Short Story 2: The Minute Fall of Jobagaba Blorgington

On his back, circling his arms under a broken bulb, Jobagaba Blorgington breathes. He twitches his bruised eyes, which he bruised by falling from his chair when he tried to jump and fly like a pigeon.

Right after that incident, his friend, Albadorp, ‘Magic’, Bill ran to him crying and shouting this:

“Jobagaba, Jobagaba! What happened?”

So, Jobagaba Blorgington replied, “I want to be free like a pigeon,” as he spread his arms and flapped them.

Albadorp hid his mutant, reptile face—as in he’s not a pretty looker, and it’s not that he’s an alien or anything—in embarrassment. But, get this, Jobagaba Blorgington pulled Mr. Albadorp, ‘Magic’, Bill’s hands away and embraced the dear friend.

“It’s nothing, Magic. It’s emotion.”

“Emotions won’t turn you into a pigeon. They’ll turn you into a fish.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I’m allergic to fish.”

“Well, I wouldn’t eat a pigeon. What’s the difference?”

“I’m hungry.”

Jobagaba Blorgington used his feet to sandwich Albadorp, ‘Magic’, Bill’s face.

“Hungry or not, ready I am. My dream won’t die soon.”

The dreamer, Mr. Blorgington, switched on a fan. Whirring clatter clatter and a bit of woo wow, for the phenomenal spinning blades went round and round, over and again. He let out the window. Wind gushed in. The brilliant red scarf of his flew and tugged his neck. It tugged him hard enough to send him flying as well. He tumbled into the lime green wall—newly painted—and his once rosy face was then stained.

“The wind did this! The wind did this!” he said.

“Watch where you’re going. You’ll fall out the window.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“You’re as smart as a particular bird.”

“Which bird?”

“The stupid kind.”

“Shut your kind mouth. My blessings on this fine day will carry me into the sky, and I will spread my wings more elegantly than a knife coated in orange preserve. I will eat the clouds and celebrate when I touch the stars and greet the spacemen working at the local satellite, and then I will crash into the earth before taking every pigeon with me,” so stated Jobagaba Blorgington.

Albadorp, ‘Magic’’, Bill said farewell for now and left. The dreamer, Jobagaba Blorgington, brushed his teeth, gargled and then jumped into his bed on his back. He circled his arms with bruised eyes, and he is now presently asleep under a broken bulb.