| 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 |
"A New Little Rule" (the twenty-seventh ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
8 9 10 11 12 13 14 |
Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "A New Little Rule" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EST), November 15, 2003 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| A
New Little Rule by Writingalone@aol.com (Entry #2) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| The thuds slowly became louder. Jim
saw the hammer striking his head time and again, without feeling pain. He
wondered who his attacker was. The final thuds became so loud that he
woke. "Oh shit," he groaned. Whoever was banging at his front door was persistent to say the least. He looked at his alarm clock. The red numerals showed 10:30 AM. For the last three weeks he had slept in to at least eleven, phone off hook, mobile switched off, and pager derived of batteries. He'd even cancelled his internet connection. Too many interruptions these days. No bloody privacy anymore. The banging at the door continued. "Hold on, hold on," he shouted, while struggling out of the warmth and comfort of his latest hideaway; his bed. Lighting a cigarette and pulling on a bathrobe, he made his way to the door to meet his awaker. He pulled the door open. "Morning Bent, glad you could finally get up." "Come in Commander Mitchell," said Jim. "Tea or coffee?" "I think you should know by now Bent" "Oh yes, tea. The Indian type. I'll get some brewing." Jim walked into his kitchen, and opened various cupboards and drawers. Mitchell followed him. "You're wanted," said Mitchell. "Ceylon or Assam? I know you're fussy, but then, so am I." "Ceylon will do." Jim went about making the tea. "Can't you get a bell for that door of yours?" "That'll wake me quicker?" Jim knew that Mitchell couldn't beat him at any word games. He might be his old boss and a high ranking one at that, but at triviality, he would beat him every time. Pounding at the door was someone else's problem, not Jim's. He let Mitchell wait patiently while he boiled the water, sieved the tea leaves and poured the milk into fresh mugs. "Ever heard of tea-bags," said Mitchell. "You take two sugars, don't you?" said Jim, not waiting for an answer and handing the mug to Mitchell. Mitchell looked at the contents of the mug and brought his nose close. "Like I said. Fussy," said Jim. Mitchell took a sip and looked up. "Apart from your extraordinary tea-making skills, believe it or not, we need you for a job." "I resigned a month ago," said Jim, "full pension and all that. You might remember the encounter." "What I do remember, Bent, is in my time dealing with you, I've had to put up with total insolence, aggravation, trouble with the United Nations, but.." "But I always got your job done. Sir." Their eyes met. Mitchell had obviously been beaten at the word games once more. "Whatever Bent. But something has come up." Jim had heard this line many times before. It annoyed him. There were plenty more poorly-paid agents in the service, who would travel to far-off places and put their lives on the line. His last assignment had him lose a toe when a terrorist fired in panic while bullets thudded into the man's chest. The SAS boys had laughed at Jim hobbling around and had not even given a second glance to the sprawled body of the terrorist. They knew he was dead before he hit the ground. Jim knew that he'd had a toe shot off. Nobody cared. "Why me?" Mitchell took a sip of his tea. "Because you speak Spanish, and you are familiar with the area in Spain concerned." "A top up?" asked Jim. "Yes, but do me the honour of concentrating on what I'm saying!" Jim decided to take a different line. He filled Mitchell's mug. "So, I assume that the Admiral has sent you here. You personally to get me back on the job?" He didn't wait for an answer. "And I'm supposed to jump at it?" "You don't understand Bent. There's a new little rule which you might not be aware of." Jim took a sip of his tea. "Oh, and what's that?" "As an 'ex-Government employee' in the line of work you do, we can make sure that you never work again. At anything. Your pension from the service is not enough at forty. You'll need to go somewhere, get some job. We have influence to stop all of that, wherever you go." "I see. Not much different from the norm really," said Jim. Mitchell let some tea spill over the top of his mug. Jim watched closely as Mitchell's eyes started to look around the room randomly. "I need to sit down," said Mitchell. He put his mug on a nearby table and sat on a kitchen chair. Jim watched with interest. Mitchell closed his eyes and slumped from the chair to the floor. "Also, another new little rule," said Jim, "Commanders who pass information to enemy powers can be eliminated by a freelance for a huge cost, ie me." Jim picked up his second mobile phone and dialled a number. "The job is done. Come and pick him up." |
| A
New Little Rule by Raye D sweetteasutlery@yahoo.com (Entry #9) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| He stood there with the door open
and the cold November air rushing in. I wanted to throw something at him, not
to hit him, just to get my point across. Maybe his dinner plate, Lord knows he
hadn't touched it, or even tried. No, that was Momma's fine China, so I threw
my words at him instead. "No one said you had to like it!" "No one said I had to stay, either." I heard the outraged gasp as it shot past my parted lips. It wasn't the nicest thing to say, but at least he was being truthful. Truth was supposed to be the best thing between two lovers. Or was that distance? I could never remember. So, he was going to leave... again. Take off for the rest of the night to hang with his friends. These damn drinking parties were going to be the final nail in the coffin for our relationship. It just doesn't look good when my mother comes to visit and he's out drinking, with the boys, staying out to all hours. The frustration was a taking its toll on my sanity and I did exactly what my friends said had worked for them. Set down some simple rules. Simple? Yeah, right. Simple didn't work with Clay, apparently. I let the clink and clank of the pans in the sink fill the silence, feeling a bit like one of those off-Broadway shows as I drowned out my confusing thoughts with the heavy cacophony of cast-iron. It was better than thinking about... "Look, I'm sorry." I hadn't heard him approach, but God, his arms felt good around my waist. His words helped a bit too. Apologies were not his strong suit, so any sign of sentiment from him was good, right? "I don't know why you try to hurt me like this, Clay." He wasn't about to let me get the upper hand. Men. "It's kills me when you throw up all these barriers. It just isn't natural-" I could feel his breath on my neck, just below the lobe of my ear. Heaven help me, but I love the way he makes up just as much as I hate the way he argues. "Natural?" The question sounded harsher when it hung in the air between us. "I can understand you spending some time with the boys, Clay, but I'd like to be able to sit down at the dinner table with you once in awhile." "It isn't just that," he sighed. "Sometimes, I still don't know what we are." I know he could feel my sigh shuddering against him. His lips feathered along the side of my neck and like a good little pet my pulse jumped beneath his touch. "*We* are in love, honey. That's all that matters. Not anything your mother says, not anything your friends say... and these 'rules' of yours-" I turned on him then, pushing my back up against the sink while my eyes blazed with renewed anger. "It's one rule... one new little rule." His upper lip pulled back, baring his fangs in a show that was meant to frighten me. Sure, it had worked before, but not tonight... not ever again. "Get over the 'undead' anger, Clay. I'm just asking you to be a little faithful for once." He leaned down until his nose nearly bumped into mine, his breath hot against my cheek. "You'd rather I fed from you every night?" The corner of his mouth twitched up into a half smile. The cretin was enjoying himself a bit too much, catching his jollies at my expense. "That's exactly what I'm asking, Clay. Is that so much to ask?" His eyes burned like coals, dark and foreboding. Scary... and yet so sexy. "Is that all you want, my love?" "Oh yes..." I whispered, sagging against the sink, the cold granite of the countertop digging into my back as he turned my cheek to the side, exposing my neck. "That's exactly what I want." |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| A New Little Rule Jim Winter JimWinter2@aol.com |
#1 of 14 |
| 107 words | |
| Never mind he's as mad as a Hatter, The First Man speaks the words that matter They attacked us in our thriving city, But we'll not wallow in our own self-pity We'll respond in kind and flatten their houses, Kill their men and burn their spouses Maim their children for God's with me, Our new Crusade will set them free Listen to me for what it's worth, Avert your thoughts from burning Earth A New World order is what we need, We fire the bombs to plant the seed Write what you like, for We are Free, But a new little rule... you'll be hearing from me |
|
| A New Little Rule Writingalone@aol.com |
#2 of 14 Winner |
| 821 words | |
| The thuds slowly became louder. Jim saw the hammer
striking his head time and again, without feeling pain. He wondered who his
attacker was. The final thuds became so loud that he woke. "Oh shit," he groaned. Whoever was banging at his front door was persistent to say the least. He looked at his alarm clock. The red numerals showed 10:30 AM. For the last three weeks he had slept in to at least eleven, phone off hook, mobile switched off, and pager derived of batteries. He'd even cancelled his internet connection. Too many interruptions these days. No bloody privacy anymore. The banging at the door continued. "Hold on, hold on," he shouted, while struggling out of the warmth and comfort of his latest hideaway; his bed. Lighting a cigarette and pulling on a bathrobe, he made his way to the door to meet his awaker. He pulled the door open. "Morning Bent, glad you could finally get up." "Come in Commander Mitchell," said Jim. "Tea or coffee?" "I think you should know by now Bent" "Oh yes, tea. The Indian type. I'll get some brewing." Jim walked into his kitchen, and opened various cupboards and drawers. Mitchell followed him. "You're wanted," said Mitchell. "Ceylon or Assam? I know you're fussy, but then, so am I." "Ceylon will do." Jim went about making the tea. "Can't you get a bell for that door of yours?" "That'll wake me quicker?" Jim knew that Mitchell couldn't beat him at any word games. He might be his old boss and a high ranking one at that, but at triviality, he would beat him every time. Pounding at the door was someone else's problem, not Jim's. He let Mitchell wait patiently while he boiled the water, sieved the tea leaves and poured the milk into fresh mugs. "Ever heard of tea-bags," said Mitchell. "You take two sugars, don't you?" said Jim, not waiting for an answer and handing the mug to Mitchell. Mitchell looked at the contents of the mug and brought his nose close. "Like I said. Fussy," said Jim. Mitchell took a sip and looked up. "Apart from your extraordinary tea-making skills, believe it or not, we need you for a job." "I resigned a month ago," said Jim, "full pension and all that. You might remember the encounter." "What I do remember, Bent, is in my time dealing with you, I've had to put up with total insolence, aggravation, trouble with the United Nations, but.." "But I always got your job done. Sir." Their eyes met. Mitchell had obviously been beaten at the word games once more. "Whatever Bent. But something has come up." Jim had heard this line many times before. It annoyed him. There were plenty more poorly-paid agents in the service, who would travel to far-off places and put their lives on the line. His last assignment had him lose a toe when a terrorist fired in panic while bullets thudded into the man's chest. The SAS boys had laughed at Jim hobbling around and had not even given a second glance to the sprawled body of the terrorist. They knew he was dead before he hit the ground. Jim knew that he'd had a toe shot off. Nobody cared. "Why me?" Mitchell took a sip of his tea. "Because you speak Spanish, and you are familiar with the area in Spain concerned." "A top up?" asked Jim. "Yes, but do me the honour of concentrating on what I'm saying!" Jim decided to take a different line. He filled Mitchell's mug. "So, I assume that the Admiral has sent you here. You personally to get me back on the job?" He didn't wait for an answer. "And I'm supposed to jump at it?" "You don't understand Bent. There's a new little rule which you might not be aware of." Jim took a sip of his tea. "Oh, and what's that?" "As an 'ex-Government employee' in the line of work you do, we can make sure that you never work again. At anything. Your pension from the service is not enough at forty. You'll need to go somewhere, get some job. We have influence to stop all of that, wherever you go." "I see. Not much different from the norm really," said Jim. Mitchell let some tea spill over the top of his mug. Jim watched closely as Mitchell's eyes started to look around the room randomly. "I need to sit down," said Mitchell. He put his mug on a nearby table and sat on a kitchen chair. Jim watched with interest. Mitchell closed his eyes and slumped from the chair to the floor. "Also, another new little rule," said Jim, "Commanders who pass information to enemy powers can be eliminated by a freelance for a huge cost, ie me." Jim picked up his second mobile phone and dialled a number. "The job is done. Come and pick him up." |
