The Adventures of Bred Mann

Chapter One - Once upon a time

There once was a ginger. 

A really tiny ginger. 

A really tiny ginger. 

His name was Bred. Bred Mann. 

As stated, he was very tiny and also very mischievous. How could such a small fellow contain so much chaos inside his filthy little heart? We may never know . . . 

Once upon a time, he was a teensy little child without a care in the world. His mother, G. Mann, would hold him in her caring arms and wonder about his future. Little did she know, he would someday commit arson and run away from home. 

Their home? It was spicy. Just like the tiny ginger’s mom. 

It was a yummilicious display of candy (fake candy, don’t worry), and perfectly pruned bushes . . . Just like his mom? Oh! There was also a lake filled to the brim with swans. No water. Only swans.

The father? He was not in the picture. He died. As a baby. Before he died, he said to his child, “I am about to die, my son.” It was very sad when he died. Tiny ginger cried his tiny tears. 

G. Mann did not, however, cry in any way. She threw a huge party. 

She was once a wild child . . . That was until she was married and had Bred. So now? She was free; she was free to be wild and spicy. 

Bred felt neglected. 

His only company was the party of swans. 

The swans tried to eat him. 

***

“Mother. You have caused me great distress throughout the entirety of my conscious life. Not only do you eagerly feed me to blood thirsty swine, but you eagerly feed me remnants of swine caked in blood. The first time I met you, I was overjoyed. 

“I had a mother! A woman to feed me and nurture my fragile being. You are the fragile one, G. Mann. I am not. You will never be a quarter of the person I am becoming.

“Fear me, for my strength is unmatched. The world may attempt to send me heartache, pain, and glorious enemies. What the world does not realize? I can overcome this all. I am stronger than the world. The world is a mere peanut shell in my grand circus. I will stomp upon the world, just as I plan to stomp you into mere crumbs of ginger and cinnamon. I will set fire to your heart, and I will drown your lungs to the deepest depths of the lake of swans. I will slit you free from molasses, the only thing holding you together. 

“I am Bred Mann. You will regret your behavior directed upon such a wondrous man. Never forget this, G. Mann. I will not let you forget, as the fire has already sparked. Do you smell this? This is the flames of your flesh, toasting to a crisp blackness of char. You absent minded buffoon. Prepare to perish.”

Bred Mann considered this speech. Would his mother understand his intent? 

G. Mann was used to Bred’s outrageous bursts of poetic disasters–such as the one he had just spewed upon the ends of her frilled dress. She thought nothing of them. 

The moment Bred was born, she knew he was trouble. 

His father–her husband–was an incredible poet, and loved tiny finger monkeys (not swans, he hated birds). Due to this, she was prepared to do whatever she could to prevent her son from turning out like him . . . Only, the second the little bun escaped the oven? He was just like G. Mann’s nameless husband. 

Unfortunate? Yes. 

Very unfortunate indeed. 

“Calm yourself, little loaf,” She replied to her son. “Go do the dishes.”

“Yes mother.”

Bred’s blood boiled beneath his fleshy flesh. How could this woman do such a thing to him? He was Bred Mann! The most superior of all breads. He was a devout social darwinist, and his mother was definitely one of the inferior. 

She would listen to him eventually. She had too. 

But for now, he continued to wash her cookie dough stained dishes in the crowded sink. 

G. Mann was not concerned as she crafted her newest batch of chocolate chip cookies, Bred often brooded over the dishes. While she might now have shown it on the outside, G. Mann was quite lonely. She wished for a better child and a new husband that likes swans and cookies. 

Would this new life last? Maybe slightly longer than the one she has now. 

So, G. Mann decided to become reincarnated into a swan. 

She planned on leaving her son in the dark; she didn’t want to face his criticism for disappearing. So, she concocted a plan. 

She would leave in the dead of night. 

And she would never return. 

“Goodbye, Bred Mann.” 

And she was gone.

Bred Mann had no goal now that his mother was gone, no purpose, no more vengeance and violent plans for his victim. So now he needed a new goal to enthrall himself, and that was to be hunted. 

Allow Bred to explain himself:

While raised in the high society of his mother’s swan kingdom, he developed a love for mischief and chaos of all manners. He often disturbed his classmates by slipping snails in their socks and ice in their underwear, as well as adding superglue to those who wore glasses–and watching them flail and scream in an attempt to rip the plastic frames from their burning flesh. 

He spent a wee bit of time in the slammer, but he easily escaped after the seventh hour; but not without slipping a poisonous little toxin of unknown origins into the popos’ donuts. 

The police feared him, his teachers and classmates feared him–the only one he had left to scare was his mother. 

And now? She was gone. 

“What to do?” Bred asked himself as he paced across his empty room. When G. Mann left, she took everything–even his belongings. You may be wondering how she did this without detection, and there is no explanation for the skills of that woman. 

Alas, an idea struck him between the eyes like that of a dart on a dartboard. He would cause mischief in one of the neighboring villages, in a place where no one knew his name and there was no one to expect his tomfoolery. 

He would terrorize the village on the other side of the forest. 

First, he must travel through the forest.

Chapter Two - A Hunt For Hunters

There was Hunter Exeh. 

And Hunter Chez.

And Hunter Gildan.

They weren’t the best hunters around, purely fueled by pink lemonades, cheesecakes, and flat sodas, but had that blind, silly bravery that was unmatched. Hunting was not a way to earn money for them, oh no no no…

There was a goopy yellow blob in their line of sight. It dripped its golden cheese to the mossy ground, leaving behind a trail for the hunters to follow. It was another cheese monster, easy pickings for the hunters. 

They hated cheese, so by hunting lower creatures they were training to defeat cheese. More cheesecakes from the corpses, meant other hunters would take them seriously. 

