An Experimental Story of Sorts

Below is an experiment I tried last year. It is a story told completely as a series of digital voice recordings. In a way, it's a horror story. I know it certainly gave me the willies when I read it just now.

I did try submitting this to a SF lit journal, but the response was pretty-much what I feared. He didn't get it. *shrug*

You see, "Haudego" is the story of a scientist obsessed with eradicating selfishness. Sounds like a good thing, right? Well, you know the old saying: "Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it."

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Haudego

“Oliver? How do I tell if this damn thing is on? Oh, I see… Well… Yes… Hello. Today’s date is January 29th. I am Doctor Manny Kanton. After years of searching for the answer, I believe have finally found it. A single chemical chain in the cerebral cortex holds the key. Therefore, this set of recordings shall serve as my journals for the trials of the experimental drug to be known as ‘Haudego’, and may they serve as the testament for years spent in the search to solve the one problem behind all other problems known to man—selfishness. Understand whatever I am about to do has been done strictly for the sake of my fellow man.”

“February 12th: The university has given me the go-ahead for implementing my research. I am happy to know that they understand the importance of this project, although I am not fooled. Some members of the board certainly see this as a means for financial gain. I gave them only the barest of information for that reason. All notes and data will be guarded closely from this point onward. No single person will benefit from my work. It is for all of mankind.”

“February 18th: We began with the usual rodent test subjects today. All have been given the same dosage and the blind trial is in place. I expect to see results within a week.”

“February 22nd: Initial tests using rodent subjects for Haudego have proven fruitless. I had hoped the chemical chain in these lower animals would be suitably similar to our own, but when combined with the drug, these chemical chains become unstable causing immediate death. Curious. There is no indication for this result.”

“February 24th: Hypothesis of chemical chain instability in lower mammals incorrect. After biopsy, no data can be found to support that conclusion. According to my initial theory, nothing about this drug should cause such an immediate and fatal a reaction. I see now I was right. I’m looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps the dosage is too high… Yes. That has to be the answer. A lower dosage should suffice.”

“March 1st: New tests with lower dosage show promise. Rodent subjects no longer exhibit respiratory failure immediately following administration of the drug. I expect to see great improvement in these subjects over the next few days.”

“March 2nd: Initial subjects for test with lower dosage have begun to exhibit extreme loss of appetite and rapid dehydration.”

“March 3rd: Second test has failed. All subjects from the initial test but one have expired. Last subject shows no ill effect of Haudego, and tomorrow, remaining live subject will be tested to ascertain the drug’s desired effects.”

“March 4th: Final subject from initial test has proven immune to lower dosage of Haudego. All tests show no effect on brain chemistry… Hmm… This is actually promising. If I can eradicate this immunity, I should be able to insure Haudego’s efficacy.”

“March 4th (addendum): Earlier, I increased the dosage to gauge its effects on the immune subject, but regrettably, the subject expired in the same manner as the initial subjects. Subject not immune. Tolerance was higher… Nothing to suggest a possible way to increase the positive effects of the drug while diminishing the fatality rate, but it must be there. It has to be.”

“March 7th: I am now certain my failure with the rodent subjects was strictly due to the difference in anatomy between species. Closer examination of the exhumed brains of my subjects shows total atrophy of the cortex area, to the extent that many brain cells necessary for the successful function of the organism have ceased to exist. This can only be due to specie.”

“March 8th: I have convinced my superiors of the need to utilize subjects closer in makeup to mankind. Tomorrow, we begin work with a small sample of rhesus monkeys.”

“March 15th: Primate subject tests are all failures. Same basic cause of death as the rodent subjects. I can only assume the monkeys are still too far away from the chemical makeup of the human brain. I need a human subject. There is no other way. I am certain that if I could work with just one man, I could prove my theory is correct.”

“March 18th: My request for a test sample of volunteers has been denied. Damn them. If they had any idea what they were preventing… It’s madness. The board… Men and women who never once thought about their fellow man… They are apparently not convinced I am correct. They do not understand. Even if a small number of volunteers are lost, the importance of Haudego is worth it. Millions will be saved once this chemical chain is eradicated from the human physiology. I have to convince them. They have to listen.”

“April 9th: I located my first human subject tonight. A male of fair health and medium stature. He jumped at the chance to make money so he could buy his next fix. Heh. I think that once Haudego succeeds, however, he will be so grateful, payment will become unnecessary. This subject is perfect. The track marks along his arm are classic. Once my drug takes effect, he will no longer feel the need for narcotics of any kind.”

“April 9th (addendum): Impossible. The first test subject expired at 10:02 p.m… I don’t understand it. Ten minutes after Haudego was introduced, he… The subject gasped once and then stopped breathing. My assistant, Oliver, administered CPR and breathing resumed briefly. But each time the subject was resuscitated, he took one or two breaths and ceased breathing again… Oliver is now readying the corpse for further study. I need to know why this is happening.”

“April 11th: Just as I had suspected! Autopsy shows no ill effects of the drug upon the respiratory system. I knew it! Oddly, it was almost as if the lungs received an order from the brain to cease function, but… that cannot be so. The chemical chain involved has no bearing… none at all, on the respiratory system. However, this bears further study. When Oliver returns from disposing of the remains, we will go over the data together to determine a solution to the problem… Oliver is a good man… It was his idea to hide the remains. He understands the importance of this discovery, and he understands any negative light shed on our experiments will jeopardize the success of the project... This project must succeed… for the betterment of humanity.”

