Yoga and the Grasshopper

PLEASE NOTE: The following is a work of fiction. Whilst it does borrow from elements in my life, it is nothing more than a piece of poorly written ficticious narrative.

I recently started doing yoga alongside parkour, at Si’s invite. Ewe has been coming as well. I’ve wanted to be doing yoga for a while now as when I was a child it was something I enjoyed a lot.

However, due to procrastination…

So I went to my first session with Si and Ewe and I was very tired. The room was warm and we started with relaxing. I started to fall asleep very quickly; something I did not want to do so I started telling myself not to fall asleep.

The next thing I know I’m very suddenly awake and a few of the people there had moved away from me, whilst some others were smiling and giggling. I had no idea what happened so I asked Si. He told me I passed out for four minutes and during that time I farted loudly and yelled “paddlepop pie”.

Not my most subtle moment in life.

From there, the class went smoothly and I remained highly embarrassed.

Since then, the classes have been fine. My flexibility has been improving significantly and I’m finding myself becoming stronger and calmer. I keep to myself at the classes, although I am now fondly remembered by some of the attendees. Si and Ewe even saw fit to bestow upon me the nickname of Sugar Trumpet.

It seems like it is going to be a while before I’m allowed to live this down.

Anyway, after the first session, when I arrived home I went to bed almost immediately.

One thing kept me awake.

There was a loud chirping sound coming from the entrance to my room. I wasn’t sure as to what it was so I switched the light on and then freaked out.

It was a grasshopper on my door.

There was real menace in its eyes as it looked right through me, piercing my soul as though it was nothing more than soft butter.

I was scared. The grasshopper was going to eat me if I did not do anything.

I went to open my door when the grasshopper moved slightly. I backed away immediately. This was a dangerous situation. I was scared but I was unwilling to give up.

I went to open the door again. The grasshopper moved again. I was able to open the door enough to slip out and that is what I did. I ran downstairs snd grabbed the only weakness I knee grasshoppers had: tuppaware containers.

Back upstairs and I slipped into my room again; the grasshopper still in the same location. It saw that I had the container so it began to chirp again.

The demon song it produced was chaotic and destructive. It had strong undertones of beauty punctuated with the underlying themes of the coldness that is the universe. I was powerless to resist.

I had to act fast.

I raised the container with my weakening arms, moving it into position to take my one chance.



I lunged.

The grasshopper was caught.

Out of shock that it was easier to stop than it had predicted, the grasshopper stopped its siren sound immediately.

I took it outside and vey carefully released it back into the wild, letting it be where it could eat its natural prey.

I was lucky I was not devoured. I went back inside knowing this, smiling due to my fortune and lay in bed, slowly drifting into a well-earned sleep.

About Stupidity Hole

I'm some guy that does stuff. Hoping to one day fill the internet with enough insane ramblings to impress a cannibal rat ship. I do more than I probably should. I have a page called MS Paint Masterpieces that you may be interested in checking out. I also co-run Culture Eater, an online zine for covering the arts among other things. We're on Patreon!
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.