Briefs for the Reading Room
Micronovels for Easy Digestion
By Dan Marvin
Copyright 2010 by Dan Marvin
Smashwords Edition
Published by: Marvcorp Publishing
1035 Bond Lane
Lawrenceburg, KY 40342
ISBN: 978-0-9822783-0-7
Email me: daniel.marvin@gmail.com
Visit my website: www.danmarvin.net
Follow me on Twitter: Dan_Marvin
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
A Brief Introduction - E-books are cool, you can take them anywhere. In fact, you’re cool because you bought one. There is a downside though, sometimes you only have a few minutes and can’t finish War and Peace. Briefs are the perfect answer, they’re one page micro-novels that get right down to business. With Briefs, you get in, get entertained, and get done in record time. Here are some suggestions on where to read your Briefs:
At the dog park
At the cat park (are there cat parks?)
While eating alone at a restaurant
While eating with someone you don’t like at a restaurant
Waiting in gate E18 during a 2 hour flight delay (author’s note, it doesn’t HAVE to be E18, it could be any gate, don’t miss your flight)
While waiting for your over-priced coffee drink to get made
At the beach before you fall asleep and get really burned except for a rectangle on your chest where this e-book ended up
While getting your car washed
While getting your dog washed
While getting your hair cut
While getting your dog’s hair cut
In the bathtub (but don’t drop your e-book in the water!)
During the two minutes between getting anesthesia and going to sleep
At your kids’ soccer game while he or she is on the bench
Any other time you can’t afford to get engrossed in a full novel but want to know what happens at the end
Enjoy your Briefs!
The World Under the Utility Sink
Magical sprites filled the air in the Kingdom of Nagale, singing beautiful songs and twinkling like a million fireflies seen through the trees. Of course, when Edgar tried to catch a few for dinner, they dissipated as if they were nothing but the wind.
Edgar had been here three days and man, was he hungry. The Leprechauns tasted like shoe leather and were about as tough and the wood nymphs squealed when you pulled their arms out until a magical princess came and yelled at you. When you went after her with a fork, she zapped you into the next county for Pete’s sake! How was a guy to get three squares a day in such a rotten place?
A peal of laughter caught his attention and he saw a fairy flitting through the trees spreading pixie dust and generally being a nuisance. Surely one fairy wouldn’t be missed! Edgar began to formulate a plan.
As he watched, the fairy flew closer and closer to the bush where he was hiding. His mouth began to water as it made its way to the waiting net. Would it never get here? Finally, the fairy was in range. Edgar threw the net over its head and reeled it in like a trophy bass! The fairy bit and kicked until he could get it filleted and ready to be roasted.
His fire that night held the fixings of a glorious feast. A spearmint sauce bubbled daintily on a flat rock and the fairy filled the air with the aroma of seared meat as it rotated lazily on a spit. Edgar, hungry as he was, took the time to savor every bite, stopping only long enough to die when he realized the magic mushrooms he had painstakingly sautéed were deadly poison.
Fabricated Factoid:
73 - The percentage of people who feel ripped off if they come to a mostly blank page in a book.
27 - The percentage of people who are happy to find a blank page so they can take notes on what they’ve read
100 - The percentage of the 27% above who characterized themselves as “socially awkward” and “unpopular” in High School.
Fighting Chance
Without the suit, he was just a man. His limbs weren’t particularly strong, his eyes couldn’t see around corners, he couldn’t jump high or run fast or throw things a long ways. About all he could do was sit in his recliner and think back to how it had been.
Back in the day, “Do Good Man” was a household name. Whenever a seemingly unstoppable force of evil would come to town, he got the call. He had a direct line to the Commissioners Office and it used to ring off the hook. Not these days. There were no calls for “Ordinary Man.” There were lots of ordinary men on the payroll that were just fine jumping in and grabbing the headlines when the menace was tame.
For awhile, the headlines had screamed for him. “Super Huge Eel Swallows Aquarium, Who Will Save Us?” Then a strange thing happened. With no one to fight them, the super villains simply moved on. It seemed that the adrenaline rush was half the fun and no one actually wanted to run this moribund little backwoods Metropolis. They moved on to bigger fish, so to speak, and he was no longer “Do Good Man”, he was just “Man.” All because of the suit.
With a sigh, he drained his beer and looked for a rerun of Seinfeld. It wasn’t as funny to him anymore. Once he knew he could easily defeat the Soup Nazi and win a cup of his delicious soup. Now, he didn’t even know if he could match wits with Newman. He seriously wondered if he needed some Abilify. That stuff seemed awesome in the commercials. Even the dogs perked up.
Lost in his own thoughts, he barely heard the doorbell, it didn’t even register. When it rang again, it intruded into his brain enough that he realized that… someone wanted him. He was wanted! He sprang from his chair and ran to the door.
“Sign here for your suit,” said the man from the drycleaners. “Sorry it took so long, it had some acid stains and we had to send it to Cleveland to get them out.” Eagerly he signed for his suit, tipped the disinterested delivery man, and streaked for his bedroom.
With shaking hands, he opened the plastic garment bag and realized he had been given Gopher Woman’s suit by mistake. Collapsing onto the bed, Do Good Man wept.
Dubious Definition – Arsenal (n) – a bad place to store your nal
A Victim of Circumstance
It was almost noon. I could tell by the clock on the wall, it pointed to different numbers that told my brain that it was almost noon. Plus my stomach was growling. You know how it is. I had just decided to go down to the Grimy Deli for a $5 plate of heartburn when Lila stuck her head in my door with a message. That’s where she’s talked to someone and they’ve asked her to tell me something. I get them all the time, everyone does, they’re messages, like I said.
