There is nothing extraordinary about Michealson Fisher except his mustache. If you were to see him on the street, he wouldn't stand out. But inside his mind, Michealson Fisher was unique. Maybe it was what he had learned or maybe it was how he had learned it, but none of this really matters because Michealson Fisher has decided NOT to use his imagination any-more. Michealson Fisher wants to see the world the way it really is.
The Fuzzy Nose
By Damon Dion ReedAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Damon Dion Reed
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4772-8920-4Contents
Chapter One.......................1Chapter Two.......................7Chapter Three.....................14Chapter Four......................25Chapter Five......................31Chapter Six.......................38Chapter Seven.....................44Chapter Eight.....................50Chapter Nine......................53
Chapter One
Michealson Fisher was an infinitesimally complex man who had a reason for everything. On Tuesdays, he would get up, stand on his right foot for twenty-five seconds and then stand on his left foot for thirty-six seconds, all the while stretching his arms towards the ceiling. On Thursdays, he would get up, hop on his left foot to the bathroom, and then hoop on his right foot while washing his mouth out. On Sundays, he would dangle his feet over the side of his bed and pretend that he was playing a piano that had been designed specifically for his toes. As for the reason why Michealson did all these things, we may never know. But Michealson's behavior wasn't the strangest thing about him. Quite simply, Michealson never trimmed his nose hairs. He would trim his mustache, his hairy ears, and on occasion, his straight brown hair, but he never trimmed his over-grown, out-of-control, very bushy nose hairs. Unfortunately though, his rampant nose hair wasn't the reason why everyone called him Hairy Snotter.
As a child, it was unfortunate that Michealson Fisher had an over active imagination. But as an adult, Hairy Snotter was quite fond of his imagination and the delights it brought him every day. While driving to work, he would imagine that his mustache was blowing in the wind - even though he always kept his car windows shut. When walking from the parking garage to the building where he worked, he always imagined that he was jumping over great lava pits, waving to a forest full of monkeys, or stopping to say hello to the two rhinos having tea. All of which, Hairy never told anyone. In fact, Hairy didn't speak much at all.
Nine years ago to the day, Hairy had had his first interview with the Bankers Trust of America. And on that day, Hairy had been very cordial. He had smiled, laughed, and shaken hands with every one of his interviewers until they offered him the job of: assistant to the trust fund manager's secretary. This job sounded like an open door into the world of banking, but it was, in fact, a lonely, depressing, and very repetitive job. On top of all that, Hairy's boss, the trust fund manager's secretary, Shelly Mitchal, was a wicked old hag. More times than Hairy would care to admit, he imagined that Shelly was wearing a pointed black hat and was brewing an evil potion in her over-sized coffee mug. In short, it had been Shelly who had given Hairy his wonderful nick-name.
Six years ago, Hairy came down with a cold of monumental proportions. One day, as he walked out of work into the brisk autumn wind that tickled his mustache, he sneezed four times before being able to zip up his coat. At first, he thought it was just an allergy to the bear, who was having evening tea with the two rhinos, but by the time he had gotten home, he was feeling quite terrible. That night, even though he took some cold medicine, Hairy still tossed, turned, and blew his nose almost a billion times.
The next morning, after lying in bed and feeling absolutely horrible for quite some time, Hairy blew his nose one more time before he made up his mind to begin the day. Being that it was a Saturday, Hairy shuffled to his dresser and found his orchestral baton. After tapping it twice on the dresser, Hairy turned to face the orchestra of mice and the tabby yellow cat on the drums, which assembled every time Hairy tapped his orchestral baton - but they were nowhere to be found. All Hairy saw was mountains and mountains of used tissues. For a moment, he thought he had heard a little squeak, but he couldn't be sure. Therefore, he set the orchestral baton back down and began to clean away the mountains of used tissues. Sometime later, after Hairy had filled what he imagined to be fifteen garbage bags full of used tissues, Hairy finally found the orchestra of mice and the yellow tabby cat on the drums; they were all very unhappy about their working conditions. After apologizing for their horrific working conditions, Hairy returned to the dresser, picked up his orchestral baton, tapped it twice, and orchestra roared to life. It wasn't the best performance Hairy had ever conducted, but he was glad when it was done. After taking a quick bow, Hairy turned to his dresser, set the baton down, grabbed a box of tissues, and headed to the bathroom.
