Jabbermock

How long have I been searching? I can’t remember all too clearly the moment my father handed me this sword, but I do recall that he neglected to offer me a single clue as to where I could find my manxome foe. “Beware the Jabberwock!” dear father said. I wish I had asked him for this threat's location, for then my search would be far more brief! As it were, this vorpal blade my father bestowed upon me has already taken many a beasts’ life, and though I lack guidance I hope that I shall soon see the Jabberwock's head upon the ground.

Unfortunately, before the Jabberwock comes the Jubjub bird. This bird was a beast far more brawny than I thought; despite being small enough to hide amongst the borogoves, it was sufficiently uffish to prove a threat! I haven’t a single clue why it was described to be a bird, for it lacked wings of the common variety. Instead, it wielded two mighty fist-like and feathered limbs from which you must have derived its name, for each step amongst the slithy toves was accompanied by the squelch of “jub jub jub!”

Unlike I, who struggled with each step to pull my feet from the slith, the Jubjub bird had no difficulty in crossing the distance that separated the two of us. Had I failed to recognize and exploit its lack of higher thoughts, I would not be resting here now to reminisce, for it could crush a son like you or I could crack an egg! Beware the jubjub is what you should have said, for it has been the most dangerous creature on my journey thus far!

Not to take any credit from the Bandersnatch, of course; my father said to shun that frumious creature. Oh father, that was not advice enough, for the Jubjub and the Bandersnatch are opposites in all ways; while the Jubjub is power, the Bandersnatch is guile. The playful bander by which you dubbed it comes out in babbles, and yet it is but a part of the creature's plot! It follows you, speaks to you and puts you at ease. Its sleek and furred pink body seems so innocent for such a devious thing; despite my attempts to shoo it from my person, I found that the little pest constantly seeked to deprive me of what little food I had. It only failed because I kept my pouch close to my person, and lit a fire each night, both methods being learned through trial.

It was only when it tried to steal my sword that I discovered the Bandersnatch's shocking strength. Despite its small stature, it is more than capable of snatching any item you possess, and if I were of lesser wisdom I would have fallen victim to its bander as well! What it would have used my sword for, I know not; I know only how I chose to use the blade.

These adventures have been taxing on me, and I am thankful to stand now next to a Tumtum tree in blessed rest. It is peaceful here, and there is food aplenty amongst the branches. I know this kind of tree well; its fruit glows golden in the dark, and tastes of anything you can imagine. It is the perfect place to recuperate, and I would like to build a home next to such a tree one day. Alas, today is not that day, and I fear my quest may prove fruitless. Am I to fail when I have come so far? Shall I never find the Jabberwock?

“Worry not small child,” I hear. It’s the voice of my father, and what a relief it is to hear him! But he cannot possibly be here. I left home on my own long ago, knowing his frail bones could not follow.

My hand drifts to the bronze hilt of my silver sword, the sliver of a blade serving as comfort as I stand to look out into utterly complete darkness.

“Worry not my dear,” my father says; he never calls me dear, and I understand why he calls me that now. This speaker is not my father. Instead of one uncovered blue iris, I see two points of flame in the dark. This is the Jabberwock, more powerful than the Jubjub and more clever than the Bandersnatch!

This is the manxome foe I have searched for! Perhaps I shall leave this place with one less eye like my father before me. Or perhaps I shall leave this place with another head!

I draw my blade and darkness coils away in fright. I see the Jabberwock plain and true. It’s long and serpentine body drags across the ground its eyes of flame try to pierce my soul. All my life, my father trained me in a single, deadly maneuver, with the promise of victory behind its execution. My body begins the motions without my command. It is time.

The beast comes whiffling through the tulgey wood, and it burbled as it came, “I saw you once some time ago, and yet you aren’t the same!”

I ignore its jabber, and plant my feet upon the ground. Thus begins the footwork, the base of all that’s vital in the strike. The Tumtum tree’s fruits glow above; I fancy the lights of my father’s cabin shine upon me, and that my father watches from afar.

One! A foot planted before me, a wall into which the Jabberwock shall crash. Two! A foot planted behind me, for all that’s good which backs my efforts.

The Jabberwock’s claws dig into the ground in its approach. It is nearly upon me. Its eyes do not merely look like fire; I can feel their malice and rage. Its jaw hangs open, and spittle flies as the beast taunts me with my father’s voice. I shall silence that jabber mock today, no matter what I must lose to do so!

I twist my blade, and the dim light of fruits reflects. Its pure silver strikes rage and malice true, and the Jabberwock’s eyes of flame burn out for a brief moment. It is enough. One! I grip the hilt with both hands, and swing with all my might as the Jabberwock exposes its neck in its throes of pain. Two! Metal strikes scale, and I feel the blade sink deep. Claws strike ethereal walls, and the might of light holds open the jaws that bite as my vorpal sword glows bright; through and through my strike is true, and with a snicker-snack the Jabberwock goes slack!

A moment tense and still. Is it done?

It is, and the realization fully dawns on me as I complete the maneuver and clean my blade. I have slain the Jabberwock. The Maneuver of Light is mine now, for this magnificent feat signals mastery. I lift up the beast's head, and begin the trek home to my father. I’m certain one day when he looks upon the head of the Jabberwock on his mantle, the old man’ll have a poem to write about it.