original story 23. - lorelei

by bofa xesjum

look at you, mister brown growled. sebastian looked down at himself. his shirt was not on backwards, so far as he could tell. you are a hopeless case, mister brown continued, but i am going to give you one more chance. one more chance, but only because i owed your grandfather a favor, do you understand? yes, sir, i understand. what do you want me to do? moloch will tell you what you have to do. mister brown tapped a number on his desk phone. the door opened and moloch’s hulking figure appeared. job number 53, mister brown said to moloch. he nodded to sebastian that the interview was over and that he should accompany moloch. outside, the night was dark and the streets were deserted. an ordinary looking pickup truck was parked beside the building. moloch got in the driver’s seat and sebastian went around and got in the front passenger seat. sebastian did not speak until they were out on the main road, which was as empty as the streets in the city. what is job number 53? nothing that concerns you. i will be doing it myself. you will be doing a job, a real easy job, for me instead. sebastian knew enough not to question this. they drove along in silence. they drove and drove, out to the outskirts of town. finally they came to a little house, on a back road by itself in the middle of nowhere. moloch turned his lights off and pulled up about fifty yards from it. he reached into the glove compartment and took out a small pistol. it looked like a toy. take this. go up to the door and ring the bell. the bell works. a dame will come out - she will take her time, but she will come out. just plug her. right there, in the door? go inside if she lets you in right away. them let her have it. don’t waste time, just do it. i will be out here waiting. why don’t you do it yourself? because she knows me, you idiot. just do it sebastian took the small weapon, put it in his side pocket, and approached the door. he hoped there was nobody inside. he rang the bell. no answer. he looked back at the dark truck. he decided to ring again. the door opened. a woman with long black hair, wearing a tightly belted black bathrobe, stood there . and what a woman! the most beautiful woman sebastian had ever seen in his short life. he felt overwhelmed by her spectacular knockoutedness. her eyes scanned the street behind sebastian. who are you and what do you want? she asked. sebastian’s hand shook in his pocket and he could not get the gun out of it. who are you? he gasped. without answering, she grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. when she let go of his arm, he got his hand out of his pocket but the pistol fell out of his hand and clattered on the floor. the woman picked it up. she looked out the window. the lights on the truck were still off. i have to get out of here, she said to herself. gripping the pistol, she headed toward a back door. take me with you, sebastian implored. she ignored him, but he followed her. a small black two door sedan was parked in back of the house. the woman got into it. take me with you, sebastian asked her again. all right, but only as far as the bus station. instead of circling around to the street where the truck had been parked, the woman backed the car up an alley behind the house. soon they were on the main highway, moving at just under te speed limit. there was no sign of the truck, or anything else, following them. what is your name? sebastian asked the woman again. what? what do you care? i am just curious. um - my name is lorelei. thank you. i like to know peoples names. i am peculiar that way, why? they don’t have to give you their real ones. lorelei dropped sebastian off at the bus station. he took the first bus he could, as far as it would take him for the money he had in his pocket. it took him to thompsonville, just as dawn was breaking. from thompsonville he hitched a ride to weaverville, and from weaverville through death valley and up the coast to santa cruz. he joined a small commune of peaceful souls like himself and stayed there for sixty years, becoming known and revered as rhe old man of the mountain, although rarely venturing near any mountains. but he never forgot that night in mister brown’s town. and he never forgot lorelei.

original story 22 - victory

by bofa xesjum

victory is assured now, sidney thought. except that it might not be, he quickly added to himself. down in the pit, the two champions continued to struggle. boris the barbarian, sidney’s man, seemed to have the advantage over lady limbtearer, isidore’s rep. but now the lady seemed to be holding her ground. suddenly the lights went out. outside, fog shrouded the night. perhaps i should get out of here, sidney exclaimed, before the authorities get here. quickly, sidney, quickly, a voice in his head urged him. was it the voice of constantine, his old mentor who had recently escaped from devils island? sidney put his running shoes on. he wrapped himself in his cloak of invisibility. he went out into the dark corridor and down the five flights of stairs to the street. he hoped to find the streets dark and deserted. instead he found that the streets, and the city, had vanished. maybe, he thought, the railroad station is still open. but in what direction was it? he wrapped his cloak of invisibility tighter around himself and began walking. this is what comes of thinking bad thoughts, he thought. and of falling in with bad companions. poor sidney! he tried to think good thoughts. quiet potatoes cooling on a peaceful stove a long time ago obviously suddenly the street and the city reappeared. he saw a lamppost up ahead. all his bad companions who had led him astray were hanging out around it. he heard one of them call his name - even though he was invisible. so much for victory.