This one was different. It didn’t contain any words in the same order that I recognized from previous messages, that’s what made it unique. It was the kind of message that tells me something completely new, something I wouldn’t have known if I didn’t see it. It was that kind of message. My Private Eye instincts kicked into overdrive because I’m a private dick, a finder of things that people want found. I locate people and information that would have gone unlocated if it weren’t for me and therefore have good instincts. Like I said, a Private Eye.
“Watch out. A large object is about to fall on you.” That’s what the message said. It might have been code, that’s where somebody tells you something that isn’t what it appears. If you’re smart enough, you can figure out what it’s actually supposed to say. Pretty clever, if you ask me. It seemed like it might have been code.
I studied the message Lila had given me. It was printed on a “Here’s your Message” Post It note, the kind that one comes off the top and it sticks to stuff but not too tight because you will want to throw it out eventually. You know the type. It looked familiar, much like the paper Lila usually uses to give me messages. That was it! It was a message from Lila, the kind I usually got! Now we were getting somewhere. That’s where you are arriving at a place different from where you were earlier.
Now that I was on the right track, I happened to glance up. Actually, it was more of a reflex action that anyone would have to a large object hurtling through the air under the acceleration of gravity and crashing through the roof above you. You put 100 people in a room with a large object crashing down on top of them and all 100 would look up, I guarantee it! The note started to make sense now. I could tell it was...
The End
A Posse of One
Over the next ridge lay water. Ladstone knew it, he just had to convince his tired horse and his sun swollen eyes to find it. They had been riding two days, hard and long. The meager provisions he had been able to steal from the stable hand barely lasted a day and the water had been used mainly for the mangy dapple he was riding with little for himself.
Only 72 hours separated him from the life of a wayward but very successful gambler. A bad night, some bad hombres, and suddenly he was running for his life, all that he had built gone. In a way, it was fitting. All that he had built was on the backs of businessmen and cattlemen and farmers, all of whom needed the money more than he. Still, it was a suitable life for a man of refined tastes and he missed it acutely at this very moment.
Ladstone crested the ridge and saw more of the same, unremarkable scrub and sun-beaten earth. With a grimace, he gritted his teeth and slapped the reins. The dapple started off resolute but exhausted. If he didn’t find water soon, both he and the horse would be dead.
The ridge allowed him to scan the country behind him. At least there were no tell-tale columns of dust to be seen. Either his pursuers had lost interest or were very good at what they did. A small copse of trees lay ahead.
Although the patch of trees didn’t look very inviting, they were all he had. He crawled on his belly under the scrub brush and prickers until he happened on earth that looked like it might have been wet sometime in the last several months. With his hands and a broken branch, he carved out a hole in the center. Ever so slowly, it began to fill with brackish, brown water. The first hatful went to the horse. Then, Ladstone allowed himself to drink. He gulped the water and bathed his head.
This would have to do for the night. He set up a meager camp, set up a snare for any wayward wildlife, and rested. The horse nibbled on some forlorn looking grass a few feet away. He wouldn’t be going anywhere. The sun began to set and Ladstone began to relax. A few feet away, a small explosion set the earth falling over him. Ducking for cover in the briars, Ladstone waited.
Nothing moved. The earth was as quiet as if all life had long ago died out and it was now waiting for him to do the same. After what seemed like an eternity, Ladstone went to investigate. A large rock, blackened and melted sat in the center of the small crater. A meteorite had almost vaporized him!
Years later, as a successful businessman in Austin, it defied odds that Ladstone was actually killed by another meteor. The heavens really had it in for him.
Beware the Ides of 2179
In the swirling mists of mid day, the mining colony looked like a handful of jacks on a dusty playground. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the cruiser, Mac McWain perused the desolate landscape he called home. Twelve years ago, he had accepted a short assignment as project specialist for a mining colony. That had been before they even knew about the Veegon.
The Veegon had struck mercilessly at the fledgling outposts of new space-power earth. Alpha Zed 3 (AZ3) was the last mining colony and one of only seven outposts to survive at all. Through a hurried alliance with the Grinls, they had survived the onslaught. Now, they had to pay them back in precious ores and minerals (PO&M).
Mac’s short assignment had turned into a lifelong pursuit. Earth Central (EC) wouldn’t waste space on a freight ship for a person even if they were inclined to let him leave. Mac was resigned to his fate, and his bones were slowly wasting away, leaving him unfit to return anyway.
There was a bright spot to all this. He had complete autonomy from earth. Any messages for him were days getting here on pulsed light relay (PLR) and by that time, whatever was important then most likely wasn’t now. There was food, water, shelter, and even a girl he kinda liked. The thought of Mafan sent blood rushing to his face.
Mac broke out of his reverie and continued on his mission, to transport core samples to the testing lab for a full analysis spread (FAS). The ore veins they had been working in the area had begun to play out and he desperately needed to find a new source to keep the shipments flowing. The color of these looked promising.
At Airlock 7, the vehicle was de ionized and he pulled it into a refueling bin. He hailed an Automatic Conveyance Device (ACD) to cart the samples to the lab and headed to his quarters for a quick shower. The lab results would be slow coming; he should have time for a bite to eat and a pint of Alpha Orbital Ale (AOA).
