SSS Week Seven: Behind the Joke

Happy Short Story Sunday!

The prompt for this week is:

Write a story about the meaning of a joke.

As my close relatives may know, I am an absolute sucker for cheesy jokes and one-liners! My favourite being:

A three-legged dog walks into a saloon and says: "I'd like to find the man who shot my paw."

*slaps knee* *snorts* *wheezes*

Now that is some good stuff right there, buddy, I don't care who you are!

So... you might guess that I thoroughly enjoyed writing the bit for today's prompt.

The joke for this short is pretty much in the last couple of paragraphs, and I'm sure you'll catch on to what it is. However, I'll be sure to include the jest below for those of you who aren't exactly the brightest colour in the crayon box. You know who you are.

Without further ado, my tale: 



He sniffed to himself as he shifted in his uncomfortable skin, trying not to arouse suspicion.

Soon.

It wouldn't be long now, he was sure. In the least: a few hours. In the most: weeks, months. He didn't really know. But just between you and me, he wished for the prior.

If it was the latter, however, he could last. He had to last as long as absolutely possible, as much time as needed. If he gave up now, it would be the end. He would get found out that he was different, found out that he wasn't anywhere near the same as the others and if that were to happen... He wished not to dwell on the thought. On long nights, the mere possibility gave him nightmares.

This mission he was on had been dubbed his life mission. He could think of nothing else but it. It was what he was made for, why he was created. It was his only reason for being alive still to the day. He had been on the life mission for, he assumed, months. How many, he did not know. He had been on it long, though. So long he lost track of exactly how long. At first, it was difficult, much more difficult than he had thought. But he grew used to it in time. Used to the changes.

No-one seemed to notice he was different from everyone else around him. No-one seemed to even give him a second glance. That was a good thing. He couldn't possibly take the praise for that. It was the costume, he knew.

To his fortune, the suit he had now worn since his mission began, was beginning to feel comfortable. Or, really, comfortable was an overstatement. Bearable is more like it. At first, it didn't fit right. It still didn't fit right. After all, it was a completely different shape than his original body type. He would slide around uncomfortably, moving nonstop until he could finally settle in a position that irritated him less than others; yet that was even a rarity.

He began to notice the suspicion he received from others, however. He noticed that no-one else moved about like he did. He was only giving himself away. He learned to get used to it, though. He could now settle and remain motionless for hours on end. Their suspicions seized. He always held his breath, though, always remained cautious. After all, if he were to slip out of his costume even a bit, he'd get found out.

He remained motionless like the rest of them for days and days, until the day finally came. Their containment was opened and they were free. He was so close to his finish line, he could feel it.

After preparation, he was mixed in the middle of the rest of them, unnoticed by human eye. He prayed and thanked God for sending him this far.

Then it happened.

Someone picked up his suit which had become slick from the preparation earlier. He couldn't hold himself snuggly inside anymore and he slipped out.

He dropped almost in slow motion.

It was over; everything. He was so close, yet now he was so far. So far from his dream, his life purpose. All he wanted was to make people healthy. All he wanted was to give people the vegetables they needed but would never eat. So he disguised himself in an appealing way.

He fell into the plate with a slight bounce, the pile of noodles at his side and his suit-- a now empty noodle-- hung over his head by a fork. The human screamed.

"A pea!" They shouted. "How did a pea get in my macaroni and cheese? How? HOW?!"

They dropped the empty noodle and picked the green little pea up with a spoon, glaring down at it. "You will rue this day, pea! Curse you for trying to make me eat vegetables!"

Then they dropped him to the floor and crushed him with the sole of their shoe.

He knew he shouldn't have even tried this, being an imposter of a pasta.

An impasta.



What do you call a fake noodle? *giggles to self* An impasta!

I hope you all enjoyed this little tale of mine. And, just a reminder, Short Story Sunday isn't only limited to me. It is open to anyone! 

If you're a writer or want to try something new, check in every Sunday for a prompt to get your creative juices flowing! And, if you like, you can paste your own story in the comments below or email me and I'd be happy to read it!