The Adventures of Prince Preston

Our hero, Preston has just woke up. Deciding he is hungry, he grabs his keys and heads for White Castle, little expecting anything extraordinary to happen.

“What’s going to happen?” he says tiredly.

Nothing to worry over. Now, get in the car. And off, he went!

“But...”

Off... he... went. There’s a good chap. Down McNiven Street, a left at Broad and in he pulls, eager to begin an adventure!

“I don’t know what you think will happen. I’m just getting a slider and heading back to bed.”

Our hero opens the door. He approaches the counter. And what does he order? A slider! God save the queen, he orders a slider!

“This is getting really annoying,” he replies. But I’m not listening.

“Listen, there’s no way I can sleep with your disembodied yapping all night.”

Really now? I bet you aren’t expecting a trap door to open beneath you.

“Of course, I’m-” he begins but does not finish. For he fell through the very trap door I so wisely warned him of.

“Ouch,” Preston exclaims, rubbing his knee. The fall had took a heavy toll on his morale. He begins to question if his life is worth living.

“Oh, come, on. I’m not that bad off,” I hear him lie. Tears sprinkle his young eyes.

“It’s the pain for Christ sake, the pain!”

What’s that? A light shines ahead. Preston supports himself with the wall to move closer. Perhaps they might help him.

“Is anyone there?” he asks. No one replies. The light grows fainter. Preston runs after it, his heart pounding faster than his feet.

“Stop!” he yells. It stops, miraculously. Oh, the power of our hero! I marvel at it.

“Shh,” whispers Preston. “I need some quiet.”

But, why? I need to tell the audience what lies ahead. There could be a mighty dragon or a clever mouse on the piano!

“Okay, okay, just say it quietly.”

Preston inches forward, I narrate in the softest of tones. He turns the corner, entering an antechamber. A warm light envelops him. Could it be? Yes, it could! A clever mouse is playing the piano!

“But, why?” asks Preston.

It’s your adventure, young lad. I can’t go telling them everything.

He rolls his eyes at me, which he thinks is somewhere above him, and begins approaching the mouse who has kept playing the whole while.

“Hello, Mr. Mouse,” he stutters. “Might I ask why you’re down here in a tunnel beneath the White Castle?”

“The White Castle?” the mouse exclaims as he stops playing. “That is but one turret of the White Castle!”

“There’s more?” our hero inquires.

“So, much more. The Burger King sleeps deep within our halls, frozen by the Dairy Queen. Her and Lord McDonald have slowed his mind with special sauce and you alone may save him! What say you?”

A pause. The tension builds.

“I don’t know what the narrator’s trying to say, but sure. Sounds like a trip.”

The mouse steps off his stool. He bows before our hero presenting an offering of cheese.

“Long live, Prince Preston!” The mouse exclaims.