“May 10th: We have hit upon the possible cause of Sub1’s untimely and unfortunate death. A single molecular chain in the drug’s chemistry affects the subject’s autonomic systems. I will adjust Haudego and resume testing as soon as possible.”

“May 27th: Our second subject was acquired, and we administered Haudego without delay. I remained in the lab tonight for the observation of the second subject. He experienced no ill effects, and after three hours, I left him asleep in the lab. I am confident we have finally resolved any issues with the autonomic system, and the test will be successful. I will run further tests tomorrow to see if Haudego has accomplished my goal.”

“May 28th: Success! Sub2 has shown vast improvement from his former state. All tests have been passed, and the subject has been released with instructions to report back to the lab in the morning. My assistant showed concern for the subject’s return, but it cannot be helped. We do not have adequate facilities to house a human subject for too long, and I cannot afford to have rumors of my tests leaking to the advisory board. This experiment cannot be jeopardized for any reason. Oliver’s concerns are duly noted, however, and I took the precaution of offering some additional financial incentives to the subject. I am confident the man will be prompt in his delivery of his body for further testing.”

“May 29th: Sub2 did not return as expected. I sent my assistant to retrieve the man from his place of residence. Perhaps this is another indication of the drug’s success. No other man in his position would have stayed away from the fee I was offering.”

“May 29th (addendum): My assistant arrived this evening with the unfortunate news of Sub2’s expiration. At first I feared Haudego was the culprit, but my assistant assured me that Sub2’s death was purely accidental. It appears the man was killed on his way home from the lab. Vehicular homicide… Stepped in front of a freight van. Curious. One would think a man in his position would have been paying closer attention.”

“June 21st: I… I went into the lab tonight. We… That is, I… have been unable to locate any appropriate test subjects for nearly a month now. Oliver has been overly concerned that the delay would impede our research, and delay the chance of Haudego reaching the market in a timely fashion. I tried to explain that sometimes trials of this nature can take years, but being young, he didn’t comprehend my words. I went into the lab tonight and found Oliver. He couldn’t wait. He used himself as a test subject.”

“June 21st (addendum): I disposed of Oliver’s body. What a horrifying task. Upon my return I went over his notes… His notes were flawless. Right down to the instant of his death. Every sensation; every thought carefully recorded. But his observations cannot be so. I refuse to believe Haudego has any ill effects. I have tested and retested the drug’s composition myself. Nothing is present to indicate this kind of reaction… I have no choice now. I must explore his observations for myself.”

“June 22nd: As of ten o’clock tonight, I am under the influence of Haudego. As foolhardy as it may seem, I had to know what happened to Oliver. I have to know where I went wrong. I must… Curious. It doesn’t really make any difference what I think I need to know… But Haudego is for the betterment of humanity… I should care about the completion of our work if only for that reason… But what does it matter? I… I don’t understand… What is happening to me?”

“June.. 23rd… This… will be my last… recording… I have destroyed… every last vestige… of this project… save for this… final epitaph… to my own folly… Even now… I have to fight… against the drug… to do even this… last small thing… for myself… Haudego… was designed… to spare mankind… from the one… malady… the one cause… of suffering and war… of hate and depression… since… the dawn… of humanity… I… created… Haudego to… save humanity… I… We… were taught… all along… Selfishness… is so… wrong… How… can it… be possible…? Selfishness… is… self… preservation. How… can… I… have… failed…? How… could I… have failed to see…?”

Thus ends the transcription of recordings found with the body of Dr. Manny Kanton. The only punctuation for his final recording: the exclamation point of a gunshot, and the final ellipsis of a soft, heavy object falling to the floor.

A Morphed Beginning

Below is a piece I had originally started as one story but which morphed into the book I called 'Blink'. Now that Blink is finished, it's so far from this beginning I'm thinking about using this to begin another story I have simmering on the back burner. *shrug* We'll see.

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Title Redacted

“Two and two are…? Anyone?” asked a young woman with long curly blond hair. Many of the small children seated at the circular table around her stopped their eyes from wandering about the large and brightly colored room and attempted to focus their attentions on the adult standing in their center. Several of the children continued with other pursuits as the teacher patiently waited. One tiny girl sat looking thoughtfully at her teacher as if she were also patiently waiting for something to happen; the teacher could feel herself beginning to squirm beneath those dark eyes. She felt unreasonably relieved when one of the other children was the first to speak.

“Five!” a chubby boy with thick glasses called from a space on the teacher’s left.

“Very good, Evynstyn!” The teacher said with a good-natured smile. “Does anyone else have an answer?”

A small hand shot confidently skyward just as another of the children yelled out, “Seven!”

“Very good, Taffinia!” The teacher nodded approvingly. “Anyone else?”

Once again, the small hand raised and the young girl beneath it wiggled in her seat as if the answer were alive inside her and trying to wriggle free. The teacher scanned the group from her position in the center of the circle, her eyes hastily jumping past the eyes of her most animated student to land on a girl to the right.

“Jennifrika? Do you have an answer?”

The chosen girl blushed and timidly whispered out the word, “One?”

“Oh, Jennifrika!” the teacher cried, “That’s perfect!” The teacher clapped her hands joyfully. “What a bright girl you are!”

