tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17573562189623676692024-03-13T19:56:55.883-06:00Good and so good for you.merrilykarolyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16354896948729639433noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-4437974543505652082011-02-21T19:43:00.006-07:002011-02-21T20:18:02.292-07:00A, B, C, or D<span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 18px; ">Thomas sat down at a desk in the testing center in preparation to take his Certificate of Risk Licensing (CRL) exam.<span> </span>The computer screen stared back at him blankly as the testing attendant logged in on the keyboard.<span> </span>Thomas was nervous, but prepared.<span> </span>He had been studying for months, and the 100 question CRL exam would help further his career at the insurance firm he worked for.</span><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >“You’re all set; any questions?” the woman quietly asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >“No,” Thomas responded.<span> </span>“Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >After the woman left, he went through the introductory questions, the tutorial, and then clicked “Begin exam.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">Here we go</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">, he thought.<span> </span>His heart beat anxiously as the first question appeared.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: normal; " ><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnK9tPnHaBPjFUah69AeV6-swjIEQpTCaY7HukOmOi88twlmSw7NcIUdr5JeXsbsDVkqWzPUe3OWCUsDWnXrCyUEJ5I8HQimTsTu6AGUZqHPsQFbs71PyUhF5qvZtNFrh-b_XdU47K3T0/s1600/1.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnK9tPnHaBPjFUah69AeV6-swjIEQpTCaY7HukOmOi88twlmSw7NcIUdr5JeXsbsDVkqWzPUe3OWCUsDWnXrCyUEJ5I8HQimTsTu6AGUZqHPsQFbs71PyUhF5qvZtNFrh-b_XdU47K3T0/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576344034641260498" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 164px; " /></a></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">This one’s easy</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">, he thought.<span> </span><i>I’ve seen this before.</i><span> </span>He selected option ‘c’ and clicked ‘next.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >Thomas got through the next ten questions fairly easily and was feeling confident about how the exam was going until he came to question 12.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: normal; " ><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVDtFm8eqJ68VxkUjorqsm62AsFIjUOPhuweDms4wi_tOzQnDP05DtvuD6VKoLoupgNQt8UELgcHYt63DiU6rlFal7Di1468tSK31fdhdWxMX7YAYIM48fIKMGbQRtxpRRpMuzSzykhk/s1600/2.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVDtFm8eqJ68VxkUjorqsm62AsFIjUOPhuweDms4wi_tOzQnDP05DtvuD6VKoLoupgNQt8UELgcHYt63DiU6rlFal7Di1468tSK31fdhdWxMX7YAYIM48fIKMGbQRtxpRRpMuzSzykhk/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576344238518934738" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 174px; " /></a></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >He had to read the question a few times in order to understand what was being asked.<span> </span>As he contemplated the answers, Thomas looked down at the keyboard and noticed that the letter ‘c’ was highlighted.<span> </span><i>Must be a glitch in the keyboard</i>, he thought. <span> </span>He read through the answer options again and selected ‘c.’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >The next five questions were answered in a matter of minutes and Thomas was still feeling good about the exam.<span> </span>All the questions he had answered thus far were basic review questions, with a few case study examples.<span> </span><i>I knew I was ready for this; this is much easier than I expected.<span> </span>I’ll pass for sure</i>, Thomas thought.<span> </span>He then clicked the ‘next’ button and stared at the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: normal; " ><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgucQT8cgKen3FYYc3ouNwqtvDpnORQnhbOAAE9hT0JIXyCG9quXKQbmXgt__VmegMQTWCEQj_V278wnfoCeTeZJKFxDbvs5iYXjZmcosBmNKYOoRBvOXm3rv8LId3TyQbbutl0iiY4cPk/s1600/3.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgucQT8cgKen3FYYc3ouNwqtvDpnORQnhbOAAE9hT0JIXyCG9quXKQbmXgt__VmegMQTWCEQj_V278wnfoCeTeZJKFxDbvs5iYXjZmcosBmNKYOoRBvOXm3rv8LId3TyQbbutl0iiY4cPk/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576344242842728162" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 144px; " /></a></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >This question was a bit tougher, and Thomas tried to rule out obvious wrong answers.<span> </span>He looked down at the keyboard again to process his thoughts and noticed that ‘c’ was no longer highlighted.<span> </span>Instead, the letter ‘d’ glowed with a dim, orange light.<span> </span>Thomas’ brow furrowed, and he wondered what was wrong with the keyboard.<span> </span>He quickly clicked ‘previous question’ until he got back to question number two.<span> </span>He looked at his answer on the screen, marked as answer ‘c,’ and then down at the keyboard where ‘c’ was highlighted.<span> </span>Thomas looked over his shoulder at the testing officiator on the other side of the glass wall to see if she had noticed.<span> </span>He knew he was being videotaped and was unsure whether or not this was a practical joke.<span> </span>Thomas clicked forward in the exam to his current question, checking every answer against what key was highlighted on the keyboard; ‘a,’ ‘b,’ ‘c,’ or ‘d.’<span> </span>He was certain of his answers thus far in the exam, and so far everything he had marked matched up with what the keyboard highlighted.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">This keyboard knows the exam; it’s giving me the answers, </span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">Thomas realized.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >He read through the next question and, sure enough, the keyboard was giving him the correct answer.<span> </span>He clicked the ‘next’ button after confirming with the keyboard and answering the question, and continued the exam.<span> </span>He looked over his shoulder, then back at the keyboard, and thought about what was happening.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">I’m not doing anything wrong</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">, he thought. <span> </span><i>I came prepared for this test.<span> </span>I just so happened to sit at the desk with the cheating keyboard. <span> </span></i>He paused.<i><span> </span>Will I be caught?<span> </span>Could they catch me?</i><span> </span>Thomas noticed that he was sweating as he tried to justify his actions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">I won’t look at the keyboard</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">, he considered<i>.<span> </span>I’ll decide on the answer, </i>then<i> look at the keyboard for confirmation.<span> </span>I’m prepared anyways.<span> </span>Maybe this is just someone’s way of making sure I pass.<span> </span></i>He thought again about what he had decided, and then nodded to himself.<i> <span> </span>Okay, let’s do this.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >Thomas continued the exam, following his outlined plan, confirming with the keyboard after every question.<span> </span>He felt confident until he got to the third and final portion of the test, where he saw an exact question from his practice exams.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: normal; " ><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQIfFxtRJeeKJ6Np8yCgZtYqCQBeySG_8vpALhGBS7gPK4OIn2BJ8xOrs5xNJOri8tT9mdMpTLDBfZJxOvM6ZaoGaymPdcsZb432y894KCm1ycSmyC8bqi19DURGW7Qz1t9BTDQcCnGQ/s1600/4.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQIfFxtRJeeKJ6Np8yCgZtYqCQBeySG_8vpALhGBS7gPK4OIn2BJ8xOrs5xNJOri8tT9mdMpTLDBfZJxOvM6ZaoGaymPdcsZb432y894KCm1ycSmyC8bqi19DURGW7Qz1t9BTDQcCnGQ/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576344241769863458" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 136px; " /></a></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >It was a basic question, taken from the first chapter of his study book.<span> </span>He had answered this question dozens of times, but the keyboard was giving him a different answer than what he knew was right.<span> </span><i>This is ridiculous</i>, he thought<i>.<span> </span>I know the answer is ‘a’ but this stupid keyboard is telling me ‘d.’</i><span> </span>He clicked the ‘previous’ button, then went back to the question to make sure that the keyboard wasn’t stuck.<span> </span>The ‘d’ key glowed when the ‘a’ key should have been lit up.<span> </span><i>Agh! </i>he thought.<i> What is going on?<span> </span><o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >He selected ‘a’ and clicked the ‘next’ button, but couldn’t focus enough to read the next question.<span> </span>He went back to the previous question and stared at the screen, then the keyboard.<span> </span><i>It has given me the right answers every time; why is it doing this now? </i>Thomas thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >He considered raising his hand so the testing attendant would come to his computer, but realized what a fool he would look like.<span> </span>His mind started to spin and his eyes glassed over, and he tried to shake off the feeling of stupor.<span> </span>He looked back at the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">Maybe I shouldn’t be doubting the keyboard</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">, he considered.<span> </span><i>Maybe I’m confusing what I thought.<span> </span>But this is such a basic question.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >He changed his answer to ‘d’ and clicked ‘next.’<span> </span>Thomas went through the final part of the exam, second guessing himself and everything he thought he knew.<span> </span>He became more and more frustrated with himself and the keyboard for disagreeing, but he decided to side with what the keyboard told him.<span> </span>When he had finished all 100 questions, he looked at the clock in the top right hand corner of the screen and noticed that he still had thirty minutes left.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">I have enough time to review all the questions again,</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; "> he thought.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >Thomas when back to the beginning of the exam and, while reviewing his initial answers, realized that the keyboard was giving different answers now.<span> </span>Thomas frantically clicked the ‘next’ button, glancing from the keyboard to the screen as he reviewed each answer.<span> </span>Terror gripped his mind.<span> </span>He let go of the mouse and his hands shot to cover his face.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%; " >What is happening?<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >He looked back over his shoulder but nothing had changed.<span> </span>The room was deadly silent, but he was screaming inside.<span> </span>He wanted to smash the keyboard, to throw it against the wall.<span> </span>He looked back at the clock, noticing that only eighteen minutes remained.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">I have to calm down</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">, he thought.<span> </span><i>Just go through the questions again, and do what feels right.<span> </span>Don’t look at the keyboard.<span> </span>Forget the keyboard.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">As Thomas clicked through the questions, he became more confused and unsure of his answers.</span><span style="line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">He couldn’t help but look at the keyboard for what he thought was right.</span><span style="line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">He wondering if the keyboard had been lying all along, but </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">couldn't</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;"> bring himself to go </span><span style="line-height: 115%; ">against it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">.</span><span style="line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">He began changing answers based upon what the keyboard was now illuminating, even thought it meant going against what he had initially known.</span><span style="line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">He had five minutes to go as he sped through the last few questions, feeling ever more uncomfortable about his answers.</span><span style="line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >With one minute remaining, he completed the last question, and a screen popped up with the option to ‘end exam.’<span> </span>Thomas knew that this was either a ‘pass’ or ‘fail’ test, and that he had to get at least an eighty percent to pass and receive his CRL. <span> </span>He looked down at the keyboard and noticed that neither ‘a,’ ‘b,’ ‘c,’ or ‘d’ were illuminated.<span> </span>Only one key was bright, with that cheating orange glow: the ‘escape’ key.<span> </span>He looked back and forth from the ‘escape’ key to the ‘end exam’ button, and wondered if he could ‘escape’ after hitting the ‘end exam’ button.<span> </span>Something in him knew he could not.<span> </span>His left index finger hovered over the ‘escape’ button while his right index finger rested on the mouse.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">Where would this escape key take me?<span> </span>Is this some kind of magical keyboard?<span> </span>I’m pretty sure I failed this test, but I did what the keyboard said, so maybe I passed?<span> </span></span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; ">He felt a small glimmer of hope, but it wavered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >He hit the ‘escape’ key at the same time the screen flashed a message saying ‘time expired.’<span> </span>The screen went white, then black, then faded to a muted gray.<span> </span>With a slight popping noise, the computer shut off.<span> </span>Thomas looked from left to right in bewilderment but nothing changed.<span> </span>After a moment, the woman testing attendant came in the room with a troubled look on her face.<span> </span>She leaned over to whisper in Thomas’ ear.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 115%; " >“I’m so sorry, your exam didn’t save.<span> </span>The computer malfunctioned and we have no way of collecting your answers.<span> </span>You’ll have to come back and take the exam again.”</span></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-58838566184181821742010-10-01T23:58:00.001-06:002010-10-02T09:33:52.595-06:00Say It Ant So!<style>
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</style> <div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2010-09-26</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The fruit loop fell from a pudgy hand like a hoop of manna from heaven. It bounced between a gauntlet of legs and feet and began to roll down the sidewalk of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. It’s cohorts remained ensconced within a small Tupperware bowl jammed into a nearby coat pocket.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rants and chants filled the air while the sugar-encrusted loop rolled straight and true, miraculously avoiding the marching shoes, flip-flops, and occasional bare foot. It eventually wobbled and fell, lying just at the edge of tramping oblivion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She came quietly, unnoticed by the riotous crowds, wandering in apparent blindness, yet seeking with intense determination. Much like the picket signs waving fervently far above her, she waived her antennae to and fro, smelling the faint traces of sugar in the air. Oblivious to her danger, she marched back and forth, back and forth. She would not be denied!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After miles of inches, she found the sugary path. Her six legs churned, carrying her millimeter-long body swiftly over the weathered boulders of lime and sand. She could taste her salvation! Its sweet, tantalizing tang powered her forward. “Food! Food! Food!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An unfathomable distance away, the pudgy hand reached for a skirt and pulled. A woman turned, recognized the pained hunger and loss in the girl’s eyes, and lowered her sign with a frown. It read, “Feed the Needy, not the Greedy!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What happened?” She asked her daughter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I loosed one!” a round, tear-streaked face cried over the chants. “It went that way!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Glancing a few feet away, the mother saw the little, red loop appear briefly between the marching legs of fellow protestors.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well, let it go. I’ve got more.” She replied as she turned away, hoisted her sign high and resumed chanting, “Feed the hungry!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tears welled up again as the child turned to look longingly towards the wayward loop. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sun shone bright and hot for an early spring day and reflected off the carapace of the hungry ant, only inches from the coveted loop. The FD&C Red 40 glowed with promise, but the color was lost in her compound eye as she hurried up at full speed. “Food. Hunger. Queen. Eggs. Need….”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At first touch, she halted immediately with two legs suspended. She felt quickly and thoroughly, feeling overpowered by flavor. Her feelers padded gently across the sharp crystals of pure sugar embedded within waves of oat flour mortar. It arched up and out of sight, like a giant candy castle. “Perfect!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The ant paused to sample a delectable crumb. Then she began to climb. She needed to know how large this treasure was before reporting back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The child looked on, measuring the distance to her lost morsel and gauging her chances in the unruly crowd. Suddenly, she bolted.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The ant climbed carefully. Grasping the sugar crystals like a pro rock climber, she ascended the overhanging curve with ease, feeling no vertigo. She reached the top and began to walk the circumference. A shadow fell upon her and she paused in mid-stride. Her compound eyes sensed danger as the air stilled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A small hand reached down.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All at once, the air rushed. The old ant felt the vibrations of the slap. The girl flinched and rubbed her stinging hand. The mother looked angrily down and exclaimed, “Don’t run away! I could lose you in this crowd. Didn’t I tell you that over and over on the bus?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The girl scowled and looked back at her lost loop as she was dragged back into the marching crowd by her coat sleeve.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Help the Helpless!” shouted the mob.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The child turned, looked up sweetly and said, "May I have s'more?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"No." the mother replied without looking. "It needs to last." She fumbled one-handedly with her over-sized sign, still clinging to the daughter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Why?" the little one asked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Because it's all we brought for the march!" She looked down scornfully.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"No! Why we here?" Her exasperated voice rankled the mother.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"I told you that already!" the mother exclaimed, grabbing the sticky, little hand and resuming her march in double-time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Struggling to keep up, the little girl panted, "But...we...don'...know...needy...."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Yes, we do!" interrupted the mother, "They're all around us. Now keep up!" She raised her voice to join the new chant beginning around them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Share food, not war!"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Swept in a small circle, the pair soon approached the fence again and the girl began to watch the ground forlornly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few squares of sidewalk ahead, the ant finished her review of the sugar coated castle. It dwarfed her minuscule body, but that didn't daunt her in the least. She knew just how her nest would disassemble this feast! It was time to return for help.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Heady with the overpowering scent of artificial cherry flavor, she decided to take just one more taste. Her old body could use the sweet sustenance for the return trip.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She located a smallish morsel. Leaning down, she bit and the sun went dark. She felt tremendous force lift her skyward and the brilliant sun returned.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Speeding away from the earth, her minimal depth perception was soon gone leaving her in a world consisting only of the sugar-studded loop and two pudgy mounds pressing in.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite the strange situation, she felt calm from her sweet intoxication. She was now much higher above earth than ever before in her short life, but she couldn't see to feel fear. She raised her antennae into the rushing air, tasting a breadth of sensations and aromas that overwhelmed her, knocking her from her sugary bliss.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She made her way to the nearest pudgy mound and tasted carefully. However impossible it seemed, she tasted a cornucopia of food! Her discovery had gone from wonderful to unbelievable!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then the sun went out again and her world collapsed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The mother looked down at the smiling face of her daughter, tugging on her coat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"I found it mommy!" she exclaimed, beginning to skip along side.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Good! Now keep up”, said the mother.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They marched on. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></div>Skywalkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03640894169170110107noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-16388949343251458882010-10-01T10:41:00.002-06:002010-10-01T10:57:56.628-06:00Status<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 112, 192); "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Jana Hawkins</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > is going to the Halcombe Smithers rally tonight!!!!!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It’s gonna be awesome! lol :)”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Jana was very excited.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Her first political rally!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She wasn’t exactly sure what this Halcombe Smithers guy was all about, but that didn’t matter.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She felt so active, so patriotic, so… American.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She went out and bought an entirely new outfit just for the occasion.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She made a huge sign with Smithers’ famous “Pick Up the PEACEes” slogan in bright blue and red.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She even posted about it on her Facebook status so everyone could see how serious she was about politics.