Hunter Exeh was especially aggressive. They were the leader of the cheese operation, formerly a mafia boss (consisting of rats of course, and Hunter Exeh was a fox).

The three of them have been enemies for decades yet team up occasionally when one is either bored, depressed, or requires desperate assistance for they knew no other hunter could match their needs or set of skills.

But it would take a great leap into the future before they could be ready to demolish that cheese monster, only, their fate rests in the hands of a certain little ginger….

***

Not far from the town where the little ginger resided, a frivolous rat trembled in its tiny lil boots as it picked up a bright red hanging telephone, dialing a suspicious number LOL.

The dial picked up and the rat answered, it’s voice quivering profusely, 

“hello? I need the aid of big strong people!!” The voice said, “S’il vous plait!! the son of de swan hypocrite dj society has gone mad!! he is burning the town!! everyone has tried to stop him but they were…they were turned into…” the mouse pauses hearing a voice call out to him outside his now blackened windows “do whatever is necessary to stop him!!”

At the other side of the phone line stood a frail, spineless (literally) shell of a man. Named Beezie Babe. Beezie Babe wheezed into his phone microphone, spitting four teaspoons of spit into the air. The spit quickly evaporated, for it was used to be projected through that air. 

“Say what sonnie?”

The mouse blinked. He took a big breath- the largest one he could manage… 

“I SAID- S’il vous plat! People are a dying out here! My tail is a being turned to a crisp! And we NEED HELP. He’s coming! He’ll be here at any a moment. NO. No.”

The mouse’s tin phone fell to the ground, but the sound of its echo quickly dissipated in the chaos and crinkling of fire. 

***

Far away Beezie Babe took another glance at his hands. They were still cradling his microphone and earpiece, both equally coated in saliva. He questioned why he still held his career as an operator for LOL. In his youth, Beezie Babe wanted to be an explorer. A hunter, darn it. But, like all stories that dissolve into nightmares, Beezie Babe wasted away at a sedentary life answering phones. He was half deaf and had induced dysentery. 

“I don’t know, sonnie, what to do about that. You just need… need to man up. Like my father. He was a horse milk delivery driver. He braved all the weather- from poisonous frogs to acid fog. Sonnie, once you face your nightmares, you can do anything. Sonnie?”

Beezie Babe could not tell if anyone had responded, or if it was the raspiness of his own lungs. 

“Sounds like you got it under control.”

Beezie Babe considered the words he had shared. Face your nightmares, he thought. You can do anything. Beezie Babe looked down at his unshapely legs, the fleshly bags coated in a film of spit. He set the phone pieces on his table and looked again at his hands. Strong. Capable. Gripping the table’s edges, Beezie Babe flexed his thigh muscles in an attempt to stand after thirty seven years sitting at this table, answering phone calls that were never resolved, braving the moist atmosphere of evaporated spit and solidified phlegm. 

insert epic music

Beezie Babe felt his naked toes grasp the ancient, dank floor below him. His torso expanded, showing a stack of ribs and abs that had previously been hidden. He knees began to straighten. They made a horrid screeching noise as the joints scraped along his bones. 

The old man was standing. The first second felt like a lifetime as he took in his slightly elevated surroundings. A fresh breath of damp air. A relief from the massive weight his butt had endured during the decades of sitting on a wooden chair (stained by dead skin cells, sweat, and saliva, of course). 

Yet alas, all good things come to an end. Beezie Babe suddenly remembered that his spine was nonexistent. Spines. They’re more than a superficial tail gliding along your back. They have a critical purpose. Beezie Babe’s head fell backward due to the lack of bones or muscles in his neck or back, causing him to collapse onto the ground, bringing the ancient chair with him. No blood spilled from his body, as there was hardly any in his body at all.

He, though freshly dead, appeared to be an primordial corpse. His skin stretched along the floor. His shrunken eyeballs rolled away from his enlarged eye sockets, rolling to an empty pocket between his ribs. No one would remember him, with the exception of the phlegm stained table.

Chapter Three - A Grim Revelation

After crossing the stinking plains, chilly slushie mountains and other treacherous paths, the three hunters finally stumbled upon the outskirts of the gloriously ruined kingdom. Although because of their distance, they did not know what had occurred there.

Hunter Gildan piped up, their long nose picking up ferocious scent.

“Maties! My sniffer is detecting the sweet smell of the deceased, we must investigate the premises.”

The hunters follow Gildan until they arrive at a shack; Hunter Exeh kicks the door down with their hands in their pockets. The smell hits them like a wet sock across the face making them all buckle down on the ground. Their throats clench from the corroded air as they crawl away from the house. 

The fresh cold air relieves them. The hunters give Gildan an irritated look. 

“What? I warned you daint eye?”

“Then you should’ve gone first!”

“But Exeh always goes first, they’re our macho man, the first little piggy”

“Wouldn’t that mean they’re the weakest?”

“Um”

“Bruh”

Gildan is pushed towards the house, their lil bare feet tremble. They plug their nose with wood logs and tip toe gracefully into the building. The corridors are splintery, the symmetrical design of the house now a dish for several decomposers. Despite the openings of the roof the atmosphere is permanently dark. 

He starts to approach a room, it’s walls made of steel as creepers cling around, trying to break in. The entrance to the room is like a vault, spinning a wheel to reveal the gold inside. It reveals Beezie Babe’s body, reduced to a blob fish, the creepers barrage in, ready to fest.

Gildan comes to a sudden revelation. “U-UNCLE?! Woah…look at what you have reduced to you old slug…If you don’t mind i’m going to take this! And this! And huh?” Gildan comes across his PC set up and starts to play past recordings.