Ben - Chapter Thirty Five

There was no denying that Ben was a raucous flirt and Besshield was no stranger to attention from lonely old rabbits. Her hair, matted and unbrushed, had taken the hues of the forest and the raging river that cut across within her.

Stories could be told endlessly and fill with delight as one strand of long would cease and reach into another. Each long-tickly had its own unique smell, it’s own unique colour and it’s story told in unison.

The loudies that emanated from her behind were something of a legend, and when she dropped a fried potato, all living around would retreat far and wide - even grass, trees, stones and other plants. A widely circulated rumour had it such that a river even meandered around her steaming leftovers so as to avoid the putrid sight and smell.

Ben would perform a perfunctory dance and fill the air simultaneously with sound that colours the scene. Besshield would acknowledge with a smile fit for a beast, then bow with a fart. This would arrange itself in a chaotic way and allow the river to take pause at this assault. While distracted, the water would subside and give them their hive of chances.

Ben enthused and skipped forth, as Besshield lowered her bumend and made amenable the climb atop her. Ben, blocking his nose as best he could approached with bravery and trepidation. No sooner was he to grip upon her longies, did her backsweeper rear up to reveal what looked like a darkened clementine. With that confusion came a brief pause followed by a long and contorted fart.

This assault had thrown Ben back so as to force him into two involuntary cartwheels before thumping onto the ground with his legs hoisted high. Besshield, being the great toilet humorist that she was, bleated our laughter followed by a kind gesture, whereupon she lifted Ben onto her back to start and then continue across the stoney waters.