Once Hairy had turned on the water for his Saturday morning bath, Hairy blew his nose another hundred thousand times before slipping past the shower curtain into the bathtub. The warm water felt wonderful to his feet, and he desperately wanted to slide into the warm bath, but Claire was waiting impatiently for him. Therefore, Hairy did a quick mamba with Claire, the turtle who lived in his shower, before lowering himself into the warm water. Sometime later, long after Claire had had enough of the hot water, Hairy finally drained the bathtub, washed the remaining suds down the drain, and reached for his towel.
Typically, Hairy looked forward to Saturdays, but after his bath on that particular Saturday, he simply returned to his bed - where he stayed all day. The next morning, amid billions of used tissues, Hairy slowly slid his feet out from under the covers to play his Sunday morning concert, but billions of used tissues covered his toe piano. He desperately tried to swish them away with his feet, but a few remained, and Hairy didn't have the strength to get up and completely clean off the toe piano. Thus, Hairy played a quick toe-piano concert, pulled his feet back under the covers, and reached for another tissue. When Hairy finally did pull himself from the bed, through the bathroom, and into the kitchen, it was well past noon.
Hairy warmed up some chicken noodle soup, walked back to his bedroom past the mountains of used tissues, slid under the covers, and began sipping spoonfuls of soup until only one noodle remained in the bowl. He then set the bowl on his bed stand, returned to the cavern beneath his blankets, and remained there with his friend Paul, who was hibernating as well.
Unfortunately, since it was the end of the second quarter at the Banker's Trust of America, Hairy thought it best that he go to work on Monday. Therefore, the following morning, Hairy mustered all of his strength, pulled himself from his warm bed, did his ritualistic tap dance as he brushed his teeth, and went to work.
On his commute to work, which seemed like it took an eternity, Hairy imagined himself growing older than the mountains and the universe combined. Once he had made it to his cubicle and loving chair, which gave him a big hug, Hairy tried to concentrate on his work. As the morning lurched by, Hairy's trash can began to choke from the inordinate amount of tissues. It finally got so bad that the trash can began to regurgitate the used tissues back onto the floor in his cubicle. Thus, Hairy finally decided to leave the comfort of his loving chair to help his drowning trash can. When he was returning from emptying his trash can, Shelly caught sight of him, the trash can, his bright red nose, and she began to call him Mr. Snotter - which she enjoyed quite thoroughly. Hairy on the other hand, simply blew his nose another trillion times before he packed up his things, thanked his loving chair, apologized to his trash can, and headed home.
From that day forward, Shelly referred to Hairy as Mr. Snotter. But, it wasn't until few days later, as Hairy tried to correct the damage the wind had enjoyed doing to his hair, that Shelly walked past his cubicle and saw his ruffled hair. She blurted out, "You look like a hairy Mr. Snotter" before collapsing in a fit of cackling laughter, which created quite a scene in the office.
"Doesn't he look like Hairy Snotter?" Shelly practically yelled out to everyone in the office as she returned to her feet.
Hairy was too tired and too busy to find her amusing, but that didn't stop Shelly from telling every person in the office about Hairy's new nick-name. In fact, Shelly was such an influential witch, that she corrected everyone at the Banker's Trust of America until he was simply known as - Hairy Snotter.
To begin with, Harry imagined himself swooping through the corridors of a large magical castle, but that fantasy gave way to the repetitive nature of his work. Thus, on one especially repetitive day, Hairy imagined that there was a whole other world inside his nose - A place of infinite possibilities, a place where the town bell would ring every afternoon, a place where people would build picket fences with his nose hairs, a place where tubby little children played hide and seek in his nose hair forest, and, finally, a place where Shelly couldn't ridicule him.
It was on that day that Harry Snotter vowed never to trim his nose hairs again or violate the town's people by picking his nose - and the story of the witch's Stove began.