|
| A New Little Rule tom_set@yahoo.com |
#3 of 14 |
| 864 words | |
| The early morning sun was already heating up the town
of Pamplona. The picturesque city was festooned with decorations along its
ancient streets. My friends and I squeezed our way to the front of the barrier
where the bulls were penned. Yes, it was the annual week-long festival with
music and partying 24 hours a day and, of course, the famous running of the
bulls. There they were, several thousand pounds of agitated tourist-hating bulls awaiting the two kilometer run to the stadium. We gawked at them snorting and pawing, they not knowing what fun they were about to have chasing a few dozen crazy macho men down the streets. La Fiesta De San Fermin was more than six centuries old, we were told, but the bull running began much later than that, popularized by some Ernest Hemingway book. We had even been to the bar he drank at but given his drinking habits, there probably wasn't a bar that he hadn't drank at. "Well what do you think, Brad. You want to try it?" "Running with the bulls? You've got to be crazy. That's too dangerous!" "How about you, Kevin. You up for it?" "I'm happy right where I am. You go for it if you want. I've got your parent's address so we'll know where to ship the body." "Very funny, ha ha. We may never be here again, you know. I'm going to try it. What the hell, you only live once." 'And you only die once, except maybe for Shirley MacLaine,' I was thinking as I vaulted over the wall and found a spot near the front of the runners. I'm not a complete fool. Most of the men were Spaniards but there was a fair sprinkling of touristas like myself, attempting to prove their manhood, or some such stupid thing. The shouting and cheering began to increase. I looked back to see the gates that held the soon to stampede bulls was being opened. I didn't know what the protocol was but I took off running, unlike those foolhardy guys in the rear who were getting their jollies out of dodging the menacing bulls. Not me. I just wanted to get to the stadium in one piece. As the mad dash started, I kept glancing back to see if they were getting closer, but they were thankfully still a hundred feet behind me. I was getting thrown off stride by my head turning to look for them, and staggered some, but soon figured out I could just look at the faces of the runners in front of me who were taking their peeks at the bulls. If some of them started acting scared and panicky, then I knew it would be time for me to panic. The noise was tremendous as the whole route was packed with screaming onlookers, cheering for the brave idiots like me running in a frenzy, and probably secretly hoping to see a good goring. People did die almost every year not to mention those that merely got trampled. I turned back to see they were only about thirty feet behind us now. I could hear their snorting and bellowing competing with the roaring of the crowd and I could almost smell the sweat. The thundering of the approaching hooves was making the pavement vibrate ominously. Several of the men were doing the discretion is the better part of valor thing, scrambling up the nearest wall. I decided it was a good idea to be one of them and began angling for the side. Just before I got there though, I turned just in time to see a huge angry bull almost upon me. Jumping aside quickly, I managed to just avoid the sharp horns but got knocked over by his flanks as he rumbled past. My troubles weren't over as a dozen more were right behind him. I rolled over to the bottom of the wall in pure fear and adrenaline as they sped past, deadly hooves just inches from my body. Finally it was all past me, so I picked myself up gingerly and gazed down the street where the mad careening procession was receding. A couple of strong men helped pull me up over the wall, slapping me on the back and commending my bravery, I think, in their voluble spanish. Heading back, I was a bit banged up, but beginning to smile with the thrill of it and accept the congratulations and handshakes from those who had witnessed my brush with disaster. Sure it was a dumb thing to do but I did it and lived, and that was a great feeling. Back near the starting line, I found my friends who were surprised and happy to find me still in one piece. I told them the tale of my experiences and they were impressed. So was I, looking back on it. It all happened so fast. "That was such an incredible rush, unbelievable. You guys should try it tomorrow." "Don't tell me you're going to do it again?" "I just might, but a new little rule. Next time I don't stay up all night drinking Sangria and doing Tequila shots." |
|
| A New Little Rule dingusdongus2000@yahoo.com |
#4 of 14 |
| 59 words | |
| A new little rule Keep off the grass Tie your laces And wipe your arse Feed the cat And feed the dog Wash your face Wrap up in fog Drink the Juice And eat your veg Don’t say fuck And cut the hedge A new little rule Don’t wank in the bed Login to porn Or drug your head |
|
| A New Little Rule lee10@host365.com |
#5 of 14 |
| 1796 words | |
| I rang the bell. There was only darkness behind the
glass door and all I could see was my own reflection. I grinned and nervously
adjusted my tie. As if it really matters, I thought. She’s only a
potential landlady after all, not the blinking Queen of England. But this was
the fifth house I’d tried today. At all the other places the rooms had
been let already. "Not five minutes afore you got ‘ere, dearie," the last
landlady had said. I was patting down the tuft of hair that always sticks up,
when the door opened silently. My hand in the air, I smiled inanely at the
woman who stood scowling at me. "Mrs. Goodrich?" I enquired, hurriedly putting my hand behind my back out of harm’s way. Slowly, she looked me up and down. Her chin went up, and she looked down her thin nose at me. She didn’t seem to like what she saw. Her grey hair was pulled back into a bun so tight that it had smoothed out any wrinkles her face may have had. I pictured how it might fall into millions of crevasses once her hair was released. Minutes seemed to pass while she judged me. "Mr.Bridges?" she enquired. It was obvious by her sharp tone that she found me wanting. I admitted that I was. "You are late," she reprimanded me. "Ten minutes late." I began to stutter my apologies about trains and leaves on the lines, it being autumn and… "You may leave your cases here. Follow me." She turned and strode with a long, masculine step down the hall. "And close the door after you." The words reverberated off the dark hall’s tiled walls. Meekly, I obeyed. I set my two suitcases down, eased my rucksack from my back and massaging my sore shoulder, I trotted after her. I still carried my rucksack in one hand and it bumped rhythmically against my leg as I hurried to catch up. We passed two closed doors, one on each side of the hall. Mrs.Goodrich stopped at the bottom of a flight of stairs. A corridor led down the side of the stairs to the back of the house. She nodded down the corridor. "Should you take the rooms, the first rule of the house," her words were accompanied by a defiant glare, "is that that part of the house is out of bounds." She paused for effect, "at all times." She paused again, "to everyone." I nodded my understanding. "Come," she said and started up the stairs. "I will show you the rooms." Her long, dark, heavy skirts swung from a narrow, tight-belted waist. The collar of her white blouse was fastened, just under her chin, by a brown cameo brooch. The long sleeves were buttoned around scrawny wrists. The wallpaper I noted as I followed her up the stairs must have been as old as she was. It was heavy flock with large, fading, maroon flowers that allowed little of the dingy cream background to show through. My knapsack bumped the wall and a light cloud of dust puffed from the paper. "Please take care, Mr.Bridges." She didn’t look back. She has eyes in the back of her head, I thought. "Additional to the first week’s payment there is a £150 deposit which will be retained at the termination of the lease of the room if any damage is caused," that pause again, "whatsoever." "Yes, I understand," I murmured. Half way up the stairs the light went out. I stumbled. Mrs.Goodrich never hesitated. "Economy," she said. "All the lights are on timed switches which are to be found on every landing. You will soon become used to it." At the first landing, she slapped a light switch with the palm of her hand and I could see again. The light was dimmer here. As if she could read my mind, she said. "It is a rule of the house that electricity is not wasted, Mr. Bridges." She turned up a second flight of stairs. "Electricity in the apartments is metered so that there may be no wastage. You will purchase tokens from me for the fire, the water heater and for the cooker." I struggled up four more flights of stairs, the bag getting heavier and heavier. We passed dark oak furniture on each landing, and I felt as though I was stepping further and further back into Victorian times. I swear there was even an aspidistra on one landing, on a lumpy occasional table with misshapen clawed feet. On each landing, there were two doors. We passed them all. The last set of stairs was narrower than those preceding it. At the next and last landing, Mrs.Goodrich stopped. I dropped my bag onto the linoleum, surprised that such a floor covering still existed. I struggled to get my breath. Mrs.Goodrich must have been three times my age, yet her breathing was quite normal. She was not gasping like me. A wiry, old bird, I thought as I began to recover. Meanwhile, she had delved into a deep pocket in her skirt and pulled out a key. I had expected a huge iron key, or a large, old-fashioned brass one, but Mrs.Goodrich produced a surprisingly modern yale key and opened the door to the apartment. "These rooms cover the whole top floor of the house." Her tone made me feel as though I did not deserve them. She opened the door and gestured to me to enter. I picked up my bag and did as instructed. We were in the attic of the house. A series of small rooms, possibly the servants’ rooms at one time, had been knocked together to form three pokey areas; kitchen cum lounge, bedroom and bathroom. The windows were small and looked out under the eaves, over a scruffy, weed-filled back yard. The rooms were filled with old, cheap furniture, which obviously had seen many decades of use. The lounge was separated from the kitchen by a wooden bar, which doubled as a dining table. Linoleum covered the floor in here too, but at least a dung-coloured carpet covered the centre of the floor to give some semblance of warmth and comfort. I peeped into the bedroom. The single bed was covered with a multi-coloured blanket made of crocheted squares. Two wardrobes and a dressing table took up the remainder of the space. An art deco lamp, shaped like a rampant brown turtle, stood