Bunches The Bottle Faced Girl (bedtime stories for the child inside) series 2

Bunches The Bottle Faced Girl

Lying comfortably boys and girls ? Then we'll begin.

Bunches wasn't like the other girls in her girl scout troop.
She was smaller than the rest, with the reddest hair tied up in
bunches.
Oh! And she had a bottle for a head.
They called her 'The Bottle Faced Girl', when in fact, it was her
whole head that was a bottle.
This was a mild inconvenience at times, as, she wasn't allowed
out in bad weather.
When it rained, her head would fill up with water, making her
unbalanced, giving her motion sickness. When it was windy, her
head would sound like a pan pipe, whistling, causing people to
complain about the noise.

Her condition was brought about, when her mother fell pregnant
whilst working as a speciality act at a bar in Thailand.
She was renouned for being able to fit an entire case of bottles
inside her 'lady's garden'.
She was also the guest barmaid, where she would put the bottles
inside, then shuffle along the length of the bar, pouring drinks as
she passed the glasses.
When she found out that she was pregnant, she had quit her job
immediately, setting out to return to America, her birthplace.
Nine months later, she was blessed with a tiny baby girl.
The doctors were amazed as they handed her the child.
Straight away, Bunches' mother could see why.
The medical community were baffled.
After hearing her past history, the doctors could only surmise
that, a stray bottle must have entered her uterus, with Bunches
being the result.
She couldn't have loved her more.

So here we are. Present day.
With Bunches standing on the bow of a sailboat, heading out,
towards a deserted island with the rest of her troop.
The other girls loved her, and never treated her with indifference,
but that could not be said for most others in her home town.
Sometimes children would try to toss coins into her head, loudly
making a wish, as though she were a mobile wishing well.
One time, when she had fallen asleep in the park, after a picnic.
She'd awoke, to find a vagrant about to urinate into the top of
her head, thinking it was an empty, discarded bottle.
Her screams soon caused him to zip back up, shouting abuse as
he went.

But, here they were, on a trip to an island very few have visited
before.
Bunches was confined to the cabin, as the wind had started to
pick up, making the noise from her head sound deafening.
She was pleased to be down below though, as the rest of the
girls were slowly filtering in to get out of the storm.
In the cabin, they told dirty jokes, falling about laughing and
giggling, then teased eachother about boys.
Susie Perkins joked with Bunches. 'Well! The closest you've
got to doing it with a boy, was when Tommy Peterson put his
finger in your blow hole by mistake.'
She was refering to Bunches' bottle top of course, but they all
fell about howling with laughter.
The boat rocked wildly as the storm wreaked havoc around
them. They huddled together, trying to reassure one another
that it would soon blow over.
But it didn't.
It grew in intensity, so much so, that they all thought the boat
would capsize.
The troop leader tried her best to convince them all that this
was quite normal for the time of year. But, in her eyes they
saw fear and panic.
All this mattered not, as, at that precise moment all hell broke
loose. There was an almighty bang, as the boat lurched to a
stop. All aboard the vessel were thrown about the cabin, water
started to flood in from all directions.
Inside, the screams turned to gurgles, popping in and out of
earshot as they all tumbled and turned colliding with eachother.
Then, all was silent and black.

Bunches came to, finding herself on a sandy beach, bumped and
bruised.
Above her the Sun shone brightly, casting a prismic rainbow on
the sand as it passed on through her glass head. She looked all
around her, to find that the others were also rising from the sand,
as if waking from a deep sleep, some groggy and confused.
They huddled around together, happy to be alive.
But there was one missing. The troop leader was nowhere to be
seen.
After an hour of searching the entire area, they then came to the
dreadful conclusion that she must be lost at sea.
That was when they heard the drums.
A tall dark haired girl named Gillian, was the first to speak. 'I
thought that this was supposed to be a deserted island.'
A chubby, worried looking girl spoke next. 'It is...But obviously,
not anymore.'
They all looked worried now.
Bunches stepped between the girls, and started up the beach
towards the bank of trees at its edge. 'Well! If there are others on
this island, they may have found miss Brown. We have to take a
look, just in case they've found her and she's ok.'
The others followed after her, all pleading with her to use caution.