A rumbling in the personnel transport tube (PTT) warned him that something was amiss. A Huge Alation Stone Worm (HASW) burst from the surface awakened from his centuries long slumber (CLS) by the drilling equipment and quickly ate everything in sight (AEIS).
20,000 Leagues of Their Own
A gentle vibration indicated that the engines had engaged and the surreal undersea view started to move. Captain Durain looked around the cabin and read the nervous tension on the faces of his crew. As quietly as possible, the Spirit of Hoboken moved out, hoping to avoid detection by the enemy topside.
She leaked a bit of oil into the turgid water but seemed to have weathered the depth charges well. The backup generators kicked off and primary power returned, indicating the Chief Engineer had somewhat overstated the lead time required to redirect the output into the secondary wiring harness. In all, they could have been much worse off.
Under the blanket of static the jammers provided, they might have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting clear of the destroyer above and radioing for help. Might. Still, it was impossible to disband the knots in his stomach waiting for the next depth charge to detonate. Ahead, the outlines of a large cavern began to unfold. Captain Durain formulated a quick change of strategy.
In the war room of the USS Dole, Durain’s counterpart was getting red in the face. “What do you mean we LOST them?!” he demanded, incredulous. “They were dead in the water, powerless and adrift! How did we just LOSE them?” A string of technobabble from the sonar operator indicated that he didn’t know. “Find them!” Captain Desmont yelled as he stormed out. The Dole began to look in earnest.
The forlorn ‘ping’ of active sonar went over their head 8 times in the next 6 hours. The destroyer must have been circling in an ever widening sweep to track them down. Durain’s crew could not afford a cough, a whisper, or a thump to give them away. The strain was overwhelming.
Suddenly, the sonar was joined with another sound, the muffled explosion of depth charges. They were far away but ominous, searching for a target but finding only fish. Still, the Spirit of Hoboken waited silently.
A gentle rocking indicated that all was not well for the submarine. Was this cavern seismically active? Durain could not afford to find out. He ordered full astern and the engines engaged once more. As the sub began to move, the cavern began to close. The centuries old slumbers of the colossal sea eel had ended with the depth charges and it engulfed the submarine on the way to the surface. Once there, it added the destroyer to its lunch.
Captain Durain hoped fervently that the colossal sea eel had a quick metabolism. Unfortunately for Captain Durain not…
The End
Functionally Literate - The Idaha Deming Story
By the time he was just 17, Jacob Brawn had been a prospector, a gambler, a cowpuncher, and was rapidly getting the reputation of being a hard man in a hard land. His fists were legendary, his temper was volatile, and he drank straight whiskey from sun up to sun down.
Marian Bronson was a demure young woman, good Western stock and the apple of her father’s eye, the rancher Rocky Bronson. Her mother had died in an Indian fight years ago and he had raised her, spoiling her with everything she wanted. Despite the temptation, she had been relatively good and saved her best tears for very big ticket items.
When the cocky young man rode into the ranch yard, Marian stood behind the curtains of the sitting room and watched him. He was quite a sight, rippling muscles could barely be contained by his shirt, his eyes held fire and laughter. Her father sauntered out to meet him.
“Howdy, sir...” Jacob began. “Race Johnson at the stable said you might be looking for some help. I may be young but I’ve roped and ridden plenty of miles.” Rocky had heard of Jacob’s reputation and was wary. With some quick negotiation, they decided to give each other a try. Jacob Brawn’s eye was caught by a flutter of cloth at the window as he turned.
Marion turned from the pane of glass that had separated her from the fine young man. She knew in her heart that they would meet. She also knew that she must have him. Jacob was blissfully unaware of his fate.
Many years later, as he brought in groceries, listening to his wife nag him about his lack of earning potential on a Saturday night while his friends were at the Lurchin’ Lizard saloon, Jacob secretly prayed for death.
Questionable Quotation – “Ask not what your country can do for you because quite frankly, we’re about out of ideas.” - FDR
If you love something...
Halfway through his dinner, Dinardo sat upright and stared at his companion. “What did you say?” He snarled with disbelief. Mabel Anne shrunk back into her seat and sat motionless, afraid lest she reawaken his anger. He had been so much better lately, the last thing she wanted to do was piss him off.
For now, he let the transgression slide and returned to his beef. The minutes ticked away in silence. Dinardo’s brow softened, Mabel could almost see the working of his mind. “I’m sorry I snapped. Please, finish what you were saying.”
Heartened, she returned to her narrative. “I want to go back to school. I’ve always wanted to finish my degree.” She looked at him from under her eyebrows to watch his reaction.
“I see.” The veins on Dinardo’s neck were sticking out. To his credit, he paused before he continued. “If that is your dream, let’s see what we need to do to get you enrolled.” As far as he was concerned, the topic was closed. Mabel Anne gave him a happy kiss. “Thank you! I’m so happy. I want to be productive again. Raising the children was rewarding, but now that they’re gone...”
“I said you could, now let me finish my meal, woman” he grumbled. Deep down, she knew he loved her. There had been a time in his life when the anger owned him. With lots of help and support, he owned it most of the time now.
Fifteen months later, Mabel Anne walked across the stage to accept her diploma. She tipped her cap for the audience to see. Some laughed; others wondered what the message meant. It said “so long, sucker.” She jumped in the Buick and headed to Vegas. Dinardo would never see her again.
Pharcical Philosophy – Humans have, like 500 bones or something in their hands, but only one covering their head so it’s no wonder we tend to be pretty inflexible in our thinking.
