stapler boy

previously published in Gloom Cupboard Issue #71 (if u can believe it)

“Mummy,” Stapler Boy whined. “I want a sultana!”

“Now now, my dear Stapler Boy, you will get your sultana when you have finished blow drying your socks! It’s only fair that you do your chores when you three brothers and six fathers slave all day washing their long putrid hair. It’s the least you can do.”

“Yes Mummy…”

On the other side of town, Hoedy was delivering a pizza.

“Curse you!” howled the teeny tiny pizza man. His foot was caught in the revolving door and his intestines were strewn in a perfect line behind him. Retracing his steps, as you would for any lost item, Hoedy retrieved his intestines and carefully replaced them. He sewed the seeping wound neatly shut.

“There,” he said, eyes beaming with pride. “A job well done! I think I shall go and rake some leaves.” So Hoedy went to rake some leaves. It was very boring but, as the pizza delivery man noticed, nobody was watching. So he began to strip - slowly at first, then faster. When Hoedy had successfully undressed down to his underwear, he cast another look around to make sure that he was still alone. When he was certain the coast was clear he picked up a handful of leaves and shoved them deep into his Y-fronts.

His initial reaction was one of most pleasure. Each time he took a step, the crunchy brown leaves would crumple, leaving him in ecstasy. He picked up another handful and rubbed them down his face and chest, moaning.

“Mister Hoedy, what are you doing?” came a small voice.

Startled, Hoedy tried to think of an excuse. He was ashamed, it was true. “I dropped my ring down my pants… Did you bring a straw?” he asked lamely. When he saw that this simple explanation wasn’t going to work, he head butted the little neighbourhood boy.

“ARGHHGHGHGHHGHGHG,” cried that little boy. “My little stapler head is throbbing!”

It was the boy! The very same boy that had asked his mother for a sultana that morning and with great pleasure he was glad to tell anyone interested that he had enjoyed that little brown raisin. Mmmmm.

At that very moment an ugly man joined them on the deserted street.

“Narrat, get your ass over here now. Don’t harass nasty perverts!” It was Stapler Boy’s mother.

Hoedy drooled to himself as the Ugly Man swept her son into her arms. Hoedy followed in awe. This man shall be mine, he promised himself. The man, the little boy’s mother, was tall but she had no feet and only a little penis, dragging along on the floor behind her.

“You might want to pick that up,” Hoedy said referring to the genitals, “It might get dirty.”

“What would you know about housework?” the man said, looking Hoedy up and down. A prurient smile spread across her lips. “Why don’t you come over to my house and help my spank my naughty boy?”

Hoedy’s sexual desire was almost killing him with desire. He nodded eagerly, hardly able to contain himself. Narrat’s eyes widened in fear, but the promise of a shiny new sultana to add to his collection silenced him. Together Hoedy and the man ran home, dragging behind them the small child.

When they reached the man’s little shack, Hoedy locked the little Stapler Boy in the closet and proceeded to take of his underpants. Leaves littered themselves onto the floor but Hoedy didn’t care. Naked, he stood before Stapler Boy’s mother. But the man he had come to make love to remained seated on the floor, staring at the wall.

“Get out, you stupid, evil man. I don’t like sex.”

Hoedy left, filled with pain and rejection. Suddenly he tripped, rupturing his spleen and left nipple. “Oh dear,” he sighed and then died. He died that day, I’m sure he did. I died that day, I’m sure I did. They missed me, I’m sure they did. Now that Hoedy was dead and gone, the world was at peace from such a horrible, horrible person.

Narrat was still locked in the closet, whimpering and alone. When his mother realised, it was the morning. She let him out just in time for his lessons.

“When little puppies are born, they come out all gooey and smelly. The mother will lick the puppies clean with her tongue and then go vomit in the back garden.”

The class of grade four was listening to their teacher Ms Afganananastanalyrantum read a story. Only two of the children in Ms Afganananastanalyrantum’s class were paying attention to the enriching story of how dogs masturbate.

One of the two children that were paying attention raised his hand. His name was Narrat.

“Excuse me Ms Afganananastanalyrantum,” said little Narrat. “But I was wondering if you could tell me how to masturbate?”

Ms Afganananastanalyrantum stared blankly at the little Stapler Boy. “I shall show you later my little pumpkin piddle. If you’re lucky. Now back to the topic; flower buds. Does anybody know how many are down my pants?”

Narrat raised his hand again, though hesitantly. “Five thousand and… twenty?”

“NO!” the teacher shrieked, hurling a piece of chalk at the frightened little boy. “There are in fact four.”

Narrat peed his pants in fear.

“Wipe that up sonny, I don’t need more mouldy carpet.”

As Narrat pulled on his neighbour’s sleeve and mopped up his mess, thirteen little minds wandered to other things. Ms Afganananastanalyrantum was an awful teacher, she yelled far too much and had an odd fetish for flora nestled against her privates. She reminded Narrat of a man he had known once… the local pizza delivery boy, who had died in a tragic nipple and spleen accident the day before.

Narrat had barely had time to mourn for the late Mister Hoedy. He felt it his duty to leave some flowers at the funeral site. And he knew just who would have an endless supply… “Miss?” he raised his wet hand.

A little insane blonde girl slapped him and bit off his nose at that moment. Narrat burst into tears and fled from the classroom. His tiny footsteps echoed through the hallways as he wept and wept, running all the way home.

What a week he had had! Narrat had been made to do all his chores, been head-butted, locked in a closet and lost his dear pizza man all in the same day. And today, he had been yelled at, slapped, and had his nose bitten off! He needed his mummy.

Narrat reached his street, heart and head pounding. A salty, sematic stench flowed from the gaping hole where his nose used to be, but Narrat of course could not smell it. As he raced into the middle of the road, he noticed some potatoes on his shoes and reached down to peel them off. The bus had not seen him, nor had he seen it. It ran raggedly into his bottom as he was so very busy with the potatoes. But he didn’t die, oh no, Narrat didn’t die. He was simply paralysed from the waist down.

Clawing his way inside, Narrat was beyond tears. He could see his mother, a shimmering man in the distance of the kitchen. She was silhouetted against the cold white of the fridge and Narrat knew he could make it. He knew there was one thing, one thing she could give him to make everything okay. Everything would be okay.

“Mummy,” Stapler Boy whined, tugging her shirt. “I want a sultana!”