Once there was a man. A very little man, he was. Shorter than Aunt Bertha, or even little Ned. Although more plump than a barrel o' ale, if you layed eyes on him you'd probably cry out like a little girl, "My, oh my! What a little man!" From the tips of his toes, and beyond his short nose, reached no more than three feet. This man disliked being so little, as he could not reach the counters at the taverns, or hoist himself onto a barstool if he felt the need for a refreshing drink. Often mistaken for a child who'd lost his way, or some kind of deformed sheep, his life was not one led with great happiness.
One evening, as he was stumbling along a dirt road through DeMule forest he tripped and fell on his face. As he stood up and brushed himself off he heard a tiny voice coming from somewhere about him, saying, "Well, blast yer' large pointed head! Ye' almost squashed me ye' durned fool!" The small man looked about him, confused and wondering if he perhaps had bumped his head a little harder than he had assumed. Get it? Bumped his head 'a little' harder than he had assumed? Ho ho ho! Ha ha ha! Oh, I crack myself up. "Look at me durnit!" the voice squealed, as the little man felt a light stomp on his foot. He looked down to see a tiny pure black mouse, which matched with his tiny voice quite well. "Aren't ye' gonna apologize, then?" The little mouse blinked up at him with little mousey eyes.
The little man felt like laughing. 'What a small creature!' he thought, 'how disturbingly tiny!' He grinned widely at the little mouse, causing it to raise a tiny black eyebrow. "No," the small man answered, crossing his arms and keeping his grin. "You large people make me sick! Always runnin' around thinkin' ye' own DeMule forest!" The mouse scowled at the man. "Me? Large? I'm just a little man. A very little man." He lowered his head, and sighed dramatically, remembering how small he actually was. "Are ye' mocking me?" the little mouse squeaked, glaring at the little man. The little man blinked, taken aback by this comment. "Ofcourse not! Why would you think such a thing?" "Yer' sayin' yer' small an' all, when I'm the one who's tiny as a blueberry!" In truth, the tiny black mouse perhaps wasn't as tiny as a blueberry, but in all due respect, it felt so to him.
The two stood on the dirt path, surrounded by bushes and trees for a few silent moments. Crickets chirped and ferrets danced. All was quiet and peaceful until the little mouse felt the need to yell out the name of his favourite brand of mayonnaise. "Sccchhnneeiiddeerrss!" All fell silent after this declaration of loyalty to mayonnaise. All fell back to the peaceful quiet that forests were meant to be - but not for long. "You scare me," said the little man, staring at the even more little mouse. The mouse just smiled, doing a bit of a jig, similar to that of the ferrets.
Trying to break the awkward silence, the little man spoke up. "So.. what's your name?" Hearing this question, the little mouse stopped his dancing, and rose his little black mousey eyebrow, like before. "Who wants to know?" The little man blinked, staring at the mouse as if he was stupid. "The gnome with three legs, so he can lick you," he answered, rolling his eyes. "Oh, well in dat case," the mouse paused, to fiddle through his fur, looking for something, "Micros Beany McBeanster Beanypants, an' I can smell yer' spicy brains." "What was that last part?" "Nothing." By then he had pulled out a rectangular peice of paper, with writing on it. "Here, have my business card ye' spicy, spicy thang you! Arrrr!" Micros tossed the card at him friskily, causing it to land quite a distance away. A very afraid little man picked up the business card and read it aloud,