So I wrote the following mess on 750words.com:
Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived inside a coral-studded chamber on the peaks of Mount Ophir. You may think it is very curious indeed that she lived in a coral-studded chamber on a mountain, but you see, she was a sorceress, and very clever indeed. She had expressed a great desire to see the pink fronds of coral waving from her ceilings and walls, and had therefore conjured a spell in order to sink Mount Ophir into the South China Sea for approximately nine years, during which she would commute from her cave to her high-rise office using scuba gear. Over the nine long years (approximately), she was pleased to see the molluscs gingerly latching onto her home and sprouting their tendrils, sinking in their fleshy roots and extending their arms like yoga practitioners practising their sun salutations in a place where there was indeed no sun. Of course, it was troublesome, eating, sleeping and defecating in scuba gear, but she was certain that as soon as her chamber was redecorated with marine life, everything would be worth it. The increase in property value alone, she reminded herself, as she discreetly pooped through a tube, not to mention the sheer aesthetic pleasure thereof.
What she could not abide, of course, were the tiny tropical fish that kept darting between the coral fronds: clownfish and seahorses and sea dragons and assorted other vertebrates, neon-coloured and rock-shaped things which defied classification according to her Srivijayan grimoires and bestiaries. Butterflies are butterflies, she scolded them, fish are fish; creatures of the ocean should never attempt to imitate the insectine flowers of the air. Whenever she was in a particularly bad mood, as for example on the occasion when she stained her pantaloons and everybody at the New Years Office Party happened to see when she sat on the Xerox machine, and she had gone home soused in cheap champagne in disgrace only to find a festival of blacklight minnows cavorting amidst her corals, well then, she summoned her magical demonic powers to turn the little buggers into *people*, that's right, and my, how she enjoyed watching them gasp and burble and drown at the bottom of the sea. She would have used their skulls as drinking glasses, only she found that skulls did not retain water very well, even when under the sea. She used them as coral food instead, grinding them up with her mortar and pestle, sprinkling them amongst her hungry little corals, all the while talking to them, because this is what she loved to do: she would talk to the corals, because she believed in the magical curative power of talking to plants, both for the talker and the talkee, for she did indeed believe corals to be plants, stupid thing, and she was superstitious, but then she was a sorceress, so superstition had paid off in some way. Judge not lest you yourself be judged.
Finally, the nine years came to an end. The sorceress was very happy about this, because there was this new mail boy who had come into the office, a perfect dish, a tight round bum that she would love to peg and be pegged by, oh my, and she needed an apartment to invite him over to without his getting crushed by the water pressure, and she couldn't book an overnight hotel because she was saving up for a trip to Ibiza.
So, in the middle of the night, she jitterbugged widdershins around her cauldron and said the magic words ladybug ladybug witchy woo woo, and then the whole of Mount Ophir teleported itself from the middle of the South China Sea back to, well, Mount Ophir, because places are usually named after mountains, since mountains (barring long-term geological effects and sorceresses) generally do not move.
Oh how the sorceress laughed to herself to see all the fishies and dolphins and manatees flip-floppering on her cavern floor, while the tendrils of the corals waved them goodbye. She took off her breathing apparatus and cried out the date for her Chinese New Year Party, because e-mail and Facebook invitations had not yet been invented and this was the best way of making sure all her neighbours knew.
And so came the date of her Chinese New Year party, which was a bit gratuitous because she was not even Chinese, and who should come through the door but the mail boy, as sexy as ever, dressed up in a gimp suit because he had got the date mixed up with Halloween.
The sorceress was so delighted that she jumped upon him and started making love to him there and then. But of course, the corals had not had enough seawater for several days, so they began dying and detaching themselves from the walls and plopping on the copulating couple straight off.
They say they are still there, fucking in the coral-studded cave, amidst the dead and dying (probably all dead by now) corals, while the guests chew pistachios in horror.
The moral of the story is, try to avoid pooping in a scuba suit. The End!
Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived inside a coral-studded chamber on the peaks of Mount Ophir. You may think it is very curious indeed that she lived in a coral-studded chamber on a mountain, but you see, she was a sorceress, and very clever indeed. She had expressed a great desire to see the pink fronds of coral waving from her ceilings and walls, and had therefore conjured a spell in order to sink Mount Ophir into the South China Sea for approximately nine years, during which she would commute from her cave to her high-rise office using scuba gear. Over the nine long years (approximately), she was pleased to see the molluscs gingerly latching onto her home and sprouting their tendrils, sinking in their fleshy roots and extending their arms like yoga practitioners practising their sun salutations in a place where there was indeed no sun. Of course, it was troublesome, eating, sleeping and defecating in scuba gear, but she was certain that as soon as her chamber was redecorated with marine life, everything would be worth it. The increase in property value alone, she reminded herself, as she discreetly pooped through a tube, not to mention the sheer aesthetic pleasure thereof.
What she could not abide, of course, were the tiny tropical fish that kept darting between the coral fronds: clownfish and seahorses and sea dragons and assorted other vertebrates, neon-coloured and rock-shaped things which defied classification according to her Srivijayan grimoires and bestiaries. Butterflies are butterflies, she scolded them, fish are fish; creatures of the ocean should never attempt to imitate the insectine flowers of the air. Whenever she was in a particularly bad mood, as for example on the occasion when she stained her pantaloons and everybody at the New Years Office Party happened to see when she sat on the Xerox machine, and she had gone home soused in cheap champagne in disgrace only to find a festival of blacklight minnows cavorting amidst her corals, well then, she summoned her magical demonic powers to turn the little buggers into *people*, that's right, and my, how she enjoyed watching them gasp and burble and drown at the bottom of the sea. She would have used their skulls as drinking glasses, only she found that skulls did not retain water very well, even when under the sea. She used them as coral food instead, grinding them up with her mortar and pestle, sprinkling them amongst her hungry little corals, all the while talking to them, because this is what she loved to do: she would talk to the corals, because she believed in the magical curative power of talking to plants, both for the talker and the talkee, for she did indeed believe corals to be plants, stupid thing, and she was superstitious, but then she was a sorceress, so superstition had paid off in some way. Judge not lest you yourself be judged.
Finally, the nine years came to an end. The sorceress was very happy about this, because there was this new mail boy who had come into the office, a perfect dish, a tight round bum that she would love to peg and be pegged by, oh my, and she needed an apartment to invite him over to without his getting crushed by the water pressure, and she couldn't book an overnight hotel because she was saving up for a trip to Ibiza.
So, in the middle of the night, she jitterbugged widdershins around her cauldron and said the magic words ladybug ladybug witchy woo woo, and then the whole of Mount Ophir teleported itself from the middle of the South China Sea back to, well, Mount Ophir, because places are usually named after mountains, since mountains (barring long-term geological effects and sorceresses) generally do not move.
Oh how the sorceress laughed to herself to see all the fishies and dolphins and manatees flip-floppering on her cavern floor, while the tendrils of the corals waved them goodbye. She took off her breathing apparatus and cried out the date for her Chinese New Year Party, because e-mail and Facebook invitations had not yet been invented and this was the best way of making sure all her neighbours knew.
And so came the date of her Chinese New Year party, which was a bit gratuitous because she was not even Chinese, and who should come through the door but the mail boy, as sexy as ever, dressed up in a gimp suit because he had got the date mixed up with Halloween.
The sorceress was so delighted that she jumped upon him and started making love to him there and then. But of course, the corals had not had enough seawater for several days, so they began dying and detaching themselves from the walls and plopping on the copulating couple straight off.
They say they are still there, fucking in the coral-studded cave, amidst the dead and dying (probably all dead by now) corals, while the guests chew pistachios in horror.
The moral of the story is, try to avoid pooping in a scuba suit. The End!
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