Down the Symol Hole I Go!
I walked into the heart of Meridell and made my way over to the hole in the ground. “Mr. Symol? Are you down there?” I called pleasantly. No reply. “Hmmm... maybe he can’t hear me.” I stuck my head at the mouth of the hole. “MR. SYMOL! CAN YOU HEAR ME?” I waited and still no reply.
It was time to call in the reinforcements. Otherwise known as Plan B. “Plooshy,” I called. “Bring Patchwork over here please.” My plushie Draik Plooshy, trailed by his plushie angelpuss Patchwork, walked over to me.
“What is it, Lisha?” Plooshy sighed. “Patchwork was finally starting to get the hang of doing loops.” He looked pointedly up at the bright blue sky where other winged neopets were playing with their petpets. “We were going to challenge Tira to a contest, weren’t we, Plooshy?” The angelpuss mewed.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your playtime, but I really need to write this article for Symol Day. However, he is not answering. So could you send Patchwork down to retrieve him? You can think of it like training.”
“Have you tried going down yourself yet,” Plooshy asked innocently.
“Haha, Plooshy. Very funny. We both know that I’m too big to fit. Patchwork is the only one small enough to fit down that hole. Please, Patchwork? Do if for an article for the Neopian Times?”
Patchwork mewed again and jumped down the hole. Plooshy and I waited nervously above especially when we started hearing crashes coming from down below. After about ten minutes Patchwork emerged, her wings straining to bring up the symol that she had dangling from her paws.
“Put me down,” said the symol as it wiggled around in Patchwork’s grip. The angelpuss dropped the symol at my feet and retreated to Plooshy.
“Hello,” I said, “I’m doing an article for the Neopian Times for Symol Day and I’d like to interview you.”
“Well, you should have said so,” huffed the symol. “That little devilpuss just came down into my home and dragged me out.”
Patchwork had turned red with indignation with being called a devilpuss, but quickly paled when I turned my gaze on her. “Patchwork, you should have just told Mr. Symol all we wanted to do was talk.”
“Excuse me, young’ in,” said the symol. “I am not a Mr. Symol; I’m a Mrs. Mrs. Polly Symol.”
My cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Symol. It’s just that your voice-”
“I know my voice is a bit deep; all symols’ are. Why don’t you come on down for my interview? I had a pot of tea on the stove before this whippersnapper came busting down the hole.”
“I would love to,” I said. “But I don’t think I’m going to fit down your hole- I’m much too big.”
“That’s not a problem, dearie,” said Mrs. Symol. “I’ll just let you in through my secret entrance.” The symol waddled over to the tree that was next to her hole and yanked on one of the lower branches. To my astonishment, a much larger hole opened up next to the small one.
My mouth was hanging open. “How in Neopia did you do that? How come no one has found that entrance before?”
“Well, the only reason that nobody else has found it is because only a symol can activate it. Now are you coming or not?”
I nodded and stepped up to the hole. I looked down and saw nothing but darkness. Willing myself, I jumped, and found myself sliding down a darkened tunnel. After about twenty seconds, I landed with an oomph in a small circular room. “Well, don’t just sit in the landing area,” called Mrs. Symol. “Come on in.”
I saw a doorway and crawled over to it (the tunnel was too small for me to stand up). Once inside I looked around at the cozy little home of Mrs. Polly Symol.
It was a large circular shaped room. In the middle was a large stove that filled the room with heat. A tiny bed was set up in the far corner. There was a table with two wooden chairs. Round the stove were several large squishy looking beanbags. Pictures of symols hung on the walls and knickknacks were lined up on shelves around the perimeter of the room.
Mrs. Symol came bustling over with a tray of tea and cakes. Setting it on the floor in front she settled herself into one of the beanbags. Mimicking her, I made myself comfortable and took the offered cup of tea. Mrs. Symol nibbled on a cake as I got out my trusty notebook and pen.
“Now, Mrs. Symol, tell me a bit about yourself. How did you end up in Meridell?”
“Well, as a young symol I grew up right here in this very hole with my family. But being very adventurous I left my home when I was twenty years old to explore Neopia. I wanted to visit every land. I never actually finished, especially since new ones seem to keep popping up, but I did get to quite a few. Terror Mountain was much too cold for my liking, so I did not stay long. The Haunted Woods were too creepy, what with the Esophagor moaning all day for more food. When I reached Mystery Island, however, it was like a dream come true.” She sighed in remembrance.
“Could you tell us what fascinated you about the island?”
“The food there was amazing. And it was always warm- I loved that. I would spend all day on the beach soaking up sun. And then I met him. Sam Symol. My, he was the most handsome symol I had ever seen. After introducing myself I found out that he had left his home in Darigan to do some exploring of his own. It was love at first sight.
I took him back to my home and my parents loved him too. We were married soon after that. Then we continued our tour of Neopia together. That was when disaster struck. If you have ever read a symol’s description you’ll know that it says Symols have a habit of burrowing into places they shouldn’t be! Well, we were in Tyrannia learning about its history and afterwards Sam thought it would be fun to see if we could find the crack that separated it from Terror Mountain.”
“What happened next,” I urged.
“We found the crack. Sam started burrowing. And before we knew it, the land that Sam had been standing on broke away from the rest and he-” Mrs. Symol loudly blew her nose into a handkerchief I pulled out of my bag. “Sam fell. We never heard from him again. I was heartbroken. I went back to Meridell where we held a lovely funeral service, but there was nothing to bury. It was terrible.”
I got off my beanbag and scooped Polly into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” I said.
“It’s all right,” she sniffed. “It was a very long time ago.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, at first I was so depressed I just moped around the house. But I realized that Sam would not want me to be wasting my life- after all we still had not finished our trip. So I packed my bag and set off for the last world we had yet to visit- Virtupets. After I came back I make scrapbooks of all of our adventures.” She pointed to a shelf that was full of leather bound volumes.
“Very impressive. What do you do now to occupy your time?”
“Ever since TNT came out with the symol avatar I’ve had pesky petpets down my hole at all times of the day. So I protect my stuff, because as you know, there's the symol avatar. And I like keeping my avatar rare.”
“So how often do petpets get a hold of your possessions?”
“Every couple hundred or one gets lucky. Especially when I’m sleeping- but I’m not going to tell you when- definitely don’t need that in an article.”
I laughed. “Certainly a good idea, even though I already have the avatar. Polly, thank you so much for giving me the time to talk to you. Your story will make a lovely article.”
“It should.” She smiled. “And thank you for coming down and listening to me. Good bye, Dearie.”
I gave Polly one last hug and crawled back to the main entrance. Pressing a button that had a green arrow pointing up I felt my feet lift off the ground and found myself standing next to the tree. With a blink of the eye the hole I had fallen through was gone. The hole may no longer be there, but my story sure was. This is __lyra52__ signing out!