Chapter Two
When Hairy first decided to build an imaginary town in his nose, he didn't know what type of people would want to live in his nose. At first, he imagined that little blue people lived in his nose, but that was too clichéd. Next, he imagined that small crab-like people lived in his nose, but sneezed every time he visualized the crab-like people scuttling around his nose town. Therefore, Hairy decided that the people inside his nose were
exactly like him - and his imagination didn't stop there.
"Good morning." Hairy Jr. said to Hairy number three in the town inside Hairy's nose.
"Yes, it is a wonderful morning," replied Hairy number three.
"Did you see the nose hair on Mrs. Hairy 7th yesterday?" Hairy Jr. asked.
"Why yes, I did see her nostril arrangement," replied Hairy 3rd. "I have to say that it makes her look ten years younger."
"Yes it does. Well, I think I'll just have one nosmuff and a cup of black nosffee today, please," Hairy Jr. said as he flipped through a Noseweek magazine near the register.
After a moment, Hairy 3rd returned to the counter with a small brown paper bag and a cup of nosffee. "Here you go, Hairy junior. That will be $6.58."
"Here's seven nollars. You can keep the change. See ya tomorrow." Hairy Jr. replied as he picked up the bag and the cup of nosffee, then turned toward the door.
"Thanks so much Hairy junior. See you tomorrow," Hairy the 3rd replied as he pushed a couple buttons on the register, which made a few quick snorts before popping open.
Hairy would giggle for hours and hours at the thought of a town of miniature Hairys all up in his nose. And all the while, he stapled, highlighted, labeled, and filed the countless reports that Shelly placed on his desk each and every morning. Unfortunately, every time Hairy thought to write down his wonderfully imaginative adventures, he couldn't remember if it was Mrs. Hairy 7th or Mrs. Hairy 21st who had left her nosffee pot on and had caused the evacuation of every tenant at 728 Nostral Avenue. And for that matter, Hairy couldn't remember if it was Hairy 24th or Hairy 58th who was the head of the Nosville volunteer fire department. Therefore, Hairy decided that it wasn't a good idea to build a town where everybody was exactly the same. That evening after supper, Hairy demolished the town of Nosville with one quick blow into a tissue.
The next morning, which happened to be a Wednesday, as Hairy whistled "The Star Spangled Banner" and waltzed with Jillian, an imaginary orangutan, Hairy decided to build a new town in his nose. Thus, as Hairy drove to work and his mustache remained still, he imagined that a 1950's suburb was being built in his right nostril. He named the new town Rostral.
On this particular morning, as the breeze rustled the trees in Rostral, Mary Bell Swift of 1476 Tweezed Way, was attempting to sweep her porch. For Mrs. Swift, it had been a very long night. She had stayed up with little Billy as he coughed, hacked, and cried through the night. Thankfully, his fever had subsided and he had finally fallen asleep, which had given Mrs. Swift just enough time to clean up the house before breakfast.
"Good morning Mrs. Swift," said Max the milkman as he walked up the steps to 1476 Tweezed Way. "You're up bright and early today," Max said as he handed her a gallon of milk.
"Oh, it's little Billy. He's been up all night with a horrible cold," replied Mrs. Swift as she juggled the broom and the milk, as if she didn't know what to do with either.
"Well, I can ask Dr. Jones if he has any appointments open this morning. He's usually sitting on his porch enjoying a cup of nea by the time I get to his house," Max said matter-of-factly. "But if I don't see him today, I'll leave a note for him to have Mrs. Nallway give you a call about the first available appointment ... if you want," Max quickly added.
"That would be terrific, Max. Thank you so much," Mrs. Swift said and almost dropped the milk.
"Well, I better get going Mrs. Swift. Got a lot of milk to deliver today. Give my best to Mr. Swift," Max said as he turned and headed back down the steps.
"Thank you so much Max!" Mrs. Swift said as she leaned the broom against the wall next to the door. "Oh, Max, tell your wife hello for me." Mrs. Swift added as she reached for the screen door.
"Sure thing," Max replied with a wave as he disappeared around the corner.
