The Definite Doilies

         I did this for an assignment in class based off of the Storymatic. I'm probably going to chop off the last two paragraphs later on and write a much longer story. For now, this is what is!

           Milliseconds before, the water had only but begun its fiery descent from the china cup. It didn't fall neatly, as one might suspect, but it did fall with grace. There were amorphous clumpings of every blob shape imaginable succumbing to the powers of gravity. James Keil thought he saw them moving in slow motion, but he always felt that way when watching something terrible happen. Almost in the same moment, his upper left thigh was awash in a sharp pain that burned much like an ice cube wouldn't. James was a clumsy fool, and a clumsy fool with a passion for noon tea at that. “BLOODY TOENAIL CLIPPINGS,” he ejaculated as he burst out of his chair and violently shoved the round, plastic table forward with his muscular legs. More water spilled from the teapot as several antiquated cups that looked like Chip from Beauty and the Beast disengaged from their mortal coils against the tile floor. And all this because James had been noticeably (in the crotch of his pants) distracted by a large-breasted (he liked breasts) passerby he had seen straddling a galloping horse through the window nearest him. A cold wind blew into the room from the window, crisp against James' face, reminding him of the scalding pain on his upper left thigh.

          He'd been born into wealth, the child of that guy who invented those cardboard things you put on coffee cups to avoid burning your hands. The less fortunate acquaintances he'd encountered in his twenty three years of life had never hesitated to remind of his privilege, and it made him sick to his stomach. Not their reminders, but the fact that they were right. He'd never accomplished much of anything for himself, other than the ability to squat 380 pounds. He knew deep down that he always wanted to be a dentist. He wasn't a masochist or anything weird like that, he just really liked teeth. Especially when they were brilliantly white, like the shattered china that had just been housing his beloved Earl Grey tea. He'd taken courses geared toward the profession: Gum Health for Beginning Dental Hygiene Practitioners, Dental Formula with an Emphasis in Anthropological Roots. He felt fairly confident that that was all he needed to know. After all, how difficult could being a dentist be?

          He discovered the answer to that question during his first dental lab class. He'd had to work with plaque removing tools on a dummy of a head. The goal was to avoid damaging the dummy's gums. The gum regions of the dummy had special sensors that would trigger loud noises and red lights when agitated, kind of like a dental version of 'Operation.' Every single time James would inflict mortal wounds upon the dummy. It would flash colors the proctors didn't even know it could flash. It was unprecedented behavior. Nobody had ever wounded a patient even moderately with a simple plaque scraper. But James did. Every time. He was just too darn clumsy to be any good.

          He made his way toward the restroom in order to do something about his worsening leg injury. He violently slammed into waiters touting platters covered in open sandwiches and champagne glasses, because, after all, etiquette was everything. He arrived the the restroom door and twisted the s-shaped marbled handle with more force than necessary and shouldered his way in. Immediately upon entry an intense wave of fecal odor assaulted his nares. “Somebody had lasagna,” he thought to himself. He hastily ripped off his pants (literally ripped, he was unable to ever use those pants again) and vaulted his thigh over the sink counter, slamming the golden cold water spigot to full blast above his upper left thigh. The cooling sensation that overtook him was euphoric. The water didn't just assuage his leg, it assuaged his entire being. He felt pleasing cool tingles spread throughout his entire body, first as if only the short body hairs protruding from his pores were being chilled, and then to his very core. He allowed his body to relax when his eyes were pulled to a particular spot on the bathroom mirror. In the lower right corner of his mirror, he saw a peculiarly colored backpack. It was casually sitting on the floor of an unoccupied stall. He knew that whoever had left it there had done so intentionally, as there was no way someone could overlook such a large bag in such a small space. Somebody had wanted him...had wanted somebody to find that bag. He slowly lowered his beautifully-defined thigh from the sink, dripping droplets of wet water onto the flamboyant floor of the businesslike floor. He cautiously pussyfooted toward the bag, stopping after each step to ensure nobody was watching him. He didn't know why he did that, but it felt like a good thing to do. Just before he arrived at the bag, he accidentally peered into the toilet bowl behind it. He learned that somebody had indeed eaten lasagna. He knelt down to better examine the bag. Juicy Couture. He didn't know Juicy Couture made backpacks. The entire exterior of the bag was purple suede, accentuated by green stitching. The logo was embossed on an onyx plaque that appeared to be nailed onto the backpack. He slowly tugged at the bamboo zipper-pulls, overwrought with anticipation as to what he would find inside. When the opening was finally wide enough for him to peer through, his heart stopped. Not literally. The contents of the backpack were phenomenal beyond his most fanciful hallucinations (he often did acid). Sitting at the bottom of the backpack, taking up no more than 2% of its available space, were 6 expertly crafted doilies. They were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen in his life. Each doily was at least ten times as beautiful as the breasts of that woman he had just seen riding a horse. What they lacked in size they surpassed in class and craftsmanship. He fingered one and was blown away by the unreal combination of softness and strength in its texture. He noticed the chrysanthemums stitched into the petal-like flaps along the perimeter of the doily and was absolutely flabbergasted: these were the doilies of Princess QueenKing George Mikaela Esteban Gonzales Nguyen SugarDildo XVIIXIVIXIX! In an instant the purpose of his life became something else entirely. Every ounce of energy he had was thenceforth going to be exerted in protecting those doilies with all of his energy.

           Just then, a man in a red suit with chalky white pinstripes burst through the lavatory door. A pin on his lapel read Neville Caine, D.D.S. In a thick, slurry Cockney he yelled, “GET YO HANDS OFF ME MUM'S CUSTUM PERIOD PADS. BLOKE.” That's what these are? James thought to himself. “That's what these are?” James thought aloud. “Isn't it obvious mate?” James was disjointed by the volley of questions. So he asked another. “Why the purple Juicy backpack? Why the Men's restroom?” “I work as a fairy princess on weekends. Do birthdays n shit. And a few moments ago I was takin' one.” So you just forgot this backpack here? James thought. “What was that you just thought, bloke?” “Oh, sorry. You just forgot his backpack here?” James replied. “Neh. I just wanted to see if some bloke would touch me Mum's period pads.” Neville Caine, D.D.S. sauntered over to James laughing hysterically, like the long lost fourth member of the hyena pack from Lion King. He snatched up the bag, and tossed a period pad on the floor in front of James. “One for the road you sick, freak.” He left.

          James sat there for what felt like minutes, but was in fact hours. Or perhaps it was the other way around. He forgets, as do I. All at once he utterly despised both dentists and doilies, things he had been enamored with mere minutes before. Or was it hours. He forgets, as do I. He tried to sit up on the toilet seat in order to think in a slightly more comfortable position, but missed in a calamitous occasion of clumsiness. He felt back to the tiled floor and heard a crack, sure that something was wrong. He felt no pain, because his mind was too dense with confusion to allow anything else in. He sat on the tiles of the businesslike floor for quite some time, broken bottom and all, trying to make sense of what had just happened.