original story - 30 - bill's game

by bofa xesjum

for many years, bill bailey had bored his acquaintances and coworkers by ridiculing and inveighing against the lotteries which have become such a prominent institution in the modern world. one morning, sipping his paper cup of black coffee at mcdonalds before heading up to his soul-crushing (his own term) job at the z———— corporation, he could not help but notice the headline on the morning news that one of the megalotteries had reached a sum of four billion dollars. the brief article pointed out that even after taxes, and the reduction of the total if taken as a lump sum, a lucky single winner would still have over a billion dollars “cash”. a billion dollars cash! that might almost make it worth it, he mused. but he put the thought from his mind. he had long since made himself aware, and made his awareness known to anyone who cared to listen, or was forced by circumstances to listen to him, of the perils of winning lotteries. but a billion cash! he finished his coffee and the last crumbs of his egg mcmuffin, put his phone in his pocket and headed out of the mcdonalds to the building half a block away to ascend to the 45th floor for his daily soul crushing. chuck chan and dave dooley were in the office before him. both were unashamedly avid lottery players. i am surprised to see you guys here so early, bill observed casually. oh? and why is that? chuck asked innocently. i thought you would be waiting in line at 7-11 to buy your big game tickets. oh, there are no lines for those things any more. you can buy them so many places - including online - that there are no lines any more. oh, bill replied. i did not know that. he left chuck and dave and walked thoughtfully to his work space. he had been considering buying a ticket, but had been held back by the thought that his fellows would find out that he did and taunt him mercilessly about his hypocrisy . but four billion dollars! even accounting for taxes and inflation, that was not nothing! but if he could find some little mom and pop store or bodega where he could slip in and out quietly. and buy a ticket… he thought he knew just the place, on a little back street about two blocks behind the financial district, wedged in between a couple of loading docks… at lunch time, he wandered over there. as he always went to lunch by himself, nobody took any notice, and he purchased two tickets without incident and placed them carefully in his wallet. well, you can just guess what happened next. * holding the only winning ticket in the “four billion dollar” lottery, bill bailey found himself in a quandary. sure, he wanted the “four billion” (actually closer to one billion) dollars - there were a lot of fun things he could think to do with it - but how the guys would laugh at him! he had to figure out a way to get someone to cash the ticket for him without a) the person simply cashing the ticket in for themselves. - and maybe killing him, bill, in the process. or b) cashing it in for him for whatever price agreed on but then telling the world about it - maybe writing a best selling book about it. maybe the best thing would be to just cash the ticket and suffer the world’s ridicule and abuse. after all, that was probably what 99.9 percent of the people in the world would do. but he was not 99.9 percent of the world - he was himself, a fragile, sensitive soul who could not bear criticism or ridicule. but who made fun of other people every chance he got - the classic guy who could dish it out but could not take it. even if he built himself a castle in florida or the bermuda triangle , he knew the servants and the delivery people would always be laughing at him. in the end, he decided to do what he always did. he went to see the gypsy. he just gave her the ticket. he knew she would just take it and cash it and keep her mouth shut about how she got it. and she did. bill went back to his day to day routine, as if it had never happened. * a week later, a story appeared on the front page of the gazette: exclusive! security camera shows picture of original purchaser of winning four billion dollar ticket! and there bill was, for all the world to see. you can run but you can’t hide.

