This is my FRIDAY FICTIONEERS entry for today. This week, the picture’s courtesy of Marie Gail Stratford, someone who can always be relied upon to come up with an excellent response to Rochelle’s weekly challenge. Sadly, I’ve no idea what’s in the picture so I’ve had to busk it a little. After 3 puns in a row, I might pop back and change the title but for now, it’ll have to stand.
Norbert disliked childhood but adolescence was even more of a disappointment. He’d always been big, though he’d assumed his stocky frame would become muscular but he stayed blobbish as his brother, Jeremy, the so-called runt, became dashingly impish. He’d hoped, at least, that his voice would break but the same unintelligible squeaks persisted in coming out every time he opened his mouth.
Every night, he’d go to bed and wish he’d wake to find he was really a misplaced porcupine. Every morning, he’d realise he was still a hedgehog. Hans Christian Anderson had a lot to answer for.