Short Story:
His name is Darien, and he is a very odd fellow. With a tomato perpetually atop his head, he never walked with a slouch. Even on days that had winds determined to pluck the ripe fruit off his crown, it never faltered. Gusts stood no chance as the tomato stayed in place within Darien’s viney curls.
Each morning, Darien would wake up, fluff his mane, place his lumpy tomato on his cranium and begin to ready for the day.
To start, Darien takes a close-up look at his pointed face. With the grace of two swans, he applies thick smears of mascara onto his oversized eyelashes. With the black crud dried into place, Darien knows he must tame his bushy brows next. With a thud, a large vat of gel is smacked onto the table. One deep dunk into the viscous fluid with his brown wand, Darien gets down to business. Finally, his dense browns are laid down flat in a perfect arch, and now it is time for the best part of this grooming ritual. Lip gloss. This task is not one that Darien takes lightly. He sits down in his overstuffed chair and stares at all 60 shades of gloss that decorate his vanity. Darien’s eyes begin to dart back and forth between all the options, and he starts to feel overwhelmed with choice. The use of his eyes was not enough, so he turned his head side to side to maximise the intake of the glosses. With a halt, a cherry red with a glass finish stops him dead in his tracks. With precision, he globs the gloss on and makes a kissy face in the mirror to solidify his victory.
It is important to note that between Darien’s upper lip and his long nose was a magnificent handlebar mustache. On each end of the stash were perfect curly-ques that seemed to twist in on themselves for eternity. Some say if one stands too close and stares too long, you can find yourself in a trance similar to a garden of never-ending tomato vines.
Fruit placed, face done, it was time to conduct Darien’s favorite part of the day. Outfit time! Action was required to access the oversized wardrobe, which was spilling out its contents through the old cracks in the door. Darien leaps, twirls, and glides over to his next destination. Double doors flung open, vibrant colors spill out. Yellows, purples, reds, oranges, blues, and greens assault the eyes of the onlooker. Once the flash subsides, one can begin to see that the colors and fabrics show a warped version of an untouched field of wildflowers. Legend has it that if a soul can bear the sight long enough, faint sounds of crickets singing from deep within the wardrobe will flood nearby ears. The wind of small birds flapping their wings will caress the cheek of the entrances, and out of the corner of the bewitched eye, butterflies dance among the tule.
Darien thrusts his silky arm into the mess of pigment and pulls out a vermilion leotard with matching flats that lace up his milky legs. To keep warm in the fresh spring chill, Darien pairs this with a neon orange mid-shin coat. The cuffs around his wrists were adorned with red ruffles, looking like a thousand carnations held in place. These flowers spill down the front trim of the coat and wrap around the hem. To finish, there were extra-large puffs on his shoulders to accent his wild curls.
One glance in the mirror, Darien knew he had done his plump friend proud. With a snap of his fingers and a spin of his body, Darien and his tomato hat were ready to take on the day. A very odd fellow indeed, prepared to take on whatever this very odd day had in store for them.
