Sea Cucumber

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.


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.

Who this?

“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.








My Pet Cactus

A few weeks ago, I got a pet cactus. It wasn’t my childhood dream to have a lovely pet, but I’ve still always wanted one. The only issue is that I end up neglecting and killing all my pets. To clarify, for the nonexistent readers out there who are animal advocates, all my pets have been plants.

I was nearly ecstatic when I got my new pet because cacti only need to be watered once a month, so even if I neglect it, it should be alright.

I set the cactus in a high windowsill where Nobody would be able to reach it, other than my spiders, of course. (I do not consider my spiders my pets. They are my friends.)

There was even a pretty maroon flower that smelled sweet and opened and closed.

But then, to my utmost horror, I discovered that the flowers had been glued to the cactus.

I pushed my cactus out the window.

Q&A Part 2!!! (Spinette Edition)

Will Ned the Narwhal retrieve answers or just the same anonymous identities as Nobody? Will he succeed in such plans, to expose these two authors to the world?

“Good morning, Spinette,” Ned the Narwhal greeted. “Can you step aside for a few questions?”

“Yes,” I agreed, stepping aside.

“Why did you step away?” Ned asked.

“That was only one question,” I said, distractedly, making eye contact with an adorable spider. “I was expecting more questions to come this way, after being so polite. Arachnid would be proud of me after telling me to mind my manners.”

“Oh!” Ned finally asked some more, blinking twice in surprise. “How is life with your very, very, very private neighbor?”

“I enjoy her company, as I do yours,” I replied. “It is fun to see her turn back from her spider form. The way the spider hairs crawl back to normal toes is mesmerizing.”

Ned raised an eyebrow. “Are you human?”

“I honestly can’t say for sure.”

He gave me another question: “How do you think Arachnid types on her keyboard? With two hands, or eight legs?”

“We don’t type. We appreciate old school.” Suddenly, I had an idea. A beautiful idea that would certainly involve Ned. I grinned, somewhat evilly.

“Uh… How old are you?”

“I’m—” I stopped myself. “How old are you?”

“22 years,” Ned’s eyes squirmed around the room, frantic. Was the way I was looking at him that scary?

“How are your trips to Unicornia?” I asked, questions piling up on one another. “Who is your greatest enemy? What topping do you like on your pizza?”

Ned backed away into a corner. “The trips aren’t great; Edna because she cursed me; and mushrooms.”

“Yes. Perfect.” I licked my lips.

“What are you saying that for?” Ned was shivering in that corner.

“I always wondered what it would be like, ” I smiled widely, grabbing his fins, “to have you for dinner, Ned.”


Arachnid came into my house, covered in black soot.

“Arachnid!” I hugged her as she squirmed away, not wanting associate with me. “Why are you covered in black stuff?”

“I ran into Santa on my way here. He was on summer vacation,” she said sarcastically, wiping herself off on my carpet. “I came here to clean myself, since I don’t want this dirt all over my house.”

I know what she’d been doing, of course. She was cleaning her chimney which I recently trashed by pouring glitter down it. It is a long story.

“Do you want some dinner?” I asked.

“No.” She frowned.

“Okay, ” I took her hand and led her to my dining room, knives glinting on the walls. “I need your help for something too.” Once she saw what it was, she turned to run away, but I held her stiffly by the neck.

Ned was sitting there on the table, eating some mushroom pizza. “Hi.”

“Hello,” I waggled my thumbs, shyly.

“I DON’T WANT TO EAT DINNER WITH A FAT NARWHAL!” Arachnid screamed, trying to struggle out of my grip.

“Shhh…,” I whispered, “We need to write this character out of our house! You broke my computer yesterday, so I need you to write him away!”

“Then why didn’t you say so?” she whisper-shouted, taking out her laptop. Instantly, she typed a lousy conclusion to this interview.

Then the narwhal swam away, magically forgetting everything that happened in that soot-covered house. THE END.

Ned started swimming away, magically forgetting everything. But I wanted to do more.

“This is one thing you shouldn’t forget,” I neared him.

“What? Who are you?” he asked, disoriented.

I licked his shiny blue-white head, savoring the flavor upon my taste buds. “You taste nice, but for future reference, spice it up, okay?”


I watched as the narwhal goes into his bubble, floating like a fairy in the air, never to see us, his creators, ever again.