Whitewing and the magic banana

Whitewing and the  Magic Banana

One day, Whitewing sat near the lake, looking bored. Earlier that day, she had lost her favorite banana. Whitewing had named it, Beef, because it looked like beef to her. She hated Sol for sitting on it. “I need root beer.” Whitewing stared across the lake, noticing it had suddenly turned into root beer. Then the ghost of Beef, the banana, appeared. “I am a magical banana!” Beef stated. “I shall grant you as many wishes as you want! Or at least until I get bored.” he poofed out of sight, bubbles pouring from where he had floated. Whitewing felt disturbed, and strangely happy. She bent down to the root beer lake, and drank to her heart’s content.  “I should thank Sol for sitting on Beef.” Whitewing thought out loud, shaking the root beer from her pelt. “Let him eat cake.” Suddenly, on the other side of root beer lake, an enormous plate of cake appeared in front of Sol, who had been fishing in the root beer. Whitewing squinted at Sol, to see what he would do. He fainted of pleasure, his hidden dream of twoleg-nest sized cake fulfilled. Whitewing shrugged, and skipped toward camp.
When she arrived, she ran into Birchfall(Literally, ran into him) sitting there looking depressed. “What’s wrong?” She asked. “I want popcorn. No wait, cotton swabs. My tail hurts. Mayonnaise. CHEESECAKE. ” Birchfall was off his nut. Whitewing looked around. The entire clan was stumbling across the camp. “My whiskers need lotion…” she heard Leafpool moan. “The Internet is happy…” Sandstorm grumbled. Come to think of it the whole clan was off its nut. “Feta…Bagel…Forks…” came the from the mouths of the hypnotized clan. Suddenly, Jayfeather stumbled by. “You must be eighteen or older to call.” his sightless eyes looked creepier than ever. Whitewing noticed the crowd of the cats began to form a row, ending with a green-eyed cat with a flame-orange pelt. Squirrelflight strode up to her, stopping a half-whisker away from Whitewing’s face. She paused, then; “BADINK-A-DINK!: Squirrelflight screamed in her face. Whitewing was so startled that she tumbled backward into the bushes. “Badink-a-dink…” the clan chorused. They formed a circle with a dark tabby tom in the center. There Brambleclaw stood, the only cat who actually looked civilized. Whitewing sat up. “Brambleclaw! What’s going on?” she yelled. Drums had started to play in an Indian style. Jayfeather, Lionblaze and Hollyleaf bounded up to Brambleclaw. “Spaaarrkkplug! Jayfeather sang. “Burrito!!!” Lionblaze chanted. Hollyleaf was the last to perform her chant, “Towels keep you dry! Hoo-ha!” Everything stopped. Then Brambleclaw ran around in circles, staring at his tail and yelling “Yogurt!” at it occasionally. Squirrelflight stepped forward. Whitewing noticed she had an Indian headdress on. “You shall all have…Cucumber Melon Chapstick!!!” she announced, followed by the clan’s uproar of applause. “BEEF!” Whitewing had enough. The banana appeared, in a flurry of bubbles. “WHAT?!? Oh, you want me to make all these cats normal again?” he questioned, looking up from the magazine he had brought. “No,” Whitewing yelled over the drums and cats. “I want an Ipod, a Rubik’s cube, and a bowl of ice cream!” Poof. The items appeared in front if her. Beef was gone.  Squirrelflight looked around, her headdress raining feathers. “From now on, I will name all kits.” she announced. “Oh, pants. I forgot the chapstick. Being leader/chief is hard. Brambleclaw, you be the leader, I’ll be the commander.” she commanded. “Now,” Squirrelflight  suddenly switched from an Indian chief, to lounging in a throne, fanned by Brightheart and Daisy. She plucked mice from the fresh-kill pile. Brambleclaw sat there, miserable from the enormous headdress plopped onto his head by Squirrelflight. Whitewing was dancing to her Ipod music, practically scooting along the camp. She swayed by the cats, back to chanting their random words. ”Five dollar foot long…” they meowed. Whitewing danced right into Squirrelflight’s throne, Pushing it off the edge of the cliff. Squirrelflight, realizing what was happening, leapt off the throne. “Ekkp! Peach Cobbler!!! WHO DID THAT!!” she screamed, regaining her footing and sitting up. The startled cats quickly cleared a path, leading right up to Whitewing, still dancing. “YOU!” Squirrelflight yelled at Whitewing. “Will be my heir.” she smiled. “In fact, you can be third in command, deputy of ThunderClan.”  
So, Whitewing ate Coleslaw. And chili. And Pillows. The End.