Shouts and screams could be heard outside, and sloshing sounds. Something unspeakable was going on. Lorene waited. Nevertheless she felt strangely indifferent. Her life had become devoid of the fascinating milestones that keep most of us going. Where had it all gone wrong? She heard sounds in the staircase that couldn't be described as footsteps, though their rhythmic occurrence suggested a creature with two mismatched legs, causing it to bump against the wall each time it moved forward. B-boo-boomp, b-boo-boomp it went, repeatedly, growing louder and sloshier with each approaching step. Suddenly the sounds of movement ceased. Something stood at the door. Unfortunately it didn't have manners, at least as far as knocking was concerned. The door began to creak and bulge, sprang finally from its hinges, landing on the floor with a thud. A fluorescent green monster blob with bits of pineapple sticking out of it entered the living room. It was ugly and it was hungry. Fortunately Lorene knew just what to do. It was her gruff old friend, Mr. Pudding! She remembered him from dreams she had had as a little girl. So long ago. She used to feed him. Seeing him this way alarmed her. He was famished. Behind him a trail of dislodged pineapple bits littered the floor. He looked like he might cave in at any moment. She offered him a pretzel stick, the one thing she knew he liked to eat. Maybe they could talk over old times, after he felt better.
Story #103
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Mr. Pudding sat down on a chair, making a rather hollow squishy noise, and told his old friend that as time had come and gone he couldn't be appeased by a pretzel anymore. That was the folly of his youth and hers. He began to saturate the fabric of the chair, making it a little more difficult for him to move but he still had enough gumption left to extract himself and get back to a standing position to finish his speech. Lorene adjusted herself in her seat and noticed the Cheese Doodles he'd picked up with what had functioned as a backside from the crack around the cushion were being absorbed into his mass slowly. Mr. Pudding announced his intentions as his energy level seemed to increase rapidly: like the masked killer in a horror film, he had come back to wreak havoc on those who had been in his life in a previous time -- which people always regard as a "gee, is that the thanks we get?" bit of ingratitude, but it's a prevalent theme. Lorene at first was concerned because she didn't really want to be a victim of a pineapple Jell-O mold, a mere aspic of an old friend and trusted companion from her girlhood. But she knew him too well, she'd grown up with him, and though she hadn't seen him since she was 8 or 9, people (or anything else) never really change. She said sternly, "You can't tell me that I, your oldest friend, can't make you happy anymore." She slid herself over one arm of her chair to get to her feet, not in a way that one uses to attack of flee but as someone who would rather have this conversation in an upright position. Mr. Pudding insisted, in that gruff voice she knew he used when he wanted to be serious, that this was her end and his new beginning. She shook her head, and said, "Hang on for a sec, if you don't want a pretzel then you must want this..." She stepped over to the kitchen entry and opened the drawer at shin level. He advanced so that he could corner her, ready for anything she could dish out -- he was impervious to knives, the only weapon one normally finds in a kitchen. She turned and thrust two sticks of Pocky toward him, and he'd moved faster than she anticipated so they caught him square in what would be his gullet. He'd impaled himself on the chocolate-dipped cracker treat from Glicko of Japan, to his dismay, and gurgled in horror. She pulled out a third stick of Pocky and poked him in the midriff. His body withered a bit and slumped backwards, much in the way a vampire dies of a sunbeam but this wasn't fatal -- it was rather the opposite. He continued to slump backwards until he had oozed back to that slimy seat, sat himself down and picked up a few stray pineapple bits from the floor, and in a few seconds sighed politely, "You've always been good at keeping me in line. Can you forgive me for my actions?" She hadn't stopped smiling genially the entire time he was there, that's just how she was, and said, "Of course, silly... You tell me what you've been up to all this time, and I'll make up a pitcher of Wyler's lemonade -- just like old times." She prodded her head forward, holding another stick of Pocky, and said with arched eyebrows in mock-upbraiding, "You haven't outgrown Wyler's, RIGHT?" You could swear Mr. Pudding sprouted a body-width gellatinous smile.
[And she really does look like a Lorene!]
Mushroom, we should collaborate on a book together. You can do the long chapters. I'll write the interludes. ;-)
Seriously, it's quite cool to see life given to my characters, and further development.
If you had someone developing your story , allow me to give it a simple title then! Here you have it: "Walking memories of pudding lost childhood" :)
It's mine again.. Sorry I always seem to forget my own identity whenI have to comment anonymous..LOL M.P.
Thank you for the title. Now we need a few more chapters. Then we try and publish. Mr. Pudding, the new anti-hero.
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