on the dressing table. I reached into the room and switched it on, hoping to see bronzed light flush through the turtle’s shell. "There is no electricity without a token, Mr.Bridges." Ah, yes. I was mildly disappointed but in a way, the room was cosy. It was so like my old bedroom at my Grandma’s house, where I had spent many holidays as a boy that I felt at home. I thought that once the fire had been lit in the lounge and the curtains closed against the night, it could be made quite snug. I turned. Mrs.Goodrich stood in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. She looked like Grandma and I smiled. I think I must have melted the old girl’s stern demeanour somewhat because she sniffed and her lips twitched into an almost-smile in return. "The terms, Mr.Bridges." "Yes, Mrs.Goodrich?" "The rent is £80 per week, payable on Friday at 6pm sharp when I will be in the hall downstairs to receive it." I pulled at a drawer handle on the dressing table. It slid open easily. Scented paper covered the bottom of the drawer; a surprising, homely touch. "That will not be a problem, Mrs.Goodrich." I closed the drawer and opened the door of the nearest wardrobe and peered into its depths. Mrs.Goodrich did not lose track of what she was saying during my inspection. "And there are rules, Mr.Bridges." "Yes, Mrs.Goodrich?" I had assumed there would be. London’s landladies were not renowned for liberal thinking. "One. You may not have visitors of the opposite sex at any time," My smile wobbled. That might be something of a problem, but I was desperate to find accommodation, so I decided to worry about that restriction later. "Two. You may have a maximum of three visitors at any one time." Three plus me, I thought looking around, won’t leave much space to swing the cat. "Four. You may cook meals when you wish but the use of garlic and curry powder is strictly forbidden." I nodded. "Five. The front door will be closed at 11.30 every night. You will be given a key but if any noise is made after that time, you will be asked to leave." I nodded again. "Six. It goes without saying that the playing of loud music on the wireless will also result in your being given notice." Like a Mexican wave, my head nodded on and on as Mrs.Goodrich recited the long list of does and don’t. "Should you accept the offer of the apartment, of course," she finished. "Yes, please." I reached for my wallet. "I will take the rooms." Mrs.Goodrich took the money for the first week’s rent and pushed it into the depths of her deep skirt pocket. "And the £150 deposit, Mr.Bridges." "Ah, yes." I handed over the money. "Your rent book will be prepared later. I will be in the hall at 6pm this evening. You may have it then." I assured my new landlady I would be there. "You may accompany me downstairs now," she held the door open for me and presented me with the key, "to collect your cases before someone falls over them." "Thank you, Mrs.Goodrich." I tried not to sound too humble, but I think I failed and I followed her from my new apartment. She hit the switch and the 40-watt bulb on the landing glowed. Without further conversation, I followed her downstairs, through alternating pools of darkness and dim light. Mrs.Goodrich watched as I retrieved my two suitcases. Briefly, her lips twitched and she showed me a glimpse of immaculate, white false teeth. "You will be happy here, Mr.Bridges." With this last instruction, my landlady left me and headed down the corridor towards her own domain. We had not noticed but the door on the left of the hall had been quietly opened. A young man with short, dark hair and a lively, expressive face popped his head round the doorframe. "Welcome to Fawlty Towers," he laughed. "By heck, she must like you." He nodded towards the corridor, towards the sound of a closing door. "Be happy here?" He grinned at me. "I’ve never heard her say that before. That’s a completely new rule, that is." And, still chuckling, he closed the door in my face. |
|
| A New Little Rule Mark Lambert Marknutswriter@aol.com |
#6 of 14 |
| 1863 words | |
| The pace of human achievement in the twenty-first
century had reached a level almost beyond precedent. By 2020, a space ship had
been built that could travel at the speed of light. This was surpassed only
five years later, when the Aurora breached that barrier and human astronauts
were able to make the first epic journey into space, at a speed faster than
light itself. # To a fellow light-speed traveller, the Aurora would look as if it was hanging in space, hardly moving, but to the perception of a normal-speed craft the ship would not even be seen. It sliced through the vacuum of space, heading back to Earth, where it was due to arrive one-year after launch. Inside, the crew of three had awoken from a twelve Earth-day hibernation, the main objective of the mission completed. All they now had to do was prepare for return. Commander Tom Farrell stretched his arms and yawned. "Those hibernation sleeps sure take it out of you," he said. "I hope there're no lasting effects," replied Jarvis, rubbing the stubble on his face. "However, I do trust those science-monkeys back home. I think." "Hey, careful man, they might be listening," said Peters, laughing. Everyone knew that they were safe from prying Earth ears while travelling at light-speed. Communications could not be sustained, so for a while at least, they had some privacy. Farrell took a swig of juice from a foil container. "Jarvis, check co-ordinates and status. Peters, check fuel and air systems. I'll just sit here and take another mouthful of this cat piss." "Funny how all the nutritious stuff they give us tastes so bad," said Jarvis, peering at a computer screen. "I can't wait to get back to good old Earth and sink a few beers. In fact, I think I'll sink numerous beers after this." "Is that what you've been missing all this time Jarvis?" said Peters." "That and fishing. I'll go fishing with a six pack beside me. Maybe even a twelve pack and do a whole day. Heaven." Peters tapped at a keyboard, checking stats. He shook his head. "Hey, a drinking astronaut, whatever next?" "Shove it." "What you looking forward to Farrell?" Farrell thought a few seconds and took a small picture from a pocket. "Sandy." "Reckon she'll be waiting for you?" said Jarvis. Farrell shot a hard look towards his colleague. "Of course she'll be waiting. We plan to start a family." "Anything could happen over a year without speaking to her," said Peters, "she might have run off with..." "Okay, enough. I know you two were upset that I broke up with Jennifer because of Sandy, but that's all in the past. We divorce, I marry Sandy, end of story. By the way, if you hadn't been listening, that's what I'm looking forward to." Farrell's marriage break up had only been mentioned a few times over the course of the voyage, but his wife had been good friends with all of the astronauts and their families. Sandy had pushed her way in. "Okay, sorry to mention it," said Jarvis. "Ship status checked; On course for Earth, ten minutes to light-speed shut down." "Fuel and air systems check ok," said Peters. "Excellent," said Farrell, "ten minutes and we can start talking to them again." The three took seats together and fell silent, while Peters ripped the sealing from a nutrition bar. "Sorry Farrell, I…" "Forget it Jarvis, we've all had a long trip. Hey Peters, your turn. What you looking forward to?" "Seeing Martin again of course." Farrell and Jarvis exchanged a quick glance. "How long you been with him?" asked Farrell. "Five years; well four if you don't include this last one." "Did you miss, er, you know..." asked Jarvis. "Hey Jarvis, times have been changed for a long while now. It's possible to have gay astronauts as much as it's possible to have gay politicians. No big deal." "Well I wasn't ..." "Let me put it this way. You were implying that I'd missed sex. Maybe you were implying that I'd had thoughts about the two of you this past year. Well let me tell you, it don't work like that. On that subject, what have you two been doing and thinking all this time?" "I…" Jarvis tried to speak. "I'll tell you what you've been doing. The first man to masturbate at faster than light speed, that's what!" An uneasy silence was broken by a chuckle from Farrell, then a laugh from Peters and finally all three laughed loud and long. "So guys, we all break someone's rule from time to time. This time, we broke a few physics rules," said Farrell. "I'll drink to that, especially when we get home!" said Jarvis. The ship slowed to normal cruising speed as it approached the Earth. "Jarvis," said Farrell, "any signal yet?" "Yes, we've got a connection, but nothing transmitting through at the moment." He paused and frowned, "actually, it looks like this connection has been active for hours." "What? During light-speed, that's not possible. Didn't you see it earlier?" "Sorry Farrell, I didn't check. I wouldn't have expected a connection." A metallic voice interrupted them. "Earth to Aurora. We have you on track. Please stand by." Farrell moved to the communications terminal and pushed a button. "Hello. Huston? Who's speaking?" Silence. "Huston, it's great to be coming back. Hello? Huston, can you hear me?" Farrell carried on regardless, "you say you have us on track. I'm not sure what you mean. Can you explain? Hello, Huston?" The metallic voice raised again. "We have you on track, please take your landing positions and we will bring you in." "Hello, hello, who's that? What do you mean by bring us in?" The communications fell silent. The three crew looked at each other. "Well, it was nice of them to phone," said Peters."Something's not quite right," said Farrell, "We should be conversing, not taking short orders. We should be flying the ship in, not being 'brought in'." Again, the metallic voice. "Do as we say, for your safety. We have the technology to bring the ship safely in. Take your positions and you will land soon. There is nothing more you have to do." "Hello! Hello, who is that!" Farrell pushed the communications button more than he needed to. "Maybe they've developed something over the last year," said Peters. "Possible," said Jarvis. "But they should communicate that to us. I don't even know who I was speaking to there." Farrell looked out of a port window towards the Earth. The blue and white planet hung in space, surrounded by darkness. No contact had been made for a year. He wondered what they might be returning to. "Okay, might as well do what the voice said. Take landing positions gentlemen." The Aurora thrust through the atmosphere of the planet, the ship shaking with the force applied to its sleek nose. The crew sat strapped into their cramped chairs, with all instruments blank, they had to trust what the voice had said. As the ship glided through the blue sky and down towards the ground, Jarvis looked out of the window. "Why are we coming down in a desert area?" "I was just wondering myself," replied Farrell. The ship swooped into a perfect landing and sped along a smooth runway until gradually coming to a stop. The metallic voice spoke over the system. "Please unstrap and leave the ship." The three did as told and taking a few possessions, opened an inner door and then an outer door. Steps had been attached to the ship and they walked slowly down. Farrell looked around, firstly at the vast open desert space surrounding them and then at the welcoming party which numbered at least twenty men in military uniform. Holding rifles of some sort. Three large metallic trucks stood nearby. Sweat appeared on his temples, but it wasn't because of the heat. He tried to make out the nationalities of the various men there to greet them. Some caucasian, some asian, some black, some middle-eastern. And no national flags in sight,let alone the Stars and Stripes. They reached the bottom of the steps. A lone man stepped forward and raised his arm. The other men snapped their rifles forward. The man, dressed in decorated military uniform, spoke. "We have been expecting you." "Yes sir. Commander Farrell," Farrell extended his hand,but the man did not reciprocate. "Your progress has been followed for such a long time." "Yes sir, a year is a long time. I was wondering..." "No commander. One hundred and fifteen years to be exact." Farrell's mouth opened as if to speak. "What?" said Jarvis. Peters remained