Brown Bowl with Fruit sat on the dining room table, his 1 customary spot. It was a Monday morning and the Morrison's were all a blur with activity. Mrs. Morrison2 was packing up lunches for her children; Wyatt, 16 and Judith, 13. Mr. Morrison3 read the paper while drinking coffee. A piece of flapjack fell of his fork, and left a sticky mark upon the family patriarch's clean white shirt. Brown Bowl with Fruit laughed, inaudibly of course.This always happened on flapjack day.Brown Bowl knew their routine by heart. Mr. Morrison would take the children to school, then return and clean up. She would change into something a bit more risque, often a skirt with a low cut blouse, of which she seemed to have an infinite supply of. Though the Bowl upon the table did not object, he thought Mrs. Morrison had nice legs. Then she would fuck her lover, loudly, in all rooms of the house. Once they even did it on the table, right next to Brown Bowl with Fruit, who could smell Mrs. Morrison's perfume.
Brown Bowl often wrestled with himself as to whether he should alert Mr. Morrison to his wife's dalliances.Ultimately though he felt that it was a family matter, and that it was not his place to interfere. Besides, he didn't have a mouth. And his contentious relationship with Mr. Morrison certainly didn't help matters.
Brown Bowl knew for a fact that Mr. Morrison himself would, upon arriving at work, promptly take a pull from the bottle of bourbon in his desk drawer. Over the course of day he would berate and engage in illicit liasons with various subourdinates4. Brown Bowl continued watching the morning routine play out before him. You see, Brown Bowl felt that any deviation from the routine was an ill portent of things to come. One morning months ago, Mr. Morrison had failed to drop the flapjack on his shirt, and Brown Bowl had spent the rest of the day with a thick fog of existential dread hanging over his head. Which really didn't suit him. He was, after all, a still life.
So it comforted him when, at 8:30, Wyatt ran upstairs and, like always, pounded on the bathroom door, imploring Judith (who was frantically extinguishing her cigarette and spraying air freshened while the door was being pounded) to "Hurry up Goddamnit". Then Mrs Morrison, on cue, yelled up the stairs: "Wyatt don't take the Lord's name in vain." Wyatt, who was coming to terms with his nascent atheism, would mutter under his breath; "Fuck god." Judith would exit and Wyatt would take her place in the bathroom, where he would take his customary pre-school5 wank6.
But this morning, this morning was different. For starters, Wyatt went to the bathroom first. It was Judith who was banging on the door. Mrs. Morrison declined to pack lunches, instead giving the children a per diam to be used on lunches. In fact, she would be leaving the house to spend the day on the beach with her lover. Finally Mr. Morrison neither drank coffee or read the paper. Brown Bowl with Fruit sighed with relief when Mr. Morrison dropped the flapjack on his pants; but deep down inside, he knew that the fibers of the day had been irreparably damaged. Oh how he wished he could go to sleep, and let the day pass over him like a harmless cloud. Sadly, Brown Bowl with Fruit was incapable of sleep, so he had to sit in the quiet house, waiting for the unspeakable horrors that he was sure would take place.
1. If gender pronouns are even applicable here. Though Brown Bowl with Fruit does self identify as male, being an inanimate object the point is moot.
2. Barbara to those that know her best, though Brown Bowl is quite polite and would only refer to her as such if explicitly given permission to.
3. Jack, who Brown Bowl, in his humble unsolicited opinion, felt was a bit of a boorish lout.
4. Brown Bowl's method for finding this is unkown.
5. If the reader is confused, this is referring to before going to school, not the school attended by small children.
6. Brown Bowl often pondered what the boy used to aid his onanism, but concluded that the boy must have a powerful imagination.
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Superstition'.