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Wow girl i am sooooo jealous lol that rally is going to rock!!!!” commented an old friend she hadn’t seen in more than a decade.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“That is wonderful.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I remember when you were just a little junior high schooler, giggling about the cute boy you sat next to in geography class.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And now you’re a responsible adult, attending an important civic occasion.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I am impressed,” said one of her old church leaders.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“We'll see what the rally turns out to be, but I have a hard time believing that it's a plea to both sides to listen to each other when he's made it very clear that he has nothing but contempt for the. . . </span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 112, 192); "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">see more</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >” said a friend of Jana’s sister, who commented on every picture Jana ever posted, and whom Jana had not really wanted to “be friends with” in the first place.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Jana felt a thrill of excitement run through her at all the comments.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She was just so </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >involved</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >! <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Making sure to check that no new comments had been added while she was getting ready, Jana looked at the clock at 6:43 and decided it was time to leave.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Nervousness had given her a temperamental stomach, so all she had been able to force down for dinner was half a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The other half was sitting, slowly turning to soggy mush, on the counter in the kitchen.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She carefully took stock of the things she was holding in her hands and, with a thrill, walked to the garage, got in her car, and headed out.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >******</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“So, you’re sure this girl is gone for the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >whole</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > night Kev?”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sitting in the passenger side of the old Chevy truck a few houses down the street, Manuel watched casually as Jana pulled out of her driveway and headed towards them.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >As she passed the truck and turned left at the corner behind them, he scanned the neighborhood around them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Yeah man, I told you like a million times, she’s been posting about it on Facebook for like three months.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She won’t be back till like eleven at the earliest.”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Kevin smoked his cigarette with the air of someone who thought he was on an MTV reality show.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >He made every inhalation seem important.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The minutes ticked by.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It was 7:30 when Manuel spoke again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Alright, let’s go.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Kevin pulled the old truck slowly up to the curb in from of Jana’s house and the two men got out.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >They walked confidently to the side gate and Manuel took one quick look around him before he sprang nimbly over.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >A dull ‘clip’ and a few seconds later the gate was swinging steadily open.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Kevin passed through and shut it quietly behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >They did not have to speak as they broke the screen off a back window, broke through the glass, and reached through to unlatch the lock.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >They had done it all so many times.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >They moved like two parts of a whole.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >By 7:34 they were in Jana’s bedroom.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >******</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 112, 192); "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Jana Hawkins</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > is totally making history at the Halcombe Smithers rally!!!! this man is so the next mahatima gandii lol!!!”</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“And that’s why we’ve got to pick our sorry carcasses off the cracked and crumbling soil of this great American nation, dust off our pants, and put the PEACEes back together.”</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The crowd roared around Jana and she found herself screaming in ecstasy, almost as though she couldn’t help it, along with them.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Brilliant</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >, she thought.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Every word he said was just so deeply moving, it was like she had heard the words before in a movie, but this time she was actually </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >in</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > the movie along with all the famous actors.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And to think, she was actually witnessing it all first hand.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Smithers, a distant figure on a stand hundreds of feet in front of her, pumped his fist in the air again, for added emphasis, and the crowd roared even louder.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Jana had been getting a flattering amount of comments on every status update she had done.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She had been posting about once every twenty minutes, and she couldn’t believe how many of her friends cared.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >One of the new friends she had made, a guy named Kevin Baldwin, had commented on every one of her updates.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She couldn’t quite remember where she had met Kevin, but in all the pictures she looked through on his profile he looked really cute, and she was pretty sure she had known him in grade school or something.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Life was just so good right now.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >******</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Manuel stopped suddenly in the kitchen and Kevin, who was carrying Jana’s 21’ flatscreen TV, ‘oomphed’ as he barreled into Manuel’s back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“What, dude?” Kevin grumbled but Manuel just continued to stare at something Kevin couldn’t see.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Kev, do you see that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“What are you talking about?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Right there, on the counter.”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Kevin swore, shifting the TV from his right arm to his left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Dude, what the…” Kevin’s voice trailed off as Manuel moved enough for him to see what he was staring at.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“How the @$%& did she know?” Manuel whispered, almost reverently as his eyes bored holes into the mushy half-eaten bowl of cereal on the counter.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >A siren screamed suddenly, from some distance away, getting closer at an alarming speed.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Kevin dropped the TV with a crash and ran desperately for the garage.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Manuel,” he screamed, slamming his hand on the garage door opener affixed to the wall.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >He leaped into the truck they had pulled into the garage earlier.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Get the &@$% out here dude!”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The siren was getting closer, a lot closer.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“How…” Manuel whispered again, his voice almost a breath.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Finally, as though snapped out of his trance by some unseen force, Manuel looked up in horror and whipped his body into action.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >He made a bolt for the garage.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Kevin had already started to peel out as Manuel lunged for the passenger side door, wrenched it open, and flung himself in. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Kevin hit the gas and forced his way through all the furniture and appliances they had been stacking by the open bed of the truck, which went flying in all directions.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Jana’s brand new desktop computer escaped being crushed to pieces by about two inches.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The sirens were close now and Kevin looked around the neighborhood wildly as he tried to decide which way to escape.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Manuel pointed frantically to the left and Kevin sped off, never once looking back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Seconds later two police cars and an ambulance pulled into the driveway of the house across from Jana’s.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Mr. Brooks, an elderly gentleman, came hobbling out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“She’s breathing easier now, but I’m still glad you folks are here,” he said, wheezing slightly.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >A policemen and a paramedic walked calmly up the path, following Mr. Brooks back into the house.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Two other policemen stayed out on the porch, looking disgustedly after Mr. Brooks’ retreating back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“This is the third time this month,” one of the men said to the other in an undertone. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“I wish the old lady would just kick the bucket and get it over with.”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The other man chuckled and nodded sympathetically.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Well, at least it’s a nice night, huh?” he said and turned to survey the pretty evening sky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“What the…?” he said, starting, and the other policeman turned in to look.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >They noticed, for the first time, the utter mayhem across the street.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >******</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 112, 192); "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Jana Hawkins</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > got ROBBED tonight!!!!!! :( :( :( well almost!!!!! I am totally FREAKED OUT right now!!!!! :( :(“<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Jana sat slumped in a kitchen chair in her now empty living room.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It was going to take forever to get everything back where it was supposed to go.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Police officers were swarming everywhere, jabbering excitedly to each other, walking briskly through the rooms of her house.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She felt so betrayed.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >So violated.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And on </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >this</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > night of all nights.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The glow of the rally had long since faded, wiped brutally away by the sight of her savaged home.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She got up and walked gloomily towards her battered TV which was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, a piece of the plastic frame cracked and scratched.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She picked up the plug, wondering vaguely if it still worked.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She plugged it in to a nearby outlet and pressed the power button ‘on.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Police are still looking for the two men known as the “Cereal Robbers,” a smart looking woman in a bright red blazer said, her face creased with professional concern.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“There have been six break-ins in the east valley this month alone, all by the same two men who leave a strange calling card at every victim’s home.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >A half eaten bowl of cereal…”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The woman paused for the strangeness of her words to have their full effect and a picture flashed on the screen of a bowl half-filled with grayish mush.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Please contact the police if you have any information regarding these terrible crimi-“ Jana pressed the power button again and the TV screen went blank.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >, she thought, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >at least it still works</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She pulled out her phone and pulled up her Facebook page again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 112, 192); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Jana Hawkins</span> </span></span></span><span style="color: black; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >is totally not sleeping at home tonight!!! :(</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >im going over to my moms i dont think i'll be able to sleep here for a long time oh my gosh how could someone do something like this i'm so upset…”</span></span></span><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman","serif""><o:p></o:p></span></p>Camilla Colehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986421785931719572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-73093443833965212452010-10-01T10:24:00.001-06:002010-10-01T10:40:38.769-06:00Black and White<p class="MsoNormal">His car jolted to a stop and his eyes glazed over.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>L49 A9W.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He looked up from the license plate on the car in front of him and stared at a homeless man pushing a shopping cart full of his belongings down the sidewalk.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The homeless man walked up to the stand where one could sell cans for 70 cents a lb.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">He’s maybe got 300 cans in that bag.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not bad, </i>the man in the car thought.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just then, the car in front of him sped forward, and he took off.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>The man had made the trip thousands of times.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Right on Backwood Drive, left on Harris, all the way to his office.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Harris was the fastest way to get to work.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He was so used to the trip that he knew exactly which lane to be in at which intersection.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>However, the trip was such a routine that the man could practically do it in his sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sometimes he would pull into the parking garage at work and realize that he had made the 45 minute commute without thinking at all.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He had tired of the radio and would occasionally listen to CD’s, but most often, he didn’t listen to anything.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He picked at the back of his teeth with his tongue and thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">that Malt-O-Meal really leaves something to be desired.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It tasted about as soggy in the bowl as it does in my teeth one hour later.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Today was different though.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The man didn’t realize it, but today was different.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He would finally think about something worth thinking about.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>As he approached 48<sup>th</sup> Drive, the man noticed more brake lights than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">That’s odd</i>, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">An accident, maybe?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></i>He was so thrown off his usual course that the man made an abrupt turn on a street that would help him avoid the traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He only went on this street when there was an accident or construction on Harris.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Again, the man knew the quickest way to get to work; he was no novice here.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As the man turned on the street, he saw throngs of people, all in white t-shirts, gathering at the nearest park.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In fact, they were coming from everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The man looked closer, trying to make out what was on their shirts.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">A logo</i>, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">No, wait, it looks like…a road.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No, a track.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A train track.</i><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The people looked mad.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">What is this about</i>, he wondered.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just then another group caught his eye.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>These people were wearing black shirts with the logo “Get your railroad off our ROAD!” in large print.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The man pulled forward in the intersection, but was so intrigued by what was going on that he decided to pull to the side of the road and watch.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The two groups converged in the middle of the park, white on one side, black on the other.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>On a raised platform were two women: one finely dressed woman and one overweight, ragged-looking woman.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He recognized the finely dressed woman from posters around town.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She was running for mayor and was obviously siding with the white shirts.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The ragged-looking woman was wearing the black shirt with the logo on it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>The man unrolled his windows so he could hear what each woman said.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They each had microphones so the crowd could hear what they said.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The mayor candidate was composed and relaxed as she began.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“This railroad is just what the city needs.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It will bring jobs and tourism to our city, which so desperately needs increased revenues.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If I am elected mayor, I will make sure this train makes all the right stops, and folks, it’s stoppin’ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">here</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The last word was said with emphasis (and attitude), and the man thought it sounded clever, her little pun.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The raggy woman then gathered her thoughts and said, “Listen; I am a business owner, along with hundreds of you gathered here, and we know that this railroad would ruin our businesses!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her promises of increased revenues would be at our expense!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Our shops would be shut down!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Our families forced to move so factory warehouses could go up!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You must understand that this is just some ploy to get her elected!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s just being draped under the guise of “helping the community!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It is no help!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So get your railroad off our ROAD!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This was met with screams and cheers, support and hate.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The crowd was even more worked up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The candidate tried to say something in her microphone, but was drowned out by noise.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>The man got out of his car, and the noise was deafening.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>People were continuing to swarm towards the park, and he soon found himself being drawn in as well.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He found himself drawn towards the white section, as he was wearing his customary white shirt and tie for work.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">I don’t even remember hearing anything about this issue</i>, he thought, as he watched the two women argue on the stage.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>However, all the “Vote Yes on this or that Prop” signs did crowd each other out on the street corners.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He must’ve not noticed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>The man began to look around at his fellow white shirters and it donned on him that he was supporting a railroad going up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Why?</i>, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Why would I want it to go up?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The ragged woman made some good points.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hm.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I wonder what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></i>As the man thought that thought, someone tapped him on the shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He turned and recognized the elderly gentleman, a popular news reporter for TRX News, Channel 7, immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Can I ask you a few questions, sir?” the reporter asked.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The man nodded unsurely as a cameraman turned his camera on.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>The man followed the gentleman off to the side of the rally.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The elderly gentleman was dressed in a nice suit, and his hair was slicked back, with an even part on the right side.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He wasted no time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“How do you feel this railroad will positively impact our community?” the reporter asked.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Uh, how do I get out of this?</i>, the man thought.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Well, I uh, feel that we will…see increased revenues and good business skills.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For…it.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">No. What did I just say?</i>, the man thought.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He caught the reporter glancing at the cameraman and they shared a look.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>An annoyed, unimpressed look.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Well, thank you for your time, sir,” the reporter said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>The man looked up at the crowd, back to the annoyed, elderly reporter, and then thought to himself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">this is why I never go to political rallies.</i></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-72490759888262225082010-10-01T08:48:00.000-06:002010-10-01T08:48:04.284-06:00Math is EverywhereAs Gwynneth stared into her bowl of wheat checks, she thought how beautiful a sight it was—tiny little concentric squares that formed a netting of wheat, trapping sugared milk in just the right way. A mathematically perfect balance of cereal and milk. <br />
