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Listen to this folklore from Newfoundland.
| In Grand
Bank, where the North Atlantic gnaws at the craggy Newfoundland coast,
nestled amidst the salt-kissed shacks and pebbled coves, lived Bubbles,
a lobster of uncommon pluck. Her carapace bore the dreaded V-notch, a mark branding her for an illegal but lucrative fate, the plague of the "V-notched". Some fishermen illegally trapped V-notched lobsters, condemning them to an early demise as lobster rolls and nuggets. Unlike her crimson brethren, content to trundle along the ocean floor, Bubbles dreamt of breaching the surface, of a life beyond the confines of lobster traps. Bubbles, her scarlet shell adorned with a blue "V" drawn with seaweed ink, had become an unlikely champion for the V-notched. She'd tried everything to outsmart Old Man Cribble, the bearded fisherman with a laugh like a rusty chain. She'd built escape hatches in traps (only to find Cribble had nailed them shut), staged lobster conga lines to confuse him (ending up tangled in fishing nets), and even attempted a daring lobster-nado maneuver (though seasickness got the better of her). One crisp December morn, as the aurora borealis shimmered like spilled paint across the sky, Bubbles hatched her most audacious plan yet. Legend spoke of the Old Hag, a mischievous spirit who dwelled in the Devil's Kitchen, a swirling whirlpool off Gull Island. The Hag, so the tales went, could conjure storms and spin illusions. "Desperate times, desperate measures," Bubbles muttered, her antennae twitching with nervous excitement. She hitched a ride on a cod's back, braving the icy current to the Devil's Kitchen. The whirlpool churned like a cauldron, sucking at the very fabric of the sea. Bubbles, heart pounding like a trapped herring, plunged in. There, amidst the roiling foam, she found the Hag, a crone with eyes like driftwood and a voice like the grinding of icebergs. Bubbles, with an eloquence that surprised even herself, pleaded for the Hag's aid. She painted a picture of Cribble's cruelty, the V-notched lobsters yearning for freedom. The Hag, intrigued by the plucky lobster, cackled. "Aye, I can conjure a fog so thick, Cribble'll be sailin' blind as a bat!" she rasped. But, there was a price. Bubbles had to bring her the shiniest pearl in the Grand Bank. Bubbles, knowing every nook and cranny of the seabed, found the pearl, a luminous orb nestled in a giant clam. She returned to the Hag, who, true to her word, wreathed the island in a fog thicker than cod liver oil. Cribble, his boat lost in the milky white, blundered onto the Devil's Kitchen. The whirlpool, amplified by the Hag's magic, sucked Cribble's boat in, spitting it out miles away on the barren Barren Islands. As the fog cleared, Grand Bank erupted in cheers. The V-notched lobsters, emboldened by Bubbles' feat, scuttled out of their traps, a scarlet tide reclaiming the seabed. Bubbles, a heroine draped in seaweed, basked in the admiration of her peers. She'd outwitted the Old Hag, outsmarted a fisherman, and most importantly, saved her friends. That night, under a sky ablaze with stars, Bubbles feasted on a juicy mussel, reminiscing about her adventure. She'd become a legend, a firebrand of rebellion in the lobsterverse. And though Cribble eventually found his way back, never again did he harvest a V-notched lobster in Grand Bank. For Bubbles had shown them all, even the smallest crustacean, with a bit of wit and a dash of magic, could claw their way to freedom. The tale of Bubbles the brave lobster, passed down through generations, became a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest depths, a spark of courage can illuminate the way. And so, in the oceanside village of Grand Bank, where the wind whispers tales of bravery and the aurora paints the sky with dreams, Bubbles the lobster lived on, a scarlet champion in a world painted blue. |
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