silent. "The Americans didn't know what they were getting into, sending you out there," said the man. "I'm no scientist, but the shift to greater than light speed caused a…" he waved his hand in a throw-away gesture, "a paradox or something. You've been gone for all that time." Farrell thought of Sandy. If what they were saying was true, she'd be long dead. Peters thought of Martin. Jarvis needed a beer. "Things have changed Commander Farrell. Not only technically, but politically. The light-speed program was scrapped because of the Great War of 2027, but they were still able to track your course, and eventually eavesdrop on your conversations. Of course, we took all of that over." "I don't believe this," said Farrell. "Believe it. The world is governed by a new power. New to you that is. One which has been in place for over fifty years since the end of the Great War. You will find out about it and you will respect it. Life as you knew it does not exist." "I demand to see the American..." The man spat on the ground at Farrell's feet. "There is no America mister Farrell. In fact there is no Europe, no Middle-East, no disparate countries. We have a better way to govern the Earth now." The two men's eyes met, staring to get the upper hand. "You are under arrest." "What for? We've done nothing wrong," said Peters. "You, mister Peters are homosexual. In our law, that is punishable by death." Peters wished he'd never spoken. "Mister Peters, it was written in a book over two-thousand one hundred years ago. Why did western society let those rules go? We have built them up again to be respected. And they are followed by all." The man turned to Jarvis. "Alcohol is forbidden. You are under arrest." "But I haven't done..." "We have been listening in to your conversations mister Jarvis. We know what you are, simply by what you have said." He turned to Farrell. "And mister Farrell. Adultery is also punishable by death. We have built a world true to your good book and other books from many years ago. It amazes us that although you would try to defend the laws of that book, your society always broke its rules. We are enforcing them now. Take them away." Farrell, Jarvis and Peters were each led to separate trucks. Their world and all that was accepted, left far behind. |
|
| A New Little Rule GPain97046@aol.com |
#7 of 14 |
| 1430 words | |
| "Don’t forget about the party tonight," Jaceb, one
of the king’s men, said upon rising from the bed. He gave her kiss and put
on his clothes. "I’ve never missed one yet," Rahab, the harlot, said. After the long afternoon, she could still see the lust in his eyes and she smiled. Her radiant long black hair, her bright blue eyes, her heart-shaped face, her unblemished soft white skin and her slender figure pleased the men, especially the king. Jaceb let himself out while Rahab stayed in bed. She needed her rest for tonight but she was restless and didn’t know why. She had been this way for a month despite all the parties she attended. Something was missing in her life. In the evening, she put on a sheer red dress that clung to her body and the front of it left nothing to a man’s imagination While she put a red rose in her hair, she swayed to the beat of the imaginary drums but the stranger’s face appeared in the mirror and looked at her with shame. Dam him! He’s the one she wanted to forget. She would enjoy the dancing, drinking and dancing tonight, like all the other nights. At the party, she went from man to man in a frenzy. She let some of them drink wine from her navel. She woke the next morning with a splitting headache and a sour wine taste in her mouth. She waited for the pain to subside and finally dragged herself out of bed. She looked in the mirror and frowned: her hair limp, her eyes bloodshot, her skin dry, her body ached. The stranger appeared in the mirror and her face got red with embarrassment and discomfort. "Leave me alone," she screamed. Rahab tried to drive the stranger’s words from her mind but she couldn’t. He began to haunt her every thought, especially when she got ready for a party. She lost her rhythm when dancing, she got sick when drinking and she didn’t feel anything when loving. She became confused and unhappy with her life and she questioned everything she did. The once laughing woman became remorse and withdrawn. She didn’t attend parties and ignored the king’s summons. Her idolatrous friends tried to cheer her up but she didn’t want to be around them. The stranger and his words about rules and commandments went round and round in her head. She couldn’t forget the first time she saw him. 2 The stranger had been in Jericho about two months ago and talked to the people about a man called Joshua and his God. He told them how this God had parted the waters of the Red Sea to let His people cross to the other side to escape their enemies. Rahab had stopped to listen to him but the people around her began to jeer and laugh at the man. Not wanting the people to know how intently she was listening, she joined them. "Would this God of yours and Joshua love a harlot of Jericho?" she asked. Using her castanets, she danced around and brushed up against him. The people roared in laughter. "God loves us all," he answered, his voice full of conviction. "Didn’t I hear that your God made a little new rule about not forgiving the sins of a harlot?" She tried to kiss him but he gently pushed her away. "God has commandments or rules to help us live a righteous life. He will forgive sinners if they repent and believe in Him." His dark eyes pierced hers. "This God…"She couldn’t finish. The king’s men appeared, arrested and dragged him behind a horse to the prison. Later they tortured and then killed him, but the king’s men could not destroy the seed the stranger had planted in Rahab’s heart. A laughing hello from Elizabeth, her friend, in the market place brought Rahab back to the present. They talked for a few minutes. "I’ve heard rumors Joshua and his army will destroy Jericho," Elizabeth said. "When?" Rahab’s eyes flickered with excitement. "The king’s men said it was a crazy man’s ravings before they killed him. They laughed about it," Elizabeth said. At the new, Rahab told her friend she felt ill and went home. After Rahab got home, she heard a knock at her door. Two men stood there and she knew they were not from Jericho. Salmon and Saul, the two men, asked if they could come in and talk to her. They told her Joshua’s God had sent them to her house for information about the city and the king’s men. She let them in and told them what she knew. Then she pleaded, "Please tell me about this God?" 3 Salmon, tan and tall with dark curly hair, smiled at her. He told her how God protected His people from their enemies and would soon take them to the promise land. They talked for over an hour. "What about a little new rule about the sins of the harlots? Would He forgive me?" Rahab asked. "God loves and welcomes everyone into His kingdom if they repent of their sins and believe in Him," Salmon said. Rahab could feel the love and devotion in his voice. Shouting outside disturbed their conversation and Rahab looked out the window. She saw the king’s men point at her house. "Hurry, follow me. The king’s men are coming," she whispered. She took them up to the rooftop and covered them with the flax she slept on when the nights were too hot. Saul sneezed and she cautioned them to be quiet or they all would be killed. She was almost to the front door when the king’s men burst in the door and shouted, "Where are they?" "Who?" Rahab asked and made her eyes widen in surprise. "Two spies from Joshua’s army were seen in the neighborhood," the captain said. "The men all know me and how loyal I am to the king. If I see them I will turn them in." She put her arms around the captain and kissed him. "I know but the house must be searched." They searched every room and found nothing. After they left, Rahab ran up to the rooftop and told them the king’s men were gone. "You must hurry and leave before they find you," Rahab said. "Thank you for your help," Salmon said. "Will your God save me and my family when you destroy Jericho?" "God will bless and protect you for what you did for us today. Take this scarlet cord and tie it to the window when the fighting begins," Salmon said. 4 "Your God go with you and Saul," Rahab said and watched them leave. A few weeks later, Rahab heard distant trumpets and she ran outside. She knew from the sound it was not the king’s army. When the trumpet sounds came closer, she called to her family, "Joshua’s army is almost here." She took the scarlet cord and tied it to the window when she finally saw them. Joshua’s army marched once around the city and made camp in the meadows. It puzzled Rahab and her faith started to falter but then she grabbed hold of it and held tight even when Joshua’s army marched once around the city for the next six days. On the seventh day and after Joshua’s army had marched around the city, they stopped at the main gates. They all began to shout and the noise made Rahab cover her ears. When the walls began to crumble, Salmon went to Rahab’s house. When she saw him, she ran into his arms. "Your God does what he promises." Salmon smiled and hugged her. He led them out of the city and Rahab saw the bright morning turn dark from the smoke of Jericho’s fires. Her dynamic faith, despite her past as a famous harlot, had saved her family and herself from death. Rahab and her family eventually settled near Salmon’s house at his insistence. She came to depend on him for help and often he talked to her about God. She felt love for him when he held her hand or kissed her cheek. One day while they walked in the cool of the evening, he asked, "Rahab, I love you. Will you marry me?" "Can you forget my terrible past?" Tears rolled down her face. "I love you." He held her close. With love in her eyes, she said, "Yes, I’ll marry you." Through the marriage to Salon, Rahab became an ancestor of Jesus Christ. |
|
| A New Little Rule nightmare4241@comcast.net |
#8 of 14 |
| 1141 words | |
| "What do ya mean ‘things are gonna be different
around here from now on’?" "Jus’ wha’ I said. Things are gonna be different around here. It can’t be the same, dummy." "Why?" "Jeremy, jus’ trus’ me, things are gonna be different." "What do ya mean different?" "I mean better, dummy." I didn’t really understand why Benjamin was so sure that there would be such an improvement, but Benjamin was in middle school, so he must be smarter. He certainly had to be smarter than me; I was only in third grade. Things sure did seem different though these last two months; Mama was smiling, dancin’ about the house, even doing the dishes in heels and a mini-skirt. She said she was goin’ shopping at the grocery store last night. Funny how she wasn’t carrying bags when she got back, and she was gone to the store for at least six hours; and what were those funny marks on her neck. Then there were the gifts. TV’s stereos, videos games, clothes, CD’s, everything. All Benji and me had to do was ask. Mama never cooked now; we ate out every meal. IHOP for breakfast, McDonald’s for lunch, and pizza or Chinese for dinner, every night. Mama never seemed more pleased with herself. I never realized just what a looker Mama was either. Seems like lately she has more boyfriends and money than ever. She’s happier now. I guess her new boy friends were a good thing. I guess it was maybe two weeks later that I suddenly realized that Benji might not be right after all. Mama suddenly wasn’t as happy after all. She hadn’t worn her old robe in the house for weeks; it was in the back of the closet. Suddenly though, she took her robe back out of the closet and put it back in it’s old place on the hook on the bathroom door. She kept pacing across the living room, stopping to look out the window at every pass. I couldn’t understand it all, but Mama was not in the talking mood. She just waved her hand at me and grunted something like "shut up." "Benji, what’s happened to Mama?" Benji always took care of me, whenever things got hairy; I knew that Benji would stand up for me and keep me safe. "Don’t worry ‘bout it, dummy. Mama’s was just actin’ a little crazy, but she’ll settle down, you‘ll see." "Are you sure?" "Sure I’m sure. I know somethin’ you don’t, and I don’t wanna tell. I wan’ it ta be a surprise. Jus’ you watch." After another two hours or so, I found out why Mama was worried. Daddy was home. He’d been gone for a couple of months. The strange thing is, I didn’t miss him. He wasn’t always very nice, ‘specially when he was drinking. Mama was wringing her hands and pacing even faster than ever. Daddy was at the door, and a couple of men were with him. Daddy didn’t say a word; something very not normal for him, because he could out yell a train whistle. Daddy always had something to say to Mama and most times, it wasn’t something nice. I kept the door open just a crack, just enough to see through the slice or light left at the doorknob. The strange two men walked in with Daddy, and spoke to Mama in soft tones; just low enough that no one else could hear them. Daddy still stayed silent. When they started to leave, I saw the names on the back of their jackets- "Midtown Ambulance Service." Mama turned around toward me, and I shut the door. I’d probably get whipped if Daddy and her knew I was spying on them. Mama wasn’t staying quiet though. "So, you’ve come home? For two months, you’ve been gone. You know what, I’ve haven’t missed ya! I’ve made a few changes around here since you’ve been gone." Daddy didn’t say a word. I couldn’t believe it. Daddy was sittin’ there quiet, not yelling back when Mama was standing there chewin’ him a new asshole. I couldn‘t believe it. "You’ve not been here to drink up all the money, and leave them boys and me with no food and no clothes. You’ve not been here to slap me around just ‘cause you were fuckin’ drunk. The boys are happy, and so am I. I’ve got so many new men in my life, I haven’t had time to worry ‘bout your sorry ass." Daddy was still silent, not a blessed word. Benji was giggling, trying to hold in the sounds with his hand. "Well guess what you fuckin’ low-life son-of-a-bitch. I don’t want you any more. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be here now! So fuck you!" I had to sneak out. I had to see how this could be. Benji was on my tail, following close but confident. He knew something the whole time all right. We didn’t have to be quiet long though, because Mama caught us sneaking out. "Come on down boys. Your Daddy’s home and we’ve got something to say. Don’t we have something to say honey?" She spit out that "honey" like it left a bad taste in her mouth. When I could finally see, I couldn’t believe it at first. Daddy was sitting quiet, drooling a little out of the corner of his mouth, with a blank stare in his eyes. Mama stepped forward and turned Daddy around to face us. I noticed for the first time that he was in a wheelchair. Benji snickered. "Told ya things were gonna be different." "Yep, that’s right. There are new rules around here. Most of them are the same; you go to school and get good grades, but now, you wear decent clothes to go in. Now, I don’t have to hide the bruises on my face and eyes. I can look beautiful. The main rule is though, don’t wind up like your father. Drunk and on the road, runs off and gets a salad for a brain. He can’t do nothing no more, ‘cept sit in that chair and rot. Well, he ain’t so scary no more, is he? Serves him right though." She went to the cabinet, and got a bowl of green pea soup, opened it, and poured it Daddy‘s head. "Hungry dear?" He still just sat there, staring off into space while green pea goop ran down and up in his nose. She made sure to rub it hard into his shirt. "I’m going out, you boys go upstairs and every hour or so, look in on your daddy and don’t laugh, least, not too much." With that, Mama swept back her hair, and trotted out the door. Benji laughed out loud and pointed at the pitiful creature in the chair. I laughed too. |
|
| A New Little Rule Raye D sweetteasutlery@yahoo.com |
#9 of 14 Runner-up |
| 668 words | |
| He stood there with the door open and the cold November
air rushing in. I wanted to throw something at him, not to hit him, just to get
my point across. Maybe his dinner plate, Lord knows he hadn't touched it, or
even tried. No, that was Momma's fine China, so I threw my words at him
instead. "No one said you had to like it!" "No one said I had to stay, either." I heard the outraged gasp as it shot past my parted lips. It wasn't the nicest thing to say, but at least he was being truthful. Truth was supposed to be the best thing between two lovers. Or was that distance? I could never remember. So, he was going to leave... again. Take off for the rest of the night to hang with his friends. These damn drinking parties were going to be the final nail in the coffin for our relationship. It just doesn't look good when my mother comes to visit and he's out drinking, with the boys, staying out to all hours. The frustration was a taking its toll on my sanity and I did exactly what my friends said had worked for them. Set down some simple rules. Simple? Yeah, right. Simple didn't work with Clay, apparently. I let the clink and clank of the pans in the sink fill the silence, feeling a bit like one of those off-Broadway shows as I drowned out my confusing thoughts with the heavy cacophony of cast-iron. It was better than thinking about... "Look, I'm sorry." I hadn't heard him approach, but God, his arms felt good around my waist. His words helped a bit too. Apologies were not his strong suit, so any sign of sentiment from him was good, right? "I don't know why you try to hurt me like this, Clay." He wasn't about to let me get the upper hand. Men. "It's kills me when you throw up all these barriers. It just isn't natural-" I could feel his breath on my neck, just below the lobe of my ear. Heaven help me, but I love the way he makes up just as much as I hate the way he argues. "Natural?" The question sounded harsher when it hung in the air between us. "I can understand you spending some time with the boys, Clay, but I'd like to be able to sit down at the dinner table with you once in awhile." "It isn't just that," he sighed. "Sometimes, I still don't know what we are." I know he could feel my sigh shuddering against him. His lips feathered along the side of my neck and like a good little pet my pulse jumped beneath his touch. "*We* are in love, honey. That's all that matters. Not anything your mother says, not anything your friends say... and these 'rules' of yours-" I turned on him then, pushing my back up against the sink while my eyes blazed with renewed anger. "It's one rule... one new little rule." His upper lip pulled back, baring his fangs in a show that was meant to frighten me. Sure, it had worked before, but not tonight... not ever again. "Get over the 'undead' anger, Clay. I'm just asking you to be a little faithful for once." He leaned down until his nose nearly bumped into mine, his breath hot against my cheek. "You'd rather I fed from you every night?" The corner of his mouth twitched up into a half smile. The cretin was enjoying himself a bit too much, catching his jollies at my expense. "That's exactly what I'm asking, Clay. Is that so much to ask?" His eyes burned like coals, dark and foreboding. Scary... and yet so sexy. "Is that all you want, my love?" "Oh yes..." I whispered, sagging against the sink, the cold granite of the countertop digging into my back as he turned my cheek to the side, exposing my neck. "That's exactly what I want." |
|
| A New Little Rule cam-9@verizon.net |
#10 of 14 |
| 2499 words | |
| They could have told him it probably wasn't a good idea
to tinker with such things, when they first saw him toting "it" up and down
Main like a prized moldy half-sack of feed. And they would have, too, if their
Missuses hadn't dragged them to behind Mister Wiesenstadt's pot-bellied stove,
shushing the daylights out of them every step. "Wolfgang Tolzenhoffer, don't you DARE! You leave poor Mister Halvorssen ALONE! Bad enough them being childless, then, after all those years, Gertrud just up and running off with that... Mister Seppish. If ANYONE needs a little joy in his life, it's HIM. "Not to mention, by the looks of the thing, it'll be a miracle if it sees the end of next week. So you mind your business and leave him BE. Now fetch the basket and come along. The biscuits should be raised by now." After that, of course, whenever they'd see him on Main loading his rig with one hand while carefully keeping "it" away from Dagmar's sudden new habit of wild-eyed, whinnying, bolting fits... or when they'd be passing by his front acre to Widow Petersson's with a jar of piccalilli or a napkin of two-day kuchen, and espy him bumping "it" in a wheelbarrow from under the shade oak where wild-eyed, snapping Ulf was about to strangle himself with his tether, pulling to get away from who knows what? as he was... to over under the dogwood where wild-eyed, bellowing, Brita and Hilda were flattening up against the barbed wire at the far side of their pen trying, it looked, to push through... ...well, by that time, he was just so content-looking, sheer orneriness would have been the only reason to say a word. Not to mention, also by that time, he'd up and named it. *** "Rüle." *** After his dear, angel, Mamma. *** And, then, of course, it went and hatched. And after that, there just didn't seem to be any point at all. *** And there wasn't. "Du se min litten flicka?" he'd beam when they'd find him hovering outside Hubblemayer's still-shuttered window - "You see my little girl, my little 'Rüle,' ja? The image of my dear, angel Mamma, she is, ja - the very image." And they would peer into the bundle he was cradling so carefully, and grunt and bob their heads, and their Missuses would teeter on their shoe-tips and peer into the bundle and cluck and fuss and, then, everyone would settle back into solemn nodding that yes, indeed, Mister Halvorssen's "Little Rüle" was probably just as he said: the very image of his "dear, angel, Mamma." But, then, once Mister Halvorssen - satisfied his Gertrud wasn't hiding in Hubblemayer's - went to fetch his Dagmar from Doc Larsson's (where the good doctor was flipping a coin as to whether the palsy might be on account of her suddenly going off her feed... ...or vicey-versey) the agreeable nodding would give over to head-shaking and tsking on how grief over his Gertrud leaving him for that... Mister Seppish... must have addled the man more than they'd reckoned. For it was a pretty sure bet Mister Halvorssen's "dear, angel, Mamma'" was never the tint and texture of bread mold. Nor was it likely she ever had eyes like two extra-big, colourless, goose eggs. Nor a mouth that was almost nothing but a deep, sucking, dimple. But that his "Little Rüle" DID look like what you'd think might be stuck in where Inga's innards should have been, that day he'd finally found her - nose and udder also chawed clean off, and eyes, it seemed, sucked clean out. But enough of that. And, so... "Goodness, Heinrich, look where the Sun is... no, that's the Moon - that, there.... About time I got home, the peas need shelling, and I've yet to do your box for tonight." And then, pursing their lips and fiddling with their gloves, their Missuses would grab onto their arms and drag them off, craning their necks as they passed Hubblemayer's window to see if that strange... Mister Seppish... might be opening the shop early. Instead of the usual six minutes after the Sun slunk down behind the Western-most edge of their little piece of Paradise. *** Leaving the always-"ON" Moon hanging by itself, casting a wash of pearl over the night-time indigo whole of their little piece of Paradise, their little "Soft's Corner" - from where it butted on "Hardjoy," "Knullahanden" and "Skinksville," all the way to where it bordered with "New Oldfresh" - its normally-Mooned neighbors to the East, West, South and North. All normally-Mooned, of course, on account of none of them ever had a... Mister Seppish... come to town needing burying at a crossroads on a Moonless night. "Now, Marten, look - there's two chicken sandwiches, one plain, one with gravy... are you looking? and I also put in a liverwurst, just in case. And, here, in the napkin... Marten, look... rhubarb cobbler. And remember - when you're done, don't just throw the napkin any old where, put it back in the box. You'll remember to do that, Marten? Marten, are you listening? "Marten?" But none of them ever listened those nights, not even the ones that normally acted like they did - preoccupied as they were pulling the