<br />
The bowl was the contrast: round, with a deep blue rim and a floral pattern on the side. But the blue, against the golden brown of the cereal—that was beauty. <br />
She felt a tap on the head and looked up to see her mother’s disappointed face. <br />
<br />
“I told you to get your clothes on before breakfast,” Mom said. “And here you are, sitting and watching your cereal get soggy, and it’s about five minutes until the bus comes.”<br />
<br />
“I’ll walk by myself right now,” Gwynneth said as usual.<br />
<br />
“No, you won’t.”<br />
<br />
“I promise I won’t stop.”<br />
<br />
“You aren’t capable of not stopping, Gwyn. Put your cereal in the sink and get your clothes on, please.”<br />
<br />
Gwynneth took her bowl to the sink and emptied it, feeling a stab of mourning at the site of so much beauty gone down the drain. She walked up the stairs (one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve) and down the hall (one, two, three doors) and into her room. <br />
<br />
There they were, neatly laid out at the foot of her bed. <br />
<br />
She slid her legs into the stretchy flowered leggings, put the jean skirt with the heart pockets on, slid on the light-blue T-shirt and the white hooded sweater over it. She walked past the mirror, keeping her gaze trained away from it, and got her shoes. <br />
<br />
One loop, two loops, cross over, knot. <br />
<br />
One loop, two loops, cross over, knot.<br />
<br />
She walked back down the stairs (tweleve-eleven-ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three-two-one) and met her mother at the door. <br />
<br />
“You don’t have to walk me,” Gwynneth said again, flicking a glance at her mother.<br />
Her mother didn’t answer, just followed her down the sidewalk to the sign. <br />
<br />
“All right,” Mother sighed finally, as the bus drove up. “Come right home, Gwyn. I don’t have time to pick you up this afternoon. Please don’t miss your bus.”<br />
<br />
“OK,” Gwynn replied.<br />
<br />
On the bus, trees flashed by. Fenceposts streamed by, too fast to count. She watched the fenceline buck and tumble along, rising and falling with the hills that ran along the road.<br />
<br />
It was a long ride, to Skaggsvile Junior High. And there were plenty of thoughts to have; plenty of things to think about. One of the things Gwynneth thought about was the fact that she’d left her red Music binder on her bed. She felt her heart race, then slow. Oh well. There wasn’t much she could do about it, now.<br />
<br />
Cows. Black and white. How many spots?<br />
<br />
Sheep. White, with black legs. <br />
<br />
Posters, posters, posters. Deanna Skaggs for city commissioner. Emily Helman for school superintendant. Marshal Lindstrom for sheriff… great blue and red letters on blinding white squares. So bright they almost seemed to wiggle in Gwynneth’s vision. <br />
<br />
The bus slowed. Gwynn sat up in her seat and craned her neck, trying to see out of the bus’s broad windshield. <br />
<br />
She could see there were people—people, with more of those blinding signs. They were marching across the road, in one big pack, like a herd of loose cows. <br />
<br />
“What’s going on? Why’d we stop? What are all those people doing?” The kids started throwing out questions to the bus driver, who looked just as puzzled as anybody. She pulled the pump handle to open the door. There was a hiss of air as the door folded in, and the bus driver jumped to the ground. <br />
<br />
The children watched as she talked to a few of the people, who each shook their heads. Then the driver shrugged and began walking toward the bus, pulling a cell phone out of her pocket. <br />
<br />
“What’s going on?” A curly-haired boy behind Gwynneth demanded. <br />
<br />
“I don’t know,” Gwynneth turned to reply.<br />
<br />
The curly-haired boy stared at her. “I wasn’t asking you,” he said finally. <br />
The doors hissed and folded open again, and the bus driver came tromping up the steps. <br />
<br />
“We can’t go for a while,” she said. “I’ll call the school and let them know.”<br />
<br />
“What is it?” The curly haired boy cupped his hands around his mouth so that he would be heard over the roar of chatter.<br />
<br />
“Some kind of protest,” the bus driver said, then sat heavily in the seat.<br />
<br />
“Political protest,” Gwynneth said quietly to herself. <br />
<br />
She knew what those were. They talked about them a lot on the news lately. She liked the news—most of the kids her age liked cartoons. But the news was so much more quiet and calm. And planned. In a cartoon, any old thing could happen; crazy things that should never happen.<br />
<br />
No, give Gwynneth the news any day over cartoons.<br />
<br />
Gwynneth stood (even though it was against the rules), and poked her head and upper body out the window, leaning away from the bus so she could get a better look at some of the signs. On one of them she could make out the president’s name, but that was about it. She slid back into her seat.<br />
<br />
“See anything?”<br />
<br />
Gwynneth saw the curly-haired boy peering over the top of the seat. She shrugged.<br />
<br />
“Hey, what’s your name?” He asked.<br />
<br />
“Gwynneth.”<br />
<br />
“You’re in special education, right?”<br />
<br />
“I’m in the gifted program.”<br />
<br />
Curly haired boy chuckled. “Right.” <br />
<br />
Gwynneth frowned and turned back around in her seat.<br />
<br />
“How long is this going to take?” Somebody whined from the back.<br />
<br />
The bus driver turned around. “Don’t know,” she said. “Siddown.” <br />
<br />
“Can we get out?” <br />
<br />
“Nope.” <br />
<br />
Gwynneth glanced at her digital watch. It had been twenty three minutes almost exactly since the bus had stopped.<br />
<br />
“What time is it?” Curly haired boy asked, coming around the seat and sitting in the space next to her. <br />
<br />
“Seven fifty-six.” <br />
<br />
“You could’ve just said eight.”<br />
<br />
“It’s not eight.” <br />
<br />
“You’re weird.”<br />
<br />
“Good for you, for figuring that out. You must be brilliant.” Gwynneth snapped.<br />
<br />
Curly haired boy straightened up in the seat and grinned. “My mom thinks so.”<br />
<br />
“Everyone’s <i>mom</i> thinks they’re smart.” <br />
<br />
Curly haired boy pursed his lips for a moment. “Whatever,” he said, finally. <br />
<br />
There was a sudden rise in the volume of the voices outside. Gwynneth realized that the protesters were approaching the bus. <br />
<br />
“What are they saying?” Someone in front of Gwynneth asked.<br />
<br />
“No Bussing,” Gwynneth answered.<br />
<br />
A pigtailed head appeared above the line of seats. “They don’t like busses?”<br />
<br />
“No, it’s about how they change the school boundaries so that kids from all different places can go to school together. You know how we went to a new school this year, and drive a lot farther?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” curly haired boy groaned.<br />
<br />
“Well, I’m the last stop, and I go a lot farther than you,” Gwynneth said. “And because of the bussing thing I can go to the gifted. I’d have to go to Blueridge Elementary with Mrs. Eldridge and her counting cubes.”<br />
<br />
The loudness of the protesters, as they streamed out on either side of the bus, suddenly made talking impossible. Gwynneth stood again and stuck her head out the window. This time, she looked down on several people, who stared up at her in surprise and stopped chanting for a moment.<br />
<br />
“Hi,” Gwynneth said.<br />
<br />
“Hello,” a lady wearing a red straw visor responded. <br />
<br />
“When are you going to be done?” <br />
<br />
The lady looked taken aback. “Well...” she stammered.<br />
<br />
“We’re missing math.”<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry about that.” The lady paused. “Maybe just think of it as a little holiday, you know? You’re missing school. I bet that doesn’t upset you all too much.” <br />
<br />
“You’re wrong,” Gwynneth said, and pulled her head back into the window. She sat, slumped in her seat for a moment, glancing at her watch and feeling the anxiety rise. The chant resumed, and didn’t get any quieter—nobody was moving away. <br />
It seemed that this bus was going to be the target of the protest. <br />
<br />
Gwynneth looked at the giant mirror that hung over the bus-driver’s head. All around her, kids were throwing pieces of paper at each other, chattering, digging through their lunch sacks. The bus driver was balancing a paper-back book on the steering wheel, looking up occasionally to gripe about keeping the bus clean. <br />
<br />
Gwynneth began to boil. <br />
<br />
She stood up on the seat again, and stuck her head out the window. “All of you should just GO HOME!” She yelled.<br />
<br />
“Hey!” The bus driver set her book down. “Siddown!” <br />
<br />
Several people stopped, and stared up at her, open-mouthed.<br />
<br />
“What is your problem, anyway?” Gwynneth continued. “Why do you care where our bus goes? Is it such a bad thing to have to watch a yellow bus drive by every day?" <br />
<br />
“Siddown!” The bus driver repeated. <br />
<br />
“You don’t understand, little girl,” said a man wearing a red, white and blue shirt with a picture of some guy's face on it. “It’s about the government telling us what to do. Don’t you hate it when people give you rules?”<br />
<br />
“NO,” said Gwynneth. “And if you hate rules so much, how come you’re not marching around the school?”<br />
<br />
“Beg your pardon?” <br />
<br />
“Well, the government pays for the school. They give money and it’s a rule that every kid has to go to school. They do tests to make sure the rules are followed about what we learn. How come you’re here walking around our bus instead of walking around the school?” <br />
<br />
The people who had stopped under Gwynneth’s window looked at her like she was crazy, which Gwynneth was used to. The bus driver was staring at her, too. But at least she had stopped yelling. <br />
<br />
“Can you please just let us get going again so I don’t miss primary analogies?” Gwynneth pleaded. “And… write letters, or something?” She pulled her head inside the bus and shut her window. She pulled out her blue math binder and stared at it. She felt deflated. Like the whole world was collapsing in on her. No Math today. <br />
<br />
There was no chance now, because everybody at school was putting away their math binders right now, and starting Primary Analogies. And then it would be music, which Gywnneth had accidentally left at home. Math was over. <br />
<br />
Gwynneth’s fingers trembled as she clutched the straps of her backpack.<br />
<br />
Maybe she could just look at the lesson. Maybe the numbers on the page would make things just a little bit better.<br />
<br />
She pulled out her math workbook and turned to today’s lesson, which was about dividing fractions. She looked at the problems for a long time, thinking how they might be done. The textbook was at school, and of course, her teacher, too. She was surprised at the taste of salt—was she crying? How strange. How embarrassing. <br />
<br />
“You flip them,” Curly Haired boy’s voice shattered Gwynneth’s thoughts.<br />
She hastily wiped her cheek and glared at him.<br />
<br />
“I did this math last year. I can show you.” He slid back into the space next to her and reached for her book.<br />
<br />
She whipped it away from him. “You’re not my teacher.”<br />
<br />
“So? If I know how to do it, and you don’t, and you want to know… why shouldn’t I show you how?”<br />
<br />
“Why do you want to show me how? I bet you don’t even like math.”<br />
<br />
“I’m kind of bored.” <br />
<br />
“You’ll teach me wrong.”<br />
<br />
Curly haired boy shook his head. “It’s the same, Gwynneth. You have to do the same thing to get the right answer… math doesn’t,” he shrugged. “It’s not like writing an essay or something where you can put any answer you want. There’s only one answer and there’s a best way of getting the answer, too. And I know it.” <br />
<br />
Gwynneth stared at him, astonished. He knows, she thought. He knows about Math. One answer. Just one, for each problem, making the world such a safe place, where at least in one thing, nothing that shouldn't happen ever did. <br />
<br />
“We’re not in class,” she ventured.<br />
<br />
“Classrooms are just seats and desks and a big thing in front to write on. You’ve got a seat, and your binder can be like your desk, it’s hard enough to write on. And I don’t need a big thing to write on, I”ll just write on your page and I can erase it if you want me to.”<br />
<br />
Gwynneth edged the workbook in his direction. <br />
<br />
“Now who’s the genius?” He said, grinning at her.<br />
<br />
“Just show me how to do it.” Gwynneth said. “Thanks,” she added quietly. <br />
<br />
She watched him as he read through the directions, silently forming the words with his lips, an intense look of concentration on his face. <br />
<br />
Outside the chant continued, but it slowly faded into the background for Gwynneth, as she began to focus on the beautiful symmetry of division and fractions. When she set her pencil to the paper she sighed, feeling the safeness of it all fill her, make her warm to her fingertips. It was beautiful. <br />
<br />
Numbers were the same whether they were on the bus or in class, whether your teacher or a curly-haired boy taught them to you. The windows on the bus seemed, to Gwynneth, to expand until the whole world had opened up for her, letting her in, surrounding her vinyl bus-seat. <br />
<br />
Kind of like God, Gwynneth thought, Math really is everywhere.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00466860937596192472noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-55700126403855877342010-10-01T07:43:00.002-06:002010-10-01T08:03:41.596-06:00Uniko For President<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:relyonvml/> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> 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mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b style=""><br /></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b style="">Part I</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mag sighed as she finished her breakfast of Honey Bunches, then trudged out into the passageway. As always, Abb was waiting for her. And today she was positively glowing with excitement. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“So about that rally this afternoon…” Mag began nervously as they made their way to class. “I’ve been thinking it over and I really don’t know if--”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Mag, you promised!” her sister interrupted. “You have to come. Uniko herself is going to be there!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Mag muttered. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">During dance class, she had a hard time concentrating. Ebs, the instructor, made her do extra rotations during the break.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Remember, Mag,” Ebs intoned. “You really must focus on what you are communicating with your movement. Every movement has a purpose, tells a story. What message could you possibly be trying to convey with that drooping posterior?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">How about,<i style=""> “I’m confused,” </i>or maybe,<i style=""> “I’m scared and have no idea what to do”?</i> Mag thought to herself.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">After class, Mag reluctantly agreed to meet Abb ten minutes later in their secret spot. </span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">This was all incredibly dangerous, and if it had been any other time of year, Mag would have refused to go to the rally.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><span style="font-size:85%;">It was too cold outside to go foraging for food though, so no one would be monitoring her comings and goings after class. And Abb had always come through for her, so she at least owed her this much. Mag decided she would attend the rally and then refuse further involvement.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Anxiously, she slipped through the dark passageway and felt her way to the meeting place. She waited for a long time. Too long. Where was Abb? Something was wrong.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">After a while, she became aware of a faint buzzing sound. It grew louder. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Someone was coming. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The noise increased until it enveloped her in a deafening roar. She knew she was surrounded. She felt the cell begin to heat up. She started to struggle for air, and knew it was no use. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">Curse you, Uniko!</i> she thought bitterly, the heat overwhelming her. <i style="">Despite all your promises,</i> a<i style="">ll you do is divide us and get us killed.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Ironically, as she took her last gasps of breath, she thought only of the waste of all of this on her. They should have been using their energy to warm the winter passageways, not to kill <i style="">her</i>. She was only a lowly worker.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">I will be faithful…</i> she recited in her mind as she faded away. <i style="">I love our way of life, our harmony. I will always serve LaReyna...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">*************</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">And then she came to in a small, hexagonal cell. Abb was leaning over her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You’re awake!” her sister cried, embracing her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Yes…” Mag began, starting to get up, then noticing that they were not alone in the room.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Uniko.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I am deeply sorry for what happened to you,” Uniko said. “Your valor will not be forgotten.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><span style="font-size:85%;">“Uniko saved you,” Abb explained eagerly. “She saved you by starting a fire. When they smelled the smoke, they left for the storehouses to gather as much as they could in earnest.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mag shook her head and looked at Uniko. Little Worker Uniko, the cause of so much disorder and violence in the colony. “Just more proof that you are willing to destroy our home for your own purposes,” she said.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Uniko nodded. “I can understand why you might feel that way. I wish it weren’t so dangerous to meet together and that there were peaceful alternatives. But LaReyna makes that impossible. As my following grows, so does the danger, and thus the need to protect ourselves in any way we can.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“For the record,” Mag said, rising, “I am not a part of your following. I was only coming with Abb as a favor to her. There is nothing your little rallies achieve except more disharmony among us.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><span style="font-size:85%;">“Say what you will, LaReyna’s rule is unjust,” Uniko replied with increasing fervor. “She rules with tyranny. She kills those who oppose her. She forces all to be her slaves and works us to death. </span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><span style="font-size:85%;">All for the good of the colony. The <i style="">harmony</i> of the colony. We should be able to make decisions for ourselves, to vote for a leader who will truly represent us. I won’t stop until I can make sure every single one of us is treated equally, with an equal chance to be something great and to choose our own destinies!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Save it for your rallies,” Mag said, lying back down. “Destinies! Hah!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b style="">Part II</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">It had finally come: Election day.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mag was still in shock that the day had come at all. Voting? Presidents? What would her grandmother have thought had she been alive to see this day? But, of course, she wasn’t alive. LaReyna’s workers had made sure of that.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Suddenly, LaReyna’s voice was deep and powerful in her mind. It pushed out all other thoughts.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">Vote for me</i>, it said. <i style="">Vote vote vote for me me me.</i></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">And then the rich smells hit Mag. They filled up her cell. They were overpowering, overwhelming, intoxicating, inviting, delicious. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">Of course you will vote for me. I have kept you safe. Given you a home. Provided you with food. I am your family. I provide order. Shelter. Love. I have allowed you this vote to show you that I truly love you and care what you have to say. We must rid ourselves of all doubt, all betrayal. We stand united…</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mag moved to cast her vote. Of course she would vote for LaReyna. She had kept her safe. Given her a home. Provided her with food— </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Then Mag heard them. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Unik-o! Unik-o! Unik-o for Pres-i-dent!” they chanted.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Snapped out of her reverie, Mag realized that the smells had lessened, dissipated. Fresh air wafted into her cell. She could think on her own again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">She voted.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">*************</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The results were in. Mr. L. Drone, a recent addition to the colony, was to tally them and make the announcement. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">At the grand podium, Uniko at his right hand and the magnificent LaReyna at his left, he read the final count.