Juniper Berry’s War and Gathering Rain

With so much control it was a disappointment to go home for lunch. In their bedroom she found the body of her husband, with a gun by his side. The screams could be heard in the outlying districts. What was he doing inside the house? Police came, took his body for examination, and the gun.

The Mayor was informed and not surprised, but where had he got the money for the bullet, let alone the gun? He must have saved for a very long time. How very selfish to deprive his wife of makeup and other essential things. There were so many men who suicided in Juniper Berry. Poor General Glassjaw had lost four husbands to suicide, this was her fifth. The chipboard ceiling was very real if temporary. It was normally consumed by great balls of fire in the cremation. From the palatial halls of their many clubs, the women of Juniper Berry had decreed a shed be made available for men to socialise, provided they made things that would benefit the community. Who would do the heavy lifting if all the men were gone? The troops needed a new leader.

The Mayor went to the oval and took charge. The momentum of the training became a little subdued after that of General Glassjaw.

Mr. Brightboy came to the Mayor and they conferred. The tide was right, the sea was good, the wind was perfect. The ship was ready. Now was a good time. The town bell was rung and everyone assembled, apart from General Glassjaw. The troopers were piped aboard. Women boarded to apply the extra red pomegranate juice to their nakedness. More women came aboard. Soon, everyone was aboard and they all refused to leave.

The Mayor warned them it could become very unpleasant. Still they refused to leave and began the work of raising the troopers' penises to erection. Mr. Brightboy gave the orders, the sailors scurried around and they were soon sailing in their papier mache ship. The sails were taut and the ship went at an excellent clip as the long, red, triangular flag at the top of a mast whipped and slapped in the wind.

The women prepared the men for war, they hoped each tender ministration would be remembered and repaid with plenty of attention to their dripping parts after the war. Mrs. Magoostie tied herself to the bow to be the figurehead. She was so low to the water her nipples carved channels in the sea for the ship to follow in. Mrs. Zinaxtre climbed the mast to the crowsnest and observed for when they arrived at Sleepy Hollow. Everyone watched her and with her legs wide apart everyone could see her bright red lipsticked parts.The troopers' erections were easily maintained. Many were seasick but they were stoic.

"Sleepy Hollow ahoy," shouted Mrs. Zinaxtre, as she checked with a finger that she had everything possible on display. When the war was over she hoped her pussy would get a lot of use.

The harbour of Sleepy Hollow came into view. Mr. Brightboy readied the ship and the Mayor gathered the troops into formation. The ship was tied to the jetty and the troops marched over the gangplank onto land. Quietly, they marched into the town centre. Behind them went the women, wanting to watch but avoiding the risk. The town seemed empty, no one was there. With their slingshots they shot ball bearings at the town's rainwater tank and put many holes in it. Still the town slept. They marched to the council chambers and a detail went in.

The mayor's office was up the passageway. They opened the door and there was little Fifi. The Mayor sat behind his desk. Mrs. Magoostie called little Fifi. The Mayor woke up and started shouting. They could hear movement all through the building. People were waking up. With little Fifi under her arm Mrs. Magoostie ran. It was less easy for the detail. They had to fight their way through the angry ones who had been disturbed from their slumbers. More people came to fight. It was difficult.

Mr. Brightboy refrained from issuing the order to use the slingshots, someone could be hurt. The pan flutists stepped forward, removed the caps from their panflute barrels and with them, a huff and a rapid puff, shot ball bearings over the heads of the locals as a warning. A secret Mr. Brightboy weapon.

Mrs. Thicklewickledoo started to twirl. Faster and faster she spun round and round, she created a centrifugal force that caused her breasts to fly as she moved among the enemy and slapped them down. Other ladies did the same, they knew no one would harm them. Quickly the enemy stood a respectful distance away, contemplating what they could do.

On the ship the sailors saw what was happening. Between the two masts they had an elastic, a very big slingshot. They loaded it with manure from the poop deck, drew it back and fired. The manure went through the air and splattered the locals who were assembling. Juniper Berry's army retreated back to the ship as the sailors rained manure over Sleepy Hollow. Mr. Brightboy's secret weapon had saved the day. Mrs. Magoostie was on board with little Fifi. The Mayor was so extremely grateful no one had been hurt.

