A fictitious story about a fictitious event with fictitious people

I am writing this story from my writing room, in the drawing wing of my Tudor house (I am not really writing this from there, it's all fiction).  As I look out over the meadows of evergreen grass and the slow moving clouds in the crisp blue sky I think deeply into a moment, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year.  It was when I was younger, probably.   The thought of it still haunts me today.  It haunts me like Casper haunted that house and Christina Ricci in that movie, Casper. Shivers are running down my spine as I type this (yours too, probably, because writing), and I wonder whether to divulge this moment, this deep dark past that I have locked far back in the recesses of the swing wing of my Tudor house. It must come out, I decided. It must be heard.  I must tell the story about that time when I feared I told my coworkers too much.

Cue Intro.


I was a stable boy for a flower shop back then.  I remember old Mr. Hutchins would yell, 'You boy, Jenkins, stable these daisies.'  And I would say back to him, 'Yessir Mr. Hutchins. Right away sir.'  Or something like that.  My memory fails me often these days.  I'm not as fresh of mind as I once was, I'm afraid. Yes, the days at Hutchins, Montgomery, Blueberry, and Ross Flower and Apiary Symposium Incorporated, A Subsidiary of Glemco, a joint venture of StrongArm Oil & Chemical and Glemmings Diamond Consilidated were some of the best and most carefree days of my life.  And by carefree I mean extremely stressful and angst-ridden, for I had a secret.  A secret so great that I will waste no time in telling you what it is.  I will not build it up to unworthy proportions.  Make it seem that this secret may change the face of history or time. Or will I drag it out only to lead to an unsavory reveal that could be labeled anti-climatic or disappointing.  I will do the opposite of that.  So more like Snakes on a Plane than The Sixth Sense.  Or more like Eat, Pray, Love than Murder on the Orient Express.  So I'll just reveal my secret now, to get it over with and out there and then I can move on with my story. My name wasn't Jenkins. And I was a CIA agent, or something cool like that. And my real name was Brad Pitt. And I was also really wealthy so I didn't really need to be a stable boy at a flower shop, I just did it for some reason that I can't think of right now.  Probably because I was in the CIA.  Yeah, it definitely had to do with the CIA, and being Brad Pitt.  All of these things together were my secrets.

Cue Midtro.


So one day at my work where I had a secret, I was stabling the flowers when I heard Old Mr. Hutchins and Old Mr. Blueberry hatching plans to take over the world or something close to that. It could also have been like, we should take over that ward on the corner (the one on 82nd and 1th).  But I swore I heard world.  So anyway I took one my coworkers, Diane, and I took her into this supply room that was filled with fertilizer!  And for a second I was like they are going to bomb the world (!), and then I was like no they probably are going to use it on the flowers because there wasn't that much fertilizer. So Diane and I had been having this crazy on again, off again, will they? won't they? sort of deal and I pushed her up against the flower fertilizer and I said, 'Diane! Listen to me. Don't you understand?  My name isn't Roscoe Jenkins. And I am no ordinary stable boy. What I am about to tell you will change the face of history or time.' And then I told her all that stuff that I said like 10 sentences ago. And she was totally like OMG, but this was before OMG was a thing and I was all like iknowright? but this was before iknowright? was a thing, so our facebook statuses were like it's complicated, but this was before facebook. After that she ran out of the room screaming, probably because we just invented the internet and we both knew we were going to become super duper rich and famous.  And then right then I was all like, 'I fear I told my co-workers too much.'  Because if I hadn't I could've invented the internet all by myself and I wouldn't have to split all the money in the world with stupid Diane.

Cue Outro.


So that's it. That's my story. That's my secret and I have to admit it feels good to get that off my chest.  I never figured out if Hutchins, Montgomery, Blueberry, and Ross Flower and Apiary Symposium Incorporated, A Subsidiary of Glemco, a joint venture of StrongArm Oil & Chemical and Glemmings Diamond Consilidated were going to take over the world.  It still haunts me a little bit to this day.  But what do I care? I am extremely wealthy, and work for the CIA or something, and I am Brad Pitt, and I live in a Tudor House.  So I think I am doing pretty good, pretty pretty good.

Cue Explosion.