I wrote this 'story' roughly 4 years ago and surprisingly, it still sort of holds up. It's part of a (never completed) collection called Stories Involving Excessively Personified Objects and Animals for Individuals Who Have Been Children at Some Point in Their Lives but Have Grown up and Consequently Adopted Less Optimistic Outlooks on Life. Maybe I'll get back to it someday.
Once upon a time, there was a dinosaur named Gerald. Well, he was eventually named Gerald. His given name had actually been the slightly more embarrassing ‘Dinosaurious’ on the account of the fact that he had been named after his grandfather who, in his time, had inexplicably been named after his species. The whole thing had been pretty weird.
Like many a child, Gerald had taken great offense to his name in his youth, and regarded it with much displeasure considering that it lead to merciless teasing the likes of which had not been seen since the Pre-Cambrian era. “Dinosaurious, Dinosaurious, eats his food from off the floorious, has a family oh-so-poorious and he is quite the epic bore-ious.” Even thinking back to the taunts made him cringe. Thankfully Gerald only really rhymed with herald, and that was a tough one to work with.
It was a Tuesday, and as always, the schedule called for devouring large amounts of smaller creatures, preferably defenseless ones, and completely ignoring the possibility that a particularly large asteroid could arrive at any moment, eliminating all traces of large reptilian life. It was this second part that Gerald enjoyed the most, not that he was aware that it was what he enjoyed most, but we can assume that to be the case considering to extent to which he disliked the first bit.
You see, Gerald was a Tyrannosaurus, which caused him considerable dismay for a number of reasons. First off all was his general disposition. As you might expect of a Tyrannosaur who chose to call himself ‘Gerald’ over the more common alternatives which included ‘Slicer’, ‘Biter’, ‘Slayer’, ‘Hitler’(no relation) and ‘Buttercup: The Destroyer’, Gerald was not a particularly ferocious beast. This naturally posed a problem because his frankly enormous biological mass required a ludicrous amount of food and he just plain did not like his vegetables. As a result, he found himself feeding on all manner of smaller dinosaurs, doing his best to demonize them to absolve himself from guilt, then subsequently apologizing both for demonizing them and for eating them (which was made all the more difficult as his mouth was full). All this might have been avoided if he could only hold them in his hands for the pre-death speech, but alas he could not, due to his damnably tiny arms.
Now Tyrannosaurs are widely known for their small, useless arms, but Gerald, you see, had it much, much worse. His arms managed to, somehow, measure well below the admittedly low standard. In fact, his arms were almost microscopic in size, giving him the appearance of something more like a gigantic legged snake than a dinosaur. This was yet another valuable piece of ammunition for his childhood antagonists. “Dinosaurious, Dinosaurious, he has some fucking tiny-ass arms,” his classmates used to say. Gerald was still working through the repercussions of that one out with his therapist.
Nevertheless, Gerald managed to lead a relatively fulfilling life, at least, in the sense that an effectively armless, albino (had I neglected to mention that?) pacifist carnivore with obsessive compulsive disorder (that as well?) can live. But today, today was the day that he was going to finally take it up a notch and lead a slightly more fulfilling life by finally tackling his paralyzing fear of the sky (Oh my, I seem to have missed that one too).
After washing his tiny hands for the twelfth time and crying for a good fifteen minutes, Gerald took his first steps out of his cave, in an attempt to kickstart his day. He glanced upwards, slowly, at the ominously large blue sky, and began to shake in fear. After three or four minutes of intense concentration, however, he managed to abandon the idea that the sky -- in its disgusting, malevolent blueness -- was out to not only kill him, but to devour his soul as well. It was at that moment that the sky began to fall. Well, not the sky itself, but rather small meteorites began to fall from it. Each small, space-borne bullet hit Gerald with stinging force, one even landing in his giant, dinner-plate sized eye. Terrified that the sky was in fact out to devour his sole, Gerald immediately bolted back into his cave where he proceeded to cower in a corner and drink himself to death over the course of several days.
I stole that picture at the top from this rube.