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“28,062 votes for the Grand Queen LaReyna,” he announced. “And 29,650 for Worker Uniko. Uniko is the new President, by vote of the people.” He then quickly, hurriedly, frantically, made his exit.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">There was a long silence. And then LaReyna turned on Uniko and attacked. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">It all happened so quickly, but in the end, there were two dead bodies fallen next to the grand podium. One was LaReyna’s. The other was lowly Mag’s, her stinger dislodged from her body and driven deep into the heart of the Queen.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b style="">Part III</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b style="">March 13<sup>th</sup> – Recorded observations of neighboring hive activity [as notated by Log Hive Reporter #43]:</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“…The number of workers who leave Tree Hive in the morning seems to be smaller every day. When they do leave, they don’t seem to fly very quickly or to be headed in any particular direction. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The foragers we have observed also seem to take frequent rests—they are often found dozing in the West Red Long-Stemmed Patch in the heat of the day. (Such a decline in work ethic is puzzling now that the spring foraging season is here.) When questioned, they often use a perplexing word, <i style="">DESTINY</i>, as some kind of explanation for their behavior.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">One observer recently reported a fight that broke out between two Tree Hive scouts. Two scouts <i style="">on the same team</i>.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">It is even whispered by some that the Tree Hivers have stopped producing honey and are slowly starving to death. Sadly, there don’t seem to be any new workers in the hive to replace the old ones. Such a shame…”</span></p>merrilykarolyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16354896948729639433noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-69454207161720663352010-10-01T06:31:00.006-06:002010-10-01T06:39:55.421-06:00<span style="font-size:130%;">The Whole Truth</span><br /><br />It may seem strange to begin a communication such as this with a discussion of breakfast cereal, but it is nonetheless essential that I do so.<br /><br />My story begins when I was a young child. There was a cereal my mother bought for us called ,"Crunch King," which consisted of little balls of corn cereal coated in sugar, and appearing in five colors: red, blue, green, yellow, and orange. This cereal was an off-brand, made to compete with one of the General Mills big sellers. As children will do, we innovated, finding unusual ingredients to add to our bowls of cereal. The most unforgettable was to mix frozen peas (don’t ask me why!) with the Crunch King balls--and I remember that the Crunch balls seemed to be a bit more buoyant in the milk than the peas were. I don’t remember if we actually ate the concoction.<br /><br />I move forward in my narration now to my adult life when I was newly making my way in the world of business as an accountant. I was in Wensington, South Carolina for a business seminar, and was staying at the Hotel Grande. Also in Wensington that night was a political rally put on by the Commoner Party, then still a very obscure group. As it happened, a number of the participants at that rally were staying in the Hotel Grande as well.<br /><br />That night I came into the Hotel Grande’s restaurant for dinner. I was sitting alone in a booth and looking at the menu. There was a concoction on the menu which consisted of cornbread, with a cheesy sauce poured over it, and with chicken, broccoli, and peas mixed into the sauce. The picture in the menu looked nauseating, but I had to chuckle because the thing reminded me of our old cereal concoctions when I was a kid. As a lark I told the waitress I would like to have “some Crunch King cereal in milk with peas mixed in, please.”<br /><br />She didn’t get the joke (how could she?) and in fact she reacted quite oddly. She said, “Right this way, sir,” and motioned for me to follow her. I figured she hadn’t heard me correctly, but she began to walk quickly through the restaurant towards a back door, and it was all I could do just to keep up with her. She escorted me into a private banquet room, seating me alone at a table in the back of the room, near the door. The room was full, with men in dark suits seated at all of the other round tables, talking amongst themselves. I sat for a minute, confused, wondering what I should do next. Clearly, the waitress had made a mistake of some kind. Promptly, the waitress returned with, much to my surprise, a bowl of Crunch King cereal in milk with peas mixed in! I sat there kind of stunned. I looked around the room again and this time I noticed that everyone else had identical bowls filled with this same strange cereal concoction as well!<br /><br />It was then that I began to get a little scared. Why . . How . . ? . . . I couldn’t even form a question. This surely had to be some kind of dream, but I knew that it wasn’t a dream. When I’m dreaming I never have to decide whether it’s a dream--the question only arises when I’m not dreaming.<br /><br />A man stood up at the front of the room. “Gentlemen, fellow Commoners,” he said, “we are tonight bound together in a work of service to our country, and to the human race. Furthermore, I say . . .” I realized that these men were here for the Commoner Party political rally that was in town, and this man was embarking on a political speech. I didn’t care for long speeches, or for politics, and I especially didn’t care for this obscure political party probably filled with fanatics. And especially not now, when they all had those eerie bowls of cereal culled from my early childhood memories. I realized I needed to get out of there right away.<br /><br />I was going to just stand up and kind of creep out of the back door, but I noticed the man was looking directly at me as he spoke. My blood froze. “Gentlemen,” he said, his eyes staying firmly fixed on me,“ let us make a toast to the future of the Party. Everything is now in place. This is the day of our ascendancy!” Then he lifted--not his glass--but his bowl (!) up to his lips. The others were all now standing and lifting their bowls as well. Together they all cried, “Milk for the Milky Way!” and they all drank milk from their bowls.<br /><br />I was unable to move or stand. I could only sit limply like a rabbit hanging in the jaws of a coyote, knowing there is no use. So I had no reaction at all to the impossible thing that next occurred. The heads of all of the men in the room . . . disappeared. The men holding their cereal bowls were still moving around normally, but . . . with no heads. The man at the front of the room was still looking at me--I knew it, even though I couldn’t see his head or eyes. I knew what he wanted me to do. So I slowly stood and lifted my bowl to my lips. I recited the words, “Milk for the Milky Way,” and drank.<br /><br />At that moment I experienced a vision. The bowl I was drinking from rose and expanded, transforming into a vast vortex of dark space-time. Within this vortex the milk transformed into the stars of the Milky Way and the five colors of cereal became five astronomical objects: supernovae, brown dwarfs, pulsars, globular clusters, and quasars. The peas transformed into profoundly black holes which I realized were dangerous--the places of emergence for hungry ravagers, creatures from other galaxies with insatiable appetites for power and energy.<br /><br />The man spoke my name and said, “At last we have found you, our lost brother. You have been bred and then hidden and shielded, all of these years, until this moment. Today the Milky Way has called you forth. Now is the time. Come and take your rightful place at the head of the Party, to defend and serve. Step forward.” I found myself walking towards the front of the room, and now I was headless like the rest of them. I realized that I knew many things that I had never thought of before. Or I should say I remembered many things I had forgotten. I also knew that our heads were not really vanished, just extended into the 11 dimensional string-plane to function in advanced mode--though on this, our current earthly 3 dimensional brane, they could not be seen any more.<br /> <br />Yes, I had been bred and prepared for this very moment. When I was very young I had been implanted with fundamental knowledge of the true nature of our galaxy--in my childish bowl of cereal with milk and peas. And now the time of fruition had come. I was new and I was ready. I stepped forward into my place.<br /><br />Of course the rest, as you know, is history--how the Commoner Party ascended to power and I became President of the United States; how I led you to victory through the Terror Wars and established peace and stability once more; how I ascended to leadership of the Consortium for Reticulated United New Common Hegemony (CRUNCH) and thereby became KING of the world; how I banished evil and chaos from your midst, and loved you as my very own subjects.<br /><br />But you never new the whole truth, and now I freely give it to you: That by natural descent I am an alien, not native to your planet earth. You are too weak a people to govern yourselves; a greater species has come to do it for you. There are a number of us here on your planet who have protected and controlled you for your own benefit and happiness. We have kept it secret all these years. Until now. It is not auspicious to hide it any more.<br /><br />YOU HAVE BEEN READING AN AUTOMATIC MESSAGE. If you have been reading the above message, it indicates that I am dead, assassinated. My demise triggered the release of this message to every screen in every home in every city of the world. Seeing this message means that our Commoner Alliance has been vanquished by hungry ravagers who have emerged up from the black holes. They have come to your world and destroyed us, your protectors. Now they will eat you and everything on your world. They will consume your families and homes. Flee! Hide! Fight! But you cannot! What is there for you to do?! We have done our best, but we were not strong enough, so now it is your turn to fight them. You do not have much to fight with. But you do have one possible chance to defeat them, which I will now explain to you--that is, if the ravagers don't first delete the rest of this message whichAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-35997949011858412152010-09-19T15:20:00.003-06:002010-09-19T15:30:57.749-06:00Short Story Prompts III've been asked to come up with the next prompts.<br />
<br />
They are:<br />
<br />
a bowl of cereal<br />
<br />
a political rally<br />
<br />
entries in on... say... Friday, Oct 1st this time? Gives close to a couple weeks. But Gen Conference is on that Saturday... so, before that. No posting during General conference allowed! :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00466860937596192472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-11622883806823174592010-08-31T21:56:00.002-06:002010-08-31T23:02:16.654-06:00The Impassioned River<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><br />by John<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>The sun glowed down in a particularly happy manner this morning, for it was not glowing down on any old thing, but upon what Agnes supposed was surely the happiest sight to be seen, the nearlywed Agnes and Edmund. She tightened her grip on Edmund’s hand, and positively radiated joy. The Magic Kingdom of Disney sprawled out before them, a world full of dreams coming true and great photo opportunities. She could think of no better way to celebrate their hard-won victory than to blissfully waft about in such a place as this. She looked up at Edmund, the cleft on whose chin was deepened by a broad grin.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Why are you grinning like that?” she asked him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Thinking of our wedding,” he said simply.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“But it’s not for another 8 hours,” she said, “Wasn’t that what we planned?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Oh,” he said, “It was. But somehow I managed to sweeten the plan.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“But how could it possibly be better?” His grin broadened even more upon hearing this.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Somehow I pulled a few strings and booked the ceremony inside the Disney Castle itself.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Oh, Edmund!” Cried Agnes, disbelievingly, “However did you manage that?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Let’s just say I’m much more resourceful since we found one another. Mildred was ever-so-stifling to my overly resourceful mind.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“And Lucius was clipping my wings so I couldn’t outfly him! We’re so much better for each other.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Which is why we are to wed,” he said, “and until then we must occupy our time frolicking. Where shall we frolick first?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Why, Edmund, I know just the place!” And before his baritone voice could utter another word, she had him by the hand and was running off with it, compelling him to follow.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">*<span style=""> </span>*<span style=""> </span>*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Very nearby, however, the sun did not seem to be shining down in a particularly happy manner at all. Its rays fell reluctantly upon two rather sullen people, who were standing perhaps ten yards from the dust cloud Agnes and Edmund left. The tall man, who smelled of musk, turned to the woman at his side and said,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Did you hear them? Speaking so lightly of this whole affair?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Using our names, even!” spat Mildred venomously, “For all to hear and judge us just because we are evil.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“But did you hear the worst part of all?” Lucius said, “They are going to be married today! In this very theme park!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“No,” Mildred said suddenly and slowly, “My Edmund said he was <i style="">planning</i> on it. That does not mean it will happen.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Planning,” Lucius mused, “Planning, you say. Well… while it is still in the stage of planning, I suppose—”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“—It’s still subject to not happen if we have anything to say about it! I will have my Edmund back if it’s the last thing I do!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>She said this rather loudly, but none of the other tourists seem to take heed, as tourists spouting lines from obscure Disney movies was not so uncommon a happening in that day, though perhaps not so passionately as Mildred was shouting. Indeed, the nearest Classic Disney Character, Goofy, was eyeing them with suspicion, wary that they might begin to upstage him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Then we shall have to begin a bit of planning of our own,” Lucius declared, “I know my Agnes’ weaknesses.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“And I know my Edmund’s’!” she cried, although she then passed into a moment of silence. She seemed to be pondering a weighty issue in her mind, when she suddenly said, “Oh, why didn’t I think of it before? He doesn’t swim! I know he doesn’t swim!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“He can’t swim?” Lucius asked, incredulous.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“I don’t know if he can or not,” Mildred said distractedly, “All I know is that he doesn’t. I don’t think he approves. In any event, all we have to do is get him out of the way. Once he can’t protect Agnes, she will be an easy target.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Lucius froze.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“I don’t know about easy,” he said carefully, “The only time we were ever assaulted on the street, she</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">*<span style=""> </span>*<span style=""> </span>*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>brought down all of our attackers within five seconds,” Agnes laughed, as they waited in the line for Space Mountain, “It was no challenge, really! Why, after years of my dakentaijutsu training, it was hardly a thing. Nothing but a series of well-timed roundhouse kicks. It is wonderful I was able to practice like that whilst Lucius was courting me. I hardly ever got to do a thing like that in those days.” She looked at the ground as she said this, her golden locks filling most of her line of sight. She suddenly grew very quiet, and Edmund noticed her eyes moistening, as his senses had grown very well-attuned to that sort of thing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Agnes,” he said tenderly, “Don’t let the past haunt you so. Someone with locks as golden and long as yours shouldn’t ever dwell too much on poor character judgments made in the past. Why, I don’t suppose they’d call it progress if we were always at one hundred percent.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Oh, Edmund,” she said, her voice breaking, “There really were too many ideas in what you said for me to register exactly what you’re trying to tell me, but it’s comforting all the same. Oh, enough of the past, when there is such a wonderful future up ahead!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Of course, Agnes,” Edmund crooned, “We shall be married and, appropriately, we will live happily ever after, with so many new adventures to have and dakentaijutsu to perform on assaulters and children to rear.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Why, Edmund!” Cried Agnes, “You practice dakentaijutsu, too? I never knew!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“I thought all real men knew dakentaijutsu!” He exclaimed, “Why, doesn’t Lucius?” She laughed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Well, to give you an idea, the night we were attacked, after I broke their legs, I found him</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center">*<span style=""> </span>*<span style=""> </span>*</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>certainly not curled into a fetal position in the corner! What slander is this?” demanded Lucius.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“It’s just the rumor that’s circulating, Lucius,” Mildred said, “You needn’t be so touchy.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Well, I wasn’t,” he said again, his lip quivering firmly.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Fine.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>They sat in silence for a few more moments. A little child nearly spilled her ice cream on the ground in front of them, but another classic Disney character, Pluto, dashed to the earth in time to catch the icy ball and deliver it back on the child’s cone. Both were pleased. A bird passed overhead, its loud tweet forming a noticeable Doppler effect.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“So,” said Mildred, “We ought to have an actual plan of some kind if we intend to prevent this wedding from happening.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“We ought to.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>Two adorable squirrels darted across the grassy square they sat in, followed by two smiling Disney security men running with giant nets. Solar rays aimed at them were blocked by a large tree which stood behind them, causing large-tree-shaped area of significantly less-bright ground to appear, within which Mildred and Lucius stood.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Then,” said Mildred, “Let us invent one.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Let us,” Lucius concurred.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>Mildred, by the way, was dressed in a black satin blouse which was abundant in lace and ribbon. This over a modest black skirt which was fashionably tattered at the hem, and knee-length motorcyclist boots. She radiated exactly what she intended to radiate. And it wasn’t safety. But it wasn’t tacky either. Her features were drawn in a look that was intensely</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“I have it!” cried Lucius of a sudden.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>startled.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Have what?” she asked, recovering.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“A plan!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center">*<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>*<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>*</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“I must say,” Edmund said abruptly as they approached the cheerful toots and swirls of It’s A Small World After All, “I don’t like the looks of this?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“What’s not to like?” asked Agnes incredulously, pointing out the exceedingly great joy of everything about the attraction.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“It’s all so suspiciously happy,” he said, “one cannot see this many smiles without something dark lurking beneath.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Beneath where?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Beneath,” he said simply, “Nevertheless, if it’s what you truly want, my Agnes, then let us go.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Oh, Edmund, of course it is what I want!” And they ran through the flowers, much to the initial anger of the gardeners, though this was cooled when they noticed how the flowers were not trampled by this happy couple, but how new ones sprung up from beneath their feet every stride they took. Eagerly they raced to the entrance to the river, which was easy enough as there was no line at that time (presumably the other tourists lacked dakentaijutsu skills and were still in line at Space Mountain). Within moments they were in the small boat, and it was moving, albeit slowly, down the small river-tunnel. As they moved forward, they were greeted by the swelling chorus.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><i style="">It’s a small world after all,<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rang out the animatronics in adorable unison,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><i style="">It’s a small, small world.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><i style="">It’s a world of laughter,<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><i style="">It’s a world of tears,<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><i style="">It’s a world of hopes,<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>Suddenly the voices lost their child-like, innocent tones, and began deepening exponentially, like a record slowing,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><i style="">Iiiiit’sss aaa wooooorrrrllldd oooooooooof ffffeeeeeeeeaaaaarrrrrrrrsssssss,<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>and they stopped altogether. The lights went completely out, winning a shriek from Agnes. The water was stilled and their boat was paralyzed.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“What’s the meaning of this?” cried Edmund, expecting answers from something. The lights came on again, this time much brighter. A man’s amplified voice rang out,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Truly, this world <i style="">is </i>too small!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Why, it’s Lucius!” cried Agnes.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Too small for the two of us,” cried Edmund, “What is it you want?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“You, of course,” came a silky female voice. Edmund’s mouth fell agape.