My Mischellaneous Musings #3 (10-02-2011): Concerning Bonbolapti

 And now a short story about the one and only Bonbolapti 

 A strapping young lad  was walking home, his handsome face showing thunder. Today was not a good day for him, he messed up an audition, rain and icy wind stung his face, and his girlfriend had told him she wanted a break. "I need to get out of this rain" he told himself. He looked around and saw a thrift shop where he knew the owner. "Perfect", he said to himself. Deciding he wanted to go there and pick up something more protective then just the leather jacket and jeans, he changed direction.

Suddenly, the sound of a [BELL] filled the small room. "Hello!" chirped the old Asian lady cheerfully. "Oh, it's you!" she said excitedly. "Have you come to hear more stories?" she asked, her face eager. Bon shook his head. He let his gaze travel the room until something bright red caught his attention. He lazily walked over, and took a closer look at the scarf. It scream at him, 'pick me, pick me!'. Bon looked the woman in the eyes and held the scarf in his hand, somehow not wanting to let go. "How much?" he asked her. "Oh" she said "You can have it for free", her face seeming a lot darker. "Are you sure? Why?" asked Bon. "Well... A man suffocated himself with it... I don't think I can ask money for it.". Bon couldn't decide whether or not he should be shocked by this. "Uhm, alright, thanks." he said, as he turned around and left.

Almost immediately, it seemed to burn softly as he put it on, and his demeanor lighted up very quickly. It made the walk home much more bearable, enjoyable, even. Every step seemed to have an extra bounce in it. He was surprised when he came home, not expecting it to be so near. And yet, he felt really accomplished with the distance he had just walked. Once inside he stripped of his boots, his leather coat and pants to get dry ones, but surprisingly, the scarf was still dry, so he decided to keep it on. Something inside of him told him it was the right thing to do

The scarf was warm enough, so he decided to stay in his boxers. Then he sat down in front of the TV, putting something on, though he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. It didn't matter, because within minutes he was fast asleep.

After what felt like an eternity, light touched Bon's face, waking him up gently. Now, though, he was feeling extremely groggy and hungover. "uuuuuugh, I must be getting sick" he said. He felt sweaty, and his scarf seems to have gotten tighter. He tried to take it off but  it was stuck! Bon panicked, tugging at it, but it wouldn't budge, each tug only making it tighter! "Okay, calm down, don't worry" he said to himself. He walked into a kitchen and grabbed a pair of scissors but before he could clip into it, the phone rang.

"Yes, what." Bon snarled into the phone. "It's your mother." said the woman on the other side. Bon sighed, "Mom... I don't really have time right now". "Look" she said "I'm worried. You've been acting distant, withdrawn. I'm afraid you're going to do something rash". Bon was sweating up a storm now, and he wanted to end the phone call as soon as possible "No- look mom, things haven't gone exactly fine for me, but I'm fine." he said. "Yes bu-" She tried to say, but was interrupted by her son, "Yes but NOTHING, mom. I'm fine, but I really gotta go. I will talk to you later". Then she slammed down the phone.

Bon produced a deep sigh, or at least, he tried to. This damn scarf. He took the scissors with him and sat back down on the couch. He got ready to cut the fabric when he suddenly felt an urge not to do it, something compelled him to stop, almost as if warning him. He held his breath and squeezed hard, but instead of the scarf giving way, he felt his throat suddenly clamping shut. Bon fell forward, hitting the coffee table hard, he clutched the air, but it was no use Panicking, he tried to crawl to the phone, but every inch felt like a mile. mere second after that, his arms gave way. He now lay on the ground, dead.

Three weeks later, a young man walked into a thrift-shop, "Hey, that's a cool scarf you got there!".

-The end
7 Comments
7 Comments
Posted by BronzDragon

 And now a short story about the one and only Bonbolapti 

 A strapping young lad  was walking home, his handsome face showing thunder. Today was not a good day for him, he messed up an audition, rain and icy wind stung his face, and his girlfriend had told him she wanted a break. "I need to get out of this rain" he told himself. He looked around and saw a thrift shop where he knew the owner. "Perfect", he said to himself. Deciding he wanted to go there and pick up something more protective then just the leather jacket and jeans, he changed direction.

