Missing Oranges Travel Far

December 17, 2009
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“Hello my lovely town of Timberwig! And how are you on this wonderful Tuesday morning? - I’m fine and what about this nefarious zephyr? No beclouding with the perpetual rain outside, it should be sunny by day’s end-”

Flogun slams his grimy palm onto the snooze button in a languid manner. Automatically incredulous in the morning, he blinks at the deciduous trees outside his window. Without a word, he finds his arm beneath his back along with his cell phone and lifts it to the side of his face.

“Yup?” A voice sounds from the #tattered cell phone speaker.

“Dude is it Wednesday?” Flogun inquires.

“Nah man, I think it is Tuesday.”

“Aight, come on over Cirk.” He orders, throwing the phone into the far regions of his room. He dresses himself promptly in a Radiohead T-shirt over his pajama bottoms before stumbling through his bedroom door. He makes it to his kitchen in a jiffy, though falling many times out of pure indolence. The first thing on his mind is, breakfast. Flogun opens the refrigerator door and searches the lower compartment. Coming up short he kicks the floor and shuts it with a bash.

“Man, you are Choleric.” Cirk voices from behind him. Flogun does not change his mannerisms as he portrays trepidation through his eyes. “Man…” Cirk walks toward him. “What is it?”

“Dude, I can’t find the oranges.” Flogun retorts with outrage. Cirk tries to assuage him by searching the room lightly as he pats his friends’ back.

“Its alright, it will be fine. This doesn’t change a thing… what did it look like anyway- angular?” Cirk questions. Flogun smacks his friend away, castigating himself in loud curses.

“Man! Who has ever heard of a orange that isn’t round! What is wrong with you?” he scorns him, Cirk capitulating in silent ambivalence. There is a short space between their conversation before they hear something knock on the kitchen window; they both run to the aid of their friend Mace. He is huffing.

“No, no, did I just hear you right Flogun? You cannot find the oranges? that’s an anarchy!” Mace inquires harrowingly. The two friends on the inside of the house nod frantically. “Ah man, that is bad. You don’t have much time left do you?”

“No! she is going to come any time soon.” Flogun holds his fist to his head pensively trying to find a way to get his delectable fruit. They all think for a moment before Mace slams his hand onto the surface below him, happening to be the window pane, and shudders before continuing.

“Ah! I think I might know where they are!” he announces before running out of their view; following that the kitchen door slams and their friend comes accosting Flogun’s cupboards like their were suspects. They search for a matter of time in this unorganized manner before being stopped in cessation by the doorbell ringing. Flogun looks up at his friends expectantly, but they both glare back obliviously. He dashes from the kitchen and toward the front door. He opens it.

“Ah… wait a second.” he slams it back shut after taking a glimpse of the bemused girl behind it. “Dudes! She is here!” he yells back through the hallway leading to the kitchen.

“We think we’ve found a few! Come here!” Mace responds, and within seconds Flogun is at their side near his pantry. “Right here, look man.” Mace says excitingly pointing at a hole in the wall behind the boxed food.

“What? Why is it in there? And how can you see it?” Flogun asks. They explain mindlessly, not really making any sense, not that a hole in his pantry makes sense to begin with. “Ok, some one get it there!” he orders his friends.

“Nah man,” Cirk says nervously, “I am claustrophobic.” he shoves Mace toward the entrance and they slip on misplaced soup packets. Flogun laughs in a #resolving way then kneels and crawls toward his destination. Within the confinement of his housing walls behind the canned goodness of his family, he finds the battered bag of oranges. He comes back out in a slight sweat.

“Ah man, ok, I am good. I’m good, alarm over. I have got to leave.” Flogun takes one orange out and the runs toward the door. His friends take the bag and split the treasure for themselves.

“Man, I just realized something.” Cirk says thoughtfully. “Missing oranges travel far.”

“That was quiet the predicament.” Mace agrees. When they look down they both realize that the oranges are not the color in which their name implies. They lift their heads and open their mouths to call in warning of the squalid food, but are interrupted by the shriek belonging to their friend from outside his house.





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