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Mildred,” he uttered huskily, “How did you find us here?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“It wasn’t hard: happy couples tend to advertise themselves a little too well,” she replied, “Especially ones with blogs who like to post their travel plans in bouts of ecstatic joy. But I digress: I’m afraid this happy couple won’t be happy much longer.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Nothing you can do can destroy our love!” Agnes cried out.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“It’s too small a world for that,” came Lucius’ voice, “so of the four of us, I think two will have to pass through it much faster than expected!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Good luck, Edmund!” Came Mildred’s voice, and the animatronics started up again, in triple-time.<i style=""><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><span class="apple-style-span"><i style=""><span style="color:black;">There’ssomuchthatwesharethatitstimewe'reawareitsasmallworld</span></i></span><i style=""><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>The water began churning at alarming speeds, soaking them thoroughly. Water sprayed up the walls, and the boat shot forward at wholly family-inappropriate speeds, rocking like a storm-tossed vessel whilst the animatronic dolls spun and flailed violently, occasionally losing hands or catching fire, being extinguished as the water sprayed them. Edmund and Agnes clung to each other frantically, yelling at the top of their lungs for help. <span style=""> </span>Edmund shielded his face with one of his trembling hands. Agnes spared a glance up ahead, and her heart, without any pun intended on the part of the writer, sank. About ten yards ahead, the boat was going to take a sharp corner. She knew it could not make it. Not with them still inside.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Brace yourself!” She shouted.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Do what?” Edmund shouted back. She clung ever tighter, her muscles tensing and her heart pounding. “No really,” Edmund shouted again, “What did you—”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Impact.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>For a stunned moment, Agnes was quite unconscious of anything. Recovering, she perceived she was underwater. It was significantly calmer down there, she thought. Darker, too. In fact, entirely too dark. Hadn’t the lights just been blaring? She let herself float, to orient herself a bit, and quickly discovered which direction was up. In that direction she swam, and in moments broke the surface. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>The lights were dimmer. The river was flowing at a normal pace, and some five yards ahead was their boat, splintered and cracked, but still floating along, now outside their reach. The dolls had ceased their frantic dance and were now jubilating at a healthier pace. And Edmund –</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Oh my golly,” she cried aloud, “Where is Edmund?” She looked around, and he was not to be seen. He must have sunk, she concluded, and dived down to find him.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>It would be instructive to the reader, no doubt, to pause at this time and contemplate the magnitude of the love between Agnes and Edmund. It is defined something like the love between Buttercup and Westley, to the effect that it cannot be tracked with a thousand bloodhounds or broken with a thousand swords, only that their particular love heals all wounds, and casts even the darkest shadow in golden light. As such, Agnes was easily able to spot Edmund at the bottom of the now-tranquil river, notwithstanding the relative darkness in which he was shrouded. Mustering all of her strength, she reached him and hoisted him to the surface, which surface they broke, both heaving for air. She supported his head on her shoulder so he could recover while she treaded water for the both of them.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Thank you, Agnes,” Edmund said, somehow more handsome when wet, “I was beginning to panic.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Edmund!” cried Agnes, “You were conscious?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Of course, my dear.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Then why didn’t you swim to the surface?” she asked.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m afraid I don’t swim.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“You can’t swim?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“I can swim all right, but I don’t.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Why don’t you?” she asked, beginning to tire treading so hard.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“I feel it is improper,” he said simply. Her legs were beginning to cramp.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Improper?” she inquired breathlessly, struggling to respire, “How so?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Well,” he said coolly, “If man had been meant to swim, he’d have been born with fins like a fish has, and we eat fish. It doesn’t seem proper to me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“But Edmund,” she said, “I can’t tread water for both of us indefinitely!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“I know,” he said, “Therefore I shall call for help and you shan’t have to. Here,” he said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, and then tossing it back into the water. “Aha,” he said again, “It is waterlogged. That will never do.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Oh, Edmund,” gasped Agnes, “Whatever shall we do?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Well,” he said, “If I could just have a moment to think things through…” but as he spoke, another voice was heard. It was a man’s voice, but not Lucius’. It came from further up the chamber from which they had come. His voice echoed quite too much to understand what he said just yet, but he was getting nearer.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Of course!” he exclaimed, “The other tourists on this ride will be able to help us! Normally the boats don’t ride at such a reckless pace, so we should not fear being rammed by them, and at such a calm speed we can ask for help!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Wait,” Agnes gargled as water began to enter into her mouth, “I can hear him now.” They both strained to hear the man’s words over the sound of Agnes’ struggling.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Can you hear me now? Good. Can you hear me now? Good. Can you hear me now?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Good!” cried Edmund, “It’s the Verizon Wireless man!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>Within moments he was close enough to see them. Edmund wove to him in a friendly fashion whilst Agnes floundered.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Can you hear me now? Good – I have some people trying to talk to me,” said the Verizon man, and he turned his attention to Edmund and Agnes, politely asking if he could be of service to them.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“You certainly can!” Edmund said, “As you see, we fell into the river and our cell phones have been waterlogged. Our wedding is shortly, and we have to get out and get cleaned up, and I don’t swim!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“You can’t swim?” the Verizon man asked incredulously.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Of course I can,” Edmund said, “I just don’t. Now, we need to reach someone who can help us out. Can I borrow your phone?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Better,” said the man, “Come on into the boat. It won’t tip over.” He kindly helped Edmund into the boat first, because he didn’t swim, and then helped in Agnes, who collapsed in exhaustion, albeit a happy one. They continued on their way through the ride, and over the din of the singing animatronics, Edmund told the Verizon man of what had happened, and how Lucius and Mildred would stop at nothing to ensure that Edmund and Agnes not be married that day.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“We desperately need to call for some sort of help,” he said, “The Disney park Security, or the police, or some form of protection.” To his surprise, the Verizon man laughed gaily.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Oh, sir, that won’t be necessary,” he said mirthfully, “I think we pretty much can get the situation under control. So, what were the names of your exes, again?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Mildred and Lucius, respectively,” Edmund replied, confused. The man put the cell phone again to his ear.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Can you hear me now? Good. Listen, sorry to hold you so long, but I have a situation.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Who are you talking to?” asked Edmund. The Verizon man looked at him strangely and said, with a twinkle in his eye,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><span style=""> </span>“Chuck Norris.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">*<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>*<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>*</div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 0.75in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Deep in one of the turrets of the Disney castle, an unwelcome voice was heard.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Quickly, quickly, quickly!” repeated Lucius to Mildred as she stacked more dynamite in the table in the turret room where the wedding was to be held.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“But not quickly enough,” came an all-too familiar voice from the mouth of the hall. Lucius and Mildred looked up, agape.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“But I didn’t hear you come in,” stammered Mildred.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“That’s not surprising,” Chuck Norris said.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">*<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>*<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>*</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Some hundred or so yards above the Disney castle, the Disney Vultures noticed a tendril of smoke coming from one of the turrets which smelled distinctly of fear. They caught one another’s eye, and, with grinning beaks, swooped down and began circling overhead.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">*<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>*<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>*</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“And with the loveable power vested in me by generations of tradition and old American past times,” said the man dressed as the loveable Mickey, “I now pronounce you man and wife.” There rose up a cheer from all around them, and Edmund moved in for the kiss, which S. Morgenstern has already described in great depth in his work. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“You may kiss the bride,” added Mickey awkwardly. A series of fireworks cracked and boomed overhead, filling the room with brilliant greens and reds and blues and yellows, and by that point the dynamite had been safely removed by the hazard crew, so the fireworks were pretty much the extent of it. The cake was cut and presumably distributed, and the string quartet began to play a minuet. Edmund took Agnes by the hand and they walked to the middle of the dance floor, inaugurating happily ever after with a dance.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Meanwhile Chuck Norris <span style=""> </span>continued beating people up.</div>merrilykarolyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16354896948729639433noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-58836214905714609312010-08-31T21:49:00.005-06:002010-08-31T23:21:57.868-06:00A Day To RememberGeorge stood in the line to enter "The Happiest Place Ever" theme park. Since the line was so very long, he thought he would chat with his friend Bob on his cell phone. When he finally got to the cashier's window, he kept the phone against his ear with his shoulder, paid for the ticket and walked through the park gates while continuing his conversation. He was still talking while he rode the "Giant Grizzly". He walked over to the "Enchanted Lake" boat ride all while he visited on his phone. George continued the same call while he munched on lunch apologizing for his muffled speech. He talked as he walked to the "Haunted Hallows", waited in line (still conversing with Bob), then sat in the black chair when his turn came to ride into the gaping front door. . . all the while chatting. He stayed on the phone with his friend the entire day. When it got dark, he walked out of the front gates, got into his car, and drove (with his phone still glued to his ear) to his house. He talked as he went up to his room on the second floor. He laid down on his bed and said "talk to you later, Bob," then closed the phone and tossed it onto his nightstand.<br /><br />George's mother tapped softly on his open bedroom door.<br /><br />"George dear, where have you been all day?" she asked.<br />"I don't remember," he replied.<br /><br />And he didn't.Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00471770390790958161noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-10548451845662459342010-08-31T20:17:00.002-06:002010-08-31T20:30:41.830-06:00<span style="font-size:130%;">Jack All Alone</span><br /><br /><em>When people talk on cell phones the dendrites in their brain tissue align with the organized electrical pulses emanating from the device being held in such close proximity to the brain’s axons. Especially when humans engage in conversation (it doesn't matter what the content of the conversation is), the auditory cortex is uniquely activated into a theta-matrix pattern, enabling interface with the phone transmission system. The brain, as it were, actually extends itself throughout the cell phone network.</em> --Journal of Neurophysiology<em>, 81, p.1031</em><br /><br />The invention of the cell phone made it all possible. All of humanity the world over (except Jack) was prepared for the jump to a new level of existence: the Fusion. People everywhere were to be ready with their cell phones turned on and fully charged. At 6 p.m. everyone in the world would start talking on their phones--it wouldn't matter what they talked about--the content was irrelevant-- they just had to be talking. When the surge began the great change would begin to transform the entire network--just keep talking, talking, communicating, everybody, the entire human race, all at once (well, except Jack). At 6 p.m. humanity would make its next great evolutionary leap. Just as billions of years ago subatomic particles had organized to form atoms, and then atoms had formed to make molecules, and then molecules to become living tissues, then tissues to become organs, then organs to become animals--now the human animals would organize again, to become a newer, even greater, organism, a great Fusion. The event was perhaps best anticipated by a contemporary poet:<br /><br />A great butterfly emerges from the Cocoon of Solitude<br />Rise up, embrace the sun<br />Dance with Sirius to the tune of the Spheres<br />Commune with Psi to heal the Earth<br />Consort with the hadrons and rejoice in Entanglement<br />Many will become One<br />Other will become Self<br />Selah<br />--by Randt Breldy<br /><br />[except Jack, of course]<br /><br />Jack was the only person left on earth who was not planning to participate in the great Fusion.<br /><br />Dr. James visited Jack every Tuesday when he visited the hospital. But time was running out; the Fusion was to occur this evening. "I'm going to have to be blunt with you, Jack. You are not willing to join the Fusion because you have built up a mental barrier which is brought on by acute celphonaphobia, an irrational fear of cell phones. "<br /> <br />Jack made no response.<br /><br />"I believe that when you were a child you developed a jealousy for your Mother talking on the phone because she used it to talk to your father, and not to you. As you grew up, this jealousy developed into a rage which you internalized and exiled to your preconscious mind. Now it surfaces as a fear of cell phones, and transfixes you whenever you come in contact with one."<br /><br />Jack finally spoke. "No, Doc, it‘s not jealousy, it’s not fear. And it’s not even cell phones. I just like to go off and be alone sometimes. A man needs his solitude when he needs it. Why would I want to go and join a great universal mind? I would never be alone again."<br /><br />"No, Jack, your wrong," Dr. James replied ardently. "You can’t see it because of your denial pattern. In reality, your desire for solitude is a rage-engendered fear channeled as repulsion seen through the eyes of your former childself, but without the ambivalence of conscious decision making. ”<br /><br />“No, Doc, that’s not it . . . at least I don‘t think . . .”<br /><br />When 6 p.m. arrived, all people everywhere, of all nations, kindreds, tongues, and peoples, were busily engaged in conversations with loved ones, friends, and even strangers, over their cell phones.<br /><br />(Except Jack, of course, who sat at the table in the rec room and faced the wall). And then suddenly, all in the room went silent. After a few moments Jack slowly peered around. Everyone was perfectly still, perfectly quiet. Even grouchy Nurse Nettles said no word at all, but just stood like a statue, one hand pointing a scolding finger at an undetermined victim, the other hand holding her cell phone to her ear. Dr. James, himself, was statuesque and transfixed in thoughtful conversation, no doubt to another statuesque important person at the other end of the phone connection. Slowly Jack rose and tiptoed out into the hall. Maybe this was his big chance to finally escape, while doctors and nurses were all caught up in this strange cell phone epiphany.<br /><br />As it turned out, nobody confronted him as he walked out of the main door and out onto the street. Outside, the people were also stationary and still, standing or sitting, holding their cell phones, in the same positions they had been in when the great Fusion began. Jack wandered through the perfectly quiet streets, poking his head into various buildings, looking for any sign of animation, but there was none. "I'm free! No one is stopping me! I can finally be alone! I will leave this place and go out to the country and find a quiet place to sit and think," he said to himself. And then a thought came to him: "But right here it is a kind a solitude in its own way isn't it?--these people are all catatonic, they don't notice me at all, I am alone, even here." Jack walked around some more as the sun sank below the horizon and everything was suddenly draped in shadow. "What has really happened to these people?" he wondered. "Are these people all insane?"<br /><br />And then a frightening thought hit him: "Are these people dead? Maybe they are all dead and I'm walking around in a graveyard." He shuddered. "I don't want to spend the night out in this graveyard!" He began to walk and then run, heading for the hospital, the only familiar place he knew. Back in the rec room all of the people were still in their same positions. Nurse Nettles was still holding her phone, a still life pantomime of her former self. Dr. James was still on the verge of making some important point. "If outside it's a graveyard, then in here it's a tomb. But there's no place else to go. What else can I do?"<br /><br />And then Jack began to think: "I need to find out for sure if these people really are dead or alive." He approached Dr. James and took his wrist. Was there a pulse? He couldn‘t tell. “Dr. James, Dr. James, wake up!“ He shouted. Nothing. He slapped the doctor across the face. Nothing. Then an idea came to him. Jack rushed to the hospital bulletin board and pulled a thumbtack from it. “Dr. James, you tried your therapy on me--so now I'll try my therapy on you," Jack said. Jack took the man's hand and placed the point of the thumbtack against the his fingertip. "Wake up, Dr. James!" he cried and forcefully plunged the thumbtack into the doctor's finger.<br /><br />Immediately Jack began to hear a high pitched wail--an inhuman sound which seemed to rise from the throats of all the frozen people around him. Dr. James turned and looked straight at Jack and cried, "The Body is being attacked! There is Infection!" At that moment the room exploded into action. All of the people rushed towards Jack. Dr. James tried to grab him but he jerked away. As the other people converged on him he twisted and pushed his way free, running for the hall. He made it outside, with the doctors and nurses running after him. Outside, the high-pitched wail was ubiquitous throughout the town. People everywhere were in commotion, and all of them were running towards the hospital, towards Jack. He darted around the building and climbed over a chain link fence. He kept running--around bushes, behind cars, across streets, down alleys. But wherever Jack ran, people were there already, converging on him, like leukocytes defending a body against an infectious disease. The people with their cell phones had in fact become the cells of a great Organism.<br /><br />Of course it was no use. Jack was surrounded and taken. Strangely, they were not angry with him; in fact they did not interact personally with him at all. The collective Organism seemed to be somewhere else--dancing with Sirius to the tune of the Spheres. Jack was just a small thing, really, only one small cell, from the great Organism’s point of view, and easily neutralized. Jack was taken and confined at the local jail. But Jack did end up getting plenty of what he had been craving: solitude. There was no other person left who would ever need to be sent to jail. Jack’s confinement was completely solitary. His food anonymously appeared under the door, and that was the sum total of his connection with anyone. Of course no one ever came to visit Jack (in fact no one ever came or went anywhere at all--the people were back to standing like statues). However, Jack did have one potential link to the outside world, should he ever want to use it while sitting all alone in his little room: they had provided Jack with a cell phone.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-36488808029373991512010-08-31T10:58:00.002-06:002010-08-31T11:01:40.964-06:00The Voice<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CKAROLY%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:relyonvml/> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CKAROLY%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" 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1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">by Adele