The wiggling little body could stand it no longer and she rose from her seat. “Ms. Blandingsworth?” she said boldly, “The correct answer to the question is ‘four’. Those other kids are wrong.”

At first the teacher went white, but then her face quickly reddened and she shouted, “Mary Jones! I should’ve known that you’d be trouble. I don’t know what your last learning group was like, but this learning group isn’t like that. We don’t talk that way here.” She quickly passed outside of the circle and stood beside Mary’s spot on the bench that surrounded the class’ oblong desk, her arms crossed almost protectively before her chest. “You will apologize to your fellow learners right now.”

Mary stood silently defiant. As she ran over the whole thing in her mind, she could not think of a single thing that she needed to apologize for, even if she could hear the beginning sniffles of the timid girl next to her.

The teacher’s hand quickly raised and Mary could almost imagine that this woman would strike her for her disobedience, so angry was her demeanor, but the teacher stabbed a finger toward Mary’s tote bag and then stabbed again toward the doorless opening of the classroom. “Very well, young lady. If you refuse to apologize for hurting the feelings of your groupmates, then I have no choice. You will pick up your things and march right up to the office right this instant,” the teacher commanded shrilly. Mary carefully gathered her belongings and made her way toward the hall. Just as she exited the room she could hear the woman call after her in a tone that sounded too much like glee, “And don’t be surprised if they call your parents!”

As Mary walked down the gleaming corridors of her new school following a path of purple dinosaur tracks that she had been told would lead her to the office, she pondered the reaction of the woman they had chosen to be her teacher. Neither the reaction of her teacher nor that of the timid girl made any sense to her, but she was sure that this would all be straightened out once she spoke to the principal; she was certain it would.

Sitting silently in the hall outside the opening for what was obviously an office, despite its lack of a sign to that effect, Mary gazed about her new surroundings. The walls were covered in pastel butterflies and there were images of happy looking bugs painted at intervals along the baseboards. If the surroundings were any indication of the school, then the teacher had been right in suggesting that this wasn’t anything like her last school, but she hadn’t expected it to be that way. Her last school had been more concerned with what the children were learning than with what the children were feeling. There had been no butterflies or smiling bugs flittering along the walls; her last school didn’t need any illusions of happiness because it had made the learning itself fun. Her last school had been run by her father.

A voice interrupted her thoughts. “Mary?”

While she had been lost in her memories a rather strange looking woman in a garish t-shirt and blue jeans had walked up to her. Mary acknowledged that she was the girl in question, and the strange woman ushered her into a room. After a few moments Mary realized that she was now in the principal’s office, although it was like no office she had ever seen; there was no desk and the only furniture seemed to be a group of comfortable chairs nestled together in the center of the room. The woman quickly flopped into one of the chairs and indicated that Mary should take another. Quickly Mary realized that this person was the principal.

“I’m Ms. Lovinghouse, Mary… but you may call me Lovey. After you’ve been with us a while you’ll learn that all the children here call me Mama Lovey, though, but I will wait until you feel comfortable enough to call me that. Now, honey. Do you know why you’re here?”

“No, Mrs. Lovinghouse.” Mary said politely.

“It’s Ms., dear, and remember to call me Lovey.” The principal corrected.

“Yes, ma’am.” Mary replied.

Patting Mary’s hand, the principal told her, “No need to be so formal, sweetie. We’re going to be good pals, you and I. I’m good pals with all the children. You’ll see.”

“Yes, ummm… Ms… ummm… Lovey.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard now was it?” The principal reassured her. “Now, my dear, the reason you are here to see me today is that your teacher said that you were being disruptive in your group room today.”

“How?” Mary asked.

“Well, darling, Ms. Blandingsworth said that you stood up in class…”

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll apologize to her ma’am.”

“Mary, we don’t have any rules about standing up in class, darling. You were just expressing yourself, and that’s wonderful, but, Mary… You told the other children that they were wrong.”

“But… But they were wrong and Ms. Blandingsworth was acting like they weren’t. She was letting them think they were right.”

“Mary, honey, I know that you think that you were helping your groupmates to learn, but your teacher knows better ways of teaching than you do, doesn’t she?”

“But they were wrong…” Mary insisted.

“We don’t teach that way, Mary. Maybe your last learning facility did, but that doesn’t make our way of teaching wrong, dear.” Noticing the look of consternation on Mary’s face, the principal quickly added, “And it doesn’t make your old learning facility wrong either, dear. Just different. When you’re older, you’ll understand. After all, you’re only seven…”

“I’m six.” Mary corrected.

“Well, Mary dear. I can see what the problem is now. You’re obviously in the wrong group.” She said cheerfully and then mumbling, added, “Funny. Your transcript shows that you were being taught at the first learning group level…” Lovey drifted off as she contemplated the situation she was now faced with. Finally her gleaming smile returned and she beamed down at Mary. “I’ll take care of this right away, dear.”

Mary was led quietly back to her bench in the hallway to await her new group assignment. Oddly, her new school wasn’t really a school; she could hear the woman answering the phone, calling it State Learning Facility number 10045. And her class hadn’t really been a class; they’d called them by the name of learning groups since she had arrived. This was a strange new place that she’d been brought to and she wasn’t quite certain that she liked it one bit. However, her father had always taught her to embrace new experiences and to learn from them, so she made up her mind to make the best of it.

Several minutes passed before her principal returned bearing a clipboard and a pencil. “Are you ready to go to your new group, Mary?” The principal said cheerfully.

