The Singe Rigmarole [ON HOLD]

The Singe Rigmarole

 Prologue

Thrice upon a time, there lived a monkey marquis who lived in an illuminating chateau built out of ribbons, jelly beans and silicon polyester. His name was Eloi Cairo. He wore fine clothes and embroideries crafted by the hands of bouffant haired tailors who periled and worked in the very best boutiques in the land. He did not pay for them, of course, but instead stole them off the jaundiced, bloated corpses that he usually found under the candied cumquat trees in the orchards owned by the royal court. The monkey marquis also helped himself to whatever valuables these beings had and took off.

Although, just so he could make extra profit on the side at the black market, the monkey would use his trusty yet rusty pocket knife to slide into the flesh and rip away the unaffected organs; watching the body fat, the blood clots and creamy, yellowish pus merge into a decadent soup of illness.  What he most favoured were the eyes; for he knew the vision of the dilated pupils could penetrate into the souls of the idiots who bought them. In his spare time, this cheerful monkey would take regular trips into town, gauging on custard tartlets, tomato icecream, liverwurst pasties and starfruit. 

Each month, he would invite most of the kingdom to his banquet where a one-armed jester, acrobats and magicians would entertain the guests. His banquets were known to be of great calibre and titillating joy. At this very event, the monkey would dance a merry jig at exactly 2:33 in the morning with his second and third cousins before dragging them into his master bedroom.

Until one night, one very grand banquet to celebrate the overthrow of the king, a gallant yet very handsome prince arrived, Prince Olivier. He had green eyes like emeralds. However, they were cursed with longing. Approximately 943 days and 30 seconds ago, whilst on a drunken rampage, he accidentally vended his princess and his lacquered dragon-hide boots to his squire in a blackjack game.

 Two days later, realising his mistake, it was too late as his loyal subject had taken his new wife to live in his hometown situated in the cavernous mountains. When the prince travelled there, he found that they had already prospered 8 children; having eaten wood trolls for Monday brunch. So thus, the prince went on living in jealousy and despair for he knew he shouldn’t have gambled away those boots.

Alas, this prince was the son of the overthrown king and he was furious to find that these disrespectful townsfolk were partying because of his family’s powerlessness. Discovering the monkey was responsible, the gallant prince slit the monkey’s cousins’ throats before taking the monkey marquis hostage.

“Where are you taking me?” The monkey hollered into the prince’s ear.

The prince glowered down at this strangely rich monkey with cruel eyes before saying with a malicious grin on his royal face; “To the next kingdom. I heard Catrol vancliechin is a oh so rare yet great delicacy there as much as there are whores on every street corner and how it rains purple jelly in mid-September.”

Eloi Cairo was horrified. He didn’t want to be covered in purple jelly then eaten by street corner whores. He wanted to live and party all night with the rest of the kingdom; not being partially molested by a kinky royal. What a strumpet, the monkey marquis thought.

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