Twenty-nine

This is more of random rambling thoughts of Alex Mitchelson. The writer realizes that she forgot to inform you of when the previous rambling was rambled. She now apologizes, and informs you that it was on the twenty-eighth of May on a certain year when the roses in a certain garden were especially red, thought quietly on that certain afternoon as he looked up from a certain book he was reading, resting his eyes, as he remembered a certain someone having told him to do so every once in a while.

Now, onto the rambling.

In case you haven’t noticed, the writer is indeed simply writing more and more random stuff to fill up space before a certain time limit hits cause she is slightly bored of the main storyline and is now just writing as much as she can for the sake of it because she can. How long can I make sentence, she wonders? Yay. Onto the rambling. Really. Finally.

There was a bus it was very bumpy bumpy bumpy and it went down the road, down the road where the elves lived – elves you say? Yes they were elves and very elvey elves they were too. They were little and frisky and wore little green clothes and they all wore little green hats that looked like leaf piles on a summer’s day although I really don’t know why there were leaf piles on a summer’s day they seem more like autumn things maybe I mean simply a pile of leaves like on top of a tree. Yes that’s it. They had hats that looked like the tops of trees, only smaller.

And the elves they saw the bus all bumpy bumpy bumpy and going down the road and they wondered what it was doing there buses don’t come here they thought why is this bumpy bumpy bumpy bus coming down here? And they all gathered on the street staring at the bumpy bumpy bumpy bus as it went down the road where they lived where they the elves the very elvey elves lived and they stared at it as it went down the road.

One of them began to sing – sing sing sing – sing of things and thongs and little things that one sings songs about. And soon everyone began to sing along they all sang along to the song that the first one of them had started singing about things and thongs and little things that one sings songs about. And it was a very merry little bunch of elves that greeted the bumpy bumpy bumpy bus as it went down the road down the road where the elves the very elvey elves lived.

They were merry they were bright they were such a pretty sight such a pretty sight that the bus began to bump bump bump all the more all the more as it went down the road down the road where the elves the very elvey elves lived. And it bumped and it swayed and it seemed pretty okay and it swayed and bumped to the merry little tune the merry little tune that the elves were singing the song they were singing of things and thongs and little things that one sings songs about.

So the bus bumped and swayed and swayed and bumped and the elves sang and stared and stared and sang and as the bus went down it went down a merry little road a very merry little road a merry little road where the elves the very elvey elves yes the very elvey elves lived and the bus bumped down the road where the elves lived.

And as the bus bumped down it touched the ground and then bumped right up again. And it bumped the ground then turned around and the elves made a sound a sound as the bus was bumping the ground and turning around they made a sound as they gathered all around staring at the bus as it bumped down they made a sound and guess what the sound is.

Yes the elves they made a sound as the bus bumped down and bumped the ground and turned around on the road the very merry road where the elves the very elvey elves lived and sang and stared at a bus a very bumpy bus a bumpy bumpy bumpy bus and they made a sound at the bus.

It was WHEEEEEEEEEEE!

The end.

(added at 3 hours to the deadline. oh wow i'm so bored and i so need words XDDD ahahhaa yes i know it's weird the rest of this exerpt was posted before this mm hmm and by the way it isn't the end like the end of the story just the end of that part)

~~~~~~~~

The shop had exploded.

It was the next day. Alex had unlocked the door and stepped in as usual, but when he turned around, he could tell at once that something was very wrong.

Books were scattered everywhere, over the floor, on the counter, on the display front of the window. The back door was wide open, revealing an even bigger mess inside the storeroom. The counter’s drawers had been yanked out, their contents emptied onto the floor and over the desk. Paper was everywhere. It looked like a rhinoceros had barged in, carefully chosen not to knock over any shelves, only books, and then barged out again. Even the stool lay in pieces – though it seemed the only thing that was not paper that had been disturbed. It was a mess.

~~~

Hmm, thought Alex. I wonder what would happen if I ever got something published…

Don’t be silly, you never will.

But still…

Come on, what are the chances that a tale you wrote when you were little gets published? Besides, the story isn’t even finished.

True, but what if … what if I did finish it?

Alex was bored.

He decided he wanted to see the end of that story.

Getting up, he smiled to himself. Well what do you know, he actually had something he wanted to do.

Mentally, and half jokingly, he put this thing under a list. “Things I want to do before I die: 1. Collect my childhood writings and try and get it published.”

And that was the beginning.

~~~

The shop front window was also the same size as the one of Parkington and Co. There were three flower arrangements on display. The first one contained exactly 6 roses, with two roses having 3 leaves each and the rest with only two. Stalks of some sort of smooth edged fern interspersed the roses, complimenting their deep red with their velvet green. It was wrapped in white speckled paper, tied with a red ribbon. Propped against a small block of wood to make it stand up, it showed its delicate and lustrous blooms to the world.

The arrangement in the middle was rather large. Five purple morning glories, their bell shaped blossoms hanging their pretty heads, were placed alongside 4 stalks of lilies, their elegant white uplifting the mood of the bouquet. Some other flower Alex did not know the name of with many tiny yellow flowers on each stalk were scattered around as well. As before, fern leaves were mixed among the flowers, and it was a very lovely arrangement indeed. The whole bunch was kept in a purple ceramic vase, curvy and elegantly shaped, proudly holding the flowers up as if showing off.

The last arrangement was also in a vase. Two stalks of white orchids, one taller than the other, grew boldly out of the Zen cobalt black vase holding them, their thick and supple leaves reaching outwards, eagerly photosynthesizing the rays of sunlight coming through the window. Their were twelve flowers in total, 7 on the taller stalk, 5 on the shorter one, and though it was the simplest arrangement of the three, there was something in the way the shorter stalk was proportioned just right to throw off the elegant shape of the orchid blooms, and the leaves were all angled just right to show off their wholesome splendor from every direction. The small hints of violet in the heart of each bloom went well with the green of the leaves, and the smooth deep black of the vase contrasted with the soft graceful white of the flower petals. Alex thought it was the most beautiful arrangement of the three, and he spent the most time on it, looking at it’s every detail, every turn of the petals, every shine of the leaves, every shade of the violet as it faded to white. It was a truly captivating display.

Past the flowers on display, Alex could not make out much more, as the abundance of leaves and all sorts of flowers placed in every corner of the shop cut off the view of anything further in than 1 meter from the front. There were flowers of every kind. He could make out sunflowers and daisies, violets and bluebells, more roses, yellow, white and black, chrysanthemums, flame of the forests, lilies, daffodils, junipers, and many more Alex could not name. Alex wondered what it would be like to work in there, walking into a tropical forest every morning, the pungent scents of all sorts of flowers overwhelming the nose until half an hour later when your nose would get accustomed to the smell, and decide to shut off. You would not even be able to enjoy a cup of Earl Grey tea, steaming warm, its strong yet subtle taste washing over your tongue in vain, it’s distinct bittersweet-ness lost to your muted senses.

He would much rather work in a bookshop, Alex decided.