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A Fluffy House

May 3, 2013 7 comments

Daily Prompt: Mad Libs – Turn to your co-workers, kids, Facebook friends, family — anyone who’s accessible — and ask them to suggest an article, an adjective, and a noun. There’s your post title! Now write.

I wasn’t at work yesterday so I sent my friend three separate texts and he sent back “fluffy”, “a” and “house”. Hmm.

The Parable of A Fluffy House

Samuel took one last look in the mirror. Hair – check. Tie – correctly fastened. Shirt – immaculately pressed. Everything in order.

Samuel was a vain man. Arrogant and conceited, he was always perfectly dressed, spending upwards of an hour checking his appearance before leaving the house. A man of indeterminate age, opinions ranged from mid-thirties to early fifties.

An architect by trade, he had created a house designed to set him apart from the rest. Boasting twelve bedrooms, three bathrooms and a kitchen a chef would be proud of, it nestled against a hillside two miles outside of town.

All of this was nothing compared to the house’s crowning glory. Samuel smiled as he stroked the outside of the house. Soft, fluffy.

He had looked at other houses. The houses belonging to lesser people – people who were not him. They looked so bland. Concrete, brick, wood. This would not do. Samuel had covered the outside of his house, his masterpiece, with the softest and most luxuriant of fabrics.

People came from miles around to see his house. His house!  They would take pictures (for a reasonable price, of course). They would spend time touching the fabric, running their fingers through the soft, deep fibres covering the walls (discounts available for parties over five persons).

Samuel was the envy of all. He basked in the adoration of the admiring crowds. He had reached his pinnacle!

Then the rains came. At first only a few solitary drops, then a heavy deluge. It rained day after day. The fabric covering Samuel’s house grew wetter and wetter, heavier and heavier.

The walls creaked. The timbers shook.

Three days after the rains began, Samuel’s house, his creation, the ultimate extension of his towering ego, slowly, almost gently, collapsed in upon itself under its own weight, until it was nothing more than a mound of wood and extremely expensive, extremely wet fabric.

People still came from miles around, not to admire but to laugh at Samuel’s house. At his foolishness.

And the moral of this story?

“Practicality before pride”

or

The carpets go on the inside, dumb ass!”