Happenstance
The attic creaked above him, weight from unknown footsteps forcing reluctant groans from the ancient rafters. The air in the house was cold, unnaturally cold, even though the temperature outside hovered close to 85, inside it couldn’t have been more than 50 degrees. He pulled his light jacket around him and shivered, hoping the noises would stop. They didn’t.
Jeffry had stopped by that morning on a whim, tempted by Bobby’s childish goading and his own curiosity. After the Martins had been murdered three years ago, the house had quickly been boarded up and no one had been in it since to his knowledge. There were stories of night-time apparitions and weird wailings in the night; everyone knew that it had to be the Martin’s ghosts, unable to sleep eternally until their killers had been brought to justice. Jeffry wanted to help set them free.
He had begun by going around to the back of the house, checking the boards on the cellar windows. It quickly became evident that he wasn’t the first kid with this idea. One of the boards was loose and could be swung rather easily out of the way revealing a broken window that led into the cellar. He climbed through, shining his flashlight around him even though the other windows let in some scant light.
The cellar was mostly empty. There were some beer cans and other garbage that stood testament to the perseverance of young people looking for somewhere to make less attractive in the guise of “partying.” He knew that someday he’d understand the allure; he couldn’t wait to get old enough to be cool. This was the first step, just wait until the kids at school heard that he went into the Martin place.
As Jeffery snooped around the house, he didn’t notice that the once sunny day had started to cloud over. A late spring breeze sprang up and blew in some clouds that began to darken and thicken. Soon, it was sprinkling; he did hear the sound on the windows. He knew that he was going to have to wait here for the shower to pass; they were always over in an hour or so. The door to the upstairs yawned open and he began to ascend.
Halfway up the stairs, a draft from somewhere blew the door shut. He sprinted the remaining stairs, panting and out of breath as he got to the top. He looked down into the staircase; sure he would see a ghost materialize out of the ether, looking to do him grievous bodily injury. Instead, he saw some stairs and a closed door. He began to search the bedrooms.
In the second bedroom there was still some furniture. From a crack between the boards, he saw the wind and rain lash against the house; this was a particularly nasty storm. Jeffry began to rethink how good an idea this actually was. As he sat, waiting out the storm, comforted by a room with some actual furniture, he heard the moaning. It could be wind in the eves, or it could be Mr. Anderson looking for him. Jeffry shivered.
He curled up into as compact a ball as he could, sitting in the overstuffed chair that the mice had started to systematically disassemble. The wailing from overhead was joined by the obligatory banging and the creaking of the joists above him. Jeffry was terrified as the bedroom door opened and...
“Jeffry, it’s time for lunch. Why are you in your closet?” His mother handed him a ham sandwich. He’d have to wait for another day to be cool.
Erroneous Excerpt – “… then through the trees did slant light, bright and bold and in such intensity that I had to avert my eyes. Almost blinded, I placed my hand over my eyes to see from whence it derived, to find only darkness again. Thoroughly creeped out, I sprang from Walden grabbing up only what essentials I might in the midst of unreasoning panic. Armed thus with a doily and a chamber pot, I made my way into the night never to return to my cabin on the pond…” Escape from Walden – Ralph Waldo Thoreau
Telefurbies
He picked up the telephone and began to dial, methodically. It was his job. The phone rang once, then twice, then a voice, pleasant but cautious. He knew before he even spoke that soon he would be dialing again. “Hello, have I reached Mrs. Richardson?” The phone went dead without even an ‘I’m not interested.’ Richard crossed the name off the list and moved one spot down.
The ring on the phone was old fashioned, a buzz and not a nice modern ring. The connection ratched at him once, then twice, and then there was a voice. A tiny “hello?” greeted his ear. He sighed.
“Hi sweetie, is your mommy or daddy home?” Richard tried his best to keep his voice sugary sweet and happy. He hated kids. Oddly, the voice on the other end of the line started... crying. This was new. “Are you OK honey?” He asked, wondering what he had gotten into.
“Daddy is here” he heard the child say, “but mommy is sick, at least that’s what daddy told me. He told me not to come in there but I saw mommy on the floor and he was all red.” The line was quiet except for her silent sobs. Richard sat back, dazed.
“What do you mean he was all red?” he asked, trying to decide if this was a real emergency.
“He was all red, and so was mommy. He sounded funny. Mommy wouldn’t move. Then he told me to go play. I’m scared.” The crying sounded in the background again. Richard thought quickly to himself. He was just a telemarketer for God’s sake! Still, he put the girl on hold and called 911.
“Hello, this is Richard Thomas. I need you to trace this phone number (he gave the number). I think there has been some sort of accident there.” Richard gave details for a few more moments and then the operator told him to keep the girl talking. He sighed and hung up, then switched back to the other phone.
“Honey, are you there?” He asked. The line was very quiet. Suddenly, a new voice answered.
“Who is this?” The man’s voice was gruff and strident, but filled with strain. Richard didn’t know whether to answer or hang up. He decided to answer, to give the girl a chance.
“My name is Richard. Is everything all right there?” He didn’t know how to keep the man on the line, his mind raced.
“Sure everything is all right, who is this?” In the background, Richard could hear the man telling the little girl to please, please quit crying, daddy was on the phone. At least she was still OK. Suddenly, the sound of sirens could be heard. The man was back on the line. “I’ve got caller ID Mr... Thomas. You’ve just made a big mistake!” The phone went dead.
