Or, technically, part 15.
Since Hyperion was really slagging at posting my new addition (I think it's part of the downward spiral of him succumbing to drug addiction) and because he told me that I'm his favorite and that may have gone to my head a bit, I'm breaking tradition here.
That's right, I'm posting my addition to the story under my name. I'm such a rebel.
Not that it's all that big a deal. Has anyone seriously tried to guess who wrote what out of the first 14 parts of the story? I'll make it easy... I wrote them all. Me, Kapgar the Magnificent. Yep. I'm responsible for all of it. Commence stoning.
Okay, enough with the B.S. I'm not that damned creative.
Here's part 15...
Tigger soon left his mother behind as he contemplated how best to get to the airport to catch a flight to Montreal.
He had heard of this mythical place before, but had never been there. At his age, it was understandable to not even know what country it was in. But Tigger was no ordinary kid-o. He knew exactly where it was and could roughly calculate just how many miles away it was from where he currently stood. No wonder he never got along all that well with the other kids his age.
Without even realizing he was doing it, Tigger jumped in the closest mode of transportation he could find... a Vespa.
Without even realizing he knew how to, Tigger had the Vespa hotwired and purring like one of his mom's co-workers in mere seconds.
And off he went.
The trip was long and not exactly smooth, but he quickly found himself at the departure gate of the local airport. He walked in and checked out the departure board. There was a flight leaving for Montreal in only 30 minutes!
He reached into his pocket only to discover he had no wallet and no cash.
He snuck through security and made his way to the gate to see if there was any hope of him getting on the plane.
Eureka! A large group of school children were waiting for their flight! It looked like they were band geeks. No problem, Tigger muttered under his breath. As soon as the kids began to board he simply slipped in line with them and pointed up to the teacher leading the group when ticket takers asked for his boarding pass. He slipped through the group and onto the plane before anyone even realized that he was a stowaway.
In 45 minutes time, he was buckled securely into his seat, watching the in-flight movie, and snacking on pretzels and Sprite when he looked out through the window on his right.
To his horror, in the occasional flash of lightning that ripped through the darkness, he could see the silhouettes of hundreds of little men -- no larger than six inches tall -- all over the wing, crawling in the flaps, tearing out wires, throwing shrapnel in the engine.
What could Tigger do? He looked for a flight attendant, but no one was nearby and the people in the seats immediately around him were fast asleep.
He looked out the window again and one of the little people crawled his way. The creature, which looked suspiciously like an even smaller version of his now-dead brother Warrick, looked back at him through the window and began to mouth out a message to Tigger...
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