Mary nodded as a grin spread slowly across her face. She was excited. The lessons that she’d experienced that day had covered material that she was already familiar with and the other children had seemed a bit slow to her. Happily, the little girl tramped after the principal as she was lead to her new learning group, knowing in her heart that this woman would make things right. That’s what grown-ups did.

“Here we are Mary,” the principal proclaimed. “Mrs. Christiansen’s class.” The principal pushed the door open and a wave of noise swept over Mary. Children were running around a large room with brightly colored walls, shouting to one another and barking out cries of glee as they ran. There were no desks present—not even the large circle that her last learning group had to work upon—and the room seemed to be devoid of even the few simple books that group had offered. She clasped her tote bag to her chest as the principal prodded her to enter.

Stunned, Mary looked up into the face of her principal, unable to form the words that bubbled up in her mind. The principal merely beamed down at her. “Welcome to kindergarten, Mary,” she said.

Before Mary could even respond a large, round-faced woman scurried up to them amidst the chaos. “A new student!” she cried with obvious glee. “Let me take those things.” She then snatched Mary’s belongings out of her tiny grasp. “Everyone will be so thrilled that we have new things to play with!”

Mary opened her mouth to speak but her words were lost in her throat. Her things were not for everyone else to play with—they belonged to her. Powerless to stop this new intrusion into her life, she watched in horror as her papers and books were distributed throughout the gathering herd of children who were clamoring for their chance. The books were grabbed and hastily chucked aside, and Mary gasped in horror as her copy of Black Beauty was carelessly trod upon.

Mistaking the cause of the tears in her eyes, the principal knelt down next to her and pulled her close into a hug that Mary neither wanted nor understood. “It’s okay, dear. Kindergarten can be a scary new experience; go ahead and have a good cry.” Mary struggled against her grip, but the woman only squeezed her tighter. Finally Mary gave up the struggle and swallowed back the tears of frustration that clouded her dark brown eyes. When the woman finally released her, it was to hold her at arm’s length. Looking into Mary’s face, the principal said, “I’m sorry that you’re having such a tough time today, Mary. Please tell your parents that I’m terribly sorry about the mistake, but if they had only pointed out your age when they registered you, then this never would have happened. You would have been placed where you belong and all six year olds belong in kindergarten. They never really should have taught you beyond the kindergarten level anyway, you know. You were too young, and in teaching you beyond your age group your parents have really only made your adjustment here more difficult.” Adopting a look of insincere sympathy, the woman tousled Mary’s hair and patted her on the back. “Now run along and play, darling. You’ll want to get to know your group-mates before recess.”

Mary stood in front of the entryway long after the principal had skipped back to her office, wondering how she was going to fix this, and then it occurred to her that this was the way her life was now, and she was just going to have to accept it.

#

Mary awoke with a start to realize that once again, she had fallen asleep in the middle of her studies. With a sigh, she carefully marked a place several pages back where she had last understood what she was reading and then set about the task of getting ready for work. A glance at the clock on the wall showed it was fast approaching midnight, and she was probably going to be late—again. As quickly as she could, she pulled on an orange jumper and raced out the door, cognizant that she’d missed yet another meal as she attempted to combine a full night’s work with a full day’s study, and had once again succeeded at neither. Shrugging as she climbed aboard a cross-town bus, she acknowledged that it was only par for the course; her teachers had always intimated that she wouldn’t succeed at much in her life.

As usual, the bus was jammed full of bodies; people pressed in one upon the other like so many pickles stuffed into a jar. Shuffling into a space near the back, Mary pondered her latest analogy and decided that the smell of dozens of humans packed into a plastic alloy shell was faintly reminiscent of vinegar and dill. Yesterday, the best she had been able to come up with was the old standard of sardines, although she couldn’t remember ever have seen a can of the little fish. She sighed. Some days were better then others, but it was her only amusement—finding new ways to describe the world around her.

Lurching to a halt at each stop, the bus slowly unloaded its stale lot of passengers to acquire a fresh batch. People shuffling off the bus on their way home from second shift; people scurrying onto the bus on their way to clock in for the third. Every night Mary went through the same ritual, but the mornings she chose to wander the streets, soaking up the architecture of the city and wondering who the great men were that had created such grandeur and beauty as could be found in the oldest of the buildings, wondering if there were any great men left.

Time Stops Here

Below is a story I wrote for a theme lit mag called The First Line. They give you the first line, you write a story from it. (This submission period's first line is in italics.) Needless to say, I didn't get this one published. (If I had, I wouldn't be able to post it here.) I suppose I could've reworked it and submitted it somewhere else, but for me, it's had its run.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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Time Stops Here

In Pigwell, time is not measured by days or weeks but by the number of eighteen wheelers that drive past my house. So, my guess is when the factory shut down, time couldn’t help but stop.

Don’t it seem like nothing ever stops all at once? This place really ain’t any different. What happened here was more like the last puddle in a drought, though; it just gets smaller and smaller until there ain’t nothin’ left but mud. One month the trucks were flowin’ by—headed west with steel and wire and crates of who-knows-what; headed east with big boxes of stuff from the factory. The next month, the trucks were only headed east. Last time a semi went through here, it didn’t carry anythin’ but the innards of a man’s gutted future.