Richard Thomas sat back, dripping with sweat. He was just a telemarketer! After a moment he picked up the phone, looked at the list, looked at the phone, and carefully set it back down. He stood up and walked out the door.
Rainbow Roy and the River Raiders
Rainbow Roy swooped his horse "Dusty" down the slope and towards the banks of the river below. He had followed the Copper boys down to their hideout and now was getting ready to round 'em up, one way or another. Old man Copper and his oldest son Colt were the ringleaders of the gang and they had been raising Hell all up and down the river valley. Now, Rainbow Roy (who was a Ranger) was ready to take them to justice. It was his job to put an end to their antics and the government had given him the power to do it in whatever way he wanted or needed to.
He pulled at the reins and dismounted from Dusty, the faithful steed, tying him to a tree and preparing to go the rest of the way on foot. He crept slowly up on the small cabin nestled in the clearing and peered cautiously into the window which was slightly ajar.
"Colt," the old man was saying, "what is the nature of the universe?"
"The ancient Greeks had one way of looking at it dad..." Colt started but suddenly there was a commotion from the other room. The rest of the gang had been playing Bocce Ball and now someone had been caught cheating. Syringes were drawn and things looked bad.
Now was Roy's chance! He leaped through the window and shouted "hands up!" as he sailed through the air. Everyone was taken very much by surprise as they were all thoroughly engrossed in the action in the other room. The syringes were dropped and everyone started to come peacefully. Colt Copper, in a desperate final move, drew a hideout potato peeler and ran towards Roy. In a quick karate type move, Roy disarmed Colt and grabbed him by the neck.
Several miles upstream, the dam collapsed and the valley was flooded. Days later, the bloated, decomposing body of Dusty washed up on the shores of Goldtown, the last reminder of that great Ranger, Rainbow Roy.
(Western music builds and fades, break to commercial)
Two Days in Paradise
The third Tuesday after the sunfruit harvest was the traditional Festival of Zambir. Throughout the island, wives were busy fermenting the sunfruit into sloof and the children braided each other's hair with bits of shell and bright fabrics. Chief Rafeesh looked out from his hut and inhaled the pungent odor of sloof, smiling broadly as he thought of the festival just two days away. He had much to do!
He bowed deep at the altar of the sea god, and then walked down the hill to the beach. The trees spoke to him, the muted whisperings of his ancestors. He smiled at their familiar quarrel, whether to whirl this way or that, until finally they were out of his hearing. The sun greeted him warmly, reflecting from the ocean waves and the brilliant white sand. He sang the joyous Hymn of the Morning and swam to the sandbar and back to cleanse away yesterday's woes leaving him more room to enjoy today's delights.
Miya had his breakfast ready when he returned and they ate robustly of eggs and fruits, gathered from the forest around them. Dried fish from two days before added an interesting flavor to the repast and he complimented her on its preparation. "I am lucky indeed to be honored with your love. I thank the sea god for this providence." Miya blushed slightly and went about cleaning up the eating area.
Enjoying a pipe of Tumanj at the door, he could see the village below as it began to bustle to life. So much to do! So much to prepare! The wet season would soon be upon them and it was time to enjoy the fruits of this seasons harvest with good friends and merriment. He saw the Krajoc the man of medicine approaching and prepared to receive his friend. Krajoc was getting old, but every morning he braved the hill to give Rafeesh counsel. It was good.
"Krajoc my friend! Will you join me in Tumanj?" Rafeesh offered him a seat and the pipe. Krajoc lifted it to his lips and inhaled deeply, welcoming the rush as he had on countless mornings before. Together they sat that way for quite some time, the sound of the ocean waves filling the silence between old friends. Krajoc had counseled Rafeesh for years, and his father Rutibee before him and he trusted the man completely. His hair was white and his legs bent but his wise eyes still held the intensity of a man half his age.
"Rafeesh, we must speak of Zambir," Krajoc said after the Tumanj was spent and the hour grew late. "I predict the weather will turn sour this year. We must decide if the festival should go on as planned." They bundled their heads closer and talked of the pros and cons of canceling the festival. Rafeesh had no doubt that the weather would turn. Inside the hut, Miya fretted. She had been working so hard to make the best sloof she had ever made; it would be a shame not to drink it.
Finally, with much chagrin, Chief Rafeesh decided. This year, the festival would be called on account of weather. He and Krajoc set out down the mountain to tell the others. There would be much disappointment but storms brewed swiftly and all would need their senses if one descended upon them when they were involved in the festival.
Zambir day dawned bright and beautiful; the sun spoke to him as usual as Chief Rafeesh swam out to the sandbar. One hour turned to two which turned to four, but there was no sign of the storm. Rafeesh decided to seek out Krajoc who had broken his morning ritual and stayed away this morning. When he got to Krajoc's hut, he was really pissed to find the medicine man tanked on sloof.
Fabricated Factoid –
15 – Percentage of people who believe everything they read
85 – Percentage of people who won’t believe that 15% of everyone else believes everything they read.
Two Summers Tales
The heat wafted up from the pavement like a living thing, the ghost with all the sparkles in it from Star Trek maybe... it hinted at vast vistas of greenery ahead but all the hints I’d had in the last two hundred miles had yielded a lot more nothing. The car wasn’t really too bad, the A/C still seemed interested in keeping me cool and I had a decent supply of bottled water on hand. The gas gauge read 3/4’s and the map showed at least three more well baked towns between me and the border. Most importantly, no signs of blue and red lights coming up behind me, hoping to stop my forward progress.