original story 29 - big boy

by bofa xesjum

the obnoxious desk clerk loved death. he had a round face, he had been young once, but not for long. the name on his driver’s license was george q williams. nobody ever asked him what the “q” stood for. he often had dreams standing up behind the desk. but so far he had always managed to wake from them when approached. he had always been a dreamer, in his present life and in past lives. were his dreams derived from his past lives? or were they just dreams? occasionally, when he was off duty, he would try to remember the dreams and record them in a notebook he bought at cvs. when he first started doing this, he would do it sitting at a table in a coffee shop or a mcdonalds or wendy’s. he thought that perhaps somebody might notice him and ask what he was writing, but nobody ever did. when he was tired of trying to record the dreams, he wrote little stories, mostly about zombies and werewolves and mighty barbarians and professional hit men. but never about vampires - he was not a vampire person. one night, at wendy’s, he was so engrossed in a story about a barbarian and a hit man whose brains are swapped by a mad scientist from the 27th century, that he almost forgot the time. he would be late for his shift! he gulped down his cold coffee, left his half eaten hot honey chicken sandwich behind, and hurried out the door into the falling night. a light rain was falling. as he reached the door of the hotel, he patted his coat pocket to make sure his notebook was in it. it was gone! although he always put the notebook in the same pocket, he checked the other ones. it was gone! he retraced his steps for half a block in case it had just fallen out of his pocket - no luck! and he had to get to work! another, more terrible thought hit him. somebody would find his notebook and steal all his dreams and ideas! in despair, he turned back and headed to work, barely getting there on time. he would never get his dreams back. he wanted to cry. but big boys don’t cry. so he fell in love with death.

original story 28 - chiffon

by bofa xesjum

there was a lull around the christmas dinner table, all but a couple of the older guests had finished eating, and the others were obviously or not so obviously impatient to get up and get a drink or mill around or do whatever else they wanted to do. shirley found a bunch of really old photographs that grandma took a hundred years ago, they are kind of cute if anybody wants to look at them. a hundred years ago? of who? it was just an expression - they are probably i don’t know, sixty, seventy years old. you would be surprised how clear they are. all right, if you have them with you, we may as well look at them. gloria reached into the big old fashioned purse at her feet and took out a pack of about thirty old polaroid photos enclosed by a rubber band. oh, these are so cute. and you are right, look how clear they are. better than what you can get on your phone these days. who is this? it is just a baby, like it was just born. look on the back, grandma wrote on the backs of most of them. oh, it’s uncle joe! uncle joe was one of the older guests, and the one least known to the others. he had returned to the area about two years earlier after living “out west” since he was a young man - probably in california although no one knew for sure. he was not a communicative sort, and was the only member of the party referred to as “uncle” or “aunt” by the others. look, joe, weren’t you cute! joe stared at the little photo for a few seconds. yes, he stated in his loud clear voice, who would have thought that such a sweet looking child would grow up to be a serial killer. a brief silence fell on the table. was joe trying to be funny? in what little they had seen of him, humor had never seemed to be his game. well, since everybody is just about done here, maybe we could get up and get some of the pies and cookies gloria and mindy brought. oh, i love mindy’s lemon chiffon pie! did you bring it, mindy? actually, it’s lemon meringue pie, but yes, i did bring it. great! it’s the best!

original story 27 - the highway

by bofa xesjum

the highway is filled with victory all day. who are you? what are you doing here? i am lost. i guess you are. don’t move. i am going to call security. fine. maybe they can help me. hello security. this is t-87 in 55-p. i have an intruder how did they get in? i do not know. should i question them? wait for reinforcement. they will be there in forty-seven seconds. thank you. reinforcement will be here in forty-five seconds. do not try anything. what is your name? do you like your job? my name is t-87 and i love my job and my associates and the department and the whole human race. that sounds familiar. if you say so. i might have had a name like that and sentiments like that, long ago in a distant time and place. here are my beloved associates now. here you go guys, they are all yours. thank you, t-37. we have brought along u-33 to replace you here, as you will have to accompany us as we investigate this terrible breach. i understand, and i love you guys. and you, fellow, what is your name? i do not know, right. can you respond to a name? can you follow commands? i think so. we will find out. your name is jesse james 17. can you respond to that? i will try. do not try anything foolish or make any sudden moves. get in the back, and you, t-87, get in the front. goodbye, u-33, until we meet again. i love you guys. t-87 and jesse james 17 got in the cruiser, which roared off into the stratosphere, leaving u-33 behind to their thoughts. the highway is filled with victory all day. love your associatres. love the department. love the whole human race!

