There once was a great big, green field, ripe with candy canes and daffodils and violets and strawberries. There were mounds of sugar all over the place, free for the taking, and this sugar could not cause diabetes or cavities, for those things were unformed. The sun was always visible (except at night, but then there was always a full moon and lots of stars) and it never got above 75 degrees unless someone specifically requested it.
The grass was always green and never needed cutting, made perfect by the Blue River’s delta. Weeds lived in harmony with the Blades, the Clovers, and the Crops. Unicorns grazed peacefully in this field alongside billy goats and triceratops. Sometimes even a rainbow would magically appear, even though it never rained in Happy Field. Beneath its wonderfully lit Arc of Every Color, the people and animals of the field would dance and sing songs while bathed in the beautiful aura.
Conflict did not exist in Happy Field, and if you asked a citizen to define the word they would laugh or shrug and genuinely have no idea what you were talking about. There were no problems. No death or disease or depression. Those things did not exist and they never would, for Happy Field is a place for happy things. Plus, the Rules established explicitly prohibited them.
One day, Prince John was recited a poem to his beloved Princess Helen, who blushed through the entire event (not from embarrassment, for embarrassment does not exist in Happy Field). She listened, enraptured by his melodic voice and the sweet iambic heptameter of the verse. After he finished he held her tight and kissed her softly on her lips.
“How I love thee now,” he said, “and forever unto always.”
“Oh I know this, my handsome prince. Never once did I think otherwise.”
At that moment some doves swept down into the scene and sang a gentle song of love and eternal romance. Prince John even swooned. The Arc of Every Color seemed to glow brighter and the two young lovers fell into the bottomless depths of each other’s eyes.
Life was wonderful in Happy Field, and it always would be.
Word Count: 365
The question is how genuine is this yarn? Is it sickly sweet or teeming with sarcasm? Does it gently mock below the surface or is it one big yawn? If conflict doesn't exist, then how can there be a story? Man, this is so completely different from the normal tone of my writings...