It had all started last summer with a casual conversation around the table at the cottage after a few two many tequila shots and a few too few job interviews. Benny was a compelling public speaker, and he decided to turn on the charm right away, making the idea far more likely sounding than it should have. “There’s this really big safe at work and it’s full of money.” A conversation that starts like that makes you sit up and pay attention, even with a few two many tequila shots eating away at your guts.
I’d never considered myself a master criminal, my idea of illegal was going 64 in a 55. Still, there was a certain amount of appeal to one night’s work and a lifetime of not having to worry if I had turned off the fryer before I left. Just try getting that one off your record, I dare ya. One boneheaded move and you’re branded for life. So, as Benny started spinning his fantasy, I began taking notes, first mentally, then on the back of a napkin.
The whole thing seemed pretty easy. Securitech was a global concern based in our town. There were two entrances to the building and the safe was open during the work day. Most importantly, the guards weren’t armed. They also took a break at 10AM together; both of them evidently preferred the company of the Marlboro man to that of their fellow employees. If everything went according to plan, they wouldn’t even suspect us until we’d pretty much cleaned them out. Benny pushed the broom and could go anywhere, and I knew how to drive.
That was the plan, anyway. Snatch and run, no one gets hurt. It didn’t really work out very well though. Benny got sick around Christmas time and ended up having his leg amputated. I got to thinking about it but couldn’t figure out a way to pull it off from the outside, without him there being able to go anywhere he wanted, our plan was sunk. He wasn’t doing real well on his recovery either. I noticed a lot of bedsores starting to form because his HMO apparently didn’t pay to have patients turned in bed.
As I drove down the road now, heading out of the country with a big duffel bag stuffed with money and not a second to lose, the events of the last couple of weeks were front and foremost on my mind. Had I done the right thing? Was there any justification for taking money from a big company that wouldn’t miss it? Would I be able to enjoy it?
Benny’s eyes haunted me, the way he followed me with them as I came in to his hospital room. I remember the ping of the ventilator as it forced air down his lungs, the unnatural sucking noise as it pulled it back out again. I remember the feeling of the pillow in my hands, the pleading look in his eyes when he figured out what I was going to do. Getting an insurance policy on each other had seemed like such a good idea at the time, my guess is that Benny’s last thoughts were to regret the decision...
Phabricated Philosophy – Time goes quickly when you’re having fun. Therefore, to live a really long life, you should never have any fun. So stop reading this book and go eat Brussels sprouts or something.
Kaidarro
An epic saga by Dan Marvin
The ocean broke upon the bow of Mandukot’s ship and continued on its never-ending quest, much like the man above. He knew these seas, he had grown up here and sailed these waters with his father, the great mariner. Now he had returned, to stake his claim as the rightful heir to the throne, lord of a watery domain bordered by enemies, peopled with rebels, and filled with the riches of the seven seas.
Mandukot had traveled far, his ship was no stranger to the Far East and her bow was laden with silk. Too, he had seen the wonders of the Dark Continent, and figures of ivory took their place next to the cloth. A message hastened him back, the king lay dying, and it was time for him to return to the land of Kaidarro. He hoped his learning was complete, there was no more time.
Herlim had remained at his elbow the entire voyage. Schooled in the ways of the sea, knowledgeable of magic and man, his was the job of teacher, friend, and conscience. More than once he had saved Mandukot’s life. More than once, the favor had been repaid until it sometimes seemed as though they were cut from the same cloth and of one mind. He longed for the return as much as Mandukot. He too, was ready for the challenges ahead.
A cry went up from the harbor gates, they had been spotted and were being welcomed, or so they hoped. The voices sounded excited, it was difficult to determine if from love or hate. A gate opened, and they turned their rudder towards the gap. It was time to fathom the mood of the kingdom.
It was obvious the village elders had been summoned; they stood in wait as the ship drew near. A few pleasantries said that all was well, but there was no time to waste. With a solemn procession, Mandukot and Herlim traveled to the castle walls to determine the condition of King Safrone. The massive doors opened to reveal their secrets and the travelers entered within.
“Father” Mandukot began as he entered the room. “I have returned! I received your message and I have ended my travels!” His voice boomed as he finished, his excitement at being home overwhelming his concern for his king.
“I’m afraid I was a bit premature. It was just a cold, sniffles really. I should be able to be king for quite awhile yet. Why don’t you get some soup in the kitchen and stop round again in a year or so.” With that, the old man rolled over and went back to sleep.
Mandukot’s wild mane billowed in the wind as the salt air touched his face once more. Even though he looked quite impressive, he still felt a wee bit silly.
Ernie's Wife
Another gray, dismal day and Ernie set off for work. His wife had packed him a lunch (probably tuna again. It was always tuna) and sent him on his way. Ernie hoped he had remembered everything. He usually didn't. The boss would probably threaten to fire him again as he usually did and with his luck; today the boss probably would go through with it. He sniffled and wondered how long the cold would hold off. Another two days, tops. The bus jerked to a stop and Ernie got out with a look of resignation. "Only 8 hours," he thought "and then I get to go home and argue with Her until we go to bed. What a wonderful life."
As Ernie was walking into the building, the sun burst from behind the clouds and he noticed a painting in the lobby. The painting usually looked bleak and barren. Today, the sun glinted from the odd color combinations and gave it a certain charm. Ernie smiled.
