Pompo Omallo (CHAPTER 2)

by Bold Symmetry

“What happened?”

What happened when?

“Yesterday. I forget.”

Oh, you’re worried about Pompo Omallo’s vow of silence and how he will able to find Gerrymander Hounder in Jickly Forest without being able to call for him.

“Okay was that… whole story thing… from you?”

No, it’s from Mr. Stylid. I told you.

“Okay but who the fuck is that?”

Some guy at last year’s county fair. He won Biggest Eggplant 2013.

“Is this real?”

Yes, this is real.

“Why would he randomly message you about Jockey Forests and stuff?”

He didn’t message me. I ran into him at the farmer’s market yesterday and he told the end of the story.

“You ran into him at the farmers market…”

And he told the end of the story. He left it last time while Pompo was still jumping jack. He wanted to inform me it had come to an end.

“Why didn’t you just get his number the first time to call him about it instead of waiting to run into him again, huh?”

Because the whole story sounded fucked… And this is a guy that competes in eggplant competitions. Not someone I want to have the digits necessarily. Goodnight.

“What? What the flip?”

You don’t care about Pompo.

“I do.”

Fine, so to recap. Pompo Omallo. Known as Jack by kids at recess of Tinkle Elementary. Has been doing jumping jacks for going on 17 years. Since late 1997. Feet shredded up. The story of how this started, told to me by Mr. Stylid, begins in Jickly Forest.

“You told me this. Did you make that up?! Or someone really did?”

I’m recapping for you. Someone did. Pompo trying to find his race-fueled yet often silent doggy Gerrymander Hound. Pomp can’t call out to him because he took a vow of silence after the death of his Uncle Lake Sweater, fondly referred to by his name because he lived by a pond and always wore cardigans. And Mr. Stylid seems to think his friends who gave him the name must have had poor diction –

“But who wrote this?”

No one has written it. I’m writing it now. And so, as the story happened. Pompo got lost in the silence of the forest. And in his own silence. Unsuccessful in finding Gerrymander, he was alone as a potential prey for the nocturnal Jicklies –

“So someone wrote this and you’re continuing it?!”

No one wrote it. Someone told me. I’m trying to tell you it. The sign on the front of the forest clearly read: THIS IS A FOREST. But that sign isn’t important to the story. There was another sign that was though –

“I like how you keep trying to tell and it and I’m interrupting.”

And the other sign read: IN THIS FOREST WE EAT YOU AT NIGHT SO LEAVE BEFORE SUNDOWN IF YOU DON’T WANT THAT. DUN DUN DUNNN. As Pompo walked through the forest, minutes before sundown, he thought to himself, “Here comes the dangerous part of this fucked up story.”