Pigwell never was great or sprawlin’ by anyone’s standards, but after the factory went belly-up, this town rolled over with it. Since pretty much everyone who lived here worked there, it wasn’t really any big surprise. At least not to me it wasn’t. I saw it comin’. All those people without any money, and the stores couldn’t help but dry up and blow away, like the dust of a ruined riverbed.

You know what they say: “Last one out’s a rotten egg.”

Looks like I’m gonna be the rotten egg in this one.

If I didn’t own the only bar left in this town, I probably woulda blown away like all the rest of ‘em. But no matter how tight a man’s pocketbook gets, it’s never so empty he can’t squeeze out a little cash to get himself tight, too. Like my daddy always said, “Booze don’t make the hurtin’ go away but it sure does lubricate the trip.”

I suppose when the money dries up completely, I’ll be outta here myself.

When Frank Petrie came here a dozen years ago and built his factory out in the scrubby fields, I bet he never saw this comin’. Of course, the Frank Petrie I met years ago wouldn’a been able to see it. He was so damn full of life then, he fairly crackled with it. The whole mess is too damn bad if you ask me. A man puts everythin’ he is into buildin’ his dream—into breakin’ out on his own—only to see it crap out on him; that, sir, is a horror no man should hafta face. Frank faced it for as long as he could, I guess, but finally, he couldn’t take it no more. I saw him leavin’ town a while back. He stopped in here for one last belt.

He wasn’t cracklin’ anymore; he was crawlin’.

The other day, Danny Watkins—he was Frank’s foreman once upon a time… Well, Danny was in here, sittin’ at my bar, doin’ his best to crawl into the bottom of one of my whiskey bottles. All of a sudden, he started goin’ on and on about how Frank Petrie was a crook, and how he’d screwed Pigwell. Before I knew it, I was mad as a wet cat. I cut him off of my booze, then I told him to get the hell out of my bar. That shut him up, and he got real sorry then, but he shoulda known better than to talk that kind of trash in my place. He’s banned for life. Well, he’s banned for as long as I own this place, which don’t look like it’s gonna be too much longer.

Don’t get me wrong. Danny was one of the only people left in town with money, but no amount of money from him or anyone else is ever gonna be enough for me to put up with that crap. Especially not in my own place.

After all, Danny Watkins’s kind of thinkin’ is what got folks into this mess in the first place, only they don’t know it. Don’t shake your head at me. I’ve had more than my fair share of time to think about it. It’s what killed the factory, and this hole some idiot christened Pigwell along with it.

What most folks don’t know is that a man can work himself damn near to death buildin’ something for himself and while he’s doin’ that, other people can work along with him—each profitin’ from it in their own way. Frank worked his ass off for that place. All the folks here, as long as they were willin’ to put in the work, got pretty comfortable off Frank’s place. Everything was goin’ fine until one day, those fools got to thinkin’ that because they worked so hard and all, they were entitled to somethin’ more.

Old foreman Danny got them all together and decided they were gonna ask the owner for a cut—their share of the money, they said. The damned fools didn’t know they were already gettin’ a cut every time they got a paycheck. I mean, Christ, half of them guys didn’t even graduate high school and they were makin’ more than some college fellas I know.

Well, this little… uh… idea of theirs came right after they’d all gotten their fat yearly raises, but the money still wasn’t enough. They saw the owner driving a Mercedes while they were driving Chevys; they saw him living in a big house in the valley while they were living in town. So, they figured they deserved a bigger piece of the pie. Of course, when they asked Frank he said ‘not yet’. He wouldn’t have minded, but it wasn’t the time for spendin’ money. Seems he was waitin’ for a big order to come through, and he had to sink every spare penny into buyin’ raw materials.

Did anyone here think of that? Nope. Everybody at that meeting came back to town and what they’d heard him say was ‘No’; he didn’t say ‘No’, mind you, he just said ‘not yet’, but that wasn’t what they heard. Or maybe they heard him right and just didn’t care.

The next day, the whole lot of them got together—right here in my bar—and after a dozen beers, they hemmed and hawed and belched and burped, and when it was done, they’d voted to go on strike. Then they all patted each other on the backs and staggered home to sleep, or to pass out, or whatever those idiots do when they’ve drunk themselves stupid.

Now, they didn’t strike right away. No, they waited until the moment was perfect; when they could do the most damage. It was right about the time when the factory was due to fill that really important order, actually. Then, the whole crew walked away from the line. Before Frank even had a chance to blink, they sent Danny up to the office with a list of what they said they needed, and one demand: pay up or else.

What the hell was Frank supposed to do when they had him by the short hairs like that? He melted quicker than a snowman in April. The whole lot of them got raises, better bennies, longer vacations. Jesus, they were livin’ like kings. Some of them guys were makin’ twice what I was makin’, and I owned my own place.

Lucky for them, the order got out on time, and the company got paid for it. But in the end, the company paid for it—if you know what I mean.

Before anyone knows it, the factory is slowly bleeding to death, and I’m ashamed to say, a lot of their blood was seepin’ into this place. I’m not complainin’ about that part, mind you. I’m just sayin’.

Then, all the boys from the factory start showin’ here up at any time of the day. I asked Hank—he worked on the assembly line—what he thought he was doin’ playin’ hooky in the middle of the day, and he just winked at me. Another one of the boys told me they could do whatever they wanted and if Frank had a problem with that, they’d make sure to hold up some orders, just to teach him who was really boss.

