There is nothing extraordinary about Michealson Fisher except his mustache. If you were to see him on the street, he wouldn't stand out. But inside his mind, Michealson Fisher was unique. Maybe it was what he had learned or maybe it was how he had learned it, but none of this really matters because Michealson Fisher has decided NOT to use his imagination any-more. Michealson Fisher wants to see the world the way it really is.
The Fuzzy Nose
By Damon Dion ReedAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Damon Dion Reed
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4772-8920-4Contents
Chapter One.......................1Chapter Two.......................7Chapter Three.....................14Chapter Four......................25Chapter Five......................31Chapter Six.......................38Chapter Seven.....................44Chapter Eight.....................50Chapter Nine......................53
Chapter One
Michealson Fisher was an infinitesimally complex man who had a reason for everything. On Tuesdays, he would get up, stand on his right foot for twenty-five seconds and then stand on his left foot for thirty-six seconds, all the while stretching his arms towards the ceiling. On Thursdays, he would get up, hop on his left foot to the bathroom, and then hoop on his right foot while washing his mouth out. On Sundays, he would dangle his feet over the side of his bed and pretend that he was playing a piano that had been designed specifically for his toes. As for the reason why Michealson did all these things, we may never know. But Michealson's behavior wasn't the strangest thing about him. Quite simply, Michealson never trimmed his nose hairs. He would trim his mustache, his hairy ears, and on occasion, his straight brown hair, but he never trimmed his over-grown, out-of-control, very bushy nose hairs. Unfortunately though, his rampant nose hair wasn't the reason why everyone called him Hairy Snotter.
As a child, it was unfortunate that Michealson Fisher had an over active imagination. But as an adult, Hairy Snotter was quite fond of his imagination and the delights it brought him every day. While driving to work, he would imagine that his mustache was blowing in the wind - even though he always kept his car windows shut. When walking from the parking garage to the building where he worked, he always imagined that he was jumping over great lava pits, waving to a forest full of monkeys, or stopping to say hello to the two rhinos having tea. All of which, Hairy never told anyone. In fact, Hairy didn't speak much at all.
Nine years ago to the day, Hairy had had his first interview with the Bankers Trust of America. And on that day, Hairy had been very cordial. He had smiled, laughed, and shaken hands with every one of his interviewers until they offered him the job of: assistant to the trust fund manager's secretary. This job sounded like an open door into the world of banking, but it was, in fact, a lonely, depressing, and very repetitive job. On top of all that, Hairy's boss, the trust fund manager's secretary, Shelly Mitchal, was a wicked old hag. More times than Hairy would care to admit, he imagined that Shelly was wearing a pointed black hat and was brewing an evil potion in her over-sized coffee mug. In short, it had been Shelly who had given Hairy his wonderful nick-name.
Six years ago, Hairy came down with a cold of monumental proportions. One day, as he walked out of work into the brisk autumn wind that tickled his mustache, he sneezed four times before being able to zip up his coat. At first, he thought it was just an allergy to the bear, who was having evening tea with the two rhinos, but by the time he had gotten home, he was feeling quite terrible. That night, even though he took some cold medicine, Hairy still tossed, turned, and blew his nose almost a billion times.
The next morning, after lying in bed and feeling absolutely horrible for quite some time, Hairy blew his nose one more time before he made up his mind to begin the day. Being that it was a Saturday, Hairy shuffled to his dresser and found his orchestral baton. After tapping it twice on the dresser, Hairy turned to face the orchestra of mice and the tabby yellow cat on the drums, which assembled every time Hairy tapped his orchestral baton - but they were nowhere to be found. All Hairy saw was mountains and mountains of used tissues. For a moment, he thought he had heard a little squeak, but he couldn't be sure. Therefore, he set the orchestral baton back down and began to clean away the mountains of used tissues. Sometime later, after Hairy had filled what he imagined to be fifteen garbage bags full of used tissues, Hairy finally found the orchestra of mice and the yellow tabby cat on the drums; they were all very unhappy about their working conditions. After apologizing for their horrific working conditions, Hairy returned to the dresser, picked up his orchestral baton, tapped it twice, and orchestra roared to life. It wasn't the best performance Hairy had ever conducted, but he was glad when it was done. After taking a quick bow, Hairy turned to his dresser, set the baton down, grabbed a box of tissues, and headed to the bathroom.
Once Hairy had turned on the water for his Saturday morning bath, Hairy blew his nose another hundred thousand times before slipping past the shower curtain into the bathtub. The warm water felt wonderful to his feet, and he desperately wanted to slide into the warm bath, but Claire was waiting impatiently for him. Therefore, Hairy did a quick mamba with Claire, the turtle who lived in his shower, before lowering himself into the warm water. Sometime later, long after Claire had had enough of the hot water, Hairy finally drained the bathtub, washed the remaining suds down the drain, and reached for his towel.
Typically, Hairy looked forward to Saturdays, but after his bath on that particular Saturday, he simply returned to his bed - where he stayed all day. The next morning, amid billions of used tissues, Hairy slowly slid his feet out from under the covers to play his Sunday morning concert, but billions of used tissues covered his toe piano. He desperately tried to swish them away with his feet, but a few remained, and Hairy didn't have the strength to get up and completely clean off the toe piano. Thus, Hairy played a quick toe-piano concert, pulled his feet back under the covers, and reached for another tissue. When Hairy finally did pull himself from the bed, through the bathroom, and into the kitchen, it was well past noon.
Hairy warmed up some chicken noodle soup, walked back to his bedroom past the mountains of used tissues, slid under the covers, and began sipping spoonfuls of soup until only one noodle remained in the bowl. He then set the bowl on his bed stand, returned to the cavern beneath his blankets, and remained there with his friend Paul, who was hibernating as well.
Unfortunately, since it was the end of the second quarter at the Banker's Trust of America, Hairy thought it best that he go to work on Monday. Therefore, the following morning, Hairy mustered all of his strength, pulled himself from his warm bed, did his ritualistic tap dance as he brushed his teeth, and went to work.
On his commute to work, which seemed like it took an eternity, Hairy imagined himself growing older than the mountains and the universe combined. Once he had made it to his cubicle and loving chair, which gave him a big hug, Hairy tried to concentrate on his work. As the morning lurched by, Hairy's trash can began to choke from the inordinate amount of tissues. It finally got so bad that the trash can began to regurgitate the used tissues back onto the floor in his cubicle. Thus, Hairy finally decided to leave the comfort of his loving chair to help his drowning trash can. When he was returning from emptying his trash can, Shelly caught sight of him, the trash can, his bright red nose, and she began to call him Mr. Snotter - which she enjoyed quite thoroughly. Hairy on the other hand, simply blew his nose another trillion times before he packed up his things, thanked his...
