The Llama Story

By Shourjo

It was a typical day in the marketplace by the river. The streets were overflowing with people of all sorts; from small pedlars to petty thieves. Small shops lined the streets of the marketplace. The shops were filled to the brim with your typical day to day goods, such as vegetables, the very finest cuts of meats, and most importantly, llamas. After all, llamas are an essential part of a human’s existence. It simply would not be possible to go a day without a llama. They are man’s constant companions, their primary source of joy. Being a Llama myself (one of the finest by the way), I can confirm that my owner would have trouble managing his life without me. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. My owner had the bright idea of selling me. I do pity him for making that decision. But I went along with it because he had become rather boring to live with over the years.

“We stock the finest llamas in town!” shouted my owner. “We guarantee their breath won’t stink and — ”

“HE’S A FILTHY LIAR! HIS LLAMAS ALWAYS STINK OF ROTTING FISH!” bellowed a hoarse voice from the left. “GOD KNOWS HE WHAT HE FEEDS THEM — BUY MY LLAMAS INSTEAD!”

That was awfully rude! Did this man not realise that a llama was standing right in front of him? Following this insensitive statement, I spat, showering the man’s own unclean face, as the llama did to Captain Haddock in one of the Tintin comics (yes, I can read, llamas are smarter than you think). In fact, Hergé (the guy who wrote Tintin) based that particular incident on something his llama did. That llama happened to be my cousin. Anyway, I was certain that I smelt better than a sack of rotting fish. I do put on the finest National Llama Association (NLA) approved llama cologne every day. Or rather, my owner, who was now trying to sell me, does. Unfortunately, the other stall owner was absolutely livid. He was drenched. He thrashed around on the street, like a fish out of water, letting out all sorts of expletives, that I do not wish to include in this account. This seemed to attract a large crowd.

“MY DEAR SIR, I SHALL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT MY LLAMA WAS PERFECTLY JUSTIFIED IN SPRAYING YOU WITH WATER FOR THE SLANDER YOU SPEAK! AND I SHALL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I FEED MY LLAMAS THE HIGHEST QUALITY, NLA APPROVED, LLAMA FOOD!” roared my owner, in an attempt to drown the other’s screaming.

Humans never seem to grow up, do they? They make the biggest issues out of the smallest of problems. I mean, I gave the other man a free shower! He ought to be grateful when I come to think of it. How pathetic is it to fight over a llama? The argument went on, and soon enough, the two men threw punches at each other.  I watched along with everyone else, as my owner and the other man were rolling around on the floor, throwing punches at each other. It was quite entertaining to watch two fat men rolling around and punching each other. You see, this is why we stick around humans. They provide us with constant entertainment, and they stuff us silly with fantastic food (well the nicer ones do).

As the sky turned dark, the men began to tire, and the crowd began to thin. By moonrise, the two men were bloody, bruised, and covered in the centuries of filth from the streets.

“You won’t — You won’t… get— get away… tomorrow you will see…” panted my drained owner, as he collapsed and fell into a deep sleep.

The other man let out a sigh of exhaustion and slowly limped away. I’d imagine he went home.

The next morning, the two men were at it again; Trading punches only stopping occasionally to insult each other. As of then, they had yet to achieve anything. Unfortunately, I began to get terribly bored, as did the other man’s llamas. While the men were fighting, I quietly walked away from the men, toward the riverbank, and the other llamas followed suit. The river had the shimmering look of a great vat of mercury. And it was probably as toxic as mercury, given the amount of waste floating in the river. It was beautiful yet revolting. Just like my owner (and my cousin Llamius, who never seems to brush his teeth, though he has a great personality). Silvery fish could be seen floating on the water, upside down. The two men, in the marketplace, were still fighting over a petty topic, and yet, they took no heed of the destruction occurring just a few hundred metres away. Perhaps I ought to distance myself from him, as I cannot possibly knock wisdom into him, by being near him. My great-great-great-great grandfather Llilius (who happened to be one of the greatest llamas to live) failed to knock sense into Mozart. Shortly after Lilius did what he thought would knock wisdom into him, Mozart proceeded to write a six-part canon about faeces.

After a great deal of thought, I made my decision, and walked away, into the sunrise and the other llamas followed… Perhaps it was cruel to strip two men of their livelihoods, but it was the only way they could learn. 

Shourjo writes mischievous music scores, computer codes and occasionally bizarre stories in English.

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