It wasn’t long after that the trucks stopped and time petered out for Pigwell.

I don’t expect to be here much longer. Most folks who had any sense have headed out, looking for wetter places to put down roots. Hell, I heard even Danny went east to find work. And old Hank? Last I heard, he’s moppin’ floors at some place up near the city, makin’ half of what Frank was payin’ him, even before the big strike-raise.

Me? Oh, I’m headed out, too. Time is stoppin’ in too many places around these parts. Too many other Franks are getting’ showed who’s boss, I guess. I heard tell of a place somewhere up in the mountains where things aren’t so bad. Maybe I can open another bar; put down roots of my own, you know. Maybe I can go up there to wait it out, and hope time starts back up again.

Spunky the Bunny

I wrote this years ago (so long ago, I can't remember exactly when), but suffice it to say, this is the final incarnation of a story I wrote in 1986 - for my sophomore English class. It's really morphed since then, but so have I.

This story was written as a children's story (at least I think that's what the assignment was). I realize some of the language is above the intended age-range, but since I don't plan on ever seeing this published, it no longer really matters.

Enjoy.

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Spunky the Bunny

Being a bunny takes a lot of effort, but Spunky was a bunny who loved to work at being the best bunny he could be. Spunky ran fast, but sometimes the other bunnies would run faster. That didn’t stop Spunky. He would practice and practice until he could be the fastest bunny. Spunky jumped high, but sometimes the other bunnies would jump higher. That didn’t bother Spunky. He would practice and practice until he could be the highest jumping bunny.

One day Spunky met Roger the squirrel. Roger was the best squirrel he could be. He could climb any tree quicker than all the other squirrels. Spunky watched as Roger climber the tallest tree in the glen and Spunky was very impressed. Later when Roger went home with the other squirrels, Spunky tried to climb that tree. He tried running up the tree but he didn’t make it very far before he fell on his fluffy white tail. That didn’t stop Spunky. He tried jumping up the tree, but he didn’t make it very far before he fell on his fluffy white tail again. That didn’t stop Spunky.

He sat under the tree and thought about how to get up that tree. Then he remembered how Roger had climbed the tree. Roger didn’t run up the tree. Roger didn’t jump up the tree. Roger dug in his little claws and pulled himself up with his own effort. So Spunky used his little bunny claws and his big bunny brain. Slowly but surely he climbed up the tree. Little bit by little bit he inched up the bark. Once, he slipped and slid down the trunk just a little, but that didn’t stop Spunky. He dug in tighter with his little bunny claws and pulled a little harder. It took a long time but Spunky finally reached the first branch of the tree. Only then did Spunky stop and rest.

He looked out across the glen and saw his burrow far below. Spunky was very proud of himself. He looked up to the top of the tree and thought about all the work it took to reach only the first branch. That didn’t stop Spunky. After he rested and created a plan, Spunky started up the tree once more. He couldn’t wait to see the view from the top.

A Stab at Writing for Kids

Below is the beginning of my almost attempt at writing for the 8-12 crowd. Too bad I don't remember where I was headed with this, because I think it's a good beginning. *shrug* Every single thing we write is a learning experience. Good thing I learned to put more of a plot down for the stories I start.

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Summer Vacation Story

Julia couldn’t believe her ears. Her whole summer vacation was ruined! The entire class went from raucous enthusiasm over the last day of school to stunned silence. Mrs. Fitzhugh was still talking but few of the students were actually listening.

“… due the first day of school next year. Since I’ve been reassigned to teach sixth grade, it will be no problem to pick up where we’ve left off. Provided, of course, that you keep your minds sharp during summer break. That is the point of the assignment I’ve decided to give you for summer homework – keeping your minds active while you’re out of school.”

“Active?!” Julia thought, “My mind is active during the summer. I have a whole list of things I was going to do this summer. Homework was NOT one of those things.”

Mrs. Fitzhugh started passing out piles of paperwork. Each of her fifth grade students grudgingly took one from the top and passed the rest back to the unhappy individual behind him. As she was handing out papers, she continued, “Now I’m sure you all have plans for the summer,” almost reading Julia’s mind, “so this is going to incorporate your summer plans with your summer homework.”

Julia looked down at the sheet in her hands. The words were all a blur swimming in her thoughts of the beach and the park and the library. “Ahhh, the library,” Julia sighed under her breath, “Maybe the assignment has something to do with researching things in the library. I hope it’s not one of those lame ‘How I spent my summer vacation’ sort of things.” Julia focused her eyes and read, “How I spent my summer vacation” in big, bold, underlined letters at the top of the assignment. Groaning, she laid her head on her arms in defeat. The teacher was still talking but Julia no longer cared to listen. Minutes later she was roused by the sounds of her classmates pushing their chairs into place and gathering up their belongings. The last day of school was over.

Julia sullenly followed her classmates out of the school and toward the buses. Everyone was abuzz with excitement, but Julia was too lost in thought to even notice. She was sorely disappointed in her teacher. All year long she had given such interesting and thoughtful assignments. This was totally uncalled for. Every year some teacher or other had given Julia the exact same assignment and it had the exact same results – utter boredom. Julia thought Mrs. Fitzhugh was different.