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’m silently fuming as I climb off the merry-go-round.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She hops off behind us and catches up, linking her arm in mine. “But seriously, those horses need a paint job, or something. And what was with that cheesy old music?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the most nonchalant voice I can muster, I reply, “I guess everything here is a little old, Cassie.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She laughs. “That’s for sure. And why is the food so crappy? That hamburger tasted funny.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">And it was free,</i> I think, biting my tongue. <i style="">Because Sam and I paid for it.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Out loud, I just sigh. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sam adds, “I didn’t mind the food at the Fry Shack. The shakes aren’t half bad.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Eh,” Cassie shrugs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When she heads for the restroom up ahead, Sam sits down under a tree.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I am so sick of her!” I burst out in a whisper, pacing back and forth in front of him. “Why can’t she just be grateful for once?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sam catches my hand and squeezes it reassuringly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“She. Drives. Me. Crazy.” I mutter. “You know, she could stand to eat less anyway. She seriously eats more than you and I combined.” <i style="">And it shows</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sam pats my hand. “I know you love this place,” he says. “Just relax and have fun.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Kinda hard when nothing is ever good enough--”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I see Cassie approaching and quickly shut my mouth, giving her my best smile.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Should we start heading toward the exit?” she asks cheerily. “Or do you guys want to go on more rides?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We’ve only been here for two hours.” Sam says, then adds in a spooky voice, “You still haven’t seen the <i style="">House o’ Horrors</i>.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cassie laughs, “I’m sure it’s <i style="">real</i> scary.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Thirteen floors of scariness,” Sam says. “With a dizzying view from the top. Come on, you’ll like it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“All right,” Cassie shrugs. “If you want, we can go.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m going to wait this one out, guys,” I say, sitting down on the grass under the tree. “I think I need a break.” <i style="">From you, Cassie</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">They promise to call me when they finish with the House o’ Horrors. They walk off, Cassie launching into a description of the awesome haunted house “back home.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I kick off my sweaty shoes and lean against the tree.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That’s gratitude for you. Sure, she’s been through a lot, but then, so have we. And a simple thank you wouldn’t kill her for all the things we’ve done for her. Why doesn’t she just go back home if everything is so much better there? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a few minutes, my phone rings. I look to see who it is. <i style=""><span style=""> </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yep, Cassie. Apparently there isn’t anything here that can entertain her for very long. Nope, nothing is ever good enough.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I sigh and flip my phone open.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Done already?” I ask. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">No reply.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Hello? Cassie? Are you guys done?” I say after a moment. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Still no reply.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am about to hang up when I hear the voice. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">“And it was free. Because Sam and I paid for it.”<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Confused, I pause. Is that <i style="">my</i> voice? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then “Um…” I hear Cassie’s voice say. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">“I am so sick of<span style=""> </span>you!”</b> The voice, my voice, seems to be yelling from the phone. <b style="">“Why can’t you just be grateful for once?”<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A moment of silence, and then I hear Cassie say, “Aunt Laurie… I’m sorry--I didn’t--”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And there I am again, unmistakable.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">“You. Drive. Me. Crazy!”</b> my voice is shouting. And then, <b style="">“You know, you could stand to eat less anyway. You seriously eat more than we do, combined. And it shows.”</b> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is another pause, longer, and then I hear crying. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Cassie, listen to me, I’m not sure what’s going on,” I finally attempt, standing up and holding the phone with both hands. “Listen, where are you guys? Did you--”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>The voice on the line suddenly continues with a nasty edge. <b style="">“Nothing is ever good enough, is it? That’s gratitude for you. Sure, you’ve been through a lot, but then, so have we. And a simple thank you wouldn’t kill you for all the things we’ve done for you. Why don’t you just go back home if everything is so much better there? Oh, that’s right, because they don’t want you. Nobody does.”</b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I gasp, my stomach churning at the terrible words being spoken. I want to stop them, hang up the phone, <i style="">do something</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hear Cassie’s voice, quiet and full of emotion. “You’re right. You’re right, Aunt Laurie.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No! That’s not <i style="">me</i> saying those things! <i style="">I’m</i> Aunt Laurie! <i style="">That’s not me</i>!” I shout into the phone, knowing it’s useless. Knowing Cassie won’t hear me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And that is when it hits me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Those <i style="">are</i> my words. I have muttered them to myself, or to Sam, or to really any person who will listen and feel sorry for me, give me a sympathetic pat on the back and a knowing look when Cassie has turned the other way. When she isn’t watching. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I listen, numbly, as the voice continues. It’s softer now, crueler.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">“No, all we have here are crappy hamburgers and lame old merry-go-rounds. Definitely not good enough for someone like you. Maybe you should leave. Maybe you should try what you tried before, but this time do it right.”<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I drop the phone in horror. I have to find Cassie. Is Sam with her now? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh. The House o’ Horrors. With its thirteen stories and old, creaky handrails on the roof.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I run as fast as I can, past the souvenir stands and the rides and the cotton candy. I cut through the line, shoving the handful of people out of my way. They stare at me and yell but I keep running, finally diving into the elevator and pushing the button labeled <i style="">ROOF</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I am at the top and I see her. She is leaning over the railing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Stop!” I scream as I run toward her. “I didn’t mean it! I’m so sorry I hurt you, Cassie! Stop stop stop!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then she turns to look at me, frustration on her face, and confusion.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What?” she asks as I grab her arm. “What are you doing?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Where is Sam?” I pant, trying to catch my breath.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She looks at me, irritated.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I accidentally dropped my cell phone over the railing about ten minutes ago. He went to go find a maintenance guy or something to see if it can be salvaged in all that junk down there. My brand new phone! Soooo annoying.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She gestures around her. “And really, what a joke. The merry-go-round was scarier than this.”</p> merrilykarolyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16354896948729639433noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-45741477900233846542010-08-31T09:33:00.004-06:002010-08-31T09:43:16.247-06:00"The Character" by Ryan Cole<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Don’t you ever get tired of being someone you’re not?” Jessica asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“You know, your whole job is to just look like a character from some movie and act like he acts.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She smirked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“I know I would never want that job.”<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Martin sighed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">It is true</i>, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>People came up and got their picture with him at some movie theme park because he looked like the actor who played action hero Thomas Page, an accountant by day, and super-spy by night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was uncanny, his striking resemblance to Page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>People had been telling him it for years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Martin had moved to southern Florida four years previously to attend college, and the theme park was the perfect job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Work two nights during weekdays, as well as Saturday and Sunday, and the pay was phenomenal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>However, the park wanted him for more than just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He was as big a spectacle as some of the rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So Martin dropped out of college and worked every Tuesday-Sunday at the park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The pay was even better, but he wondered how long he could go on imitating someone else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Well, it’s just temporary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Until I find something else” Martin responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Plus, you can’t beat the money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m making more than half the managers around here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“True, but you’re not going to look like Thomas Page forever, you know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What then?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What are you gonna do then?” Jessica said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“I…I think…I…I’ll figure it out,” he replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Martin looked at his watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Listen, I have to be by the Desert Midnight ride in ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’ll see you later.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Yeah, see ya Martin.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">-<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Can I talk to you for a few minutes, Martin?” Mr. Reaver said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was three weeks later, and Martin was walking into the men’s employee locker room to get changed into his Page outfit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Sure, what’s up?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Martin felt comfortable with his boss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He knew Mr. Reaver appreciated a hard working employee like Martin, and park attendance had gone up due to Martin’s appearances at different events around the park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This was sure to be more good news.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Martin, we finally got the approval for a Thomas Page show at the Cave of Fear arena.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The exec’s want you to star in shows at 5:30 and 7 p.m. every night,” Mr. Reaver said, with a satisfied look on his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“This is a big deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>People will be lining up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The new Page movie comes out in a few months, and they want the show to be ready on the night of the premiere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s gonna be huge.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“How ‘bout it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Wow, of course, I mean, yeah, that sounds great!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Perfect.” Martin was excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>His own show!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“When do we start rehearsals?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Next week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The script is finished, and it’s being staged right now.” Mr. Reaver replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“The stunts are minimal, and we want you to do your own stunts, so it’s authentic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Is that alright?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Of course it is!” Martin replied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“I knew you’d be in.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">-<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Driving home that night, Martin couldn’t stop thinking about the show<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m basically being paid to be the real Thomas Page</i>, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">This is big for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m finally becoming who I’m supposed to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My own show.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">-<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">For the next few months, Martin attended rehearsals, fight and stunt lessons, and acting classes on top of his regular park duties and appearances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At nights he watched the Page movies (all seven of them) and memorized mannerisms and dialogue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He wanted to be sure to deliver each line just like Page would.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">-<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">On the opening night of the show, Martin was anxious with excitement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“You’ll be great, you’re totally prepared,” Jessica said reassuringly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Yeah, I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">all</i> are, it’s gonna be the best,” Martin replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He did feel confident.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">During the shows that night, the audience gasped with wonder, screamed with fright, and cheered with amazement in all the right places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Martin’s stunts were flawless, and the delivery of his lines was spot on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Everything was perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">After the show, nearly 200 people stayed to take pictures with Martin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Wow</i>, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">This is bigger than I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They loved it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They loved me.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">-<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">The shows continued and seemed bigger every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Martin basked in the growing fame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Park guests came in throngs just to see the shows and see this man who looked and acted just like Thomas Page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Martin had never been so popular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The park executives were thrilled with Martin and gave him raise after raise, and more and more perks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Martin’s co-worker’s started calling the park Pageland, because that seemed to be the only thing people wanted to see anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Park guests went crazy to see Martin, to get a picture with him, his autograph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The park even offered a weekly “Win a Date with Thomas Page” contest for a lucky female guest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The only catch was that Martin had to act like Page the entire dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He didn’t mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He was who he was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" >Martin also patterned everything about his life after Page: his hairstyle, clothes, even his handwriting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%">Outside of work, Martin started reading books about accounting, bird watching, and how to woo women, because these were a few of the things Page had extensive knowledge about. In public, people would stare at Martin and eventually approach him for a picture or autograph<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I don’t need to be at the park to get attention</i>, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Everyone loves me wherever I go. </i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">-<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">When Martin got to his apartment after another successful night at work, his iPhone rang (company gift, of course).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was his Mom. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“So how have the performances been going, honey?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Oh, it’s been the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There are always hundreds of people just waiting to take their picture with me; they love it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“That’s so great, Martin,” she replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" >Martin</span></i><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" >, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Woh – that’s me.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At his request, nobody had called him Martin in the past few months; he really wanted to become Page and get into the part.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">She continued, “I know you’ve put a lot of work into this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You’re a hard working man.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Well, it’s taken a lot of time, but it has really been worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I feel…like…like I’m doing the right thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This has really been more than I ever thought it would be.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">“Yes, well, you’re turning into quite the actor!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She paused, and then spoke more seriously, “I’m proud of you, son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I want you to be happy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">He paused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have all I need…thanks.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There was another pause. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>Longer though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>“Hey listen,” he continued, “I’m pretty tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I better get going.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-size:12;" ><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">When he got off the phone, Martin realized he was looking in the mirror.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-25676720578794021312010-08-31T09:26:00.001-06:002010-08-31T09:30:57.537-06:00"Finished" by Camilla Cole<p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">“It’s just such a waste” Roberta Hollingsworth, director of special potential projects, said.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“I mean, look at the test results, look at the case studies, look at the overwhelming amount of data collected over these last three years.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Surely a little more time could be spent on case #3147 before we pack everything away in the archives and throw our hands up in defeat.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Surely such potential merits re-application.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Director Bateman was pacing back and forth across the room as she delivered these last lines, brow furrowed in deliberation, his finger and thumb rubbing back and forth along his jaw line.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He finally came to a stop right in front of where she was standing.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Hollingsworth, you know I agree with you on how high the potential of this case has always seemed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>How close success has felt.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But how can you argue with the number of failures we’re looking at here?”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He slammed the back of his hand against the packet of papers he was holding in his other hand.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Roberta took a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Bateman’s proximity was a little unnerving, but she steeled herself and stood her ground.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Just give me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">one</i> more chance,” she pleaded, matching his penetrating stare with an equally compelling one of her own.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“It’ll be worth it, you’ll see.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Finally Director Bateman shifted his gaze and backed away.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Turning and walking to his desk, he spoke softly, the words barely discernable, over his shoulder.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Alright Hollingsworth, you can have your one last try.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I’m warning you,” he added as she breathed a sigh of relief and turned to go, “if you don’t succeed it really will be your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">last</i> chance…ever.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Doing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">anything</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Do I make myself clear?”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Yes sir,” she murmured and exited the office. </p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p>******</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p>Case #3147 sat in the chair next to the window of his room and stared out at the desolate desert landscape that stretched for miles and miles in every direction.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There weren’t even any cactus or desert trees to alleviate the dreariness of it all, only scrub brush and the occasional pile of crumbly rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not that he had ever been allowed to roam around and see this up close for himself.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They gave him everything he could possibly want here; everything except the choice to leave, or at least to go outside and walk around.