’t know why he did it; he just did it.

So it left him no choice but to appeal to the big man himself: Santa Claus. How would he get Santa’s attention long enough to explain? He didn’t have a ride to take him to the mall, where he knew Santa hung out.

That’s when one of those mathematical possibilities presented itself to young Rastas. He would study the fireplace and its flue. Measure it, and turn his problem into an equation. Therein was the answer.

So my friends, read about Rastas’ solution to his problem in “Rastas Boodrow: A Christmas Story“.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2019 FabulousFables.com

Rudy Poo Tootee Does His Duty

 

Rudy Poo Tootee was not a name anybody called the red-nosed hero  to his face, but that was his nickname among the Reindeer Corps, his elite team of Santa’s sleigh pullers.

Oh the reindeer respected Rudy alright, but Rudy was — how shall I say this in a delicate manner? — somewhat anal. You know, head so far up the butt his rigidity prevented him from bending over.

Rudy’s training regimen was strictly formulaic. March, march, march. Run, run, run. Crawl, crawl, crawl. Jump, jump, jump. Roll, roll, roll. Fly, fly, fly. Now do it again until you get it right. Every day, day in and day out. Oh it was tiring training to be an elite reindeer.

But back to the nickname.

Forgive me for transitioning from the anal to flatulent. Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just telling you the story as it happened.

Anyway.

One day Santa walked onto the training grounds looking for his reindeer leader, and he yelled “Rudy!” which was what everyone called the red-nosed one.

Right after that, Rufus — Rudy’s cousin — the snot-nosed reindeer, let loose with a gassy “Pa Too Tee.” Not silent, but deadly nonetheless, judging by the reindeers’ wrinkled up faces.

Now, you have to realize that despite Rufus’ love of bodily-function humor, he hadn’t intended to let loose at that particular moment. Oh, he intended to fart with great vigor and release a really smelly onion bomb.

That was the only reason he was on the parade grounds that day. He wasn’t much into Rudy’s training obsession. Rufus was all about the jokes.

Rufus ate three onions from Mrs. Claus’ kitchen in hopes of building up the most effective flatulence.

But he was trying to hold the fart in in deference to Santa, whom he hadn’t expected that day. Unable to stifle the fart, it escaped him with a three-part, almost musical, sound.

“Poo Too Tee.”

The Reindeer Corps heard Santa’s “Rudy” and then Rufus’ “Poo Too Tee” and seized on the rhyme to dub their leader Rudy Poo Tootee.

But I digress from my original intention. I really meant to come here to remind you how we left the reindeer cousins at the end of the story “Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer.”

In that story, Rufus unintentionally seized Rudy’s authority and upended the status quo. When given the opportunity to regain his head reindeer role, Rudy Poo Tootee does his duty.

Read “Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer: The Reckoning“, to learn how the story turned out, not only for the reindeer cousins, but ultimately, for children all over the world.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2019 FabulousFables.com

Rufus is no Doofus: A reindeer’s story

 

Rufus was a snot-nosed reindeer, but don’t let that gross you out.

Because within his veins ran the blood of reindeer royalty.

Yep. Somewhere along the reindeer evolution timeline, a strain of reindeer blood exerted itself and produced some remarkable offspring, reindeer who would do incredible things in their lives.

Two of these reindeer princes were cousins, but as different from one another as a frog and a flea.

Both came to their greatness through humble beginnings.

One was bullied and taunted and not allowed to join in reindeer games.

The other had no need for reindeer games. He was a warrior with one goal in life: to wrestle.

You will be surprised to learn that both cousins saved Christmas.

One is famous for lighting Santa’s way.

The other is not famous except in the North Pole, where he is as legendary as his famous cousin.

So I’ll tell you the story of the not-so-famous reindeer.

He was called Rufus the snot-nosed reindeer, but he didn’t care.

Rufus was not a reindeer to worry about drama, idiocy or nicknames.

He was a reindeer who cared for only one thing: the thrill of of a competitive grapple.

Read his story: Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2020 FabulousFables.com

Thanksgiving: A Bird’s Perspective

 

Thanksgiving.

A time of gratitude and counting our blessings.

A time when November breezes anticipate December freezes.

A time when families and loved ones come together and share a meal.

A time of green bean casserole and pumpkin pie.

A time of turkey slaughter on a massive scale.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. I am as guilty of enjoying Thanksgiving turkey as the next guy.

But for one tiny hummingbird, Thanksgiving was a time of terror.

Gilbert, the hummingbird,  heard that humans eat birds on this holiday.

He feared he could become a meal, a morsel for sure, but a meal nonetheless, for a boy who showed too much interest in Gilbert’s movements.

You’ve probably figured out that Gilbert the Dancing Hummingbird is not your typical Thanksgiving story.

As with many stories on FabulousFables.com, this story sprouted from a kernel of truth: a little boy’s love for a green-headed hummingbird.

David Madrid

Contact: David Madrid

© 2019 FabulousFables.com