Read Me A Story...

Good Morning!

Huh! Stupid alarm clock! Your dreams of sailing down a river of jam on a giant panda are interrupted - as usual - by the braying voice of "Mickey Mickson and his Funky Breakfast Shindig" on Radio 6. As you repeatedly try and fail to smack the top of your clock radio you glance at the red numbers below. It's 7:30. Since you don't have to be out of the house until 8:00, you decide to go back to sleep. With one final swipe you happen to land your fist on the snooze button, roll over and fall asleep again instantly.

You wake up again at noon.

Running for the bus, you pass a shop you'd never noticed before. The sign - which looks surprisingly weathered - reads "Fiona's Fruite Ande Vege" and a withered old lady sits inside knitting.

More than a little curious (not to mention pretty sure you've fired by now anyway) you go inside. The lady smiles sweetly and leaves you to browse her stock.

After finding no sweets, computer games or motorbikes in the shop you decide to leave... but your conscience gets the better of you and, rather than leaving empty handed, you buy the cheapest thing you can find. A tomato, for your lunch... or failing that, to throw at your boss when he gives you the bad news.

As you walk down the street you playfully throw the tomato from hand to hand, for the next half-mile or so at least. It's only when startled by a cat running out in front of you that you accidentally throw the tomato up into the air and fall backwards onto your rear, to the badly-hidden chuckles of the few people to whom you were visible.

The tomato, however, rather than slamming onto the ground and going "squesh" - that's "squesh" - instead drifts slowly towards the pavement and hovers, about a foot from the dirt, as if to make sure that you're alright. As you change from glancing to staring at the floating fruit it suddenly falls the final few inches onto the ground and lies there motionless. Not quite sure whether you just saw what you think you saw, you contemplate your next move.

You decide to take the tomato back to the shop.

Back To The Shop We Go

You retrace your steps, back to the site of the shop. However, when you get to the street where "Fiona's Fruite Ande Vege" was a matter of minutes ago, you're somewhat shocked to discover instead an abandoned hatters, all cobweb-covered and musty.

Perplexed, you sink to the ground and look to the sky for an answer. However, unless the answer you were after was "Drink Rupert's Root Bitter", the sky - and the light aircraft towing a banner across it - aren't terrible forthcoming.

You get to your feet and once more head towards work, now later than ever. A step and a half along your journey you spot the actual location of the shop at which you bought the tomato, realise your geographical mistake, kick yourself (which you instantly regret) and limp over to the door.

The old lady is still inside and seems to have forgotten quite who you are. You introduce yourself and explain your predicament.

"Ah, yes," she coos, "we've had a few complaints about some of our produce being haunted. You need a fruit exorcist."

"A fruit exorcist?" you reply. It's not a job you've ever heard of. You tell her as much, and she smiles innocently.

"I'm a fruit exorcist," she says, "in my spare time. I charge 500 an hour. I don't take Switch or Delta."

You decide to haggle.

Haggling Fruit Exorcism for Dummies

You haggle.

You end up outside on the street, for some reason.

You decide to dash off to work.

Dashing to work

You fall over, land in a pile of dog turd and suffocate.

THE END

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