To the readers: Feel free to post a reply. I'm making this up as I go, so let me know what you think, so far. I'm adding a few sentences at a time. Thank you kindly.



Once there was a quiet fellow named Floopspin. He was very quiet indeed. But in a good way. And, not so good, also. You see, Floop (for short) was only quiet because he could never find the right words at the right moment. He seemed to find the right words only long after the laughter or any sarcasm or what have you had ended and had already dissipated to the point of causing him utter embarrassment because of his constant non-replies or absentee rebuttals. Floop heartfeltedly yearned to vocalize his opinions or quips or any other words of brilliance that he could think of at the most perfect moments- yet, for any fraction of immaculate timing on his part was completely nonexistent, to the point of detrimental fault (he had never voiced these feelings about himself to others) much to his excruciatingly torturous dismay. Obviously, this was a major concern for Floop, for it propagated a certain level of disappointment in his life. At work, as a Pastry-oosler, which could be described as only most tedious, and very detailed-oriented, but, also very satisfactorily rewarding employment, as well; for he was considered one of the best at what he did. Diligence was his golden key, any obvious faults concerning communication, notwithstanding. Walking on his way to work one day, he passed by a shop, that for years, had never noticed was there. Floop, did a double-take at the name painted on the window, scratched his head, and wondered out loud why he had never noticed this shop before. The amount of dust around the window- and also covering it itself- the vivid paint colors that were fading, the edges of the bold letters, starting to peel, gave every impression that this particular establishment had been there for years. The business name shamelessly read- Dysentary Illusionist Remover (and Occasional Provider, although, under only the most extreme circumstances)- this portion was in smaller print at the bottom. Curious, Floop (never late for in the fifteen years he had worked at the same locale) looked at his watch, then strained to see though the window, with both hands cupped about his face, squinting in earnest, breath foggin' up the window, which was unfortunately blacked out to the point of nontransparency. Unconsciously, Floop opened the door and walked inside. The door "chime" made the worst sounding, high-pitched screeching noise that Floop had ever heard. But, the volume of it was just at the right enough level that Floop easily conceded the notion of covering his ears. The room was a tad too dark. Boxes of all kinds of shapes and sizes and colors and all sorts of almost unrecognizable stuff were strewn about everywhere- walking room inside was almost nonexistant. Floop's focus became even more discernable as the details of this uncanny and eklectic shop sharpened. Sixty watt light bulbs were hanging down about ten feet from each other- though only about half of them actually worked- at uneven lengths from the ceiling. A highly unusual choice of lighting for any business on such an expensive block. A strange looking lamp, with what looked like antlers, protruded most conspicuously from one of the taller boxes. The markings on the many various boxes were labeled, "This-and-that, knick-knacks, thingamabobs, and doohickeys". (And the occasional smaller boxes of- "Almost forgetable Whatchamacallits"). "Well, Hello, there Young Man," A semi-hoarse voice called out from the back. The room was a little too dusty, and Floop, having ultra-sensitive olfactory senses, sneezed with voracity. "HA-CHOO!". Floops eyes began watering heavily, but his intuitive senses, never before exercised quite to this extent, were too interested in this particular scene to leave. "HA-CHOO!". Floop reached into the inside breast pocket of his all-weather jacket, pulled out his hankerchief, and blew into it, loudly. "Oh, Dear," The elderly, yet spry voice, now closening to Floop, sympathized. Floop coughed in agreeance to the new voice's intent; possibly reiterating his unconscious purpose for being there. Taking a long and good look at Floop's unconfident posturing and demeanor, the almost-diminuative figure cheerfully bellowed out in an ever-concisive manner, "I have just the thing for you!". The store worker began digging in a few different boxes, tossing about several unbreakables with reckless abandon, until finally landing upon something- Yes, a bright and shiny little flask. "What..." Floop, discontinued himself, as was his normal fashion, or mode of conversation. Of course, Floop didn't say it too loud, no, no, that would require a conversation, see? And at this point, there is no need to rehash the verbal inadequecies of our socially "short-changed" character of this story. As if on perfect cue, the store worker opened the flask, smelled of its contents carefully, and instantly changed his expression to be interpreted of that was the uttermost rank of foulness, or rather, the foulest upon foulness of odours; but, instead, uncharacteristically exclaimed, while bearing the tiny glimpses of his glistening ivory's, "Perfection! My Boy! Perfection, indeed!". The odd little man, dressed in a pristine mint conditioned red tuxedo-top, tails included in the back, and black trousers, handed Floop the tiny flask to smell for himself. Floop stared impassively at the flask, then the old man, then back at the flask.

This post has been edited by SheKnows: Mar 16 2007, 05:16 AM

Interesting style of writing... I'm intriged... please post more!

Neil (UK)

Oddly enough, this story sounds like the movie, Mr. Magoriums Wonder Emporium.

This is what we call extreme thread digging.

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