General Fiction posted November 9, 2019

This work has reached the exceptional level
Facilitation of my imagination. (648 words)

Finding a Solution

by LisaMay

I sought solace in recreation for a failed infatuation with a man of ambition and distinction, a professor in education. It had shaken me to my foundation; he’d been the focus of my adoration. I’d even undertaken an operation for breast augmentation for him, and then – painful to mention – the affliction of an implant rejection infection set in. With trepidation, I’ve been using medication: applying lotion in a circular motion.

This drama played havoc with the professor’s erection. He required titillation for fornication and in frustration didn’t wish to grant dispensation for my recuperation. Apparently, masturbation wasn’t an option.

Is this Too Much Information?

Without emotion, his stipulation was that I leave his place of accommodation. My piteous petition for clarification of this termination bore no fruition. He ignored my tearful objection with callous ratification of his wish for my ejection. 

In a state of dejection, I decided to find a nice location without pollution and to stroll in isolation for the summer vacation duration.

Therefore, one day I was walking in a plantation, viewing bifurcation of the trees and the colours of varied vegetation with admiration, while listening to the birds’ choral presentation. I was also pondering predestination in terms of poetic abstraction, and assessing the benefits of hibernation come winter’s depredation. 

I made a personal resolution: I was sick of lack of affection leading to alienation. I had a need for eradication of small hurts, which, with magnification, had achieved domination. With that decided, my formation of a proclamation for a future life destination led to inspiration for some poetry recitation. 

However, my contemplation was ruined by a commotion, causing a major distraction. 

“What in tarnation… ?” I muttered in agitation. “That noise is giving me a conniption. It sounds like a ruction from a traction engine. It’s such a disruption to my perambulation!”

My reaction of exasperation caused vexation, leading me to an inclination for investigation with a mind to demolition. In determination, I strode towards the habitation – an old church – housing the contraption that was causing the interruption to my concentration. 

What a revelation! I discovered the construction was an illicit still, for the production of alcohol leading to addiction, built without authorisation in contravention of local legislation regarding prohibition. By tradition, the intention of such an invention was to remain hidden from detection to avoid conviction and incarceration.

My inspection revealed that during installation, the position of a filtration adaptation was an obstruction in a portion of pipe’s calibration. This constriction was causing friction vibration in a section. By assumption, this improvisation configuration had led to malfunction, resulting in noisy amplification rendition of loud distortion in epic proportion. 

Being creative, I used my imagination and intuition for an idea’s germination and arrived at a solution. Lubrication would lead to reduction of the noise level. In recognition of this fact, abandoning caution without hesitation – and because I couldn’t resist temptation – I drank all the alcoholic concoction, resulting in inebriation. 

Jubilation! At last I had satisfaction, for my dissipation led to soporific sedation. Salvation! The noise abomination became fuzzy. 

I had a vague premonition that my acquisition of someone’s potion would incur condemnation, castigation, and possibly retribution. A request for compensation could lead to my destitution, but in my condition of intoxication I had neither inhibition nor contrition. The exertion of reflection was beyond me.

Alas, I did not count on regurgitation for my punishment! I awoke, surrounded by a deputation from the congregation, in a saturation of perspiration, urination and defecation, almost to the point of suffocation requiring resuscitation. 

If only constipation had been the result of my over-consumption! To make matters worse, my left boob’s inflation was in depletion. Such discomboobulation! There was no differentiation between it and a pancake’s elevation. 

Without over-simplification, I had made an exhibition of myself. Reputation in ruination, my humiliation was complete. 

Adventures With An Anomaly contest entry

Author's Note:
I wish to tell you that the writer has never had a breast augmentation - I am a natural born woman. Neither have I been evicted from a lover's dwelling because of an infection! And another 'did not happen' - I've never been drunk to the point that the poor wretch in the story encountered.
Also, I do know how to spell 'discombobulation' correctly (and I know what it means).

This story contains 169 words ending in '-tion' which, as a percentage, is just over a quarter of the entire number of words in the story.

When I began writing it and then got into the rhythm as the story progressed, I started to hear the voices of The 2 Ronnies in my head: British comedians Ronnie Barker (1929-2005) and Ronnie Corbett (1930-2016). They were very popular through TV series in the 1970s-80s, and were masters of entertaining, long-winded and exceedingly funny monologues. I hope you find my story entertaining, humorous, and short enough to hold your attention.
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