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He sighed.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“3147, Jared, come away from the window please.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sit right here.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hollingsworth was back, bearing a cup of coffee, gesturing for him to sit in the seat opposite her at the table.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Jared sighed again and slowly got up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He had been hopeful that she wouldn’t return.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>With her endless ideas, endless projects.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He felt a small sense of surprise that she had gotten them to give her one more chance.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She must really believe he could do it.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Now Jared,” she said, “we’ve got a really exciting one for you this time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I think we may have found the missing link.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her mouth twisted into what she must have thought passed for a winning smile but Jared didn’t smile in return.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He just sat there, waiting.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Aren’t you curious as to what it is?” Hollingsworth asked, tilting her head in what she probably assumed was a charming, humorous way and Jared wondered if she had ever had work done.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There was something so fake about everything she did.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So forced.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“J-a-r-e-d...” She drew the word out like a glob of stretchy sticky bubblegum from the mouth of a thirteen year old girl and Jared almost winced visibly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not that she would notice.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She didn’t seem to notice much where he was concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Which would explain why she was here. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Again.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Fine, if you’re not going to ask, I’ll just tell you,” she finally said when he had failed to respond once again.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her short, black, Hilary Clinton bob which never seemed to look different from day to day almost quivered as excitement overtook her.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“This idea came to me two weeks ago in the middle of the night and I woke up already writing it down on the pad of paper I keep by my bed.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No surprise there, Jared thought humorlessly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This was a standard for Hollingsworth, the middle of the night ‘epiphany.’<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“I honestly couldn’t sleep the rest of the night after, as the brilliancy of it all overcame me.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She was getting almost poetic, a sure sign something bizarre or impossible was about to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She took her customary deep breath.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“I’m going to have you build a roller coaster.”</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" align="center" style="text-align:center">******</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Roberta watched Jared’s eyes widen with the customary look of exhilaration.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He did it every time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Every time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So she didn’t let her hopes rise too high yet.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was hard though, knowing in her heart of hearts that this really was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">it</i>, that she had finally found the perfect project for him.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She felt like shouting it out to the whole world.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Instead she just smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her best, most winning, smile.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Jared pushed away from the table and stood up and she could tell his brain was already going a mile a minute.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“A roller coaster,” he said slowly, “an entire roller coaster all by myself.”</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Every tiny teensy bit all by yourself, from the physics to the physical,” she said, smiling at her own clever little play on words.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This time it would be different.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was a sure thing.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">You’ll see, Director Bateman</i>, she thought triumphantly as Jared ran out of the room, yelling for Marshall Core, the company engineer. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">And when Jared’s done you can be the first to shake my hand and tell me what a genius I am</i>.”</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" align="center" style="text-align:center">******</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Jared worked and worked and worked.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He took small naps and then he worked some more.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Drawing up plans.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Doing the math, building the scale models, testing them out with miniature electronics he made with the limitless supply of anything and everything he could ever need that they brought him.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He worked and worked and finally came up with the perfect prototype.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was flawless; it couldn’t fail.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He began to measure the area they had set aside for him in the huge indoor arena.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The coaster would be a mind-boggling two hundred feet high and a half a mile long.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It had twenty-nine loopdee loops and twenty seven spirals.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It went forward and backwards and sideways and then did it all in reverse.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It went underground and wrapped around itself so that it was impossible to distinguish where it was going next.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was a dizzying, terrifying, majestically twisted master of mayhem.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>He began to build.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He knew he had all the time in the world but he set to it with a frenzy he had never felt before.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Never before, in the countless number of projects Hollingsworth had set before him, had he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">ever</i> felt this way.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He was exhilarated, illuminated, intoxicated by the roller coaster, and he had never felt more <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">alive</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As he nailed each nail in place, welded each joint, operated each wheel loader, bulldozer, and jib crane his life seemed to finally take on new meaning.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As the days, the weeks, the years passed, Jared finally felt he had found it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>His thing.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" align="center" style="text-align:center">******</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Roberta took a deep breath and cringed at the pain in her side.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That gall bladder surgery had really worked a number on her, and though she was loath to, she had to admit to herself that she was starting to feel old.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it didn’t matter; it was almost over, this endless observation of her masterpiece unfolding before her eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Case #3147 was almost done.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Jared was almost done.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After five and a half years of almost constant work, the roller coaster was nearly complete.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He had slowed down a little the past few weeks, but that was understandable considering how hard he had been working, she told herself reassuringly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He had said there were only minimal things to perfect, small almost insignificant details to finish and it would all be over<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And it’s all because of me</i>, Roberta crowed inwardly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">All because I figured it out</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Things were finally coming to a head.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Uh Ms. Hollingsworth, ma’am?” a nervous voice came from behind her and she whirled around to find one of the material fetchers poking his head around the door, looking terrified.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“What is it?” she snapped.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She hated to have her quiet little moment of relish interrupted.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Uh, it’s just that there’s something you should probably see,” he said and ducked out before she could demand further explanation.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She took another deep breath, ignoring another stab of pain this brought on in her lower abdomen, and stomped out of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As she briskly walked down the hall she noticed more and more fetchers hanging around, and as she approached the wide doors to the arena where Jared was working she could barely squeeze through, there were so many of them.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Move it!” she yelled and most of them scrambled to get out of her way.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Finally, having entered the huge arena, she pushed her hair back out of her face and tried to locate what everyone was gawking at.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Then her eyes locked on something and a well of dread began to froth and bubble in the pit of her stomach.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“No!” she screamed, “This can’t happen!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:.5in">Jared was sitting on the floor, the giant monstrosity he was so close to completing looming up behind him in all its almost-perfect splendor.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There was a look on his face.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A look Roberta had seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Too many times to count.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was a look of… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">absolute boredom</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He looked up.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Oh, hey Hollingsworth,” he said and then looked away as if the look of terror mixed with almost unhinged desperation on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">her</i> face was something he saw every day.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“What’s up?”</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“What’s up?” she asked, incredulously.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“WHAT’S UP? THAT!” she shrieked, pointing up to the endless rails and plastic molding behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“THAT IS UP AND IF <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">YOU</b> DON’T GET UP AND FINISH IT RIGHT NOW I’M GOING TO BLOW <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">YOU</b> UP!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Jared just continued to stare at the floor in front of him, making circles in the dust around his feet.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He sighed.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“No.” Roberta said, quiet now.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“No.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This will not happen this time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I will not fail.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She slowly looked around at the gaping faces of the thirty or so fetchers who had quietly congregated in the arena during the exchange between her and Jared.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Look at me</i>,” she commanded, slowly revolving in a circle, catching each and every one of their eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“He finished, do you hear me?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Jared finished the coaster before he sunk back into this pathetic state of lethargy.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>At the look in her fiery eyes each and every fetcher began to nod slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A small smile crept over her face.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Now clean this place up,” she ordered and everyone started moving at once.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Take this sorry excuse of a piece of human waste and lock him in his room,” she added quietly to the two fetchers nearest her and they hurried to grab Jared’s arms and drag him out of the arena.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“This victory is mine,” she said softly, under her breath, “and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">no one</i> is going to take it from me.”</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" align="center" style="text-align:center">******</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">“I must say I’m astonished <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Director</i> Hollingsworth,” Director Bateman said, a look of grudging admiration on his face, “I didn’t think it could be done.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But you did it.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hollingsworth basked in the praise.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not that praise from a colleague, and mere <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">equal, </i>mattered much to her.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She had been given much greater compensation, verbally and monetarily, from much higher up than Bateman, which was something he would never attain.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But she just smiled benevolently at him and took her dues.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Where’s case #3147- what’s his name, Jared?- by the way?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I thought he’d want to be here for the big day.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Bateman’s question seemed perfectly innocuous but Roberta’s eyes darted to the few fetchers in the arena anyway, trying to gauge if anyone had let anything leak about Jared’s current state of interest in the whole project.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No one looked guilty though so she just plastered a winning smile on her face and responded.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Oh, didn’t you hear?” she asked.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Jared came down with a really bad flu right after he completed the coaster.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He’s recovering in his room.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Bateman shrugged and walked away after a few seconds and Roberta heaved a sigh of relief.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No one would care that Jared wasn’t here, she reminded herself soothingly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He was just a case number, a machine of sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She needed to calm down so she could enjoy this.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Director Hollingsworth,” President Pupin said, smiling as he approached.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“If you wouldn’t mind coming this way, we’ll get this thing started.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Crowds gathered and cheered and cameras flashed as President Pupin took his place at a microphone placed in front of the start of the roller coaster, Roberta at his side.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Hello all,” he said, “welcome to this momentous occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As you know, case #3147 being cracked is a historic event.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After two thousand, five hundred and twenty-eight different projects, he has <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">finally</i> completed one!”</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Two thousand, five hundred and twenty-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">nine</i>,” Roberta corrected, leaning into the mic with a self-effacing smile, and the crowd chuckled appreciatively.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Excuse me,” President Pupin laughed.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Now, we all know why this case was finally able to be solved,” he continued and Roberta felt her cheeks grow warm.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This was it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“And that’s why we’re here.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>To celebrate the amazing, unprecedented success of Director Roberta Hollingsworth.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Without her, case #3147 would just be another bunch of boxes for the archive room.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Cheers went up and President Pupin had to hold up his hand for a full thirty seconds before silence reigned again.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“One last thing,” he said, and a growing excitement seemed to overtake him.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“There’s just one more thing and then we can watch this amazing roller coaster make its first trip.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Roberta turned her head questioningly to look at him.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What was this?</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“As a special celebration of her success… we would like to let Director Hollingsworth be the first to ride!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The crowd went wild at this but Roberta felt her face freeze.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">What?</i><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her blood felt like ice in her veins.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Before she knew it, Roberta was being ushered by President Pupin over to the roller coaster cart.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He buckled her into her seat and pulled the padded restraint bars over her shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her body was as limp as a rag doll; she watched it all in a daze.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The crowd continued to roar as he shook her hand and gave a fetcher the thumbs up to start the ride.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Cameras flashed and giddy faces flew before her eyes as the seat jerked forward.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:.5in">The last thing she saw was an image in her mind of Jared.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sitting by the window.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He sighed.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" align="center" style="text-align:center">******</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">“Help, help!” Director Bateman hollered into his cell phone.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“There’s been an accident!”</p>Camilla Colehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986421785931719572noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-72573113500120557902010-08-31T07:43:00.003-06:002010-08-31T12:01:32.012-06:00The Lost And Found Box, by SarahThe residents of Kiowa County were rather proud of their fair. It was not often so many people gathered in one spot, in Kiowa County. During fair week the three intersections were so busy they needed to deputize the local boy-scout troops to direct pedestrians across the street. <br /> They came for many reasons. They came to see faces. They came to eat fried vegetables that don’t usually come fried, and wash them down with icy, glow-in-the-dark beverages. They came to ride creaky contraptions upside down, and hopefully keep the vegetables and glowing beverages inside.<br /> Fair people get excited, and when people, as a general rule, gather in large numbers and get very excited, they tend to loose things.<br /> Thus, the Kiowa County Fair’s lost and found box.<br /> It was actually a privilege to end up in the lost and found box, or so many of the objects who ended up there thought. The battered straw sombrero, who had thrice wintered in the box, felt quite at home there, now. <br /> “I could've ended in the dumpster,” he said to his best freind, a blue Nike cap who had spent just one winter in the box. <br /> “Yup,” said Nike. “That would be a tough break. Wouldn’t never happen to me, though. Someone probably woulda taken me home before they threw me away.”<br /> Sombrero twitched his band. He felt it was best not to reply. Sometimes friendship is more important than pointing out flaws in logic, especially when one is stuck in a box with someone.<br /> “I miss walking around out there,” a singular flip-flop remarked, then giggled for no apparent reason. Her twin giggled, too, and tilted her straps into the sunlight, admiring the way the light caught the glitter on them. <br /> “Anything I can do?” Nike asked, shifting his swoosh to get a better look.<br /> Sombrero stifled a chuckle of his own. Nike had been working his courage up with the twins ever since they’d been tossed into the box at the beginning of the week. He, personally, never got involved with new tenants until the fair ran out—he’d had too much experience with the disappointment of owners returning for their things. Anything that was really unique or attractive or expensive, inevitably left again within a few days of arriving in the box. <br /> “Nal,” he called over his brim.<br /> Nal and Sombrero had been in the box so long together—two whole winters, springs, summers, and falls, that they hardly needed to talk to each other sometimes. Just as an example, Sombrero could twitch his brim a certain way, and Nal would correctly interpret that it was time for the kids to go to bed. She would then bustle them off and keep them from making a fuss about it.<br /> “Yup.” The orange water bottle poked her lid out from under a grey sweatshirt. <br /> “Kids still napping?”<br /> “Yes, thank goodness.” <br /> “Celly still sleeping off his buzz?”<br /> Nal wiggled out into the open and leaned against the side of the box. “Think so. Why?”<br /> “Just wanted to check the time.”