curtains and squinting at the always-"ON" Moon, trying to recollect if it was their turn to bring the lantern... no, pretty sure it was their turn to bring the pry-bar... and hoping this'd be the night that... Mister Seppish... wouldn't turn up suddenly in the shadowy corners of their eyes, sparkling his black stare and smiling his pointy smile till their hearts settled enough for them to slowly turn and, finally, breathe a chuckle at a dusty stack of accounting ledgers, or the rolled-up banner from last Arbor Day's Festival's Kissing Booth. And, of course, it would be right after they'd got squawked at over did they REALLY need to stuff EVERY last garlic bulb in the house into their pockets? and nodded and nodded (and nodded) on how, yes, they'd try to not dent the drippings can THIS time and, finally, trudged off down the center of the road into the always-"ON" Moon's wash of pearl - (to meet and holler and shove each other over who's turn it'd been to bring the lantern and set on the steps to eat their cobblers and tie the napkins on their pry-bars and light them and stumble into City Hall and up to the attic to locate the Moon-switch and get to work greasing and prying and - hopefully - flicking it back to "AUTOMATIC." Where it'd been till the night they'd accidentally flicked it to "ON" - where it stuck - after returning from burying that... Mister Seppish... at the ordinanced town crossroads) - that their Missuses would suddenly remember what it was they'd been trying to recall all evening that they'd wanted to mention had been on their minds all day about Mister Halvorssen and his... "Little Rüle." *** As it turned out - it didn't need mentioning. No, it became clear all on its own when, in figuring the last occasion anyone'd seen him toting his... "Little Rüle"... up-and-down Main - after some finger-counting, they found themselves counted all the way to three days past four weeks. While they - (squinting up at the space between the Sun and the always-"ON" Moon... STILL 'always-"ON"' on account of how that night - even with the help of not only Little Karl and his giant arms but, also, a full slab of lard from his Pappa's butcher store - they'd still not done more than grease themselves from tip to tail, while that... Mister Seppish... stood in the shadowy corners of their eyes, not just smiling his pointy smile but actually, it seemed, now, laughing) - muttered how it was too late to be doing more than heading home and finishing that cobbler (so's it wouldn't go bad), the Missuses - done clucking and tsking the Good Lord to forgive them their unmindfulness - went on to purse their lips and fiddle with their gloves and agree Mister Halvorssen could probably use some green tomato preserves to go with the two-day rye, and succotash was always nice and, well - it... she... was still a... "child"... so, maybe some sweet elderberry jam for his... "Little Rüle." *** It was closing in on sundown by the time they'd jostled and rattled their way to and through Mister Halvorssen's gate and down the over-grown path to the porch where - suddenly aware they hadn't heard even one evening whippoorwill - they'd clambered down with their baskets, crept up to the front door, swallowed - and tapped. "Mister Halvorssen?" Nothing. "Mister Halvorssen?" "Knut?" Standing there, on Mister Halvorssen's porch, with him not answering and them not knowing what to think... now that they thought on it, the crickets were being uncommonly quiet, too. Suddenly - sounds. Coming from the back, could be the barn. Pressing their hands to their bosoms, their Missuses breathed out and smiled, while they just shifted their scowls around some and, then, as one, they turned and flew down the steps and around the corner. Slowing to a walk, then, down to a dawdle and, then, finally, to a complete stop. "What's that?" Lollygagging behind as they did whenever they could manage to keep their arms to themselves, they were resistant to the sudden flurry of gloved hands pushing them forward but, when they set their jaws and moved toward it a step... then two... then two and an half... till they finally got close enough to lean in on the small, buzzing, pile of fuzzy browns and tans and crusty, matted, maroons and hard, angular, whites with - deep at center - a sharp little grimace with a chawed length of tether still grasped tight - they knew it could be only Ulf. Only poor little Ulf. Pulled inside-out. And, then, after instructing their Missuses to stay right there - before they even got all the way crept up on the enormous thing they'd espied several more feet up the path, they knew it was Dagmar. Poor old Dagmar. Wrapped from neck-to-tail in a thick, hard, film, and - though she was opened enough they didn't need to creep up to see she'd been emptied and something'd settled inside where her innards should have been - it was only when they'd crept up that they saw her nose'd been chawed clean off, and her eyes, it seemed, sucked clean out. But it was only when their Missuses - who had, of course, not stayed "right there" - pushed through to peer inside, that they saw the brittle casing with two, extra-big goose-egg-sized bumps and a deep dimple, and knew what had settled in her and, then, hatched out. The tsking and clucking how Mister Halvorssen must be addled beyond redemption, letting his Dagmar be used so - didn't he know what horses went for? grew so indignant they never heard the rustling in the overgrowth, first from somewhere over there... to just a spell away... to, finally, right in the shadows directly behind poor, old, Dagmar. "You come to see my 'Little Rüle,' ja? To wish her Happy Birthday? Ah, but she is not so much my 'Little Rüle,' now, no - she is growing, ja, is two months today!" Even stooped and limping, Mister Halvorssen was beaming so bright they almost didn't need the always-"ON" Moon's pearl wash to see the bandages dotting every part of him not covered by his tattered Union Suit. "Oh, ja - she is a 'new' Little Rüle, she is. Wait, wait... you see yourself, I call.... "RÜLE! RÜLE, MI LITTEN EN! KOMMA! COME, MY LITTLE ONE! "KOMMA TILL PAPPA!" *** As was proper, their Missuses held their tongues as they were shoved back through the overgrowth to the rig. They'd also hushed, of course, as they were heaved in - their gloves and baskets thrown on them, just like that. And nary a sound was breathed even when poor Olle was made to turn the rig so sharp and fast it almost tipped over. And, after that, of course, they were bouncing so hard from poor Olle being about galloped home that - even if they'd wanted to give them "heck" - they couldn't, their teeth being chattered down to powder as they were. But their Missuses wouldn't be saying anything, not here, not at home. There wasn't anything to say. EXCEPT that... ...not ONE of them heard the "whirring" they claimed was coming at them from the barn after he called for her. Nor did they hear the "hissing" they insisted began speeding toward them through the overgrown grass, right after the nearby, cracking, "thud." Which they didn't hear, either. Must be tetched, the bunch of them, hearing things like that. And, dumping their baskets out in front of Mister Halvorssen that way! And, then, dragging them back to the rigs and flinging them in like... like... big, old, sacks of feed! Well... If they never spoke to them again, it would be too soon. But later - once the last of the peas was chased around the plate, and - for want of another biscuit - the last of the gravy fingered up... while shooing the cat out of the dough-rising spot behind the stove, their Missuses accidentally glanced at the calendar and, suddenly, began humming. And it wasn't long till they were jawing, too. But because it had been a long day, when it came time to put their foot down on no matter tomorrow night was choir practice and it's on the way - they absolutely FORBADE them to go to Hubblemayer's to have that... MisterSeppish... scoop them up some of his very red iced cream - the best they could muster was the snores of husbands adrift in the contentment of having a Missus who - yes - squawked too much and thought too little, but who beat biscuits and cleaned and made a decent stew and still had enough affection after all these years to not run off with any previously-buried iced cream panderers, leaving them to turn for companionship to "new Little Rüles" or whatever that was they'd seen from the road - grabbing flailing Mister Halvorssen and, it looked, kissing him. Or something. And, then, later on, after they'd been shooed to bed, when it came time for them to do... ...something.... ...about that... Mister Seppish (who'd quit standing in the shadows and was, now, perched on their Missus' side of the bed, sparkling his black stare and smiling down his pointier-than-they'd-ever-seen-it-before-smile) ...or at least to demand to know why their Missuses were sparkling and smiling back up... ...the best they could do was sigh and snuggle into the thought that, maybe, finding themselves a "new Little Rüle" might not be that bad a deal after all. |
|
| A New Little Rule mrwrleft@yahoo.com |
#11 of 14 |
| 1577 words | |
| "What I really hate, is to intervene, or worse, stop
the production line." Sava sat in squatted position, scratching his big bald
head, as he looked at the block diagrams scattered around the table. "To tell you the truth," Meph flipped a pen in his fingers, "I don't see such a big deal in an occasional intervention. The system currently covers ninety five percent of all cases and I am not sure how cost effective it would be to change the business rules, for the remaining five." He slid his hand through his black, slicked back hair, leaned forward in his chair and took another gulp of his coffee. "Think about it, how many times would we really have to intervene? I can count the number of times on the fingers of one hand: to come up in a dream, to show up, as a burning bush and to part the Red Sea; basically - chicken shit." "Mmmm.. " Sava lifted his head up and looked Meth in the eye, "What about the flood?" "What about it?" Meph's voice raised a notch taking the question, as a challenge, of his position on the matter. "To reinitialize the entire population, that's…" he tilted his head and made a couple of nodes as if feeling the gravity of a situation, "that's no chicken shit. That's a real problem. I’m not going to agree on intervention, in this case. I know what's going to wind up happening. The main prototype is going to change, based on the investor we are dealing with and we are going to have lots of requests, when it comes to the population upgrade. This spells automation for me, pal. Meph wanted to object, but Sava stopped him, by raising his palm in the air. "As far as the re-initialization approach, and I am sure you will agree with me on this. It would be much easier to delete the entire population, with the exception of a couple of the previous prototype, then upgrade those, using the new specifications and then re-multiply the entire population." "Oh, of course. Who’s arguing about this? I am not a wacko to change the stereotype on each existing individual. No, no, no." Meph shook his head. "The problem is in the deletion stage; specifically in the mechanism of the opening of the heavens. It's obviously a manual type of job. Well... ok we, can pour millions tons of water on the surface, but then, how is it going to be drained?" "It'll just go back to the oceans." "To the oceans?" Meph curled his upper lip in an expression of contempt for such a plan. "That makes no goddamn sense! We would need to raise the water to the level of at least thirty cubits. Let's see how much water we would need. Hmm… Earth radius is 3963.19 miles... so the volume would be Pi R cubed." He went on mumbling, doing calculations on a piece of paper, "three to a radius square to 60 feet, which is 1/88th of a mile... Ok so we'd need, roughly, 1,427,897 cubic miles of water." Sava whistled. "No shit! I didn't know it would be that much. Let me see your calc sheet." "What?" Meph exclaimed. "You’re gonna check my calculations? Hahahahahaha ha…." He laughed melodramatically so the echo bounced around the room. "Here," he threw the calc sheet to Sava. "Knock yourself out." Sava looked through the calculation attentively. "You've excluded the second and the third terms. Why?" "Oh, come on. They are