Suddenly, the sound of a [BELL] filled the small room. "Hello!" chirped the old Asian lady cheerfully. "Oh, it's you!" she said excitedly. "Have you come to hear more stories?" she asked, her face eager. Bon shook his head. He let his gaze travel the room until something bright red caught his attention. He lazily walked over, and took a closer look at the scarf. It scream at him, 'pick me, pick me!'. Bon looked the woman in the eyes and held the scarf in his hand, somehow not wanting to let go. "How much?" he asked her. "Oh" she said "You can have it for free", her face seeming a lot darker. "Are you sure? Why?" asked Bon. "Well... A man suffocated himself with it... I don't think I can ask money for it.". Bon couldn't decide whether or not he should be shocked by this. "Uhm, alright, thanks." he said, as he turned around and left.

Almost immediately, it seemed to burn softly as he put it on, and his demeanor lighted up very quickly. It made the walk home much more bearable, enjoyable, even. Every step seemed to have an extra bounce in it. He was surprised when he came home, not expecting it to be so near. And yet, he felt really accomplished with the distance he had just walked. Once inside he stripped of his boots, his leather coat and pants to get dry ones, but surprisingly, the scarf was still dry, so he decided to keep it on. Something inside of him told him it was the right thing to do

The scarf was warm enough, so he decided to stay in his boxers. Then he sat down in front of the TV, putting something on, though he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. It didn't matter, because within minutes he was fast asleep.

After what felt like an eternity, light touched Bon's face, waking him up gently. Now, though, he was feeling extremely groggy and hungover. "uuuuuugh, I must be getting sick" he said. He felt sweaty, and his scarf seems to have gotten tighter. He tried to take it off but  it was stuck! Bon panicked, tugging at it, but it wouldn't budge, each tug only making it tighter! "Okay, calm down, don't worry" he said to himself. He walked into a kitchen and grabbed a pair of scissors but before he could clip into it, the phone rang.

"Yes, what." Bon snarled into the phone. "It's your mother." said the woman on the other side. Bon sighed, "Mom... I don't really have time right now". "Look" she said "I'm worried. You've been acting distant, withdrawn. I'm afraid you're going to do something rash". Bon was sweating up a storm now, and he wanted to end the phone call as soon as possible "No- look mom, things haven't gone exactly fine for me, but I'm fine." he said. "Yes bu-" She tried to say, but was interrupted by her son, "Yes but NOTHING, mom. I'm fine, but I really gotta go. I will talk to you later". Then she slammed down the phone.

Bon produced a deep sigh, or at least, he tried to. This damn scarf. He took the scissors with him and sat back down on the couch. He got ready to cut the fabric when he suddenly felt an urge not to do it, something compelled him to stop, almost as if warning him. He held his breath and squeezed hard, but instead of the scarf giving way, he felt his throat suddenly clamping shut. Bon fell forward, hitting the coffee table hard, he clutched the air, but it was no use Panicking, he tried to crawl to the phone, but every inch felt like a mile. mere second after that, his arms gave way. He now lay on the ground, dead.

Three weeks later, a young man walked into a thrift-shop, "Hey, that's a cool scarf you got there!".

-The end
Posted by Daveyo520

You are a good story teller Bronzy.

Posted by Daveyo520

Where is #2?

Posted by BronzDragon
@Daveyo520: It was based on a piece of art (IE, I wrote a story about a picture someone else had made) I promised not to post it without permission, and she hasn't gotten back to me yet, don't think she will \_0-0_/
Posted by Daveyo520
@BronzDragon: I seeeeeeeeeee. Do I know this person? 
Posted by BronzDragon
@Daveyo520:  I doubt that very much. It's someone from an unrelated IRC channel
Posted by CommodoreGroovy

I think Bon will start to have second thoughts whenever he puts on a scarf now.