The sailors untied the ship and as they set the sail a jib swung round and hit Mr. Brightboy's head. The women pulled him, unconscious, to the middle of the ship where he'd be safe. The sailors worked and soon they were underway. There were many fond greetings and the decks were soon slippery. That evening they held a dance and new versions of the tango were seen. They all lost count of the fucks they had and with who.

There was no presentation that evening, not for many evenings. It took Mr. Brightboy nine days to come to his senses. He was at the market selecting a cream bun when he suddenly asked what he was doing there. He didn't eat cream buns.

"You do now," Mrs. Postleosticus quickly told him. "You've eaten a lot of them since the war." He was shocked.

"How many, how much do I owe you?"

"For you it's free, Mr. Brightboy, it was you who won the war."

That evening everyone in Juniper Berry met and danced. There was a presentation, a papier mache medal on a pubic hair plait, to Mr. Brightboy. Everyone cheered and whistled their approval. Mrs. Magoostie spoke and said anything that is hers is his and with her fingers opened her vulva to make herself clearer. Then Mrs. Anestecinter and Mrs. Prickseville rushed forward. It was Mrs. Anestecinter who was fastest and gave him a fond hello. His semen was copious as it sprayed the crowd and they clapped and whistled their approval. Mr. Brightboy was very embarrassed. Always shy, he believed it was technology that had won the day, not him.

After the war, Juniper Berry had a problem with its water supply. The holes in the tanks had caused a lot of water to be wasted. The people of Juniper Berry drank water, unlike in other places where they used it to wash the beer glasses. The situation was becoming desperate and the meagre supplies were being measured into cups with syringes. They had properly repaired their water tanks and even installed extra ones. There had been no rain for months, in spite of the large fluffy white clouds that went over Juniper Berry every day.

The council met to discuss the water shortage. Every measure available had to be implemented. It became law that watering lawns was illegal, as was watering gardens of any description. Washing clothes was made illegal, indeed, it was made illegal to wear clothes to be sure no one would be tempted to cheat.

The mayor had all laws that concerned indecent exposure rescinded and new laws were passed to declare the wearing of clothes indecent. Water usage was reduced considerably but they were still perilously close to running out. The people of Juniper Berry accepted the new laws, knowing there was no choice. Unable to garden they assembled around the coffee shop to talk about the hardship and demonstrated the relish with which they showed their nudity.

There weren't so many men. They lived, on average, five years less than women and ninety three percent of prisoners were men. They were also ninety percent more likely to die in their jobs as it was accepted that a part of masculinity was the taking of risks and accepting blame. They were the second class citizens, the disposable gender.

The owners of the coffee shop quickly understood and altered the chairs they had for patrons so people could lie back in them and present their sex for everyone to see and touch. No one wanted to miss out. The women used lipstick to colour all of their lips and nipples bright red. The men worked on having a twitching erection all the time. Quickly, the old conventions were reestablished. Greetings were by touch and fond greetings extracted orgasms. When the nurse came from the city to do the pap smears the clinic wasn't needed, it was all done at the coffee shop so everyone could see that preventative health was being carried out and be impressed.

Those who were married felt they were missing out. They too began to attend the coffee shop to show their bodies and share them with others. Frequently they sat together and encouraged the attention of others for their spouses.

Mr. Brightboy was very concerned about the water supply and studied the clouds carefully, wondering how to get the water from them into the town's tanks. He lacked the patience to sit around the coffee shop. Instead, he kept himself busy and avoided everyone else. He was reading about clouds, how they were packed with icicles and he wondered how they could be harvested.

It was sufficiently desperate that he considered everything. He researched the principles of cohesion and adhesion. He wondered if a skyrocket could be launched into a cloud and exploded to shake the icicles loose. He discovered there wasn't enough money in town to pay for a skyrocket and the plan was shelved. It would take technology to explode it at the optimal altitude.The dilemmas of science were frustrating.

Seeking simplicity, Mr. Brightboy decided a huge net would be possible. Like a butterfly net an icicle net could be swiped along a cloud and sweep up icicles that would be brought to ground and run into the tanks. He started collecting broomsticks, hundreds of them. The enthusiasm of the citizens was unmistakable except, if they did manage to harvest the clouds, they wanted to keep the nudity laws. They bound the sticks into position and the handle of the icicle net grew longer and longer. They soon had the handle long enough, they thought, and attached the net to the end.