negligible, give or take three cubic miles." "As usual, you refuse to do a thorough job." Sava lifted his eyes from the calc sheet. "I hate this constant cockiness of yours." Sava threw the sheet on the table. " Ewwww… I’ve been exposed," Meph clowned. "And by whom? By someone who knows shit about math, once it passes beyond the Linear Algebra course." Meph crossed his long legs in a chair and with visible pleasure, took another sip of coffee. "By the way ... how are you going to pull all this water back? Are you going to stick a pump in the middle of the Tower of Babel?" "Ok, ok." Sava said, in a conciliatory way. "We went on the tangent. What if we raised the temperature and evaporate all the excess water. That would look elegant," he wrote the following expression on a piece of paper: If bFloodFlag then DoRaiseTemperature(100). "I beg your pardon?" Meth grinned looking at the expression. "Raising the temperature to a hundred degrees Celsius will kill the most of the vegetation on the planet." "I meant Fahrenheit." "You did?" Meth's voice was full of disbelief. "In that case, it’s not going to evaporate that much. One hundred Fahrenheit is the normal temperature, in many spots on the planet. And you know what? Even if you'd make the temperature as high as any specimen could withstand, it would still take a hundred years to evaporate it all. I don't think your sample population specimens, what was the name of the guy you've selected Nova? would withstand that temperature, for that long. Also, don’t forget the food supply for all these sample animals. Where would you store it? More so, imagine how all that feces is going to stink? I tell you, no man is going to survive that." "So what do you suggest?" Sava asked, his eyes ran around Meph's face looking for his eyes. "It’s simple. And stop biting those nails. It's a bad habit. Don't flood the whole planet. Make the flood local. First of all, you won’t need so much water and secondly, you wouldn’t need to evaporate - just dump the access in the ocean." "But what locality would we flood?" "Depends on whatever the investor’s requirements are: if the request was for the Mediterranean region, then flood the Mediterranean region. If the request is for the Mesopotamian, then flood the Mesopotamian." "Ok, ok," Sava nodded accepting Meph's proposal and making comments in his notepad. "But how would you segregate a specific region?" "Well, that's already programmed in the system. Trigger a series of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions around the perimeter of the region and reshape its topography, according to your requirements." "But a random algorithm governs volcanic eruptions and earthquakes. How could we be sure that the water would be contained within the requested boundaries?" "Simple, create a feed back loop that would test the integrity of the encasement and execute the eruption algorithm until the encasement is complete." "Wait," Sava pondered, "but, then all the population within this region could be destroyed." "Focus Sava, focus. Who gives a crap? You were going to repopulate the entire planet, for godsakes!" Sava rolled his lip and slightly nodded his head trying to digest Meph's plan. "But this feed back loop doesn't exist in the system." he concluded. "Well, let's just add this new little rule, and we'll be done with it, shall we?" "I guess you’re right." Sava wrinkled his forehead and smoothed out his beard. "Let me just get the estimate on how long the implementation of this new rule is going to take?" He pressed the conference button and dialed the number. "IT Department. This is Gabe." "Hey, Gabe. Sava's here and you're familiar with our business consultant, Mr. Tophele?" "Hello Sava, Mr. Tophele." "Gabe," Sava continued, "Can you give me an estimate on how long it would take to incorporate a new little business rule into the system?" Sava went on explaining to Gabe the essence of the matter. "Hmm, I'd say a couple of weeks of pure programming time, as long as there are no interruptions. You know what I mean. No user support, no divine interventions and stuff." "We understand." Meph interjected. "So," Gabe counted, "two weeks of programming time, and probably thesame amount of time for testing. Then deploying the change, to all the production servers... So we're looking at about a month, month and a half." "Thanks Gabe." Sava and Meph answered simultaneously. "Thank you, gentlemen." After Sava hung up, he turned to Meth and resumed: "Sound like a plan. Not that I am all warm and fuzzy about it, but, I guess we've got to be realistic. Under the circumstances, it’s probably the best solution possible." "Well, I’m happy to hear that. By the way," Meph changed the topic got up and slapped Sava on the shoulder. "What are your plans this weekend?" "Oh some ‘honey-do`s’, probably. I'm sure my wife's gonna come up with something." "Screw that, man. Let's go play some golf." Meph imitated the movement of a golf club, hitting the ball. "I don't know." Sava drummed his fingers against the table. "My wife would raise hell." "Oh, come on. You don’t have a bad bone in your body. Let's go play. Remember the old times, when you weren't such a pussy." "Well, my friend, when you get married", Sava pontificated, "there are some rules, one has to adhere to. You single guys don't get it. You have to actually be married. I’m not about to break those rules." "Oh, no. I’m not asking you to break those rules, not even bend them. But, how about introducing a new little rule, just like we did for the system." The worried look disappeared from Sava's face and he gave Meph a big smile. "You can be damn convincing at times, Methe. Do you have a spare set of clubs?" |
|
| A New Little Rule trishwahlstrom@yahoo.com |
#12 of 14 |
| 70 words | |
| I have for you a little rule it's really good advice If someone's being mean at school Just smile and be real nice Some children have unhappiness that you can never know So don't you love them any less Just smile and let it go And here is one new little rule if they're still mean in class Just wait until it's after school then smile and kick their ass |
|
| A New Little Rule My Nguyen idlemousse@hotmail.com |
#13 of 14 |
| 1621 words | |
| An ant scurried to and fro to find its home, a hole in
the ground, trying to recognize the terrain that it was lost in. It suddenly
froze as it realized, it was being watched by two pairs of significant eyes.
Not just by any two pairs of eyes that is, but two pairs of significant
eyes. It grew anxious. It had only left the long line, a trail of its fellow workers as it had grown restless and reckless after a dull day of marching, deciding as it became a little adventurous that it could explore a little farther having detected with its sharp senses an essence of something worthwhile and what more, perhaps even edible, and wanting to be the first to carry from the discovered scene more package than the others, for status, had eventually wandered off, which had led it into this predicament. Again, the odd feeling of being watched by a pair of beings, the ant became desperate to find its settings and scurried in all directions, trying to find a familiar mark that would guide him back, a hint of something to spark recognition in its little insect mind. It felt words swarming and swirling about, but it couldn’t understand the thoughts that exploded around it. It felt it was being harassed again like a time, was it long ago, (a span of a day), or not so long ago (minutes before it was lost)? It could not recall exactly. It guessed around those times it was trying to thinking of. The time between now and before then, it did remember, vaguely, a cruel and malevolent sight: hands like thick sausages, (not that appealing even to an ant as it pictured it not as a meal but as a predator), reaching down closer and closer to the crumbling surface from which it stood, where it appeared innocently enough minding its own business like all other days or minutes, thinking back at the horrific sight it had witnessed once of his dead fellow ants who were unfortunate enough to be crushed and beaten until their final twitching stilled. Remembering that violent memory, it wondered as the sausages neared closer and closer, if it was doomed to follow those crushed and battered fates. What has it ever done but to try and survive, but to deserve this cursed life. It cowered, trembling, trying to hide and shrink its body mass into the air. Wishing to be ignored forever. As the large hand closed in by the tiny and pathetic ant and reached instead for the stick that had lain, large as a log to it but unnoticeable until now the hand griped it and started to nudge the ant, indifferently at first, then gradually with more enthuse as the game became more interesting apparently to the giant. In effect, the ant quickly scattered in all directions at once, trying to get away. The ant did not know which was worse, instant yet crushing death, or to be played around with, at least to be kept alive a bit longer even though it was a slow death descending. It was beginning to grow tired. Its pace began to slow as its legs turned to jelly after all that dancing. Its fear turned to weariness and it started to want to get it all over with. And as it got ready to give up, the shadow dropped its stick as a noise, or voice called the sausage fingers away and the ant was left free to go. Recalling this life and death moment again, the fear returned, yet at the same time there was a bit of hope left that it could be as lucky as it was last time. It then sensed other thoughts circulating and coursing through its little mind. "Well," thought one of the voices, clear and calm. "I can see you, even if you are just a tiny ant scattering from its hole. Even at night and encompassed in darkness, it is evident to me that you are there. Even the smallest life has a reason. Living and dying in life, so that the cycle may go on." Then a new thought submerged the other and echoed in the other consciousness, "No. I’ll let you live, to suffer again and again and just when you don’t want to ever leave, I’ll take you away." And then the hands reached down, a pair of hands larger then the ant’s first encounter; one rose from the ground and the other reached down from the sky and simultaneously were progressing towards the scared, little ant. The ant shuddered slightly and as the two huge index fingers pointed at it and as they were to met and connect, a light radiated from them as they touch, not unlike from the movie, ET, a light that glowed from the alien’s magic touch; the ant’s existence seared out of its fragile shell-like body and disappeared from the slight contact. And then: "Why is it so warm here?" asked God. "AC was invented for a reason." Then on the other side of the universe a voice exclaimed, "Damn its cold up here. How can He stand it?" "So just think cold. Let all the emotion, slowly drain out like liquid rain and eventually your inner will freeze up and what the inner has become will surface outwards and emanate its wonderful essence out. Let me introduce myself, I am the undoubtedly one of your...other mishap creation’s most dutiful servant. I am the word that is my master’s best name that they so call him except you must omit the one ‘D’ in front which is what you may call me. I am the only thing that is pure in this world. I’ve always wanted to met you, God." "Okay," said the Devil, "this is a new concept to me. So it’s He with a capital ‘H’. And is it Me a capital ‘M’? And then there is that case with a capital ‘I’ for Me, or not? "Is there something wrong, Lord? You never brought this aspect up. It was sort of known about this kind of thing. "Ummm-, I’m okay. Really." God explained to Evil: "I’ve created people out of my tears. They’re like those small salt pricks. They’re either cried out of joy for the beauty of the world, and others are pierced out of sorrow. And as then poignant rain, tears that falls is mixed in the folds upon the corners of my mouth that I finally taste, I then felt its bitter-sweetness and it really felt genuine, balancing out the water that swished in the living captivity." "A little new rule here," said the Devil. "You may do whatever and only what would please me and defy nothing I do because everything I do or say is the righteous. You are to stay loyal to me and no one else. Whatever