original story 21 - bright pink icing, part 2

by bofa xesjum

part 2 of 2

the man in the green hat with a yellow feather in it pondered the question posed by the man in the blue baseball cap with the red letter “y” on it. tell me, he finally asked, how would you define “trained deadly assassin”? what would it take for a person to qualify as a “trained deadty assassin”? let me see - a person would qualify as an assassin if they had killed at least thirty people a year for - let’s say five years - better make it ten - and had made at least ten million dollars a year. during that time. and never got caught by the police. no, of course not. how many people in the world right now do you think would answer that description? out of the eight billion people alive right now. oh - i think a conservative guess would be about two million. would you agree? no. what would your estimate be? zero. persons meeting your definition do not exist, any more than zombies or vampires or bigfoot exist. ha ha! what are you, a time traveler from the middle ages? it has been scientifically proven that everything exists, you illiterate morion! i will not sit here and be insulted. i offered you my hospitality and this is how you repay me? then get up and leave, you fascist bozo who probably voted for hitler and donald trump. i voted for william mckinley in the last election and for genghis khan in the one before that. if you say so. and with that, the man in the green hat got up and left. with a genteel smile, the man in the blue baseball cap took a small spiral notebook and a ball point pen out of his shirt pocket and made an entry in the notebook with the pen. a large woman wearing a yellow raincoat and a yankees cap, and carrying a turkey dinner on a tray, approached the table. do you mind if i sit here? i very much mind. you are invading my space. get lost. the woman in the yellow raincoat put her turkey dinner on the table and sat down. i think the pink icing on your whatsit looks disgusting, she announced. whatever happened to old fashioned courtesy and good manners? end of part 2 .

original story 21 - bright pink icing, part 1

by bofa xesjum

part 1 of 2

a man wearing a green hat with a yellow feather in it was seated alone at a small square table in a large establishment, staring down at a cup of coffee and a small plate with a few crumbs on it. the table could seat four, but only two comfortably. another man, wearing a blue baseball cap with a red letter “y” on it, approached the table carrying a tray on which rested a cup of tea and a small pastry, halfway between a donut and a croissant, with bright pink icing on it. do you mind if i sit here? the man in the blue baseball cap asked the man in the green hat. it is a public place, the man in the green hat replied. i am aware of that, but common courtesy requires that i ask your permission. and if i refused, would you retreat? of course. please be seated. thank you. the man in the green hat continued staring at his cup of coffee, which gave off an aura of indescribable chiliness, and at the crumbs on his plate, which exuded the most intense despair. i bet i can guess your name, the man in the blue baseball cap asserted, as he made himself comfortable at the table really? you think you recognize me? no ,but i have a happy facility for guessing people’s names. really? what then is my name? albert jones. wrong. what is it, then? rhodomontade chan - king arthur. oh. well, you can not win them all. maybe you can not. if you do not mind my asking, what is your occupation? i do mind. are you by any chance a trained deadly assassin? r the man in the green hat, who had styled himself rhodomontade chan - king arthur, laughed for the first time in the encounter. no, of course not, he asserted. why, of course not? end of part 1 .

original story 20 - the headline

by bofa xesjum

great things are about to happen, ted mused abstractedly. perhaps i will be a party to them. if pete were here, he would laugh at me. however, pete is not here as he is in jail because i testified against him in court, where he was charged with a crime he did not commit. it is quite useless to remonstrate with me - i feel no guilt about his plight. someday i may feel sorry, but not right at this moment. pete was not kind to me. maybe i should have returned his unkindness with charity or at least so called fair play. but i was born for greatness, and pete was not. greatness comes from the stars - not from the pathetic dreams of humans. hey buddy do you realize you are talking to yourself? i am sorry - i seem to have been doing a lot of that lately. who is this pete character? anybody i know? he is a creature of my imagination - a product of my intense isolation and loneliness. it must be tough. you can not imagine how tough it is. personally, i always look at life as a joke. except when the joke is on you. do you know me enough to make such a definitive statement so unconditionally? maybe. then again, maybe you do not. i remember many things - some of them even happened in real life. i forget everything as soon as it happens. the sheriff is on my trail. tell him hello from me when he catches you. very well. but what is your name? what is yours? just then a newspaper blew down the street. the headline read -

original story 19 - quota of despond

by bofa xesjum

this is the true meaning of opprobrium, pindrop thought despondently. he had always been fond of jenderson, but enough was enough. some people might find humor in the situation. or even delight, strange as it might seem. quarterstaff would probably suggest another attempt at exorcism. zapfrey, the world famous expert on jurisprudence, would certainly advise caution. suddenly pindrop remembered his dream about the three koala bears on the subway. and the eggplant sandwich left on the kitchen table. what a bore consciousness was! suddenly sophonisba bustled into the room. i think, sophonisba announced, you have had your quota of despond for the day. quotas are for gigantic corporations, pindrop responded tartly. and do not the corporations rule all our lives? sophonisba answered evenly. a curious emphasis on sobriety rules all our lives. but sobriety answers to no quotas. neither does romantic fantasy. i see you delight in having the last word. really? i was not conscious of being so. let us change the subject. have you heard from zapfrey? you mean the world weary gastronome? no, i meant the sober expert on jurisprudence. i have always found experts on jurispridence to have delightful personalities. have it your way, it is the gastronomes who bring everybody down. i feel i am trapped in an orangutan’s fantasy, pindrop sighed. a tornado is predicted for next week, sophonisba replied. well, pindrop observed, that might sober all of us up, might it not?