After trekking for some time, they arrived at a clearing in the trees.
There, they saw a smallish village. Crude mud huts and large fires
dotted the whole site. Tiny, naked natives moved hurriedly about
their business, unaffected by the cacophony of drum beats.
They all moved together to form a circle around an even larger pile
of wood in the centre of the village.
The drumming stopped.
A commotion had started as something was dragged to the base
of the wood pile.
To the girls horror, they could just make out the struggling torso
of, Miss Brown, their troop leader.
The natives shreiked and hollered the more she protested.
Then, silence once more.
Someone else had entered the affray. The others cowered under
his glare, as he stomped his authority around the newly reformed
circle.
A meek looking man walked behind him, stopping as he did, in
front of the lady.
The Chief looked her up and down. 'Putt Putt want Nut Nut.'
He beat his chest aggressively, clearly surprised and unimpressed
at the bewildered expression on her face.
Again. 'Putt Putt want Nut Nut.'
This time the man behind the chief stepped to her. 'Sorry for the
confusion. What the chief is trying to say is, he likes you and.....
Basically, he wants you.'
The troop leader was taken aback. 'You speak English. But how?'
The man went on. 'A while ago, we had some army chaps run
aground off shore. We took care of them, as one or two fell ill,
and taught them our customs. They, in turn, taught me their own
language. Which is why we are conversing now.'
Now, she was impressed. 'But, you speak so eloquently. Tell me
please. What is it that your chief is saying.'
He laughed. 'Ah! What he is saying exactly is. Putt Putt. That is
his name. Wants Nut Nut. That is his name for you.'
She returned the laughter nervously. 'But, why is his name Putt
Putt ? It sounds too English. And why does he refer to me as Nut
Nut ?' Smiling. 'He now calls himself Putt Putt, as that is what the
soldiers called him, on account of his chronic flatulence, due to a
diet of mainly fruit and berries. Though, he does not know this,
of course. Anyway, he liked the sound of it, so declared to all,
that that was what he would now be known as.'
She asked. 'And Nut Nut ?'
Smile growing. 'Well that's a funny one. You see, as I said, they
were soldiers, and were all rather rowdy with it. They would see
our native women with their breasts exposed, and shout. 'Look
at the scammell wheel nuts on that' commenting on their erect
nipples. That is why he calls you Nut Nut.'
Miss brown glanced down at her shirt. It did indeed look like
she was smuggling Brazil nuts rather than peanuts.
Trying to cover herself, she said. 'I'm afraid you're going to have
to disappoint your chief. When you tell him that he can't have me.'
Shaking his head. 'You must keep him happy. Or, it could be very
bad for you.'
Standing upright, chest out. 'Well! It's just too bad for him.'
She made to walk away, but the chief held her tight.
This was all too much for Bunches and the girls. 'We will have to
rescue her.' They all said in unison.
As they were about to attempt a surprise attack, the wind picked
up, funneling into Bunches' bottle head. The loud noise created by
the combination of the two,echoed throughout the village.
The native peope all turned in the direction of the trees where the
girls hid. Then fled. They all scurried back to their homes, leaving
the troop leader and the meek man standing alone, back to back,
staring wildly about them.
To the man at her rear. 'Why are they hiding ?'
The man told her why, in frightened, hushed tones.
The girls took this moment to make their prescence known to their
leader, seeing it as a prime opportunity for an escape. They waved
their arms frantically for her to see.
She did, and promptly ran towards them.
As they made their departure through the thick trees of the island,
the chubby girl, Sarah, asked the leader why she thought the tribe
had fled.
Running and answering at the same time, she called out. 'It's lucky
really. When the natives heard the sound coming from, what I am
assuming was Bunches' head, they thought that it was the sound
of the war horn that their main rivals use before battle. At least,
that's what the man behind me said. So! Thank you, Bunches.
Your head really did give a lucky wish for me.'
They all laughed and whooped, as they could hear the sound of
the tide lapping at the shore.
'Nearly there. Then home.' The leader said.
As they reached the beachhead, it suddenly dawned on them.
They had no means of which to escape. The sailboat was lost in
the stormy seas from he previous night.
Dispair gripped them. Then Bunches came up with an ingenious
idea.
She felt into her pocket and found that she still had her pencil and
paper that she'd brought, so as to make a treasure map for fun.
'I'll write a note, telling where you all are, and what's happened,
then pop it into my head. Throw me out to sea, and if I make it
back home, at least the authorities will know where you are, to
come and rescue you. Even if I perish.'
The girls pleaded with her, but knew deep down, it was the only
solution.
So! In the water she went, as the others hid.

Two days later, Bunches drifted ashore.
The authorities were informed and stormed the island. The troop
was saved and villagers repremanded severly.
'No means no.' They were told.
Bunches recieved the key to the city, and was forever more, seen
as a modern day heroine.

The moral of the story is, I guess:
We are all different. If we harness all the different qualities each
has to offer. We'll always win in the face of adversity.

All was well. Until...

Benjamin Frower, the demon glass blower, came to town.