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"Now, prepare for the flower!"
John frowned. He had just said what he had just before that thought. Not necessarily a bad geasture. But he didn't get it. Why did he did he think it? And then say it? Well, he probably said it because he thought it, that's a mistake anyone could make, but why did he think such a clompetely foolish remark? He didn't want her to be prepared. That sort of eliminated the surprise part.
"Are you preparing me for my birthday present tomorrow? A flower?"
Julie didn't seem too impressed. And fair enough. They had been a couple for a year now. And she had bought him a pair of sneakers, a briefcase and a somewhat matching watch on his day of birth.
From him to her: one flower.
A nice one though; tulip of some kind. He had figured that if he gave it to her when she least suspected it, say in the morning the following day when she woke up, she would be caught by at least a tiny bit of surprise, and maybe appreciate the gift enough to forgive him for being such a lousy, money-craving boyfriend. So why in Mammon's name did he tell her - one day ahead?
"Why do you tell me - one day ahead?"
"Huh-what...? Why do you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"The flower!"
"...What flower?"
But the idiot honestly didn't know what she was refering to. Not even that he had said a singel word before the "Huh?", nor that he had asked himself why he had said what he had said before the "Huh?". The flower-thought had left his mind and took all the thinking about it with it. Popped out. Had already crossed a long distance; slightly frusterated at the cock-up. At the annoyingly bad descriptions.
The thought had come from a far away escort-service, just to end up in the wrong head. That almost made a reason to consider quitting. Almost. It accelerated. First right. Then left. There. Had to be. It hovered down into a baby's brain. The father looked at it, making not especially funny faces.
"Can you say Daddy? D-A-D-D-Y? Eyh? ...Come on. Even Dadda will do..."
"Now, prepare for the flower!"
The father stepped back. Jumped.
No? No. Of cource not. The thought headed off again. O' glory, the patience... It crossed oceans in seconds. Then smashed into a presidents scull.
"Now, prepare for the flower!"
The audience blinked. No one laughed...
Enough. Definitely. OK. Moki. Just one more time, and that would be it! The thought flew off one last time.

Meanwhile, in a small quiet town, a young man bent down over a slightly elder woman. She lay on her back, stared, puzzled.
"Er... what are you trying to say? You don't need no more lines. You've allready picked me up, remember? I'm here. Just make me blossom, you dog, you!"
The young man grinned and sweated. Stuttered. He had waited for more than a minute now. A minute close to intoxicating infinite. Wanted desperately to say something romantic, this being his first time and all.
Then finally, it struck him.
She laughed and laughed and choked on her own laughter. Just laid there, dead.
He didn't get it. Shook his stupid looking head. The escort-service of thoughts had increasingly raised its costs. Obviously. But honestly - lives? The thought explained that it had to do with him not giving a proparly informative address; that's the sort of thing that never paid off. Then it hurried back and quit its job. Unfortunatly it was only one in a billion.

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Infinite Improbability Drive

Infinite Improbability Drive

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