Prompt writing

Mr. Boo-boo Fin was silently suffering, crouched on his pink silk unicorn pillow. There comes a time in each and every one’s life when one has to endure the most excruciating pain known to a human being: constipation. In Mr. Boo-boo Fin’s case, the pain was even more degrading: for, you see, he was an immortal and a pretty old one at that - having lived over 2500 years. And every 50 years, thanks to an unhappy incident involving a drunk hippopotamus, a grumpy old witch and a rainbow colored slug, the pain was to repeat itself tenfold!

Mr. Boo-boo Fin had always been an optimist though, even in the darkest times. He had what most people lack in these situations: a logical approach. Therefore, naturally, he turned to something even more disturbing than constipation, something gone horribly wrong, something that would most certainly distract him from his physical pain: mathematical mind games. Because, you see, having lived so long, Mr. Boo-boo Fin had had to endure an equal, spiritual pain: boredom. He had already felt all physical damages and sorrows. He had already felt all emotional ups and downs. There was a wide range of feelings available for a human being, yet Mr. Boo-boo Fin had experienced them all. And that is why that new source of excitement, hope, and distraction turned out to be maths.

So while life looked down on him with utter cynicism, he looked up at life with a certain belief that everything would turn up all right. And that 2+2 would make 4.

Except maybe this time.

Ten thousand painful needles were stinging Mr. Boo-boo’s stomach and intestines. Ten thousand painful needles that seemed to be draining him of all his energy, immortality and goodwill. And then, some other ten thousand needles were piercing his brain, teasing his neurons, refusing to create synapses. Mr. Boo-boo felt as if he could just take all bad things inside of him and eliminate them one by one, once and for all; and yet, he couldn’t. He struggled, he tried, he fought on; but nothing would come out of it. No maths idea. No poop. No nothing.

Already, in Mr. Boo-boo’s conscience, poop and maths had become a synonym to each other, a mirrored image of the same concept. It wasn’t even that hard to imagine why: both took the same amount of stress, frustration and grunts to relieve. Solving an integral was equal to struggling half an hour on the toilet seat. Finding a certain limit was as disturbing as diarrhea - and it has the same after-smell. All matrices looked like the pattern on the toilet paper. There was a clear analogy between applying Stolz-Cesaro and suffering stomach cramps. Yet he couldn’t quite grasp it.
He couldn’t quite grasp anything anymore. His intellect was now in perfect synchro with his bowels. Maths had become his wonder therapy. There was an incredibly thin line between pleasure and pain and at this point, he really couldn’t tell which one was each anymore.
Eyes popping wide out of his skull, face distorted, hands clutched, Mr. Boo-boo Fin finally pooped.

And then full of satisfaction, he solved an integral.

All was well for this two and a half millennium immortal.


(Bazat pe prompturile date de vară-mea:

pillow
immortality
constipation
mathematical
cynicism)