1634: The Ram Rebellion: Section Eleven

CINDABRILLO

Paula Goodlett

    “Got another one, Flo.” J.D. grinned.

    “Oh, good,” Flo answered. “I thought it might be about time for a new one.”

    Unknown to Flo, who was interested in the latest Brillo broadsheet, J.D.’s face fell. Her new attitude had him confused. She’d griped and groaned about those broadsheets for weeks. It had been fun to watch. Where was the fun in seeing her not react?

    Oblivious to J.D.’s disappointment, Flo continued to read:

    CINDABRILLO

    Brillo walked around the enclosure, muttering to himself. “Work, work, work. It’s all I ever do. The other rams, they get all the bennies. Me, I just work and work and work. Can’t have any wimmen without a fight. Course, I like to fight. Can’t have any blue. The Flo lady is STILL mad at me about those jeans. How was I supposed to know? No rest for me. No, no goodies for Brillo.”

    “So, would you like to change all that, my fine ram?” a voice asked from the darkness.

    “Whozat?” Brillo exclaimed.

    A shining blue light appeared before his eyes. A little too shining, if the truth be told. Brillo, a bit dazzled, shook his head and blinked.

    “Ya wanna tone it down a bit?” he asked.

    “Umm, sorry, my friend. The lights are on a separate control, hang on a min… there, is that better?” the voice asked.

    Blinking a bit, Brillo looked toward where the light had appeared. It was much less bright now.

    “Yuh. Better. Who’re you?” he asked.

    “Why, Brillo, I’m the fairy god ewe. Haven’t you heard about me?” the voice answered.

    Peering at the light, Brillo was able to discern a rather shapely form inside it. Quite a shapely form, if you were a ram. Things got a bit slobbery for a moment, until Brillo managed to regain his dignity.

    “Fairy god ewe? Never heard of you. And, I’m sort of busy right now. Wimmen to guard, lambs to protect, that sort of thing. Whaddaya want?”

    “I want to help you, Brillo. It’s what fairy god ewes are for, after all. I can give you a beautiful fleece. I can make you king of the rams. The real question is, what do you want?”

    “Wanna be ram. Wanna have wimmen. Wanna have lambs. Wanna eat. S’what sheep do, y’know. Got all that.”

    “Brillo, listen carefully. I can make you one of the pretty rams. I can make the Flo lady like you. You can have all the wim... women you want. You can be king of the rams, with my help.”

    “Don’ wanna be pretty. Useless, they are. Can’t fight, can’t protect. Run like rabbits. Don’ wanna be king. Too much paperwork. Why do?”

    “Do it because you’d have the respect of the yoo... humans, Brillo. Do it because you’re the best ram ever. I can make it happen, with a wave of my wand,” the shape answered. “Just ask, and I’ll do it. Tomorrow morning, the Flo lady will come out and be happy to see you.”

    “Flo lady already happy to see me. Me here, wimmen here, lambs here. She don’t like to say, but she happy. Only want one thing.”

    “Well, I really want to give such a wonderful ram something,” the shape answered. “What do you want most of all?”

    “Don wanna say out loud. Come closer,”

    “I don’t think so, buddy. I don’t think I trust you that much. I said I’m a fairy god ewe, not that I’m stupid.”

    “Aw, come on. Won’ do nuttin. Just don wanna say out loud,” Brillo said, with his best imitation of injured feelings. Here, fishy, fishy, he thought.

    “Well, okay. I’ll come closer and you can whisper in my ear,” the shapely ewe answered as she moved closer. “Just don’t get any ideas, buster.”

    Brillo waited patiently as the nervous ewe moved within his range. Finally, after a lot of skittering around, there she was. Brillo quickly reached over and grabbed the glowing wand, crunched it up, and swallowed.

    “Oh, no!” screamed the fairy god ewe, as her magic fell away. “You’ve turned me into a real ewe, you lousy...”

    Brillo turned his now faintly glowing eyes upon her and grinned evilly. Very evilly. “Yup. Now, about that wish, honeybunch...”

    Flo laughed. “It’s got to be an up-timer. Got to be. It’s the ‘Here, Fishy, Fishy’ line. Remember, I bought you one of those T-shirts once. The one with the trout on it. And the one that said “I fish because the voices in my head tell me to.”

    J.D. grinned. “You did. Didn’t they both go in the pile of stuff we gave away for the refugees?”

    “Darn, yes, they did,” Flo answered. “I guess those jokes wouldn’t take much explaining, would they? Wonder if I’ll ever know who’s doing these?”

    “Doesn’t really matter, does it?” J.D. asked.

    “Oh, I suppose not. It’s just unsatisfied curiosity, I guess. I’d just like to know.”