Adtenatus' Odyssey - Bedsheet Crazy Volume 3

By Quentin Dugand

Climaxpa and her two husbands live comfortably in Velgan city, a lush city-state surrounded by water and exclusively ruled by women during the Bronze Age.

Even though she has it all, something is amiss in her life, and she can't seem to find happiness. It's springtime and she wishes for everyone to get more out of living, to experience lif

• Language: English
• Publisher: DUGAND PUBLISHING
• Release date: Sep 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9782958345761

Book preview

SWAN-SKI TREE SWING

VOLUME THREE

8

ACT ONE

Upon seeing his mom slithering down the bleachers, Prodigy had wanted to show her how skilled he was at swan-skiing and swan-surfing.

Life being a matter of priorities, Climaxpa at once stopped what she was supposed to do—find her husband—to instead spend time with her son, her precious Prodigy.

The duo, Prodigy and Little Bangs, was still glued together, one behind the other, and they were proudly wearing the necklace they had found in the arena. Lassoed around their two necks, the necklace enlaced them even tighter and sparkled in the light, making them impossible not to spot.

To make a long story short, Prodigy and Little Bangs had asked someone they knew to tie the end of a rope securely around one of the highest branches of an overhanging tree—on which Climaxpa now sat comfortably—to create a swan-ski tree swing.

This particular tree seemed to have grown sideways for a long time and slanted a little. The palms of Climaxpa’s hands pressed firmly against the shaking branch as her head bobbed up and down every minute or so—as regular as clockwork—making her hair billow in the light breeze every minute, like a cuckoo in a cuckoo clock. It worried Culino. Each time Climaxpa disappeared, he thought he had lost his wife yet again, only to discover she was back again. It was unnerving. Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he sighed.

Excellent, my young Prodigy—bravo! Climaxpa said.

See how good I am at doing this, Mom? Prodigy said, talking over the noise of the swan, who vehemently flapped her wings so that she could hover in the air and reach the same level as Climaxpa. I think I could become a professional, Prodigy added, his two hands clutching the harness. ‘Pros Dig Me’—that’s my name.

Oh, my son! You’ll have to ask your future wife first for that, his mom said briskly but in an encouraging tone.

Dull, Little Bangs whispered impatiently into his neck.

How does that work? Climaxpa inquired, peering down through her spread legs.

Hang on, Mom. Don’t leave, okay? I’ll show you.

I won’t leave, but I’ll have to go soon, Climaxpa said, chinning up and letting warm rays of sunshine caress her face. I need to meet up with your dad.

"I invented the swan-ski tree swing, Prodigy explained, taking on the versed tone he learned from his mother. It works just like a regular pendulum, Mom. If you use a snow cocoon, which works using two pairs of skis, the skier on the back—my friend here, Little Bangs, he said, poking her forehead with the back of his head, holds the rope tightly with one hand, and holds me—the other swan-skier, he said, beaming and showing all his teeth, with the other. The swan simply spreads her wings wide with a ‘hiss’ when the snow cocoon reaches its highest height and naturally stops beating her wings when she is at the end of her own rope, or rather, hope—too tired to continue, letting the snow cocoon oscillate back. For onlookers in the South Bleachers in front of us, it might well look like a roller coaster rocking back and forth using gravity as its sole source of energy." He finished his speech with a smirk on his face.

We may also patent it as the SnowCocoon Cuckoo Clock Ride. We still don’t know. Our creative process is still at an early stage, Prodigy continued.

The SnowCocoon Cuckoo Clock Ride—it swings you cuckoo! Little Bangs said with a flourish. Nobody’s ever going to forget about your son, madam! Little Bangs concluded.

Climaxpa nodded.

You could be the cuckoo, Little Bangs added, sure of herself.

Yes, Mom, you could be the cuckoo, Prodigy shouted enthusiastically.

And where did you take that rope from? Climaxpa asked suspiciously.

We found it. There were a bunch around the arena. Who cares? Prodigy answered.

"You found it found it?" Climaxpa insisted, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

Yes, we found it, Little Bangs snapped, defending Prodigy, trying to end the argument.

And who tied it?

Her brooo— Prodigy said before Little Bangs stopped him.

Are your folks perching on the North Side? Prodigy’s mom asked.

No, madam, Little Bangs said flatly.

Then how come your ‘brooother’ came all the way here? Climaxpa asked, teasing her, not realizing what she was saying. She was laughing, having her fun. It’s impossible.

We don’t say.

Ah, you don’t say?

No, Mom, they don’t say, Prodigy said.

Interesting!

It’s fascinating, Mom.

I guess not everybody was born with money and can afford a seat in the North Bleachers, Climaxpa finally argued with an involuntary conceited smile. Anyway, nothing ever happened on the South Side.

The swan, tired after such a long conversation, had stopped flapping her wings. She couldn’t hover in the balmy air forever and was now sitting peacefully next to Climaxpa while scratching an itch under her wings.

Her long neck had been moving up and down, her beak following their talks, punctuating it with a few disapproving hisses.

Prodigy and Little Bangs were hanging on the branch with their feet dangling in the void far above the tiny ripples visible in the water below. They had wrapped their arms around the tree branch, hugging it, the snow cocoon compelling them to hold themselves coolly in the light sea breeze. Their four hands clung to the springy branch, and they looked like two merry monkeys. Little Bangs had rolled a few inches of the rope around her forearm to have it handy, and Prodigy did the same with the swan’s harness.

Are you ready, Mom? Prodigy asked, looking up at his mother for approval.

Yes. I didn’t quite see you the first time when you motioned for me to come in, Climaxpa said. Is it safe?

Why did you have to stop in the first place, Prodigy? Little Bangs whispered at his neck, growing very impatient. Does your mom always take this long?

Yes, Mom, all good. You know me, Prodigy said.

Prodigy signaled to Little Bangs that they were about to jump in. Small waves were rolling in far below them.

Dropping in! he shouted, awakening all onlookers nearby. Ready to rock and roll!

Let’s swing! Little Bangs said.

And so they dropped, releasing the branch, which jerked upward a little, and held the rope and tugged down the reluctant swan in their wake.

Down they went, falling in, gathering speed, with their necklace and the snow cocoon glittering in the nearly-midday sunlight beaming down on them. It cast an ominous, earth-shattering shadow on front-row spectators at the water’s edge.

As they were about to crash on the ecstatic spectators, and shortly before plummeting into the water, Little Bangs held the rope firmly, and they speedily traversed the bottom of the pendulum-like half-pipe. Carving smoothly through the air, they maintained their skis above the water, having them just brush past the peak of small foamy waves before soaring up a hundred-foot wall of air.

They were only one-third of their way up the wall when Prodigy, noticing they were losing speed, had to pull down hard on the harness to indicate to the swan—who was hardly keeping pace with the snow cocoon—to flap its wings. Under a cacophony of hisses and beating wing sounds, the snow cocoon somehow went higher.

Then the duo immediately went down, skiing backward, and they readied themselves to repeat the motion