I say is law and afterwards may you reef all the benefits. I will reward all those who stays faithful eventually and those who follows. It will not be long and you deeds will not be in vain. And you will always obey and remember me and no other as your Lord and God." "Well, Lord, that is not an entirely new rule. Really, it is irked in stone from the beginning in those of your unduly servants from which the blood that you bled flowed in our veins is impressed upon to be remembered for all time. We know, as you have always ordained. You know, those who are truly your children will never deny you. Didn’t you know that, Mr. D?" "How did you know who I am?" as the ‘D’ being peered down suspiciously at the other transparent being. "It’s in your capital ‘eyes’." "To die for while living. There is so much to live for while dying. Placed in all this, in the middle of the whole deal is the Accepted. Let me tell a little secret, Evil. To be God is to be a man with no balls and a woman without breasts for status…yet, I have status. It is already in me, and to not exaggerate, what I am," said from the body of the devil and the spirit of the Lord. "Judge? Who says you can judge?" The Devil grew angry. "Are you God?" He started again, "Why does He oppose and object to me so? Did he not create me as one of His own in the Heavens of Perfection at a time, once upon? Would He bend down on one knee and wash my feet?" And the venting began to close to the conclusion, "Did He not create me? Wasn’t I also intended, ordained in His book of fates? And so He looks to disgusted on top of His high throne, down at me. There is a reason for everything," he wisely proclaimed, "so no need to despair… entirely." "I have a question for you. I mean it’s really just your opinion out of yourself as you are," Evil paused to see it was okay to proceed. "Is God a good parent because he lets us do whatever, having our own will and everything? Of course, set aside is a balance of rules, to, as you know to govern and so forth. Free to roam and experience for ourselves. Or is He not a good parent, because He seemingly is the single parent and we are just running around as delinquents lost in a sea of obscurity?"Maybe…Neither, either, and both. All is the truth." "I was just thinking," said the Devil. "It’s a Freaky Sunday." "Have you ever seen that movie?" "On a Friday?" asked Evil. "Yeah." |
|
| A New Little Rule topcat@spiritone.com |
#14 of 14 |
| 1797 words | |
| He grunted, moaned, and panted as the last of his
pleasure shuddered through him. Placing a tender kiss on the full lips of the
dark woman beneath him, he rolled over as his thumping heart in his young
sinewy body gradually subsided. Priyanka Rao dutifully snuggled her lush
contours against Colin Laddie as he caressed her back and buttocks in a
desultory fashion. "Well, my little Vice-Consul, did you enjoy yourself?" she asked playfully, knowing full well that every romantic interlude they had was more passionate than the last. "You know if this keeps up I'll have to bring you home to meet mother and father." "I'd like that." She added wistfully, "I've always wanted to see England." "Perhaps you will someday, Priya." Both knew he could never bring an Indian woman to London as his wife, but they liked to dream. "Would you like me to cook for you some breakfast? I even have eggs and muffins this morning." "Save them for later, luv." He crawled out from under the netting and began dressing in the suit and tie he had to wear, even in this bloody hot weather. "The new Ambassador arrives this morning and I must be there to greet him. I'll grab something at the roadside market on the way. See you later tonight." Priyanka gave a resigned sigh as she curled back into the pillows, closed her eyes, and yawned a 'don't be late' at his departing shadow. Laddie was not looking forward to the changing of the guard as the outgoing Ambassador, old Carruthers, had run a loose ship. His main goal for each day was to make it through to four o'clock for his whiskey and soda. Roderick Emsworth, he had heard, was a bureaucratic twit that knew little of the country he was arriving at; just a head stuffed full of regulations that had to be followed to the letter. Colin knew he would have to be on his best behavior for the heaviness of decorum that was to follow. Pulling up to the dusty airport, Colin saw that the plane had already landed and the passengers were making their way across the tarmac to the terminal. He would have to step on it to greet them as they arrived. As expected, Emsworth, with his clipped mustache and Saville Row suit, looked like a man who was born fifty years old and would always be fifty. His wife also looked very prim and proper but it was difficult for Colin to keep his attention on them during the perfunctory introductions as standing next to them was their daughter, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Priya had vitality but Madeleine was a goddess. White women were few here, mostly middle-aged wives and a few servicewomen, but this girl was even dressed in white; some silky gossamer sort of thing topped by an angelic face and framed by a cascade of soft brown curls. After the party was safely docketed away in their new rooms at the embassy, Laddie returned to his desk, scarcely able to concentrate on his work. He would have to dash home, put on his best evening wear, and scrape off the five o'clock shadow. He had prattled blithely on the ride in, but he would have to do better with Madeleine. One seldom gets a second chance to make a first impression. Tonight at the welcoming reception he had planned to make his excuses, get out of there by nine, and toddle off to be with Priyanka. All that had changed now. The reception went well, for what is normally a boring staid affair. Colin was charming and gentlemanly with Madeleine and she appeared flattered and amused by his attentions. He saw her as one he could settle down with, worship, and further his career. After it was all over, Colin oozed over to the club for a quick nightcap. "The usual, mate?" This from Private Amelia Higgins, with a trace of Cockney still in her accent. She had presided over the club bar for nearly three months now, dishing out the pink gin, whiskey, and what not, to the British community there. "Yes, thank you, dear." "You look quite cheery tonight. I thought that new man, Emsworth, was going to be a bit of a pill." "What? Who? Oh yes, er, him. Well I'll have to buckle down, stiff upper lip and all that rot, but I think I'll manage just fine." She looked at him with narrowed eyes before moving away to help someone else. The next few weeks were busy ones. Colin found time from his increased workload to usher the Emsworths around the city. Emsworth was naturally critical of the poverty and the way the city was run and sputtered about some changes having to be made. His wife was mildly attracted to the colorful clothing and the magnificent temples, but she too deplored the filthy poor. Madeleine seemed seemed a little reserved and indifferent. She enjoyed the pretty sights that they drove by but turned up her nose and averted her eyes at beggars, cripples, and waste, both animal and human, that permeated many of the streets. The three of them soon took to remaining in the comforting confines of the British complex, seldom venturing out. On top of all this, Colin still had to find time to visit Priyanka, though less frequently. He proffered excuses about having to work late when he was secretly wooing Madeleine. As a rule, he found it too nerve wracking to be involved with two women at the same time, but he did love Priyanka and treasured their wild and wanton times together. She had a certain earthiness and common sense so in contrast to the more demure Madeleine. After some soul searching, he decided he would propose to Madeleine the next night after attending some tedious state dinner for some visiting dignitaries was over. Losing Priyanka would cause both of them bitter anguish but he reasoned that he needed a proper English wife when he returned to London. Colin was in love with her charm and beauty and after wrestling with the decision for some days, decided he had made the proper choice. A hard choice, but the right one. The night of the dinner found Colin Laddie impeccably groomed and supremely confident. He had a large exquisite ring in his pocket, purchased from a street vendor after some haggling, and felt sure Madeleine would consent to have him place it on her finger. She seemed a little frosty and reserved at the table but perhaps it was the distaste they both shared for these dreary social functions. Afterwards he invited her for a walk in the garden which she coolly accepted. "My dear Madeleine. I know it may seem presumptuous of me on so short acquaintance, but there is something I must ask you." "I haven't the slightest interest in what you have to say, Mr. Laddie. It has come to my attention that you have been carrying on with a native girl. Is that not so?" "Er, well, yes," he stammered, knowing only the truth would do now. "But that began before you arrived and I fully intend to break it off with her." "I'm afraid it is too late for that." She eyed him with her carefully cultivated contempt. "You have soiled yourself with a native and in my eyes, those of my family, and everyone else, it is completely unacceptable. Good evening, Mr. Laddie." "But Madeleine..." "I trust I shall be seeing as very little as possible of you in the future." With that she turned and firmly walked out of his life forever. Stunned, Colin Laddie sat down on a hard bench. His hopes of a pure marriage and a glorious future dashed just like that. His mind whirled in a pitying melancholy for some time and then he stood up. He was made of sterner stuff. At least he still had Priyanka so he was really no worse off than when he started. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that. He left the blasted brightly lit white buildings of the embassy complex behind him and began walking through the city toward his destination. Certainly it could be dark and dirty but there was an indomitable life there, an unpretentious realism. Reaching Priyanka's door, he gave his special knock. She flung open the door, fully dressed in her best sari, and impaled him with an icy stare. "I am surprised you have the nerve to come here to my house, Mr. Vice-Consul, after you have been carrying on with that British tart." "How did you find out about..." "The Indian sevants that work there are the eyes and ears of that place. Of course it got back to me as you must have known it would." "Well, I apologize for not saying anything to you earlier and I'm terribly sorry if I've hurt you. It's all right, though. I've broken up with her. It's over." "And it's over with us," Priyanka sneered. "I never want to see your lying face ever again." Colin had to step back sharply as the door slammed in his face. He wanted to pound on that door, confess his love, plead for forgiveness, but knew it would be hopeless once her mind was made up. He trudged back towards home with his unspeakable sadness and self pity. The ebony city seemed less festive to him now. Not wanting to face his lonely room, he headed straight for the club. Plopping into a stool, he was greeted by the ever-present Amelia." "The usual, luv," he said glumly. "You sure you don't want to make it a double? It must be rough having two birds in one night handing you the old pink slip." "Blimey. Does everyone know about that?" "P'raps not, but I hear just about everything worth knowing," she said with a wink. "I suppose it's my own bloody fault," he groused. "I'm making a new little rule. Not only don't fall in love with two girls at the same time, but don't even date two. It's far too harrowing and now I hate myself for doing it." He eyed her with a little newfound interest. "One at a time from now on." "Sounds like a good rule, Laddie. I've always followed it myself." She paused for a moment then added, "Say, I get off in an hour. Would you fancy coming by for a spot of kippers and maybe a little nitecap? We could have an ever so jolly time. Cheer you up." "Thanks very much, Amelia. I believe I'd like that." She was a nice enough girl but in an hours time, he'd knew he'd be too drunk to care. |
|
"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club