Amy, Julia’s best friend rushed over and tapped her on the shoulder. “Ohmagawd, this is so exciting!” She gushed. Amy had a way of gushing when she was excited, but Julia didn’t mind because most of the time Amy was pretty sedate and thoughtful. “Can you believe that we get this to do all summer? I’m so glad we’re getting Fitz again.” All the children referred to their teacher as Fitz in conversation – it was shorter and Mrs. Fitzhugh didn’t mind as long as they addressed her properly at any other time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Julia. “I can’t believe that we have homework to do this summer. Well, I’m telling you, I’m going to whip out something quick and get it over with so that I can enjoy my break.” Pulling her backpack farther up on her shoulder, Julia started to walk for home. “I’ll catch you later. I’m going to get started on this thing right away.”

Amy stood watching in disbelief. This wasn’t like Julia. Usually things like this got Julia more excited than even Amy could manage. Maybe Julia was having an off day or maybe she was grumpy because Amy would be leaving that night to spend the summer at her aunt’s house in the country. “Oh well,” thought Amy, “I’ll write her a letter once I get unpacked and maybe she’ll let me know what’s wrong when she writes back.”

Of course, Julia had forgotten that Amy was going away for the summer. Julia’s mind was on other things and she was feeling quite sorry for herself by the time she arrived home. She could hear whistling in the kitchen which told her that her father was home, but Julia didn’t feel like conversation so she tromped right upstairs and flopped herself down on the bed. Her mind was racing with thoughts of her summer plans and with how she was going to word her 3 or 4 paragraph essay summarizing those plans. She could do the essay now and then she would just do what her essay said she had done. A little backward, true, but the best plan that Julia could come up with. Julia was an excellent writer and it would take her no time at all to make up details of she was going to do. All that it took was putting it into past tense. Since it was what she was going to do anyway, it wasn’t really a fib.

Movie Review

Way back when I was gainfully employed, I was asked to do some articles for the company newsletter. (Co-editor number one asked me, but number two and I didn't get along, so nothing was ever published.) A couple of the articles I wrote were reviews of old movies I thought my fellow employees might enjoy. Since they will never read these, I thought I would share one with you.

In the words of Rocky Squirrel: "And now for something we hope you'll really like."

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Silverado (1985)

Cast:
Kevin Kline, Kevin Costner, Scott Glenn, Danny Glover, Brian Dennehy, Linda Hunt, Rosanna Arquette, John Cleese, Jeff Goldblum

Directed by Lawrence Kasdan



Before Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer could clean up Tombstone (1993) and before Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster could gamble on Maverick (1994), a band of men rode onto the streets of Silverado and into the ranks of classic movies. This disparate quartet of cowboys – and virtually unknown actors at that time – showed America that the classic western was not dead and that Hollywood could still make a movie that was both entertaining and thoughtful.

The year is 1880 and the opening scenes follow Emmett (played by Scott Glenn) as he heads west to “meet a guy and go to Silverado”. On his way, Emmett stumbles upon Paden (Kline) in the desert and agrees to help him get to a town. However, they make it to town only to find that the ‘guy’ Emmett is supposed to meet is not only going to hang for murder the next morning, but also that the man is Emmett’s little brother, Jake (Costner). With some timely assistance from a stranger (Glover), the four men are rapidly on their way to their destination. That is when the fun really begins.

When these unlikely looking heroes ride in, Silverado seems like any other peaceful western town – plenty of pretty girls, horses and saloons – and it is peaceful, too, as long as the townspeople ignore the corruption going on around them. No such luck for them, though, as the heroes get embroiled in fighting for their lives, their property and their integrity.

Silverado is a movie with big vistas, big stars and big guns, but it goes beyond all that with big ideas – the big ideas that made the old westerns such an important part of America. Silverado shows that the only way for evil men to succeed is for good men to sit and do nothing. It also shows what happens when good men decide to stand for what is right – no evil is powerful enough to stop them.

The King's Crown - Chapter Three

This is a short chapter, written before I knew what chaptering was all about. Hell, it was written before I knew what writing was all about. Like so many others, I figured I could crank a book out in no time and as soon as I finished it, they'd be crawling all over each other to publish it. Easy as that, right?

Heh.

At any rate, writing doesn't work out quite like that.

Here's chapter three of The King's Crown. I hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter Three

Alex met Paul during her first semester at college. He was a Senior finishing up his degree requirements by taking a beginning computer course. They met in one of the computer labs where Alex was working. He was cute and charming. She thought it was romantic the way he called her Alexandra, so she began concentrating on helping him in the evenings when she was supposed to be helping everyone. One night he had a project that was due the following day, and she let him stay after she locked up so he could finish it. One thing led to another that night and they began seeing each other.

Thinking back Alex could see it was anything but a normal relationship. They met in the back of the library or at a small coffee shop just off campus. Paul never took Alex back to his dorm room. When they ran into each other on campus, neither one spoke. Paul convinced Alex that meeting in out of the way places and not acknowledging one another in public would be exciting and would keep them out of the rumor mills that were a large part of campus life. They saw each other in secret nearly every day for two months.

One day in particular stood out in Alex’s mind...

"I love you so much, Paul.” Alex looked over at the fair haired man sitting next to her. “I can’t wait until we can finally be together.” She grinned into his sparkling blue eyes. They sat under a tree in front of the Student Union building. They didn’t touch. Sitting a small distance apart, they held books and did their best to appear to be studying separately. Occasionally Alex would turn to talk to Paul but when Paul replied he spoke into his text book.

"I love you too, baby. We won’t have to wait much longer. After all, I graduate next month.” Paul turned the pages of the book he obviously wasn’t reading.

