|A Perfectly Normal Story
Author: In Case You Haven't Noticed PM
The ceiling tiles- sorry, chapter titles- have nothing to do with the story. Neither does the story, which is based on a recurring dream I've been having for a while now, of which I cannot figure out the meaning. Not all of the story is based on the dream, though-as it goes on, some of it will be based on ideas for novels I've had in the past.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Mystery/Supernatural - Chapters: 6 - Words: 3,341 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 06-12-12 - Published: 05-26-12 - id: 3026200
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I woke up, and the ceiling tiles were blue. Why they were blue, I hadn't figured out at this point. And very inconveniently, because it's always important to know exactly WHY your ceiling tiles are blue. Even if they aren't. Just like the sheer importance of giraffes' amnesia.
In fact, I STILL haven't figured out why the ceiling tiles were blue at that point (they seem to have change color since then, to a color I can't determine). However, I had, of course, counted how many tiles there were (because that's also very important to know). There were exactly 249, the same as my car rider number at school. If you don't know what a car rider is, let me give you a hint: it's someone who rides a car.
Anyhow, after I woke up, I put on some clothes that I don't remember the details of at this point, and I walked towards the bathroom to wash up.
Never had I remembered that I had ever left stale croutons in the sink to my left. Unfortunately, it appeared that I had, because there was a caveman standing at this sink, munching delicately on the previously mentioned salad accompaniment. This caveman was wearing a 30s-style sun-hat that was a disgusting, eye-hurting shade of pink. I doubt that it would have been popular even in the 30s.
I chose to not declare my true opinion, and instead exclaimed, for some strange and non-apparent reason, in an unnaturally loud, shouting voice (I have spoken rather quietly for much of my life),
"I love your hat!"
The caveman, who still hadn't noticed me at this point (I think), suddenly looked up with shockingly bright green eyes that shone like jewels, and calmly stated,
"Thank you for loathing my hat, my dear little girl. I, too, loathe my hat."
"But I said that I LOVE your hat!"
"But you loathe it. It's impossible for one to love my hat. My hat is the master of generating enemies. It's the reason why I was exiled from my tribe."
"I'm a caveman. I probably belonged to a tribe at some point of my life. It's only natural, you know. With the exception of my hat."
I gawked at the strange, unearthly object that had somehow settled on his head. Did it just growl at me?
He continued, "If you think that you just heard my hat growl, you are certainly correct. I taught it to."
"Why, you ask? I have absolutely no idea."