Sorry, your call cannot be completed if dialed. Please check the number and dial again. Beep beep boop.
I dialed again. Again the same message played.
Clutching onto it, I threw it across the room, causing the screen to fade.
Beep boop bepp ebopp beep boop beep bbeeeeep blooop beep bleep bleep boop beep booop bi bopp bleep boop bleeb boop bop
“Why don’t you play anything else! You are a radio, aren’t you?” My eyebrow twitched.
Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
“Hmmm.” I turned to face the radio, picked it up and dialed once more, pressing random numbers.
This is a sea cucumber.
“Can you sing for me? I bet your voice is wonderful yo—” I asked.
No! Someone stole my “wonderful” maroon flower! I need it back!
“Then can you sing for me?” I swooned. This Michael Jackson-sounding cucumber was going to sing, and he was going to love it.
Yes, he replied. ONLY IF YOU FIND MY FLOWER AND GIVE IT BACK!
He hung up.
I searched my blue tinted room, under the cheese-colored sheets, in my cheesecake, and in my cheese puffs, but I found nothing. I even checked inside the webs on my cheeks! (Don’t ask how I get in there)
Giving up, I sat on my pillow, staring through Arachnid’s window. She was scolding a cactus, and threw it out!
My feet rushed down the stairs, while my brain told me to stay. Unsurprisingly, my feet won the battle and soon I was witnessing a cactus in pain. He was withering, a wilted flower on his spikes giving me a powerful sense of deja vu. It was maroon just like the sea cucumber’s!
Did this cactus steal this flower from the sea cucumber!
Casually, I stepped on the cactus, smashing it under my boot and took the flower back. It wilted even more in my hands when I realized it was poisoned with the essence of hot glue.
Trembling, I took out my radio (which I brought with me) and dialed that same random haphazardly chosen number.
“I’m sorry,” tears flowed from my eyes, “Your flower has been poisoned.” And my dreams of Michael Jackson terribly crushed.
“Well, Mr. Sea Cucumber, you actually never asked for my name.”
Mr.? I’m no Mr.! Are you talking about my son? Sea Cucumber Junior? Because we got rid of any Misters ’round here.
It took me a moment to realize this complication. Sea Cucumber Junior held the radio, MY FLOWER! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?
It also took me a moment to understand that sea cucumbers cannot talk nor sing and I just smashed a poor cactus without any good reason, probably leaving the person who I enjoy the company of crying over a cactus, but then again, Arachnid never cries and that was the first time I cried, for a simple imaginary problem that wouldn’t be a problem if I just didn’t imagine it, or if, honestly, I just realized the radio that I was holding was a phone all this time, or if I just pondered the idea of how it sang part of the Spongebob theme song, despite not having the qualities needed to do so, or if that actually was Sea Cucumber singing, which I was rooting for in the first place, but that means I didn’t imagine it and my very sense of reality is indeed very warped, and wonder to the very ends of this universe if this very, very, very, very long sentence is going to end.