Alex sighed, “But then you’ll be going to graduate school. Paul, I need to talk to you about us.” She gave up the pretense of studying and turned to Paul in earnest.

He didn’t even look her way, although you could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t appreciate her dropping her end of the act. “Oh, baby. Don’t be such a worry wart, I’ll only be an hour away and by the time you get your degree here I’ll be graduating there. We can be together then.” Paul took a highlighting pen out of his book bag and began marking sentences randomly.

Alex snatched the pen out of his hands, “Paul, I said I need to talk to you.”

"Alexandra, please, you’re making a scene. We can talk later. Now I’m going back to my room, and I suggest you do the same before somebody sees us.” Paul began to gather his books. He began stuffing them randomly into his book bag.

"Paul, I said I need to talk to you and I mean now. I’d prefer if we don’t talk here but if you insist...” Alex began.

"Really Alex, can’t this wait. I told you we could meet later...at the coffee shop...we could get that booth in the back.” Paul glanced around nervously, “Alex people are beginning to stare. I’ll see you at 9.” And with that Paul turned to walk away.

"I’m pregnant.” Alex stated.

That little phrase stopped Paul dead in his tracks. “YOU’RE WHAT?!” He shouted. He grabbed Alex by the top of her arm and jerked her closer to him. “How did this happen?!”

"Paul, you’re hurting me.” Alex cried as his fingers dug into her. “And you know very well how this happened. You were there too, you know.” Alex tried to pry loose of his grasp.

"Don’t get smart with me you bitch.” He growled, “This will ruin everything. Why weren’t you more careful? I thought you were on the pill for Christ’s sake.” Paul began to shake Alex. “What will happen to my studies? Did you think of that? I can’t very well support you and pay my tuition too. My God! What is my wife going to say?!” He stopped and physically shuddered. “You conniving little bitch! You did this on purpose. You with your big lofty talk about how you wanted to concentrate on your studies and how nothing was going to get in the way of that. Bull shit. Boy, what a liar you turned out to be.” He screamed. “Give it up for adoption, get an abortion, get hit by a truck for all I care. Just don’t expect to get a cent out of me. It probably isn’t even mine, you little slut!” And with that Paul pushed her away from him.

Alex remembered stumbling for a few feet and then her feet seemed to drop out from underneath her and she was falling. Too late she remembered the stairwell leading to the underground amphitheater. Her ankle turned on the first step causing her to fall down the remaining twelve. She hit the landing with a sickening thud and everything went black.

When Alex awoke, someone had carried her to the grass at the top of the stairs and there was a crowd of people standing around. Someone was patting her hand. She tried to push the hand away and stand up but the hand held her in place. “No honey, you must try to lie still.” a woman’s voice said, “The police have been called and an ambulance is on its way.”

"I don’t need an ambulance.” Alex denied and she sat up. It was then that she noticed the pain and the sickening wet feeling between her legs. “Oh my God! My baby!” She cried. She could feel herself getting dizzy and she heard the sirens in the background. She tried to keep alert but the pain was too great. The last thing she remembered of that day was the sight of Paul being pushed into the back of a police car.

*****

Alex shook herself and went back into the house. The memories of that day still haunted her after all these years. Alex spent a few days in the hospital recovering from her miscarriage and the infection that followed. Paul spent a few months in jail for assault. The results of that day left Alex infertile. Paul’s legal career ended with a that push and his life ended with a leap off a chair in a jail cell. She wasn’t sorry that she had pressed charges against Paul. She was sorry that he wasn’t man enough to take the punishment for what he’d done.

As she wandered through her big empty house, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a china cabinet. She saw the face of the girl she had been then - haunted and empty. The tell tale traces of her tears could still be seen on her cheeks but for the moment she was done crying. 11 years she had spent most of her time crying. She cried for the baby she had lost; she cried for the man she had lost. She didn’t cry for Paul. He wasn’t the man she thought he was; she was in love with the lie he had created. Paul’s wife, it turned out, was living back home in Ohio - waiting for her devoted husband to finish school and come back to her.

The only thing about that incident that Alex was thankful for was that her parents never found out a thing. Her mother commented on Alex’s dropping grades that year, and on her lack of communication for about a month of so, but after that she never thought about it again. Alex threw herself into her studies. She completed her bachelor’s degree in only three years. Everyone who knew her at school told her she was driven but they never once mentioned the reason why. Her father exclaimed to his lodge buddies about what an over achiever his daughter was; her mother lied to her bridge club that Alex was finishing school quick so she become an eligible and sought after single woman. Alex never talked to a soul about the whole disaster, even though friends tried to get her to open up and her doctor recommended counseling. She buried herself in her work and tried to forget.

Now, after all these years she met someone who ignited a spark in her and it brought all the old hurts back to the surface. And the old fears. Here was a man she knew nothing about; a man who charmed and surprised her, just as Paul had. She shook her head and walked into her work room. Computers were her life now and she thought that she’d come to terms with that years ago. Computers didn’t require an ounce of emotion; they never lied and they never betrayed.

Being a freelance consultant gave her the freedom she required. Working with computers allowed her to keep her distance from humanity and that was just how she liked it! She thought angrily. “How dare this stranger, this man, barge into my life and destroy the careful walls I spent years building!”

"Well,” she said to herself, “That’s the last I’ll see of him.”