Everyone gathered when the next juicy cloud passed over head. They struggled to lift the net and when they eventually did the handle developed a bow in the middle. After a whole day of struggle they concluded the experiment had failed. Everyone retrieved their broom handles. Mr. Brightboy was encouraged to go with everyone else to the coffee shop.

At the coffee shop Mrs. Quickdashworthy gave him the chair she normally lay in and knelt beside him. His penis was more than satisfactory with proportions a little larger than most and its colour was bold, not insipid like some. She talked to him as a means of distraction and fondled it gently to erection. Mr. Brightboy tried to sit up but Mrs. Quickdashworthy gently pushed him back with her hand to his chest and a few reassuring words. His penis was lovely in its erection. She couldn't resist giving it a little suck, telling him she was terribly thirsty and it was so important to get drinks where she could. The logic was unmistakable. He passed the comment that one has to be resourceful.

When Mrs. Quickdashworthy obtained her drink he squirmed in the chair hooting like an owl with his orgasm as she drank it down. He looked up and noticed there was a line of women waiting their turn. Mrs. Magoostie was next and settled to get her drink. Mr. Brightboy had no idea how to say no. By the time he left for home his penis was raw, sore, thoroughly drained and Mrs. Prickseville was very disappointed, she was next in line.

Trigonometry became the big interest for Mr. Brightboy. Everyday there was less water in reserve and measures for its conservation remained stringent. He did a lot of measuring and in time decided he could build a stairway into the clouds. He put a call out for ladders and got almost enough. When he put out a call for more he had more than required. With the help of the people of Juniper Berry he lashed them together and was ready.

When the call came out for someone to climb it there were no volunteers. They had a lottery. Women had rights and chose not to be in the lottery. Men had responsibilities and all of them were in it. The successful man was Mr. Ascendant. He was in his climbing boots ready. Together the whole community tried to lift the ladder. It was difficult. No one expected it to bow. All day they tightened the lashings and tried again, and again. At the end of the day they'd had enough. The icicle net was put away and everyone took their ladders home.

Another failure for Mr. Brightboy. He needed some reassurance that everyone had no better idea and that no one was laughing. They all assembled at the coffee shop and Mrs. Prickseville remembered she was next. Again Mr. Brightboy went home with his penis raw, sore and thoroughly drained and a lot of women were still waiting for their turn.

Mr. Brightboy was worried about his reputation as well as the town's water supply. He had no idea what to do. He went to bed and slept, the sleep of exhaustion and failure. When he awoke he realised he'd been visited in his dreams by an angle, a completely new angle on the problem. He thought about it, thought it through from beginning to end and knew it was the answer. He gave thanks for the angle having visited him and began work. He needed the tubes found inside tyres. No one could afford to drive cars any more. Every car in town quickly had its wheels off and the tubes removed. The tubes were all tied together into a long rubber band. By his calculations there were enough tubes to make three, so, he did. Then he erected very solid posts and tied the rubber bands on. He had a winch for each of the rubber bands made and anchored them to the ground very securely. It took six days to draw the rubber bands back to breaking point with the winches.

There was a search for the largest, most robust umbrellas in Juniper Berry.

A new lottery was conducted and, it was a huge shock. How did her name get into the hat? Mrs. Cloudnaught and Mr. Worrysome had been chosen. The women were upset. She had rights! She was very brave when she said women also had responsibilities.

Mr. Brightboy said it would probably be better if they were bald so as to prevent friction. Mrs. Thicklewickledoo went home for razors. When she returned she gave one razor to Mr. Brightboy and proceeded to shave Mr. Worrysome herself. She particularly enjoyed shaving his balls and lost count of the orgasms she induced. Mrs. Cloudnaught enthusiastically encouraged Mr. Brightboy with his task. She enjoyed having the razor go over her breasts. Though there was no hair there she had insisted. It wasn't nearly as enjoyable as having her pussy shaved. She showed him how to do it with his fingers touching in all the sensitive places. A part of an excellent shave, she told him, is to lick and suck the denuded skin to discover whether the shave was close enough. She had so many orgasms while everyone stood around and watched in envy. By the time the shaving was done Mrs. Cloudnaught and Mr. Worrysome were exhausted. Fortunately there was no useful cloud in their vicinity.

