Spore woke up and completed his regular morning routine. He combed his teeth, flossed his hair, put on his glasses and took a rose petal bath in tepid water. In the warm water, he had many of his usual thoughts, like “which part of the pig does bacon come from?” and “why are my eyes fogging up?” Then he put on his favourite pair of heart boxers, a faded pair of skinny jeans, and one of his many green sweater vests. This was going to be another ordinary day!
No it wasn’t.
Spore went downstairs and into the kitchen. There he found a note from his mother. It read,
Good morning Spore! You slept in again. Your boss called and left a really nasty message on the machine telling you not to bother coming back. Anyway, here is some money.
“Oooh money!” exclaimed Spore. He snatched up the crisp twenty and rushed out the door. He was happily contemplating all of the sweets and manga he would spend it on when he walked out into the street and was crushed by a bus.
Spore awoke in the hospital in a full body cast. His eyes were swelled half shut but he could sort of see his mummified body and was terrified. He could not move a thing. Even when he focused all his energy on moving his pinky, it would not budge. So Spore did the only rational thing he could think of. He started to scream.
Everything hurt after that so he passed out.
While Spore was asleep he had many strange dreams. In his dreams he saw a pig being butchered, and was quite happy to discover exactly which parts became bacon. He also dreamt of riding camels, and of plucking a nose hair that got out of hand. He thought he heard his mom talking with a male nurse, discussing the gory details of his injuries, but it was much too disgusting to he switched the dream to fluffy kittens and rainbows instead.
When Spore woke up again, he didn’t remember very much. He looked down at his body and saw that he was pretty much a skeleton. He started to panic and flail but his limbs were so weak they could barely lift. His mother ran into the room with tears in her eyes and flung her arms around his skinny frame.
“Oh Spore, baby, I thought you would never wake up!” she cried.
“Waterrrr…” Spore croaked.
A nurse glided in with a cup. “Welcome back!” he exclaimed, handing Spore the cup. His eyes sparkled and his purple hair glistened in the light coming in from the dirty hospital window.
“See?” he said to Spore’s mom, “I knew he would wake up! It was just a matter of time.” He adjusted his glasses and gave Spore a wink.
“How long was I out?” asked Spore.
Spore’s mother would not meet his gaze. She pressed a twenty dollar bill in his hand.
“You never got to spend this… I have been saving it for you the whole time…”
Droplets were forming in her eyes again.
Spore looked alarmed. “Seriously, mom, how long was I asleep? Three days? A week? A month?”
“I’ll tell him,” said the nurse. “Spore, sweetie, you have been in a coma… for ten years.”
Spore started to laugh. “Good one,” he said smiling.
“No, seriously,” said the nurse. “You’re 30 now. I can’t believe there is even any brain activity left after this long.”
“I told you, doctor, there never was any brain activity to begin with…” Spore’s mother began. Spore glared.
“So you’re saying I am a 30 year old man now,” Spore mumbled, taking it in. “That I am old and frail and have missed the best years of my life.”
“Yep, pretty much,” agreed the nurse.
“Alright,” said Spore. “Take me to a mirror.”
“Oh Spore, honey, you don’t really need to…”
His mother was cut off by the nurse, who helpfully pulled out a pocket mirror, stating “Here you go!”
Spore took one look at his face in the mirror and dry heaved for 40 minutes. Then he got on with his life.
Spore realized that now that he was 30, he could do pretty much the same things he did when he was 20. For instance, he still followed his morning routine. He woke up, combed his teeth, flossed his hair, put on his glasses and took a rose petal bath in tepid water. In the warm water, he had many of his usual thoughts, like “why are my eyes fogging up?”, as well as some new thoughts, like “How does the bacon get from a butcher and into my freezer?” Then he put on his favourite pair of heart boxers, a faded pair of skinny jeans, and one of his many green sweater vests that no longer fit well at all due to the fact that he was completely malnourished.
Even after his extensive rehab, it still took him a while longer to get down the stairs and into the kitchen, but when he got there, there was a note from his mother. It read,
Good morning Spore! You slept in again. No one has called for you in nine years. Anyway, here is some money.
“Oooh money!” exclaimed Spore. He snatched up the crisp twenty and hobbled out the door. He was happily contemplating all of the adult things like newspaper, lattes and moustaches he would spend it on when he walked out into the street and was crushed by a transport truck.
· Thu Apr 19, 2012 @ 02:34am · 0 Comments