Oscar and the Coconut by john27

“I understand, that it is commonly understood to be of adequate taste, should the majority of your music garnership undergo a slight translation towards Post Trangressivity. The cyclic reverberations may be considered off, and the punctuality of the accentations leave in the perception of some much to be desired. Then: as commonplace as the judgement of our character, let it be known that if nominee Styine Wickens, born from the pagan cyber raft pop commons, achieves the BTA SLAMDamn of the year award over Catherine Twine, we are going to have a problem.”
-Tomatoman14457

Sent.

“Oscar, Dinner!”

“Coming!”

Oscar ran down with his little stubby legs.
There awaited the stern look of his mom, transfixed.

“15 minutes.”

“ I am terribly sorry mother, I just had to let the populus understand the plea of Tomato14457-”

“Sadly, the importance of Tomato14457 varies within this household.”

She pressed.

“So. How may we remedy this?”

“ ahem-Perhaps you may allow me to wallow within this fragile consciousness? It would seem sufficient, if our aim is solely to prevent the second happening of this event.”

The woman pondered.

“I believe you proposed similarly when this had last transpired. “
“Ah. Is that so? Then perhaps, we may simply forgive your wondrous little pumpkin and enjoy a nice slice of apple pie?”

“Do not let it happen again.”

Oscar did not reply.

They sat at the dinner table, Oscar elevated by various cushions who were themselves safeguarded by a buckle.

“Fruit juice?”

Oscar seldom refused fruit juice. Oscar seldom refused anything be it related to food.

“Yes please.”

His mother noticed this, his unnatural taste for food; she believed it to be his cause of plumpness.

“I had a talk with your teacher this morning.” she proclaimed.

“Oh, did you?”

“Yes. He seemed to be very pleased that in all things concerning academia, you progress quite well.”

“Splendid!”

“But in regards to the physical aspects of schooling, you lack much to be desired.”

“Ack! I see…”

They continued on with their dinner.
- -
Oscar's red tufflets bopped up and down as he skidded down Creatmale Avenue.
He saw a bird. Unparticular by any means, but the aspect of his sight should be noted: He can see from very, very far away.

“That's a nice bird.”

“What's a nice bird?”

To his side stood Samantha, a pretentious girl met in fourth grade who, unluckily for Oscar, attempted to reason her standings through the medium that was himself.

“The bird over there Sammy.”

Oscar noticed of course, but attributed the fact that the company of a girl holds more value than the quality of the company.

“I don't see it.”

“Well I do.”

“How come you can see it and I can't?”

“I do not know, Sammy.”

“Hmph. No matter. Keen perception doesn't fix fatness.”

They skipped on towards Crestdale Middle school.

“Should I assume I shall see you after school?” asked Oscar.

“Potentially. I may or may not have a date.”

“ Wow. Who’s the unlucky lad?”

“Goodbye tomato.”

Sammy walked away with calculated steps.
School came and went with melancholic normality.
As predicted: Sammy did not show up after school. Much to Oscar's dismay.
To display this dismay, Oscar sulked on the school steps.

“What's that?”

A small plant several leagues away was growing very quickly.

“Crikey! This strikes me as curious!”

Oscar ran to a length where his sight could focus, and hid.
The plant grew and grew. It adorned itself with great leaves of greenish blue, and brown little balls.
It was a coconut tree.
Amazed at the miracle that he had just witnessed, Oscar immediately ran towards the plant.

“Huff, puff.”

“Hello young man.”

A small Coconut blocked his path.

“AHH- I suppose you are part of the miracle.”

“If you would wish that diagnostic, yes, I suppose I am correlated.”

“So…”

Oscar had many questions but could not formulate a sentence. The cat had gotten a hold of his tongue.

“I am a Coconut. For starters.”

“ I am aware.”

The Coconut looked wistfully away.

“Have you ever heard the tale of the Lonely Eel?”

“Er, no I believe I haven't.”

The Coconut heaved a sigh.

“Once upon a time, there was a great eel. Unique to his character, he pertained to an unfathomable sense of purpose. He was so in love with his strange purpose (although he did not know what it was) that he sacrificed all his currency and material belongings, to climb the highest mountain peak of Nat’U, Shaqila. He sat there for three days and three nights, until his purpose lay’d clear; there sat a girl who was very beautiful. He said to himself: ‘I must marry that woman!’.

And so upon tedious reflection of countless possibilities, various mediums of input, and lots and lots of deliberation, he finally mustered up the courage.

‘O young madame! I present to you; The Homage.’ he said from afar.

The girl turned to meet the snakelike gent.

‘Greets, as I say: Greets to the future, greets to the past. Greets, to all that shall view this point of endeavor.’

He cleared his throat.

‘Whom shall speak? Apologies. Correction: whom should speak, who can speak, whom permits the authority through which they say: Enunciate adjectives that shall profess nature's beauty. Whom? Whom is of the status, amongst the corale that we stand, lowly, that allows its practiced and applied capabilities to quantify a creation above, separate and beyond? Who shall free the lock? I detest this lock; it is a disease of heart and unease. I do not like it, and yet my being resides here. It resides, painfully. I reside, painfully. So I ask: ‘Kind sir, may you free this debilitation? Kind miss, could you free me of this sorrow?’ they sadly gestured, but with each empathetic connection I gained material. Love. Love was the key! Love was the applicant; the remedy; the key to this lock. I poured love through the lock, and there came vocabulary of which I had never believed able. There came ability, there came stature, effort, all the necessities that must be provided to provide an accurate description of you. And so I say, although actions say more than words without delay, to give an endeavoring scripture of your beauty, I say in beginnings to this scripture: I lov-’

And there he was shot! A hunter had patiently observed, and decided enough was enough. An arrow, right through the stomach. The girl on the edge of her seat looked down at the eel, resumed her condescending perception and strode away. The jealous hunter who had just beheaded the eel, planted his noggin within an isolated meadow. And yet the eel was not deterred. Within its last efforts, it sprouted; it gave the world a product of his content, a coconut, a symbol of unfulfilled love.”

Oscar looked at the Coconut.

“What?”

Oscar seldom refused fruit juice. Oscar seldom refused anything be it related to food.