"Good morning Mr. Nesmith" called his secretary cheerfully. Usually she just growled out a greeting when she said anything at all. "Would you care for some coffee?" Unprecedented!
"Nesmith, get in here!" the boss was yelling over the intercom. Great, it was starting already. "Your work on the Harrison account was inspiring. Another effort like that and you'll get that raise you've been wanting. What was this? Ernie felt faint.
He went back to his office and plowed through his work. Before he knew it, it was lunch time. Another surprise met him as his wife had packed a tasty shrimp cocktail and homemade cake. The rest of the day glided by without a hitch and Ernie got onto the bus in high spirits. He arrived home and saw all of the lights were dim. She must have gone shopping. No dinner for him tonight. Unless he cooked it himself of course. He knew it had been too good to last.
As he opened the door, he saw his wife standing there scantily clad in a sleek negligee and holding a rose in one hand with a glass of wine in the other. After a romantic dinner, they settled in to watch the football game she had taped for him and she handed him a beer. Her whispered voice in his ear promised more than just beer and football tonight... Then Ernie woke up. 6am, time to go to work.
Your Money, Your Choice
A hard hitting expose by Dan Marvin
In the rollicking halls of Southside High, Ephram did not fit in. He was bit too angular and spare to hang out with the jocks, not quite smart enough to be a nerd, and ever-so-slightly too masculine to be a cheerleader. He was quiet but with a tendency to spaz out every once in awhile. His peers voted him “Most Likely to Commit Heinous Crimes Against Society” in the yearbook. To Ephram, it was an unnecessary reminder that kids can be cruel.
On this particular day, 12 days before finals week, Ephram found himself in the principal’s office, his academic life hanging in the balance. As it turns out, the school had a policy against stealing girls’ underwear from the locker room and wearing it as a headband. Perhaps more distressing, his lack of familiarity with the statute did not seem to be an adequate defense against the charge.
“Mr. Potts, why exactly did you abscond with the clothing articles in question?” Principal Nixon asked him.
“The voices in my head told me to,” one of Ephram’s personalities responded. He was quite surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth; the others usually let him do the talking. All the same, it was probably as lucid an argument as he was likely to muster.
Apparently satisfied with his soul-searching, Principal Nixon let Ephram stay at the school and even allowed him a few days of Nintendo at home as a reward. The court imposed restraining order was nice enough to give him some guidelines on proper behavior when he found himself in the girl’s locker room. Yet, even with all of this resolution, the incident was to stay with Ephram for many years to come.
E. Justin “Rocky” Potts’ thoughts returned to the present. Those days seemed so long ago, he had to chuckle a bit. As overseas mission leader for the marines, he rarely took the time to look back to his somewhat messy childhood. As he led his forces into what the history books would refer to as the “Really Big Battle that the Good Guys Won”, General Potts was glad he had worn his lucky panties.
Questionable Quotation – “Two wrongs don’t make a right. But three lefts do.”
-Anonymous
The Doolian Dilemma
With a dramatic wave of his hands, Grand Maestro Azar elevated his pretty assistant and began to move her around the room. With squeals of delight, her body hovered over the crowded hotel showroom and with equal ease; he brought her back and set her once more on the table. High above, the winches and gears groaned a bit but they were droned out by the thunderous applause of drunken retirees.
The glamorous life of an entertainer had once appealed the Herb (AKA Grand Maestro Azar), now it merely paid the bills. The suckers who wanted to be tricked had left him somewhat jaded to the wonder of his profession. His illusions were pretty to behold but lacked the force of will which could have made him the best.
On the street outside the hotel, Herb hailed a hooker and spent a goodly portion of the evening hiding various parts of his anatomy. Although his urges were sated, his mind was left unsatisfied, longing for meaning. Fate had an interesting plan for him.
In the audience that night was a woman that Herb noticed right off. It had been a long time since he had been attracted to an audience member. She seemed a bit haughty, and didn’t clap as freely or as long as the others. Still, whenever he glanced her way, her piercing eyes were seeing to his soul. He was smitten.
After the show, he delayed a reasonable amount of time and then went in search of the woman he had seen. His slight psychic touch led him immediately to the hotel bar. “What kept you so long?” She asked when he was about to introduce himself. There was magic in the air that night.
The next morning, Herb awoke at peace with the world. He rolled over to say good morning to the empty air. Incredulous, he looked at the pillow that had once supported the woman from last night, what was her name? It now had only a note, “thanks for reaching into your bag of Tricks. -S”
Azar the Incensed seized Herb’s mind. With the forces of magic at his disposal, he turned the pillow into a pile of feathers and shredded cloth.
Semi-Precious Glue
It started many years ago at a small village in the hills when the inhabitants started brewing the world's finest beer. People would trek from miles around to sip some of the precious nectar at the local watering hole "The Pitchers Bottom" and many a tale of wonder and delight passed from the lips of patrons there from far flung corners of the earth. The word of this delightful brew spread far and wide and eventually fell on the ears of evil "Orgar the Semi-Intelligent" the token force of evil on this planet. He began to crave this beer and set up a plan to get a never ending supply.
One day, at the Pitcher's Bottom, an old man in a tattered cape sat down at a table and waited patiently until the over worked waitress could take his order . As there was nothing else at the bar, the old man ordered beer and settled down to wait for its arrival. Several well meaning locals came by to see if he could be coaxed into conversation but he shooed them away with a swish of his hand. Some malignant sparkle glittered in his eye that warned off any others who would wish to mar his privacy.