original story 18 - let's eat

by bofa xesjum

10124-h had not seen their old friend 86107-t since they could not remember when, so when they saw them cross the street from the emporium, they immediately hailed them. greetings, 86107-t! what have you been up to lately, old friend? i am glad you asked that question, 101240-h, as i have had an interesting experience this past week. oh? and what might that have been? well, i have never been what you might call a gourmet, or a cooking person, but for the past week i have been inundated in my e-mall by various recipes from - apparently - diverse sources. really? and what sort of recipes were they? well, on monday, i received recipes for chicken broccoli divan, sweet and spicy chili. instant pot chicken soup, mexican quiche, venison chili, paleo crab cakes, baked chicken tacos, chocolate white chocolate chip cookies, creamy lemon chicken pasta, spanish-style chicken and rice, hot dog chili sauce, stuffed cabbage leaves, rosemary garlic potatoes, guacamole cilantro lime cheeseburger, and mushroom and leek risotto. on tuesday, for crock pot beef stroganoff, one pan mexican quinoa, chicken and spinach casserole, beef and mushroom pie,, grilled veggie pizza, mexican street corn casserole, fettucine alfredo, pecan-crusted pork tenderloin, sticky chicken wings, meatballs marinara, maple mustard glazed salmon, gluten free pumpkin pancakes, marinated grilled pork chops, shish kebab, creamy white chicken chili, chicken stew with dumplings, beef and mushroom pie, ground beef and cabbage casserole, asparagus and goat cheese tart, and crunchy asian slaw. on wednesday, broccoli cornbread, vegetarian moussaka, baked bean casserole, creamy tomato pasta, seafood curry, pesto lasagna, vegan green bean casserole , mussels with chorizo, chicken with 40 cloves of garlic, whole stuffed chicken with gravy, roasted turkey breast with garlic and herbs, crispy onion rings, southwest mac and cheese, bacon and tomato pasta, and vegetarian meatballs. on thursday, vegetarian tacos, chicken tikka marsala pizza, celery soup, almond crusted chicken fingers, creamy spaghetti carbonara, hummus pizza, fresh tomato dnd basil sauce, puff pastry sausage rolls, chicken and peppers pasta, black bean and quinoa veggie burgers, vegetarian fajitas, cheesy mushroom and broccoli casserole, crock pot macaroni and cheese, creamy chicken corn chowder, chicken cabbage stir fry, and lemon pepper salmon. on friday, chicken in white wine sauce, pierogi casserole, roasted garlic lemon broccoli, loaded smashed potatoes, twice baked loaded potatoes, fennel and potato gratin, charro beans, lemon thyme chicken tenders, grilled skirt steak with chimichurri, dark chocolate chip cookies, spinach lasagna rollups, bacon and leek quiche, sweet potato scones, shrimp pesto pasta, barbacoa tacos, and strawberry chia seed jam. on saturday, skillet macaroni and cheese, tomato basil chicken, wine braised short ribs, bucatini amatriciana, butter garlic prawns, four cheese macaroni and cheese, gluten free pie crust, chicken jaffrezi, baked rice pudding, broccoli chicken fettucine alfredo, steak fajitas, lemon ricotta cookies, and spicy sweet potatoes. finally, on sunday, - sweet potato steaks, one pot spaghetti. creamy smoked salmon pasta, fried cabbage with sausage, pumpkin oatmeal cookies, shrimp and rice casserole, mustard barbecue sauce, salmon fish cakes, chicken club sandwich, eggplant casserole, zucchini patties, and roasted garlic chicken. good gracious! and did you try all these things? a few of them. and how did it go? some turned out better than others. interesting. well, 86107-t, it has been great talking to you, but i have an important meeting at central headquarters and i do not want to be late for it. i understand. i have an urgent appointment myself. until we meet again, then. i look forward to it. i hope to have something equally informative then as well.

original story 17 - the man in the green hat

by bofa xesjum

the man in the green hat chased the black dog down the deserted street in the rain. * later that evening, he returned to the red brick apartment building where the woman in the orange t-shirt was waiting for him on the fifth floor. the woman in the orange t-shirt’s name was named qsxh zabz, but her friends, when she had any, called her zabby. did you catch the dog? she asked the man in the green hat, whose name was willie black. not tonight, he answered. i will try again tomorrow night. by that time he might be on a tramp steamer to the yellow sea, he could be. it is hard to predict these things. he might turn into a dragon and prophecy the end of the universe. he might. that is enough about the dog for tonight. did anything happen while i was gone.? you mean, here in the red brick apartment located at 7639 washington-lincoln boulevard, or in the wider world as revealed on the televison set, which could use a tuneup because i can not get channel 954, my favorite? use your judgment. what was the most important thing that happened while i was gone? zabbu toojk a sip of her iced chamomile tea. before replying. frankie lee came by. he said he might have a job for you. might have a job for me? that is what he said. suddenly the building shook. it must be the dog again. you do not know that. stop blaming the dog for everything. if you do not want me to blame the dog for everything, catch him. tomorrow night. i will try, but i am not promising anything.