The+adventures+of+Derek

__The adventures of Derek.__

__Chapter one.__

Derek sat, like a strange shaped rock, on top of a large pole clutching to him a large, glass ball. This ball is what drew Gareth's eyes because of the bright hue of it against the white snow of the mountains. Gareth was so transfixed with the ball which was glittering so spectacularly in the distance that he didn't notice what it was being supported by. He walked slowly forward, drawn to the ball by some unknown force which he was powerless to stop.

Derek was looking out across the vast planes, trying to see past the dust created by animals, searching for something he could eat. Scanning the different bushes, looking for one which held something edible he saw a little man with a messy yellow bunch of hair on top of his sun burnt-red head staring up in his direction with a bemused expression. He cocked his head, confused. He had never attracted normal people before, only lost people ever came up to him, and then they were usually severely disorientated.

On Gareth's part, there was nothing to be worried about, but that was because he had seen nothing else since he had noticed the glowing red ball. He was still walking slowly but surely towards the ball that had become the most important thing to him in a just matter minutes.

Derek was still sitting on top of a large pole, clutching his red ball to him, but as the little man came ever closer he became increasingly irritated. He let out a huff, and shifted his hands around the ball, pulling it up to his chin. It was this covering of the ball that finally made Gareth look away from it and see what exactly he was walking towards. He jumped in shock, weather it was form being so high up, being so near to the edge or from being so close to such a terrifyingly real mythical creature.

__Chapter 2__

It had been a week since the letter had arrived. It had not contained anything specific, as usual, but this time it contained definite pointers that Uncle Gareth had been close to finding what he had spent the last 9 years in some of the hottest and most remote parts of the world looking for. He strolled slowly towards the house, sifting through the letters that he had just picked up from the mailbox. He walked through the open front door, kicking it closed behind him, walking past his weird little sisters all sitting on one chair eating chocolate mouse, past his brother in the dining room reading the Beano and in to the kitchen where his parents where entangled in a chair together. He flopped down loudly in a wooden chair opposite the straining chair which contained his middle aged parents. He sighed and looked away in disgust at his wannabe teenager parents, instead looking at the puke coloured kitchen cabinets, which were plastered with his siblings pathetic attempts at art work which his parents treasured so much. He dropped the letters on the table with a loud bang and stood up swiftly not wanting to have to hear the wet sloppy sounds his parents were making, much preffering to hear his ear shattering music that came pounding out of his stereo at all times of night and day and that could wind up his family to no end.

He stomped up the stairs, not being able to stand much more of his bizzare and twisted family. Despite the thought of having to spend the rest of the holidays with his family in this stupid place that he had been forced to spend the rest of his pathetically tiresome adolescent life in. He opened the door to his room and threw himself down on to his bed face up. The letter from his uncle may had cheered him up but his family had brought him right back down. He glared at the ancient wardrobe his dad had decided was exactly the thing to get a 16 year old friends. He ripped open the back of the envelope grinning at the stationary the thick parchment paper revealed. Ponies, of course. It was a joke between him and his uncle from when Morgan had said that he didn't want to use his older sister's cast offs because they were too girly. Gareth had insisted that only the toughest of men could wear ponies and that to help him get over his anti-pony fetish he would only send him letters on pony stationary. His youngest sisters loved it but he cringed everytime someone outside the family saw it.

The letter itself contained little of interest, but Gareth always wrote more in lemon juice than he did in any kind of visible ink.

Morgan grabbed his lighter from underneath the fake bottom of his top draw and lit it under the letter, reading what was written on the pink paper.