Next day everyone in Juniper Berry assembled around the launch pad. There were plenty of clouds, all looking fluffy with some blackened lower margins. Mrs. Whipplewhopplewooster demanded to know what the plan was.

Mr. Brightboy began to explain. The third slingshot was to shoot a bottle of carbon dioxide into the cloud. There the water in the glass vial should freeze and the ice will expand and burst the vial. Then the carbon dioxide will escape. It will attach itself to the ice in the clouds and make it heavier which will make it more susceptible to falling as rain. Mrs. Cloudnaught and Mr. Worrysome will go up with cymbals from the drum kit in the community hall. When they bash the cymbals together it will make a lot of noise and vibration will cause the icicles to turn so they will have their pointy ends facing down. That should make them fall.

There were murmurs of dissatisfaction with the explanation. Then someone asked how Mrs. Cloudnaught and Mr. Worrysome would get down. The explanation was efficient in its brevity.

"Gravity." There were intakes of breath.

"That may be a little rapid, don't you think?" someone asked.

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Brightboy, "I almost forgot the umbrellas. Thank you for reminding me."

Mr. Worrisome was very worried. He began to vomit. Very quickly he was in no condition to be a projectile. Perhaps, due to his corpulence, it was just as well. Mrs. Cloudnaught prevailed upon Mr. Brightboy to do the honours. She quickly had a razor in hand and shaved him from head to toe. There was no time for anything else. As she did the shaving he told General Glassjaw how to operate the catapults. When the shaving was done they went to stand in their places with cymbals in hand and umbrellas tied to their backs.

General Glassjaw unleashed the carbon dioxide. They waited a few seconds as they watched the canister disappear into the atmosphere. Then the other two catapults were unleashed together and Mrs. Cloudnaught and Mr. Brightboy were hurled towards the heavens. It was very breezy as they hurtled through the air. Extremely cold, they both shivered in their trajectories as they travelled higher and higher. Neither of them dared to look down. There was a whistling sound as though to emphasize the loneliness. They clutched the cymbals to them with fingers so frozen they were incapable of letting them go.

The sunshine was brittle as they traveled through pockets of it that lit the world with sparkles. Neither dared to close their eyes, worried they'd be welded shut with ice. They felt the abrasion as they passed through areas of icicles and continued on into the cloud where they slowed. Still they were moving upwards and as they moved towards the middle of the cloud it seemed to open. They were both looking as they saw a huge chair come into view. In it sat a very ancient man and he was looking back at them. They studied each for some time before the old man spoke.

"And who, may I ask, do we have here?" Mrs. Cloudnaught was quick.

"May I suggest l could ask the same question."

"Oh, yes, I guess you could. Peter's the name. I'm here to make a collection. Where's that bloody list. One soul from..." and he paused, holding his hand out, waiting for the list. They watched as a little thing with gossamer wings flew around with a piece of paper.

"Yes, I'm too bloody old for this job. I keep waiting for the boss to relieve me of the work. I'm told they are waiting for Trump but I'm not sure what that's about. Something about fences I dare say."

They watched as he fumbled with the paper.

"Ah, yes. Here it is. The Mayor. Mm. Sleepy Hollow. Mm. He's been a very naughty boy. Not the worst but very naughty."

"Who are the worst?" Mrs. Cloudnaught dared to ask.

"The worst? Mm. Of course, they're one bombers, abusive trolls, plagiarists, you know the sort. They don't get treated well here."

"What happens to them?" Mrs. Cloudnaught asked very carefully.

"See that gate? Everyone, but you, apparently, has to pass through that. See the rounded objects hanging from the wrought iron? One bombers, abusive trolls and plagiarists leave their testicles there. They do look a little like pearls, don't they?"

"Gosh," Mrs. Cloudnaught gasped, "Then what happens to them."

"Oh, they repent. Every day they repent. He looked out of a window and there were a great many things hanging in the air. Mr. Brightboy looked more carefully and saw they were people hanging upside down from balloons. "One bombers, abusive trolls and plagiarists. We don't want to contaminate the furnaces. We're not sure what to do with them." There was silence as Peter looked with obvious disgust at the causes of his dilemma. Then he was distracted by a movement to his left. A pixie was sweeping in the corner of the room. "You know, I wouldn't cope without my little pixies. They're so very good to me." He smiled a moment and they relaxed a little.