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Mr Carrot and Mr Stick were having breakfast in an old transport cafe, discussing the past, the present, and the future over eggs, bacon, beans and mushrooms.
Agreeing that in the past they were both the same, both had started life as a seed, but while the Mr Carrot was forced to grow in the dark, worm filled earth, using all his strength to push the earth aside to make way for growth. Mr Stick was to branch out in to the spring sunshine providing life to budding flowers, leaves and fruits.
The present, well as I just told you was an old transport cafe. Mr stick was wiping his plate with the last of the fried bread and Mr Carrot was finishing his mug of tea, they looked at each other, round at the nicotine coated walls, filled with flatcaps, grease, copies of the daily tabloids, stained with rings remnant of the mugs of steaming tea. “There is more to life than this” Mr Stick exclaimed. “I am going on a journey” “Your right” Mr Carrot replied “I shall too”. Walking out into the frosty early morning they looked at each other again and nodded a parting gesture “ till we meet again” .
Mr Stick went across the road and to the train station, catching a ride by hopping into a blue holdall filled with a bunch of other other sticks attached to a human with a big blue hat. He tried to make conversation but the other sticks were silent so he went to sleep. Mr carrot turned left. Mr Stick found himself woken from a deep sleep suddenly, when the blue holdall he was in dropped to the floor..., Strange voices foreign to his ears echoed around the holdall, he hid in the corner avoiding the rubber hands rummaging around inside . The next time he saw the light of day was when hands came in again, this time not so rubbery and extracted the rest of the contents of the bag, peering over the top leaning on the zip, Mr stick watched.
The owner of the hands , the master of the holdall, ‘Blue Hat’ proceeded to set fire to the other sticks (“which is probably why they are mute “ he thought to himself ) and was spinning them in the air, then after contorting himself into a variety of sailors knots he spun himself through the air landing in a handstand. Mr Stick observed people watching Blue Hat with astonishment and laughter then praising him with hundreds of coins and smiles. The holdall, full again, was swung from Blue Hats hand. This time he had to be careful to avoid being snapped by the bag of coins or being overcome by the fumes of the other sticks...
His journey continued being taken from place to place always watching, leaning carefully on the zipper. He only came out at night when Blue Hat was sleeping. Then he would get up, stretch and bend, he got good after time, in fact very good. He was able to tie himself in knots more intricate than Blue Hat and hop and flip from head to toe, he had contemplated setting himself alight, but he didn’t know where to get the protective clothing the other sticks had, besides he had no desire to be mute or smell like a petrol station.
One sunny day Mr stick, watching once again, leaning on the zipper, hopped out of the bag, executed a twisting double forward flip then slithered on the ground like a snake into the centre of the crowd, stood up and took a bow. The people went wild,,,!!! Blue Hat tried to grab him but Mr Stick was too fast and skipped around him. The crowd, watching the improvised slapstick routine materialise infront of their eyes. went nuts,,,!!! No one could catch Mr stick as he sprung through the crowd and down the street.
Lying down inconspicuously in the shade of a tree Mr Stick contemplated his future which he decided was to be travelling around, hitching rides where he could , performing his intricate twists and flips entertaining people everywhere... The word began to spread about the circus stick, people saw him all over the world, but while many viewed him and many chased this elusive phenomena he was never caught ( oh a couple of times by dogs, but Mr Stick even managed to elude them)
Mr Carrot on the other hand had a different journey... Taking a left out of the cafe and down a side streets He stopped off to have a conversation with some old timers..soft skinned vegetables all lying cramped in a card board box.
When suddenly a large pair of gloved hands threw him in with the others picked them up and dumped in the back of a truck.. “ere we go, off to the farm it’s the end of our days” one old timer wept. Mr carrot wasn’t sure what he meant, but knew it wasn’t to be the end of his days, crikey he’d just started his journey. It was a long and bumpy road to the farm where they were lifted up and dumped into a trough. Rotten odours,,, smells of death and decay filled Mr Carrots world.
Then the faces, large lashed eyes hiding behind long snouts , salivating tongues and giant teeth, accompanied grunts and brays as the trough was suddenly filled with hair. teeth, nostrils, tongues all masticating, munching, chewing, chomping, consuming. Fearing for his life he dug himself further into the vegetable genocide, finally he was alone. A taught, bright, young, orange carrot determined to survive, then the faces came in again....
“What do you think you are doing I am only young, I have a future, haven't you eaten your fill already?” He cried “Wow, whadya know a talking carrot” a donkey brayed Then they all brayed, stamped there hoofs and made such a fuss (apart from Mr Carrot as he didn’t know how to bray). He jumped out of the trough danced a jig flicked the gate open with his tops and led the donkeys out into the countryside yonder.
Settling in the mountains by a lake Mr Carrot started conducting the donkeys getting them to bray in different rhythms and notes. The echoes of the donkey orchresta travelled far beyond the mountains, over the rivers and across great seas. This attracted people, loads of people.
Realising people would provide food and shelter and all they had to do was bray, they brayed, brayed and brayed, night and day, day and night. But the work load soon took its toll. The people wanted the donkeys to bray on command which was all of the time. The donkeys couldn’t cope.
The people were coming down on Mr Carrot. He couldn’t cope and was close to a nervous breakdown. Slumped, head in his hands at his desk, burnt out, he tried to see an exit from this 24/7 stress he was in . “The donkeys were losing it, three suicides that month (of course they weren't allowed to be reported)” Getting up to stoke the fire, caught in his own mental multi-story car-park of gloom.

A familiar voice? “Hey Ho, why so glum my friend” “Aha, Mr Stick, how’s your journey been” Mr Carrot replied, seeing his old pal climbing out of the box of kindling and hopping up on to his desk. “Sit down , I’ll tell you about it and lift up your dreary self will you” They sat and talked, they talked about the past which we all now know. They talked about the present which was glum for Mr Carrot and the future looking doomed.
They both agreed that while Mr Carrot was so good at marketing he was stuck in a hole whereas Mr Stick could hop about wherever he wanted, being able to skip and hop away from the peoples whenever he chose. Then they came up with a plan. Mr Carrot would conduct the Donkeys and send them off in packs across the world, to bray out for the peoples once a year at various destinations... The donkeys brayed, the people came, Mr Stick and his stick buddies twirled, juggled, travelled and contorted capturing laughs and coins. The donkeys were content with shorter more condensed braying sessions.
Mr Carrot lay on a beach in sunny Thailand. And everyone lived happily ever after.

Nickolas 2004