Beneath his cape, the old man’s visage seemed to contort and change. Those watching from nearby could see his watery blue eyes change to almost black, his stooped shoulders straighten and gain mass, and his bent back became upright before their eyes.
When his beer arrived, he sprang from his chair and threw off his cape. It was Orgar! "Where is the owner? I have a little deal for him!" He laughed at his own evil tone and the owner scurried quickly out from behind the bar.
"Y-yes," he stammered "how may I help you?"
"I want twenty kegs of this brew delivered to me every week or I shall wreak havoc upon your town and your persons!" Orgar called out impressively.
"We only brew 10 per week." Offered the timid bar owner.
"Not enough! Let all the beer here be turned to glue!" and he waved his arms in an overly dramatic way. Of course, he was not a magician and was only semi-intelligent at best so nothing happened and the villagers pummeled him for threatening their beer supply. Beer is a mighty motivator.
Historically Inaccurate – In 1866, Elisha Gray invented the five pack of beer but was just behind Joe Sixpack at the patent office.
Twice Around
Mary Kate had grown up a lonely girl, the only child of two married strangers who lived in the country. Unlike in the movies, she didn’t love animals, no birds landed on her outstretched finger when she whistled. Bugs bugged her and mice made her run back to her room where she would slam the door and lose herself in one of her carefully hoarded books. It was those books that took her to far away places, lost islands, abandoned mines, romantic castles set on a hill. It was the books that were her salvation, perhaps, but it was the books that kept her world wanting, not living up to the hype.
It was natural, I suppose, that Mary Kate would gravitate towards being a librarian, and she did. She was an excellent librarian in fact, prone to speaking softly and suggesting that you do so as well. She could give you a pretty good starting point on almost any topic without flipping through the card catalog. She could also make it clear that there was a wall protecting her thoughts, you were privy only to the information that she was doling out on the effects of meteor bombardments on the moon or the movements of Napoleon’s army, but never to how her day was going or if she’d had a good weekend.
The books were her wings and her prison. In them she found friends that she couldn’t bare to leave. The years rolled on. One day, as she was sitting in the library, cataloging the latest crop of romance novels, a novel thing happened. He walked in to the office and into her heart, a giant of a man with a soft voice and hard features. His hands were rough from hard work but his eye was clear and his questions smart. He was looking, he said, for information on his family’s house. He lived but a mile from where Mary Kate’s parents lived, where SHE lived too, in a house that she passed every day on the way to work. His name was Max and he thought the house had been built in the 1850’s by a family named Nelson.
They pored over the documents together, two heads bent on a common mission. The microfiche projector nearly smoked from page after page, no mention of a new house going up out by Cooper’s Creek, no mention of a family of Nelson’s who were thinking of building. 1850 flew by, 1851 followed in it’s wake, ‘52 and ‘53 went by as well, the Gazette giving little hope that Max was going to find his heritage. Then, in 1859, after several hours of ‘accidentally’ touching hands... there it was! “A new house was finished today by Clarence Nelson. He’ll live there with his wife too. The house sits on the site of the Osgood place that burned down last year.” She was frankly amazed that they had found it, and slightly disappointed that he would leave now. Then he surprised her.
The request for a cup of coffee was shy but sincere; she nodded her head in spite of her initial reaction to run out of the library. Soon they were sitting in the diner, laughing like old friends. The next day was dinner out, then a movie, then sitting at Max’s 1859 house holding hands in front of the television. From there, she felt hands on her breasts and she gave into the sensation. The hands were replaced with other parts and she floated away on a river of desire...
The clock at the desk struck 6, the library was closing. Mary Kate closed Max up and slid him onto the shelf with the rest of the men she would never know. Deliberately, she stood up, composed herself, and headed home.
Questionable Quotation – “Veni, Vidi, Vici, Vera Violet Vinn is very very very awful on her violin” - Julius Suess
Sunset over Shanghai
Dark gray waves of freezing water washed over the deck of the Saint Desmond as she struggled from the crest of one wave to the trough of the next. Four days out of Shanghai the gale had blown up from over open water and now, 36 hours into the storm, her crew was weary and spent, but still the winds blew.
Inside the vessel, mournful wails of over stressed rivets and metal took turns with the peals of thunder in a macabre concerto, she had been built to withstand such torture 18 years ago, but 18 years is a long time to a ship like the Saint Desmond. Captain Tumaine rubbed his temples as he tried to chase a cup of lukewarm coffee. Charts lay before him and a decent amount of electrical gadgetry beeped and blipped in the background, trying to reassure him that everything would be OK. Right now, Claude Tumaine wasn't so sure.
It seemed a bit clichéd, this was to be his last voyage commanding a cargo ship across the open seas, a desk job beckoned in San Francisco and his wife of only two years had made it quite plain that his love affair with the waves could be fed just as easily on weekends with a beer in his hand as it could five days out of Shanghai in a warhorse fighting long odds. He sighed, knowing better than to curse the fate that befell him, the sea is a fickle mistress and better men than he had died trying to tame her. He stood and looked out through the window.
Rain spit down on his vessel, the drops were vanquished by wipers and replaced just as quickly with others bearing even more moisture. Maybe it was just as well, the ocean was not something he wanted to see right now. Rolling waves 18 feet high tossed the ship about and the water seethed beneath them. When a wave contradicted their course, its watery fingers doused everything on the deck and tried to find entrance in the hold below. More often than not now, the waves succeed. The bilge pumps almost never stopped pumping.