We named the tree house Yggdrasil. It was our world.
Our whole world. We would spend thousands of hours every day drawing perfect maps of the area and drinking mind-blowing Slurpees and eviscerating each other in games of Risk. We wanted to be military commanders. We wanted to conquer the Underworld.
The Underworld was what we called the world beneath Yggdrasil. A disgusting place, filled shoulder-to-shoulder with vermin in human shape. It made us throw up our organs to think of having to go down there just to get a Slurpee, let alone to attend the prison-like factory of conformity the Underfolk called “school.” We had to put in our time down there–whole eternities of suffering through family dinners and parent-teacher meetings and other waking nightmares.
Yggdrasil was paradise. More than a fortress of solitude. It was as high and as perfect as the heavens. We would live on the tree’s golden apples and stay forever young. And our strategic minds would grow and grow, until the Underworld would collapse under our sway.
You must understand: we were gods. Looking down on the quivering shit heap that was Earth. A tiny green and blue pea compared to the vast House of Ygg.
When the torturous Progenitors tore us from our home and held us in permanent exile, we revolted. We raged through the Underhouse in our wrath, made the Progenitors suffer worse than we for their errors in judgment. We used our mighty voices and hurled Underhouse items until we broke free of our Progenitors’ cursed hold. They could not keep us aground. We would bring Ragnarok rather than comply.
We were gods. The giants would not stand in our way.
Today’s three random prompt categories were, “A tree house,” “The world,” and “Everything hyperbole.”
I imagine the “we” in this story to be Calvin and Hobbes. Because of course I do.