In the heart of the African savannah, nestled along the lazy curves of the Wobblebottom River, lay the bustling community of Happy Hollow—a haven exclusively for hippos who prided themselves on their colossal curves and generous girths. The hippos of Happy Hollow were renowned for their heft; they measured their social status by the magnitude of their bellies and the ripples they created when they belly-flopped into the river.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, settings, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Henry the Hippo’s Hilarious Hiccups
Enter Henry—a hippo who, by all accounts, looked like he had been stretched vertically and squeezed from the sides. While other hippos resembled overinflated balloons, Henry looked more like a zeppelin that had lost some air. His slim physique often led visitors to mistake him for a particularly wrinkly rhinoceros or a hippo who had forgotten to inflate himself that morning.
One sunny day, as the hippos gathered for their daily Muddy Marathon—a competition to see who could wallow the longest without getting up for a snack—Henry approached with a hopeful grin.
“Mind if I join you guys today?” he asked, his voice as light as his frame.
“Sure thing, Henry!” bellowed Harold, the heftiest hippo who needed two spots in the river just to sit comfortably. “Just try not to float away!”
The hippos chuckled good-naturedly. Henry chuckled too, although he secretly wondered if he could tie himself down with a water lily.
As the marathon began, the hippos submerged themselves into the mud, their massive bodies displacing enough water to irrigate a small farm. Henry eased himself in, but instead of sinking gracefully, he skidded across the muddy surface like a bar of soap escaping a wet hand.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed, sliding uncontrollably until he bumped into Greta, who was busy perfecting her mud mask.
“Watch it, Slim!” Greta huffed, wiping mud from her eyes. “I just got this mud to the perfect consistency!”
“Sorry, Greta!” Henry apologized, trying to stop himself by grabbing onto a nearby rock, which promptly dislodged and caused a small avalanche of pebbles to tumble into the river.
Boris, the self-proclaimed “Splash King,” noticed the commotion. “Hey, Henry! If you wanted to make waves, you should’ve asked me for lessons!” he joked, flexing his substantial biceps—or what would be biceps if hippos had visible muscles.
The other hippos laughed, and Henry forced a smile. “Maybe I will, Boris!”
Feeling a bit out of place, Henry decided to try his luck at the Splash-Off, an event where hippos competed to see who could create the biggest splash by belly-flopping into the river. Harold climbed onto the riverbank, his massive frame casting a shadow large enough to eclipse the sun.
“Prepare to be dazzled!” Harold announced, taking a running start—or as much of a run as a hippo can manage. He leaped—or rather, heaved himself—into the air and descended like a meteor. The resulting splash was so enormous that nearby flamingos were knocked off their feet, and a passing crocodile found himself suddenly doing a backstroke.
“Top that, if you can!” Harold roared, water streaming from every fold.
Henry took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes nothing!” He sprinted toward the riverbank, his legs moving like pistons. He leaped into the air, aiming for grace but achieving something closer to a confused frog mid-jump. He hit the water with a modest plop, creating a splash that could generously be described as a ripple.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of a cricket that had somehow gotten lost and ended up in the savannah.
“Well, that was… adorable,” Greta offered, trying to be supportive.
“Adorably tiny!” Boris added, snickering.
Feeling his cheeks burn—or maybe that was just the sunblock he forgot to apply—Henry waded out of the water. He decided to take a walk to clear his mind, heading toward the Whispering Woods, where the trees supposedly told secrets if you listened closely (though mostly they just rustled in the wind).
As he ambled along, he came across Gerald the giraffe, who was munching leaves from the top of an acacia tree like it was a salad bar.
“Hey there, Henry!” Gerald called down, his neck stretching into the stratosphere. “What’s got you looking lower than an ostrich’s self-esteem?”
Henry sighed. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just feeling a bit… out of place.”
Gerald lowered his neck so his head was level with Henry’s. “Out of place? In Happy Hollow? But it’s the happiest place this side of the river!”
“Yeah, if you’re the size of a small mountain,” Henry mumbled.
Gerald chuckled. “Well, look at me! I’m taller than most trees. Do you know how many times I’ve hit my head on low-flying birds? Just the other day, I got into an argument with a vulture who accused me of blocking his flight path!”
Henry couldn’t help but smile. “I guess we all have our quirks.”
“Exactly! And you know what? The world would be a boring place if we were all the same. Imagine if every animal was a giraffe. We’d all have sore necks and nothing would get done at ground level!”
Feeling a bit better, Henry continued his walk. He soon stumbled upon a group of monkeys engaged in a heated debate over the best banana-peeling techniques.
“No, no, no! You have to start from the bottom!” one monkey insisted.
“That’s bananas!” another retorted. “Everyone knows you start from the top!”
“Hey, Henry!” called out Momo, the smallest monkey who had a penchant for mischief. “Care to settle an argument?”
Henry tilted his head. “Sure, but I don’t really eat bananas.”
“Even better! An unbiased opinion!” Momo exclaimed.
After an intense discussion that involved a live demonstration and a brief interlude where a banana peel was used as a makeshift hat, they all agreed to disagree.
“You’re fun, Henry!” Momo said, hanging upside down from a branch. “You should hang out with us more often—figuratively speaking, of course.”
“Thanks, Momo. I had a great time,” Henry replied, genuinely feeling happier.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Henry made his way back to Happy Hollow. The other hippos were settling in for the night, their snores echoing like distant thunder.
“Hey, Henry,” Harold whispered, trying not to wake the others. “Sorry if we were a bit hard on you today.”
“It’s okay,” Henry said softly. “I know I’m different.”
“Different isn’t bad,” Harold said, surprising Henry. “It’s just… different.”
Henry smiled in the darkness. “Thanks, Harold.”
As he drifted off to sleep, Henry thought about Gerald’s words and Momo’s friendship. Maybe being slim wasn’t so bad after all. At least he didn’t have to worry about getting stuck between two trees like Harold did last week—that had been a logistical nightmare involving six elephants and a lot of butter.
