The midnight stock boy and the haunted produce (Photo: me as a haunted tomato) The midnight stock boy entered, his face was free of guile unaware he was the target of a haunted produce aisle. He thought he heard a sound: a rustling from the shelves. He slowly turned to look around but saw just pepper bells. Suddenly string beans snaked his knees Bananas grabbed his nose With a yell, the Chinese peas ran and pinched his toes. The spinach bags exploded right against his ear. The corn cobs soundly landed on his chest and on his rear. Cut and bruised and stinging from tomatoes’ slimy juice the boy said, “Stop attacking!” in a voice you can’t refuse. The produce all paused in the act of downing yet another doof in their attempt to stop the fact they’d be sold and go ka-poof. The stock boy’s eyes were fearless as he faced the greens gone wild. He said, “I hated veggies, as my parents’ only child.” The stock boy thus remembering The past so clear and true, he pounded into smithereens the mushrooms, two by two. He poked the taters in the eye, scared apples to their core. He even made the onions cry and smashed the rest some more. Just then, his boss came rushing in, and eyed the messy floor. He told the boy, with quiv’ring chin: “Don’t you come to work no more!” Despite his explanation, The stock boy could not stay. Thus the produce, in their station, lived to haunt another day.
Posted on: Fri, 31 Oct 2014 17:35:15 +0000
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