original story 26 - late at night

by bofa xesjum

late at night, life is a mystery luckily for sam green, olivia was out of town when the postcard arrived from revelatory negation servivces. but olivia had the car! sam had always felt it was a mistake to get rid of the second car. now he was trapped. he could call a cab, but surely that would leave a trail. he decided to walk down to the bus stop and take the bus to the train station, wait - maybe he could go down to the highway and hitchhike. but hitchhiking was obsolete, was it not? would he picked up immediately by the highway patrol, taken to a station and questioned? he was trapped in the modern world like a bug in a jar, or a ship in a bottle. * sam looked around the train station. he had never taken a train before, and the station was smaller than he had envisioned it. could he just walk up to the counter and say, how far can i get for x dollars? that did not sound like a twenty-first century way to do things. and did they want i d, like at an airport? he did not think so, but you could not be too careful. he watched as a woman in a red coat and matching hat went up to the counter and seemed to buy a ticket. so far as he could tell, she was not asked for any i d. he decided to risk it. he decided to buy a ticket to chicago - a good distance, but not so far away as to be noticed by the clerk. and he could always get off at any stop before chicago. yes - that was a good plan - good enough. sam took a deep breath. the woman in the red coat and hat moved away from the counter, and he headed toward it. and felt a hand on his arm.

original story 25 - happen

by bofa xesjum

i wonder if anything will happen to me today, vera mused. should i get up and go into the kitchenette and make myself another cup of coffee, or should i pick the remote up off the table beside me and turn on the television and watch the news? something important might have happened that i should know about. but what could be that important? i do not hear people shouting in the street outside. but then again, i am here on the fifteenth floor and if people were shouting in the street it would have to be awfully loud for me to hear it. so i guess i will get up and make another cup of coffee, even though the one i just drank was not all that great. suddenly the doorbell rang. who could that be? vera wondered. nobody ever comes to see me, and i do not remember ordering anything. maybe i ordered something months ago, and forgot all about it and now here it is. the bell rang again, but not as loudly, as if whoever was ringing was not very insistent, but when vera got up and opened the door she did not immediately see anybody. nor was there a package on the floor. then she looked up and saw a woman in s long coat walking down the corridor, apparently headed for the elevators around the corner. excuse me, vera called to the woman, but the woman did not seem to hear her and disappeared around the corner. vera did not want to follow her, because she did not have her shoes on. she thought, if i go back and put my shoes on, by the time i get to the elevator she will be gone. i wonder what that was all about. i wonder if it qualified as something happening. vera went back inside her apartment. she made herself another cup of coffee. then she sat back down on the sofa and picked up the remote and turned on the tv. “the view” was on. whoopi goldbetg and sunny hostin were going on about something, but as vera had not heard the start of the conversation, she could not make out what it was.

original story 24 - amusement on a summer morning

by bofa xesjum

so this is how you treat your best friend. i have no excuse. dawn was breaking outside the old house. jose li’s period of ascendancy was coming to an ignominious close. but the worst was yet to come. inspector quant was on his way. lady li poured herself another cup of coffee. considering all that had happened during the long night, she appeared remarkably composed. she was an old cowhand from the rio grande. no one had ever caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. she always professed not to believe in luck, but to make her own. now all her dreams of glory had been shattered and scattered to the four winds.> the car carrying inspector quant drove into the courtyard and the driver slammed on the brakes. the driver, sergeant oliphant, whistled a happy tune as he was a morning person. the inspectpr’s mind was blank, as it always was when he started on a case. a rabbit ran across the courtyard. upstairs, the earl slept peacefully and obliviously. person, the butler, knocked on the earl’s door. violence never solved anything. francesca, lady li’s maid, suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor. she strode purposefully toward person. take this to heart, and remember it well. youth will be served, when there are no more tea cups or tennis balls in hell. the inspector is here. < perhaps you can persuade him to just go away. many have tried, but tradition still holds sway. very amusing.

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.