By the time Hairy had parked his car, little Billy had seen Dr. Jones and was on the road to recovery, and Mrs. Swift was cooking a pot roast for supper. All was right in Rostral, and Hairy stopped to say hello to the two rhinos having their morning tea.
Up to this point, Hairy hadn't bothered the villagers of Rostral with a pick or a scratch, but by the next Tuesday, Hairy was desperate because there was something unnatural forming in Hairy's left nostril. Every time he breathed, something would flutter ever so gently in his left nostril. Every time he sat down, it rattled back and forth. And every time Shelly came around to complain, the thing in his left nostril seemed to burn with annoyance. Later that afternoon, Hairy came to the realization that his left nostril had probably been colonized by a clandestine tribe of witches and wizards - but his imagination didn't stop there.
"A chicken's gullet, a toad's toe, and a black-and-yellow centipede from the forbidden forest," cackled a witch named Miralda as she dropped each ingredient into a boiling pot over her kitchen fire.
"With a cat's tear and a hair of Zeus, may this potion destroy all those who stand against Lostral," Miralda hissed as she whisked her potion back and forth until it turned crimson and was bursting with black bubbles.
"Miralda, what are you doing in there?" Rashida said from the apartment patio. "It smells horrible! Why don't you come outside and enjoy the afternoon breeze?"
"I'm making the draught of life in the name of Zeus," Miralda howled at Rashida.
"Why are you making the draught of life? Who are you planning on destroying?" Rashida replied as he stuck his head through the open kitchen window.
"Venus came to me in a dream and told me that the town of Rostral is evil, and residents are plotting to destroy us. Now leave me alone!" Miralda spat as she turned from her bubbling pot to check her big book of magic.
"If that woman ever succeeds in making the draught of life, it'll be the end of us all," Rashida murmured to himself as he pulled his head out of the window and returned to watering his naises, which were in full bloom.
Throughout the day, Hairy tried everything to get rid of the thing in his left nostril. He tried shaking his head from side to side. He tried touching his toes while humming "The Star Spangled Banner". But the fiery object remained. Therefore, Hairy gave up and simply went on about his day, hoping that the people of Lostral would come to their senses.
On a chilly Sunday morning, after Hairy had played a wonderful concert on his toe piano, Hairy's nose began to twitch - not in the sense that he had to sneeze but as if there was an air of displeasure about his mustache. Thus, as he gently groomed his obnoxiously long mustache, he began to ponder whether the people of Rostral had ever done anything to anger the witches and wizards of Lostral.
Little Billy was usually a very well-mannered boy, but when it came to his toys, he was ruthless. He would tape firecrackers to his GI Noes and forget to give them body armor ... all on a whim. He would crash his dump trucks into trees until they were worthless. Then little Billy would cry, wail, and demand that his mother buy him more: more GI Noes, more toy dump trucks, more of anything and everything.
With only the slightest of hesitation, Mrs. Swift would find the toy catalog, pick out a few more toys, and send the order to the Magical Stuff Incorporated toy company. Then, in two to three weeks, a box of new and wonderful toys would arrive by Nostral service, and little Billy would be happy again. This went on and on for years and years, until Mrs. Swift's front yard was littered with little Billy's old toys.
Hairy could barely think or move without the object in his nose flaring to life. It had become so bothersome, that a few times Hairy had reached for a tissue with the intension of blowing his nose, but he decided to give the town's people one more chance to work things out.
The following Monday, as Shelly was berating him for an unusually long list of mistakes, the unthinkable happened: Miralda, the witch of Lostral, declared war on Rostral. She packed up all her unwanted crap, her failed attempts at the draught of life, her stove and shipped it to the people of Rostral. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on which town you lived in, the precise moment when Miralda's package, including the witch's stove, exited Hairy's left nostril in route to his right nostril, Hairy turned his head ever so slightly, and the package landed in Shelly's over-sized coffee cup.
Sometime later, after Shelly had found someone else to berate and humiliate, Hairy realized that something was different, but this was only the beginning of Hairy's problems. Unannounced to Hairy, the witches and wizards of Lostral had also released some horrible secrets.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Fuzzy Noseby Damon Dion Reed Copyright © 2012 by Damon Dion Reed. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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