Bruce the Moose

A short story I wrote back in 2003 and was published in a collaboration of local young writers called Solid Ink.


Bruce the Moose.
Bruce the Moose was a Moose. A Moose with a dream. He kept it in a closet with his skeletons for company. It was a happy and playful little dream that liked playing fetch and eating custard. A lot of custard. It was quite expensive to keep actually.
So Bruce the Moose packed his suitcase full of antler warmers and custard and took his dream to market.
They walked together down the old road. Bruce the Moose walked awkwardly, as if he had five knees, which he may have had but didn't really know because he couldn't count that high. Occasionally he fell over but his dream helped to uplift him along the way.
They sang together as they walked along, It was a beautiful song, which was surprising since they were both singing completely different songs.
When they reached the market they found that it was quite crowded. Bruce the Moose's wide antlers kept getting in the way as they waded through the crowd, so he folded them up and carried them under his arm.
Along came Jimbo the Dog. "Hello Bruce the Moose," said Jimbo the Dog, "would you like to buy some fleas today? I have pedigree fleas as well as mixed breeds at a lower price."
Bruce the Moose shook his head politely. Of course, moose can't talk.
He walked up to the auctioning stage and waited for his turn, The was a skunk named Francois the Skunk selling second hand rubber chickens, then a cow named Isabel the Cow unsuccessfully trying to take applications for the local hamburger restaurant, and finally there was Paula the Rubber Chicken, giving a speech about the oppression of her kind.
Now was Bruce the Moose's turn. He stepped up on to the stage, and fell over. Again his dream helped him up to face the crowd. He looked at their expectant faces and took out his message board, which he had prepared earlier, and raised it above his head.
It read" "Ladies and Gentlemen, I have a dream. Bids start at twenty dollars with a five dollar increment." He gazed around the crowd as they took this in.
Paula the Rubber Chicken was the first to raise her rubber wing. Bruce the Moose nodded at her and pointed using one of his antlers in his hoof. Other animals raised arms, wings, legs and tentacles. The auction became quite heated. Eventually Francois the Skunk managed to outbid everybody using the money he had made selling all of his second hand rubber chickens to Paula the Rubber Chicken.
Bruce the Moose collected the money from Francois the Skunk and handed over his dream, along with its' leash, bowl and favourite fetching stick. He said goodbye and stumbled home, stopping at the supermarket along the way to buy three tons of custard with the money he had just made.
The moral of this story is Follow Your Dreams, and You Shall Receive Custard.

The man and his chair

The man was born in a small town in the country.
The chair was born in a factory in the city.
The man's parents were a doctor and a school teacher.
The chair never knew it's parents.
The man spent his younger years traveling and studying, learning from the world around him.
The chair spent it's life in front of the television.
The man philosophized on these very facts. The contrast between his life and that of his chair's.
The chair gave it no thought at all.
And despite the great many differences, the man loved his chair.
The chair, however, despised the man.

The Jeffrey's Strange Day,

Once upon a time there was a Jeffrey

He was a perfectly ordinary Jeffrey, as much an unremarkable Jeffrey as any could hope to be. He wore plaid jackets, at least three on any given day, and he kept his Giraffe brushed, morning, noon and night.

On this day, however, something very unusual happened to the Jeffrey.

It was when his potato was singing the blues, about 6pm of course, and the news was on in the background. The newsreader was setting the stage on fire to signal the end of the evening's stories. But something was strange here. The Jeffrey felt uneasy. He looked outside at the ducks on the pond, they looked back at him suspiciously and drew their curtains. Distant thunder could be heard on the radio, part of the regular Distant Thunder Tuesdays show. The Llamas frolicked on the lawn.
“Get off my lawn” The Jeffrey whispered into an envelope and pushed it out the mail slot in his front door. The Llamas came over to the porch, opened the envelope and then left quietly to return to their home across the street. They were good Llamas.

So the Jeffrey scratched his chin and wondered what it could be that had him feeling so strange. He turned to the day's crossword for answers. 4 down: a 5 letter word for the difference between a cheeseburger and a cold winter's day in which the anniversary of a happy memory fills you with warmth. The Jeffrey smiled and wrote down the answer.

This helped a lot. He forgot about the uneasy feeling.

He ran the bath and put all the pot plants in along with the potato, which had by now cheered up and was safe to leave with the plants. The giraffe stared at him blankly, as if questioning how he could carry on like everything was normal.

But Jeffrey carried on, scrubbing the plants lovingly and giving the potato some good advice for the future. He let the water out, dried off the plants and put them back in their puts. The Jeffrey carried the potato back into the living room when the uneasy feeling struck him again. He glanced up at the giraffe, which stared back at him silently. “I understand” said the Jeffrey. He didn't, but he wanted to reassure his friend. The Giraffe stared at him for a further 32 seconds before curling up in its' nest beside the television.

The Jeffrey stared around the room. Photos hung on the walls of himself and the Giraffe from their younger days at University. On a shelf a bowl of tulips, wilted and and lifeless sat in the same position as it had for the last 5 years. The television still showed the newsreader, now surrounded by flames, singing and dancing. Thunder continued in the distance through the speakers of the radio and the smell of roast pork filled the room.

The Jeffrey had forgotten the cooking, he rushed in to the kitchen and took the pork from the oven. It was in excellent condition, he breathe a sigh of relief. Carefully he took the steaming hot freshly made meal and tucked it into bed for later. He turned the light off and crept quietly out, pausing when he remembered to go back and give it it's little pig-teddy bear.

The Jeffrey turned the radio on in the bedroom for ambient noise, Distant thunder echoed once more and he realised the terrible thing. It was Monday, not Tuesday!

The Jeffrey quickly picked up the phone and called the radio station. In seconds the radio switch over to the sounds of elephants trumpeting over the top of a young girl singing the alphabet while unable to actually remember all the letters in the right order, and occasionally adding in random dates and times in place of letters, just as it should be for a regular Monday like this one.

Jeffrey sighed and laid down beside the roast pork. “What a disaster that could have been... how very strange.” he sighed. The potato rolled it's eyes as it walked past, toothbrush in hand.