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Identity Crisis. Chapter I.

The  Smurfs porn  story:  Identity Crisis. Chapter I.

Smurf smiled as he was softly awakened by the warm rays of daylight filtering through his bedroom window. He yawned and stretched, his mind slowly shaking away the mist of slumber. He rubbed his eyes, turned and sat on the edge of his bed, scratching the sides of his body. A few steps brought him to the shower, which Smurf took long and warm. The morning shower was one of his favourite moments of the day, still half asleep but the warm water running along his blue skin gradually bringing him to full wake.

Once his shower over, Smurf traded his night cap and jammies for his daytime cap and pants. Already he could smell the goods being prepared by Chef Smurf for the breakfast through the open window. His mouth watered as he imagined all the pastries being prepared with fresh smurfberries picked only the day before. Lost in a hungry daze, he left his house and joined the several dozens of other smurfs already in line to receive their breakfast.

He started a casual conversation with Handy Smurf, who was talking about what plans he had for the day. The smurf couldn’t quite understand what the genius was saying, but he enjoyed conversing with him regardless, try to learn a bit of what made Handy special.

“I’m sorry, I tend to babble on and on when I’m talking about my inventions,” Handy apologized with a silly grin after a while. “What are you going to do today?” he asked as he grabbed his pastry.

“Me? Well the sarsaparilla reserves are running low so I’m probably going to be chosen get some more.”

“That’s good,” Handy answered, not really listening as he saw Hefty waiving to him, a seat being free beside him. “Gotta go, see ya Smurf,” he said as he ran towards his friend. Smurf looked at him leave, a bit melancholic. He took a seat where he could and ate slowly, listening to the conversations around him but not involving himself in them. Poet and Painter were talking art, Clumsy was apologising for spraying jelly on Vanity, and Brainy was talking on and on to Grouchy, who just growled under his breath but let him go on. Everyone had someone it seemed. Everyone but him. And he knew exactly why.

As the meal ended, Papa Smurf took the podium to distribute the tasks for the day to those who had none. As expected, he was chosen, along with Smurf and Smurf, to get some more sarsaparilla in the forest. He met with his team mates and left almost immediately, vocally acknowledging Papa Smurf’s warning about Gargamel before they left. A short hike later, the three smurfs had reached a patch of sarsaparilla bushes and proceeded to pick them into their baskets.

Smurf had done the task numerous times before. He knew exactly what leaves gave the best flavor to the meals Chef prepared. But he also knew that it wasn’t why he was chosen to go pick the leaves in the first place.

“It’s because I have no name,” he grumbled.

“Did you say something?” Smurf asked.

“It’s because I have no name!” he yelled, throwing his basket full of leaves to the ground, shocking the other two smurfs.

“What has gotten into you?” one of them asked.

“What is your name?” Smurf replied, daringly.

“Me? You know me! It’s Smurf!”

“And you?” he asked as he turned to the other Smurf.

“I’m Smurf,” the other answered, his voice softer and trying to calm his friend down.

“Well so am I!” he yelled. “We’re all called Smurf! The village has a Handy Smurf, a Hefty Smurf, Painter, Poet, Brainy, Jokey and tons of other smurfs with names. But we don’t have any!” The other two looked at him with caution, unsure of how to respond.

“Don’t you see?” Smurf insisted. “We have no names, no identity. We exist in the village to do the dirty work like get sarsaparilla and wood. We never get asked to do something only we can do, because we’re not unique! We don’t have any unique skills. And that’s why we don’t have any names!”

“Well what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” he said, walking about, unable to remain steady. “I guess picking sarsaparilla leaves like we do isn’t bad. I don’t dislike it, but I’m tired of being just plain old ‘Smurf’. I want a real name.”

His eyes were pleading for his friends to understand what he was saying, why he was angry, and they could but at the same time they were content in their more simple existence and it seemed to him that he was making a big fuss over nothing. But still one of them asked, “Did you talk to Papa Smurf about it?”

“Not yet,” Smurf admitted, his eyes looking down.

“Papa Smurf knows best. If anyone can help you, it’s him.”

Smurf knew that they were right, the leader of the Smurfs did want to help every Smurf in the village, collectively and individually. Even Smurf had to recognise that the leader had well earned his title. He looked to his two friends and promised to go see Papa Smurf as soon as possible.

The reminder of the day was eventless, the smurfs bringing back a hefty load of sarsaparilla leaves back to the village. It wouldn’t be enough to feed the whole village a single meal, but the duty was meant to increase the reserves rather than fill them up. Papa Smurf knew that he would have to assign more smurfs to the task if need be, but for today he was satisfied with what had been gathered.

The supper was uneventful and soon the smurfs were roaming around, finding games to play as the sky turned to dusk and then to night. Somewhere in the alleys, Smurf could hear his friends playing smurfball and usually, he would have joined them. He was pretty good and was usually selected among the firsts when teams were formed. But that night, he had too much on his mind and knew that only the elder smurf could help him with his problem. With the resolve to find an identity in mind, Smurf knocked on Papa Smurf’s door.

“Come in,” he heard the familiar voice say inside.

to be continued…

Author is Bahamut Dragons

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This entry was posted on Saturday, August 22nd, 2009 at 4:02 pm and is filed under Stories, The Smurfs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.