The Briny Plain
It had transformed from a plan of escape into an expedition into the unknown. The wind whipped through the waves like elastic bands as the tiny sloop of Buffalo Jones carved ephemeral signatures through the gargantuan and temperamental sea. Jones, a real bison’s bison, had given up on green fields and running in herds, on giant middle American skies and getting shot at by small monkeys with mustaches. He’d given up on everything that had given him the dreadful sickness of boredom due to routine.
Thanks, in part, to a hunter who’d taken aim at Jones’ right bottom cheek, Jones had run clear across the continent as the tiny bullet raced after him, charging forward like mad in order to wound the right bottom of Jones, but Jones would have none of this. He was fed up!
He’d been determined to out run the persistent bullet and, in turn, shame the mustachioed hunter into giving up his hunt for Buffalo Jones.
Jones had run clear through several nondescript states (Save for one that had a peculiar amount of billboards for somewhere called “Shoney’s”, which, for some reason, used the image of a bear to lure people to their establishment. Something which seemed terribly counter intuitive to Jones, who knew that dinner with a bear only meant one thing. He’d later come to the conclusion that “Shoney’s” was, in fact, run by bears.) and was 5 miles from the ocean before the bullet, in a fit of embarrassing exhaustion, gave up on its light speed chase and turned around to head home.
Buffalo Jones skidded to a stop when he’d reached the beach. He’d never seen such a gigantic mass of water. He had, in fact, believed the plains to be the only geographical feature that existed in this world. How strange to see that grass eventually became sand and sand became water... but what would the water become?
Jones walked along the shore, thinking this over, until coming upon an unoccupied sailing vessel. He looked to the left: no one, then to the right: a mustached man in a Hawaiian shirt napped on a towel about 15 yards ahead... this couldn’t have been his boat. No. This boat was completely abandoned.
Jones was now faced with a choice. He could turn around and go home to the familiar herds, grasses, guns, and Shoney’s, or he could claim this abandoned sloop and see what was waiting for him on the other side of the water.
The mustached man in the Hawaiian shirt screamed after Buffalo Jones as he sailed away in his beautiful new sail boat. It was a new day for the proud bison, who ignored the angry screams of the man. He’d vowed never to look back, only forward from now on. Yes, Buffalo Jones was a real bison’s bison and soon, he would see the world.