a rose rose from her roots

a flower, said sponge and left it at that.
what else can you say i ask you, said the next next to sponge and stared at the flower. he reached into his pocket and got his sandwich out, tore bits off and threw them at the flower. the flower stood tiny and still. a pigeon landed nearby and waddled over and another pigeon and another one, both closer to the sandwich bits and snatched them. the first storms in, a clumsy fight, sparrows take advantage, the flower looks deranged. not a rose i tell you, the man said, a rose wouldn’t have gotten through the pavement. he carefully put his foot on the flower and moved it back and forth, slowly. the bread’s gone, i’m trying to lose some wait, a minute here, a moment there, he said.
good luck, said sponge.
thank you, the man said, i will need it. there are adverse weather conditions.

things rise as well as fall

when brumblebee hit out to cool his mood he felt better than before afterwards. he was arrested and would have got 25 years of hard labour but the judge persihed before sentencing. his successor was not sure how to proceed and brumblebee was forgotten about until he was discovered during some spring clean operation one of the young prosecutors had launched. he was covered in fungus and was of giddy humour. hilarious. they threw him out of prison threatening to charge him as an imposter should he ever go near the building again; they clearly had an issue with him. the point was not that he was an imposter, they wouldn’t have had an issue with that, they’ve seen it all before, the problem was that he might pretend to be one. this they did not like a bit. brumblebee left and along he plodded, one foot, one leg, one foot, one leg again, off he went.
brumblebee had been lucky, alas, that does not go for his friend halleberry, who did not get to the shops in time, drank white spirit instead and kicked the bucket in a somehow disgusting manner. his common law partner is currently sueing the county council for damages and distress relief. she also makes cupcakes next saturday and is thinking of calling them traditional irish. they’ll be a bit small but for a good cause. residents are asked to support whoever calls by. but that’s doesn’t really belong here.
one day brumblebee hit the ground for no reason. the ground felt undisturbed. rugged but calm. silent. and calm. caaaalm. there will always be an england, brumblebee thought, they say ‘calm’ in england. ‘calm’. somebody has mentioned that before, no doubt. marvellous people, these englanders, just great, brimming with greatness, and calm. overall they’re calm, no matter what. they are very proud of that. i’ll be calm so. brumblebee was calm, on the ground, and hungry. thirsty, not so much, bearable, although a drink is never turned. all and all a rounded personality. he thought, i may have to go to bed. and what sense is there in that? the ground is calm and so am i. brumblebee finished his reasoning, got up and went to a cafe. tea and cognac, he said. the waitress brought him rhum. later coffee, which he didn’t want. brumblebee stormed out of the cafe in a huff. where did he go? we would care less. sponge and breadroll sat inside, having noticed nothing at all. we kept it that way. involving those two may cause confusion.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.