Button Heist
THEY CRASHED MY TRUCK AND STOLE MY BUTTON!!!
The sun was setting behind Tumwallop and his team, casting bright rays over gloomy cornfields. The hour of the special operation was fast approaching, and they only had one chance to accomplish this sensitive mission. The old gnome grimaced as his team relayed their information to him, updating him on their quarry and plans. The target was a young man who possessed many desirable buttons, and the plan was to steal one of these buttons. They had tried many other times in the past, but he was always protected in some way — either he had given them the right offerings, or he had spoken kind words about them to other humans. This time, they were going to get one of his buttons, for the Weave of Wyrd opened the door for them, and they were going to take it with open hands and greedy hearts. Plus, it was his fault anyway; he hadn’t given them any milk this week and had been making too many anti-gnomish jokes.
A reedy little voice came calling over a radio made from an acorn. It was Tippininny, the eyes and ears of the Gnomish Reich in Folc Irminsul’s hall, and the best gnomish agent in all of Indiana. Tippininny was the one who consumed all of their offerings to the landspirits, and he lived in a little gnome hut that the thoughtful humans had built in the alleyway behind their hall. Tippininny was also the one who stole all of their tools, matches, and keys. “The target’s podcast was pushed back for another week,” he explained with a voice that sounded like a wheedling trumpet. “The target’s gonna drink some mead and hit the road in just a minute. He seems distracted. I’m positioning myself in his truck’s front air conditioning now.”
A lilting, musical voice came from another channel on the acorn radio. It was Nornish, a female gnome who was skilled in reading the Weave of Wyrd and the Threads of Fate. Since she possessed the rare ability of fathoming the tapestry of fate and the doings of humans, she was the one who helped plan all of their heists. She was stationed back at their base — a large hollow in a great oak tree residing in the middle of a cornfield. “The target was gonna head north along the country roads, but since he wants to get home sooner rather than later, he will take the interstate instead. Plan B is a go — I repeat, Plan B is a go!”
The radios clicked off with affirmations that Plan B was a go. From behind Tumwallop, there came a hoarse rambunctious speaker shouting over the rush of cars from the nearby interstate.
“Cap’n, we should get into position!” This was his right-hand gnome, little Finnic, who proudly wore the signature pointed red cap of gnomish legend. Most of their caps were green or white to better blend into the environment, but Finnic was bold and daring in his power red cap.
Tumwallop nodded confidently, wiping his grimace from his bearded, red-cheeked face with a hand calloused from many years of espionage and heisting against foolish humans. “Let’s go, team! Fall out!”
The small team mounted a group of tamed ravens laden with little leather saddles which were fixed to their feathery backs. They took off in a flutter and flew towards the interstate. They landed next to what looked liked a metal box. It was a piece of conduit framing from an industrial furnace that had fallen from a dump truck earlier that week.
Nornish’s frantic voice came over the acorn-radio like a sudden burst of melodic notes. “He’s approaching! Quick!”
The team of gnomes quickly dragged and pushed the metal debris onto the interstate, then they rushed back to the ditch, giggling and laughing like mischievous children. Tumwallop saw a silver GM Sierra come flying around the bend, leading a pack of cars, and going faster than one should in the right-hand lane. The target saw the debris in the road and leaned forward for a better view — he had a split moment to make a decision, and if he swerved, then he would go right over the debris and take out both his tires, most likely flipping his truck and mangling himself in the process. He made that split-second decision and chose correctly, deigning to try and clear the debris, whatever it was.
Now, it was all up to Tippininny. The little gnome was hiding beneath a corduroy Coors Banquet hat that the target had thrown onto his dashboard before he left his kindred’s hall. Tippininny experienced the next few moments as if they were in slow motion. Suddenly, the target drove over the metal box and with a loud BANG! the metal ripped under his truck and took out his steering and wrecked his front right wheel and tire. His truck immediately started to veer towards the shoulder of the highway. The target grimaced and shouted angrily, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” even though he was calmly tugging his steering wheel as far over as possible, fighting against the inevitable. His phone went flying, and the aux jack broke in the port, turning the sound from his Redwall audio book to a local conservative radio station.
The truck flew off the highway and the front bumper slammed into one side of a concrete culvert, then the engine block slammed into the other side. One of his wheels broke off, the back window shattered inwards, and most of his belongings were thrown into his passenger seat. Tippininny was thrown from the dashboard and he rode the corduroy hat to the target’s chest. With one smooth motion, Tippininny cut a brown button from the man’s shirt with a little sgian dubh. The tiny gnome was thrown over the man’s shoulder and out the broken window, and the truck buried itself into the ditch, coming to a screeching, crashing, bone-shaking halt.
The dazed man rolled his window down, clambered deftly out from his wrecked truck, and staggered up the hillside. “ODIN! THOR! BALDUR!” he shouted to the sky with desperate gratitude bursting from his soul, then he turned and looked at his wrecked vehicle. The sounds of the conservative talk show boomed loud over his broken speakers, “Obama’s presidency was remarkable in that…” and the man rushed to turn the radio off and pull his keys from the jammed ignition. His eyes cast themselves further down the highway to where another vehicle had stopped with its lights flashing. He began walking over to the parked car, leaving the scene. He didn’t notice the little gnome leaping from the bed of his truck holding his hat and a button trailing some thread.
The other gnomes came together in the ditch and watched the aftermath of the crash with smiles and joyous faces. The man was now discussing the crash with a cop and some firefighters, and he was taken into an ambulance for a check up. The other humans seemed shocked that he was alright, but the gnomes weren’t surprised. During the theft of his button, they had safeguarded him from harm. The gnomes left the scene of the crash with happy hearts, well-pleased that they had successfully stolen another button from a witless human.
Brilliant, i love this.