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 forget about it and go to work.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To Work We Go

You keep a tight hold on the tomato all the way to work - not so tight as to crush it, of course, but tight enough to stop it dropping towards the floor again, and all that it may entail. However, as much as you try to dismiss what happened, you can't help feeling that, every so often, the tomato seems to be dragging your hand more than you're hand is carrying the tomato. Again, you try to push it to the back of your mind

Amazed that you haven't been sacked, only given another formal warning, you put the tomato in your desk drawer and get on with the day's paperwork. Working in an office isn't a great job, you reflect, but it gets you out of the house... which, similarly, isn't a great house, but it gets you out of work, especially on those days when the roof falls in and pins you to the kitchen floor. The pub often gets you out of both, and consequently wins hands down

You hear a thud from your drawer. Then a second. Then... more of a squelch. You take a peek inside and see squashed tomato all around the inside of the drawer. Seeds are scattered liberally among the elastic bands and paperclips. Sections of skin lie draped over the holepunch and the electric pencil sharpener which you still haven't managed to smuggle home. And, at the back of the drawer, in the darkness, the stapler seems to be dancing a small jig.

Your heart, which had been getting louder and louder seemingly in your throat, skips a beat... a pause just long enough for you to hear a quiet ghostly voice singing "Finally, I'm out of that tomato... I've got a new place to live, doo-dah, doo-dah..."

You decide to yell "Hey, everyone, look at this!" to your fellow workers.

You're Pushing It...

As if turning up late for work wasn't enough, you decide to put your career on the line by standing up in the middle of your office and shouting to everyone about your dancing stapler. A couple of curious folk, knowing that you're not really the type to be seeing such things, come over and peer into your drawer with you.

The stapler... does... nothing.

You're sent home sick and told not to come in for the rest of the day. You're lucky it's not more permanent.

You decide to go back to the shop where you got the tomato.

The dealing back of tomato?

"Damn, feeling sick means to do NOTHING; boring!! But I've got to return that damned tomato. I don't want it anymore!!!"

As soon as he finishes saying these words, he heads to the shop where the tomato was acquired by him. You feel so desperate about returning the tomato that you see the ceiling and go to the top of the shop and leave it on the chimney. (Is that the right spelling for it?)

After throwing it in the "chimney", he suddenly slippers on just a slippery ceiling brick and...

You decide to see him fall, fortunately in a trash can.

The trash is man's best friend. (In this ocassion)

In that moment, he shouted for help. Not an answer, because it was night and everyone is sleeping at that moment. (Well, at least, the older people.)

Trevor was ready to face his death. But when he fell from the ceiling, he landed on a trash can. (A little bit smelly, but soft enough to stop from splattering.)

After finishing his business, he decided to return home, take a nice and clean shower and watch TV all night like a zombie. Unless he has another tomato to return to that shop...

THE END

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