Raul the Cloud Rider: Part I of II.

Posted by Kyle Jacobson , Saturday, October 9, 2010 11:51 PM

             Raul, the cloud rider, sat there wondering why, out of a thousand possible candidates, he was chosen to be crowned king of the sky. He'd barely read the manual and his scores were far below anyone else with a royal background. He questioned all of the previous king's assistance why, they were of no help. He needed answers desperately. Not answers as such, more excuses, of why he shouldn't be crowned. Anyone aged twenty three could not honestly run an entire celestial empire. It made no sense. Especially this celestial empire. The royal system was on the brink of eternal disaster. The world turners were near battle with gravity, and several planets were on the verge of seceding from the solar system. Neptune was of no surprise, but to hear of Mars and Venus. What a tragedy. Their reasoning was loosely based on the stunted growth of the galaxy over their years, as well as due to the lack of any sort of pension fund. The political war was futile. As was the physical broil between the land walkers and the cloud riders. Then again, land walkers were not as skilled in the manner of fighting as the sky people. All we'd have to do is hold the rain for a while and they'd be crying to a man named "God". When they started this yelping of sorts, we'd usually send them a few rain showers. In return, they would sacrifice goats and other things that would make us turn our heads. The landwalkers are known for trying to start feuds between us. On one such occasion, they attempted to catch our attention by burning plastics and using large amounts of fossil fuels. They are a few molecules short of an element, if you can understand. 

            They claim that Raul's connection with royalty had to do with his great great grandfather owning a small pet, not resembling an amphibian, that was later traded to a man with three too many mustaches. Raul was that man's son. Those that told him this were high off of moon dust and would not be coming down for quite some time. They giggled some more, and then told Raul that he ought to be doing things that potential kings were supposed to be doing. 

             Raul sat on a cloud, staring at the horizon. The horizon, being self-conscious, became irritated with Raul. Raul immediately had a feeling that someone had issues with him. This frustrated Raul, more anyway. "Who gives them the right to just name me king!" He yelled, "they didn't even bother to ask! Or at least give me a fruit basket!"  Raul cried a thousand shimmering tears, and a few dull ones as well. The radiant tears ran down his face, bouncing off the cloud, becoming a very short and pointless rainstorm.
            Meanwhile in Scotland, a man was also having quite a terrible day. He walked contemptuously down the walkway across Main Street and Guilds Ave. The depressed look plastered on his already boring face. A small rainstorm appeared above him, soaking him to the core on an extremely cold evening. As he looked around, to his horror, he was the only one hit by this spontaneous shower. He continued to walk, and continued to have a horrible day. 

           Pinkerbottom is such a horrible last name. The same reason as to why Raul's last name is not Pinkerbottom, at all, but Starllion. "King Starllion," he repeated, after thirty thousand previous repetitions. "It's got that ring to it." This failed to calm him. He took his anger out on small floating clouds, who, in turn, absorbed his punches and made ridiculous faces at him. He should have become more infuriated by these tiny, socially rebelious clouds, but since he had already reached the physical limit of irate, it was impossible. Thoughts of escaping the sky kept him company throughout the day. He would obviously head terrenal, since it was forbidden and he felt that's what one should do if that person was rebellious pre-king. It would take preparation. Three entire minutes of preparation; that being a lot for anyone with an attention span less than that of a small hummingbird who thinks it's a tree. Raul paced upon his custom-built Cumulus 3500 cloud. Raul never paced. It was a verb that started with a "p". He questioned whether heading to earth would even be worth his time. "What do people even do on that large spherical object that we continuously hover?"  

          Raul escaped out the back door of a cloud. The one closest to the earth's surface, seven thousand feet away. Everything was great until he realized that clouds don't have back doors and he was now in the process of falling. Fast. Raul thought of what he should be yelling. He recognized that the first item of business to address in the afterlife would surely be his death. He had to make a good first impression with the dead. They must have some sort of influence there. He wondered if he died on the earth's surface, would he go to landwalker heaven? or if there were different heavens for sky and land people? He realized that this might not be the best time to ask such questions and he returned to his rehearsed yelling. He assuredly became bored of this and began to count seconds, equally boring. "I wasn't aware of any problems with filling time while falling. I always thought it just sort of happened and then was over." Raul tried to argue. No one was around with a sarcastic rebuttal, except maybe the wind. The wind rushed passed him, mockingly showing their freedom and most of all independence of gravity. Any form of autonomy rubbed Raul the wrong way. "It's just the start of anarchy," he would reason, "why don't we all just become presidents of ourselves?" It was thinking like this that proved to the chairmen that Raul was the perfect candidate for king. They had no idea what he meant by such sentences, but they sounded...intelligent. Let's return to Raul, who is still falling. "AHHHHHHH!" He screamed. His screams, dying thin as his vocal chords became stiff from the amount of screaming that he screamed. And Raul wasn't normally a screamer, just more of a shouter, or dramatic voice escalator. 

         His falling was immediately stopped by a net that decelerated slightly quicker than he did, causing for his acceleration to be slowly diffused and coincidentally stop his fall. He lay there wondering where he was and if this was the afterlife. A voice quickly broke his moment of introspective analyzation. 

         "I hope it's one of them geese," yelped a voice. 
         "Nah, I saw no beak."
         "I'm certain there was a beak, or my name isn't B-town Smithy."
         "It's not."
         "Not what?"
         "I can't believe my eyes! It's a cloud rider! Yee dawgie! And he's got one of them royal seals on 'im." 
         "What does that mean?" 
         "It means we got ourselves a bargain chip!"
         "Awlrite! What types of bargains we gonna get? I'm up for anything but mashed potatoes."
         "No. Like, we say, "if you want your royal man back, you gonna give us five hundred million pounds of starcrop."
          "Who gonna give us five hundred million pounds of anything? And where are we gonna stick it all, I only got seventeen pockets!"
          "Let's just collect 'im. I'll fill you in later, numbskull. Numbskull not being a rude name calling for the ill educated youngster, it was his name.
                                                    To be continued, and finished,


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