<br /> Nal sighed. “Let him sleep. The time’s all he’s good for these days…battery’s not going to last for much longer.”<br /> Sombrero twitched his brim, setting the bright pom-poms dancing. “I’m still amazed he’s with us at all. Not the battery,” he said hastily at Nal’s reproving glare. “Just—nobody came to get him.” <br /> “He’s a razor. Razors aren’t worth replacing—probably the owner felt like it was good riddance, a good excuse to get a newer, shinier model.”<br /> “Speaking of,” one of the flip flops squeaked, and flopped onto the pile and lay still. Immediately all of the other objects did, too, and it was a good thing because just then, the door to the little office opened. <br />A small object was tossed into the box. <br /> “Oof.” Sombrero stifled his exclamation and lay still.<br />When the door closed, Sombrero shifted. “If you don’t mind, pardner, could you get off my crown?”<br /> The object quickly rolled off onto the grey sweatshirt, which stirred feebly.<br /> “He won’t mind,” Nal said. “He sleeps practically all day—all night, too.”<br /> “Another phone,” one of the flip flops giggled, wiggling closer to look him over. “I like your look.”<br /> Nike groaned under his breath.<br /> “Don’t worry,” Sombrero muttered. “He’ll be gone by the end of the day.” <br /> “I’m not a phone,” the new object said, meticulously enunciating his consonants.<br /> “Oh, right, you’re one of those,” flop quirked a strap at him. “I’m supposed to call you a <span style="font-style:italic;">smart phone</span>. Maybe I don’t like your looks so much after all, oh electrical marvel in our midst.”<br /> “Not a smart phone,” the phone retorted, moving away from her. <br /> “Ow,” a pair of sunglasses snapped. “Watch where you’re wobbling.”<br /> “Fine, an I-phone. Whatever.” Flop turned to her twin. “These creeps think they’re so much because they can spell out words and play music—don’t know why you waste your time talking to them, flip. It’s like a touch-screen gets you all googely-soled or something.” <br /> “I’m not an I-phone,” the tinny voice interrupted again.<br /> This time, all the objects froze, and turned toward it. <br /> Sombrero felt it, too—a sudden oddness. There was something about the voice—something wrong, somehow—not like the other electronics they’d met before.<br /> “What are you, then?” he ventured.<br /> “It’s a secret,” the voice ticked. Sombrero suddenly realized what it reminded him of--it was almost like a clock. its words and tones held the same kind of exact precision.<br /> The other objects stared at it, taking in its shiny black cover, the delicate wire antenna that raised and lowered as it talked. <br /> “All right, then,” Sombrero said after another long pause. “Well, welcome to the lost and found box. Glad to have you, hope you don’t have to stay long, but if you end up staying, we don’t see nothin’ wrong.” <br /> It was his standard greeting to new objects—to lighten the mood, make things more friendly, like. <br /> “We won’t be here long,” the new object ticked, and moved to the other side of the box, leaning against it nonchalantly.<br /> “What did he mean by that?” Nike whispered to Sombrero a moment later under the cover of flip’s giggling. The shoe had leaned against the side of the box, next to the new object, and was busily trying to get its attention. <br /> “Sounded strange,” Sombrero muttered back.<br /> “Sounded threatening,” Nal put in, huddling close to them. <br />All three of them took a peek at the new object, and found the screen staring blandly back at them, not in the least distracted by the shoe’s antics. “Not long,” the tinny voice repeated, and now there seemed to be a sardonic kind of tone to it.<br /> “Definitely threatening,” Nal said, lowering her voice still further.<br /> Flop had gotten over her little game of feigning reluctance, and had joined her sister in trying to get the object’s attention. It was to no avail. The object continued to stare at Nal, Nike, and Sombrero, as if watching them. At this point even the gray sweatshirt’s interest was piqued; the collar stiffened and it half rose in the box. <br /> “Am I to undershtand you’re saying… that you’re out to get ush?” the words slurred out—the first words that sweatshirt had spoken in more than a week. <br /> “Sweathsirt!” Nal shook her top.<br /> “Yeah, say it right out,” Nike nodded approvingly. “Let’s get all the cards on the table.”<br /> A bunch of mini playing cards suddenly swarmed out from under sweatshirt. “Did you say our name? Is nap over? Can we come out? Will you play with us?” They chorused. <br /> “Good job, Nike,” Nal groaned. “All right, kids. You can get up now. Say hi to our new friend. And no, sweatshirt, of course he’s not out to get us. You’ve been sleeping too much lately—you need to talk to people more, so you don’t go as batty as celly.” She then slapped her cap over her mouth, and trembled. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”<br /> “We’ve all been worrying over celly,” Sombrero comforted her. “We know you weren’t being mean-spirited.” <br /> “Celly’s gone batty! Celly’s gone batty!” cried all the little cards, dancing a circle around the sides of the box, moving around the new object where he interrupted their path. <br /> “Quiet,” the new object said loudly.<br /> All in the box froze again except for the little cards. They stopped singing, but kept up their march, giggling and shoving each other.<br /> “What is it?” Nal asked, her voice trembling.<br /> Nike shook his brim and indicated the speaker that hung in a corner of the room. <br /> Something was happening—something, someone was saying something over the loudspeaker, which wasn’t all that abnormal, except the tone of his voice held a strange note; fear… an edge of panic…<br /> “Did you catch it?” Nike asked Nal when the talking stopped.<br /> “I—I think he said there was a bomb—something about evacuating.” <br /> Nal seemed scarcely able to believe what she was saying, and she stared at the new object, which seemed, somehow, to be smirking.<br /> “Are you a bomb?” Sombrero asked after a moment.<br /> The new object suddenly did something very normal—it shrugged. <br /> “It’s a bomb,” Nike whispered. “I knew it.”<br /> “Hey-el, I were the one who figured it first. I just shaid—“<br /> “Quiet, Sweatshirt,” Nal ordered. Slowly she turned toward the object.<br /> “What are your demands?” She asked the question blandly, precisely, enunciating all her consonants, just like the object did when it talked. <br /> The object shrugged again, swinging its antenna down in front of its screen as if inspecting it. “I couldn’t say. I wasn’t built to answer demands.”<br /> “All of us were built to answer demands,” Sombrero growled. “I was built for the demand of covering heads. Flip and flop, they answer the need of those who want something between their feet and the ground, and also want to look good. Sweatshirt kept the cold off for a time, and Nal here—well, she answers one of the most important demands of all. Without what Nal carries inside her, there is no human life. Of course you answer demands! Someone created you, didn’t they?” <br /> The object shifted its weight from one corner of its base to the other. “I can’t answer your questions,” it said flatly. <br /> The flip flops had backed away at this point. One of them fell over Nike, who didn’t even notice. <br /> “What are we going to do?” Flop wailed. <br /> “Nothing. You can do nothing.” The object answered.<br /> “Come on, Cel—Man. Bomb, whatever you are,” Nike said. The hat trembled, but edged a little closer to the object. “Come on. You wouldn’t want to hurt all of us, would you?”<br /> “Nike,” Nal warned, but it was too late. All the mini-cards stopped in their tracks and turned toward the object, then flipped around and turned toward Nike. <br /> “Hurt us?” The tiny queen of spades spoke up.<br /> “No, no, no,” Nike sputtered. They—it—we’ll be fine.”<br /> “You won’t be fine,” the object corrected immediately. “None of us will be fine. We will all be gone.”<br /> “Gone where?” Queen of spades asked, a tremor in her voice. <br /> “Burned up! Exshploded, shattered to shmithereens--“<br /> “Enough, Sweatshirt!” Nal snapped, but the sweatshirt continued to rave, and all the little cards started crying and running and hopping and swarming over everything.<br /> “Sombrero,” a voice hissed next to one of Sombrero’s pom-poms.<br /> Sombrero started. “Celly?” he whispered back, his voice covered by all the noise.<br /> “Come down here.”<br /> Sombrero glanced around, and slid under sweatshirt and a paper bag full of tangled cords who were swarming around like a nest of snakes, roused by the noise and chaos. <br /> The old cell-phone’s screen provided a weak light to see by. “You’ve got to do something,” it wheezed.<br /> “Do something?” Sombrero asked.<br /> “This is bad, very bad,” Celly continued.<br /> “You shouldn’t get all worked up like this.” <br /> “Do you not understand what this is about, man? I’ve had news go through me—tweets, and stories—these bombs. We’re not just talking about a few wrecked things. We’re not talking about a small fire. We’re talking people dying!”<br /> “By people, do you mean humans?”<br /> Celly swatted his screen with his antenna in exasperation. “For Cry—yes! Can’t you hear the ticking? Time is running out. That thing is a giant ball of fire just waiting to go off…waiting ‘till who knows when, who knows who’ll be nearby…who knows what these people want…”<br /> “Cool it, Celly, son,” Sombrero replied tersely. “Now this isn’t another one of your low-battery induced hallucinations, is it? I can trust your databases?”<br /> “Sombrero,” Celly said, hurt in his tone.<br /> “Now, c’mon, Cell. Remember last week, how you suddenly went all weird and started beeping randomly, cutting out when we tried to talk to you—“<br /> “Have I lied to you… yet, ‘bro?” <br /> Sombrero eyed the cell phone soberly. “And now you’re starting to cut out, again. That doesn’t improve my confidence too much.”<br /> “I may not be the sharp razor I was when I got tossed in here. But I’m telling you right now dude, and using the very last dregs…of my battery life to do so…that you…dudes have to…get that guy…out…of here.”<br /> “How am I to do that, son?”<br /> “Dunno…old…geezer,” Celly wheezed, “But I’ve done what I said I had…to do… told you, and now…now I’m…finished.”<br /> “Oh, son,” Sombrero grimaced. “Don’t.”<br /> “I’m…popping…myself out, ‘bro. Don’t…want…to be here…when it happens.”<br /> “Cel-“<br /> But the razor phone twitched suddenly. It’s back fell open, and the flat, square battery clattered to the floor of the box. <br /> Sombrero couldn’t stomach looking at the exposed circuitry. He felt heavy and sad, but also full of determination, as he wiggled up to the top of the box. <br />“Nal. Hey Nal,” he hissed. The cards had quieted down, but they lay in a quivering heap in the corner. Nal glanced at the object, which now stood in the middle of the box, keeping a sharp screen on every movement. <br /> “I’m watching you,” it barked at flip and flop, who seemed to be having a hard time of it, huddled and sobbing together in a corner.<br /> Sombrero looked at Nal and felt a deep sadness come. <br /> “What?” She whispered.<br /> “No whispering,” the object barked. “Come out here where I can see you.”<br /> There was no time. Sombrero twitched his brim in the object’s direction, then wiggled a pom-pom, pointing at himself, then snapped his brim shut for a second.<br /> “No,” Nal said. “No.”<br /> “I’m sorry, Nal. Love you, Gal,” Sombrero managed. A few seconds later, he suddenly made a flying leap, landing on top of the object. All the contents of the box screamed, then began cheering him on. <br /> “You can do it, hon,” Nal choked out.<br /> “Geeeet ‘im, Geeeezer!” Sweater wheezed.<br /> “You’re the man, ‘brero,” Nike said.<br /> Sombrero closed his brim tightly, trying not to groan as the object went crazy, rattling angrily inside his crown, stabbing its antenna sharply, furiously into anything it could reach. <br /> He could no longer talk, so he wiggled his pom poms at all the objects in the box.<br /> “Where you going?” Nike asked incredulously.<br /> “Whasha doin?” Sweatshirt warbled. <br /> “No, wait—“ Nal said.<br /> Sombrero couldn’t wait. He couldn’t stop. Who knew when the clock would tick to an end?<br /> Once out of the box, He rolled. Rolled through the doorway, down the little sidewalk.<br /> He was a strange sight—a sombrero with the brim apparently sewn shut, rolling on its own along the cement pathways that decorated the fairgrounds. Luckily the bomb threat had cleared everyone out of the fairgrounds, so nobody saw him. He rolled into the woods, past trees and bushes. He rolled and rolled until he reached a small copse of bushes by a little stream—he had to be at least three hundred feet from any part of the fairgrounds.<br /> He came to a stop.<br /> “Let me out,” the tinny voice ordered.<br /> “Nope.” Sombrero slurred, keeping his brim shut. <br /> “I’m not a bomb. It was just a joke.”<br /> Sombrero didn’t answer. He sat there.<br /> All through the night he sat, listening to the orders, then the jibes, and finally, the pleadings of the object. <br /> Eventually, the object silenced, and only the tiny, strange ticking noise continued.<br /> Had it been a joke? <br /> Sombrero couldn’t take the chance.<br /> It began to rain, hard. The mud began to stir under Sombrero’s crown; the stream banks rose and touched his closed brim.<br /> The object began buzzing again angrily. “I’ll be ruined,” it said. “I’ll break. This rain—“<br /> The words fell on deaf (though sopping wet) straw. Sombrero continued to hold his brim shut, continued to wait it out.<br />The object began crooning to itself softly. It was a strange tune, and yet somehow haunting. Sombrero thought he might have recognized if he could only think hard enough.<br /> He must have fallen asleep then, because suddenly it was bright outside. He gasped, remembering, and then realized that the object hadn’t moved—it was still inside of him. But the strange ticking had stopped. <br /> Slowly, Sombrero moved aside. Was it dead, then? Was the threat gone?<br /> There was a sudden sound of footsteps. Sombrero froze and rolled onto his side. <br /> “Where’s the John? Thought you said this was a short cut.” <br /> “Must have gotten turned around,” another voice said. “Look! Cell phone,” <br /> “Wait—wait,” the first cautioned. <br /> Sombrero squinted up at them, shifting the tiniest bit to get a better view. They wore bright-colored suits, uniforms of some kind. <br /> “Think it could be our bomb?”<br /> "Not likely, out in the woods like this. But you can’t be too careful.” A large, gloved hand picked up the object.<br /> Carefully the back of the object was removed, revealing a battery and circuitry. “Nope. Just a cell. Someone must have dropped it. Shame—got wet. Battery’s dead now.” <br /> “We’ll drop it by the lost and found on our way out.”<br /> “Boss say we can go?”<br /> “Threat was a fake. Said it was supposed to go off last night.”<br /> “Ah. And what’s this?" Another large hand picked up the sombrero.<br /> “Trash. People leaving garbage all over the place—really gets me riled.” <br /> The hand lowered the sombrero back to the ground. <br /> “Well, don’t leave it there—that’s just as bad. Take it to the dumpster. There’s one just inside the gate over here.”<br /> “OK.” <br /> The men in yellow jackets walked back toward the entrance gates of the Kiowa County Fair.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00466860937596192472noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-84648367721936029622010-08-16T20:17:00.002-06:002010-08-16T20:36:33.489-06:00Story PromptsAdele, Josh, and I briefly talked about story prompts (and the family blog) on our recent vacation in Exeter. We decided to provide some story prompts so we can maybe generate some stories on here (like the good 'ol days). Everyone is invited! Basically, the idea is to see what different types of stories we all come up with, given only a few "prompts."<div><br /></div><div>The prompts I came up with are:</div><div><ul><li>an amusement park (can be a state fair, carnival, Disneyland, etc.)</li><li>a cell phone</li></ul><div>In two weeks (Tuesday, August 31) we can all post our stories that incorporate these two things in some way. And to prevent idea theft and promote original thoughts, no one post your stories until that day.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Go!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-22683517048439355342010-07-14T16:01:00.005-06:002010-07-16T16:22:32.434-06:00My New Political BlogIf you're interested, I've recently started (kind of restarted, but mostly just started) a blog focused on politics. I'm having fun with it, and hoping that I'll be able to keep it up and running with new content. <br /><br />I would love each of your comments and feedback on the blog. You can vist the blog at:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.itspoliticalobviously.com/">http://www.itspoliticalobviously.com/</a>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02456467646043442878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-6505155126163535962010-07-14T15:58:00.003-06:002010-07-14T16:20:30.688-06:00What is Your Calling in Life?A friend recommended this recent BYU devotional to me and now I'm passing it on. I'm not sure how often our family checks this blog, but just in case you do check out this devotional. I really enjoyed it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.byub.org/talks/Talk.aspx?id=3967">http://www.byub.org/talks/Talk.aspx?id=3967</a>Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02456467646043442878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-41643992106965682702010-01-01T12:02:00.003-07:002010-01-01T12:08:09.922-07:00What have you done for someone today?When Josh posted on his personal blog yesterday, it was his first post in about a year. So I don't know if a lot of people are checking his blog more recently. <br /><br />You should <a href="http://spottedredscomments.blogspot.com/">read his latest post</a> when you get a chance though. It gave me chills and brought tears to my eyes.merrilykarolyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16354896948729639433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-84305493662455285182009-12-28T00:23:00.005-07:002009-12-29T00:39:53.454-07:00<span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Adventures in Learning</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;"></span><br /><br />When we were growing up, Dad would sometimes write little plays depicting scripture stories, for his Sunday School class. We would often record them in audio format, complete with in-character voices and background music and effects. In fond memory of those occasions, I post a play of my own which I used recently in a church class (it was not recorded). It depicts Abinadi confronting the priests of wicked King Noah, <em>with some liberties taken</em>.<br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Abinadi and the priests of Noah</em></span>,</strong> <span style="font-size:85%;">from Mosiah 12:18-37; 13:1-35</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">CHARACTERS: Jimmy, Sally, King Noah, Abinadi, Priest 1, Priest 2, Priest 3, Jimmy’s Mother<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Sally, come check this out! I've rewired my television set, so now, instead of showing dumb TV shows, it actually shows events from the past! It’s like a window into what has gone before.<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: You mean you can actually look backwards in time?<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Exactly. We will never have to fail another history test.<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Wow, Jimmy, you are such a genius!<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: You are smart, too, Sally, knowing that I am.<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Thanks. Hey, look, there's something coming in on the screen.<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Yeah, I set the machine so we could see one of my favorite encounters from the past: the struggle between Abinadi and the wicked priests of King Noah. This should be good . . .<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Wait! I can't understand a word they're saying! They're all talking in some other language. This is all useless! It's all meaningless. What a dunce you are Jimmy! What good is it like this?<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Gee, I, uh, . . .<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Wait! Give me the remote . . . I'll just go into the TV setup mode and select English as the language! There. . . .all fixed!<br /><br /><strong>King Noah</strong>: I have brought you here, Abinadi, that my priests might question you.<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Wo unto this people!<br /><br /><strong>Priest 1</strong> : We'll see about that, Abinadi. Now I have a question for you to answer: What do the words from Isaiah 52 mean which say: "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings."<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Oh no! The priest is quoting Isaiah! I always get confused with Isaiah. Not even the TV setup mode can help us now!<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Wait, give it a chance! Maybe Abinadi will explain it!<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Are you priests, and pretend to teach this people, and to understand the spirit of prophesying, and yet desire to know of me what this scripture from Isaiah means?<br /><br /><strong>Priest 1</strong>: Answer my question. Why do you bring us bad tidings when Isaiah says you should bring good tidings?<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: I say unto you, wo be unto you for perverting the ways of the Lord!<br /><br /><strong>Priest 1</strong>: I have only read straight from the Holy scriptures.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 2</strong>: Isaiah 52 also states: "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that publisheth peace." Yet you have told us we will have war, not peace!<br /><br /><strong>Priest 3</strong>: Isaiah 52 further says: "The Lord hath comforted his people." You have not been speaking comforting words to us, Abinadi, but disturbing words, like how the dogs shall devour our flesh.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 2</strong>: Isaiah 52 also says: "All the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God," yet you have said that we will not be saved, but destroyed and smitten!<br /><br /><strong>Priest 3</strong>: Isaiah 52 also states: "Put on thy strength," yet you have told us we will be weak, smitten on the cheek, and driven like a dumb ass.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 2</strong>: Isaiah 52 also states: "Break forth into joy; sing together," yet you tell us that we shall howl all the day long.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 3</strong>: And you have spoken against the King! Isaiah 52 says: "Put on thy beautiful garments," yet you have said that the King shall be as a garment in a hot furnace!<br /><br /><strong>Priest 1</strong>: So now, explain to us, Abinadi, how can you be a prophet and teach against the scriptures?<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Wow! Those priests are sharp, pointing out that Abinadi seems to have everything backwards--blessings turned into cursings. Will Abinadi be able to answer those charges?<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Let's see what Abinadi says.<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: If ye understand the scriptures ye have not taught them; therefore, ye have perverted the ways of the Lord. Ye have not applied your hearts to understanding; therefore, ye have not been wise. Therefore, what teach ye this people?<br /><br /><strong>Priest 2</strong>: What do we teach the people? Of course we teach the law of Moses.<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: If ye teach the law of Moses why do ye not keep it? Why do ye set your hearts upon riches? Why do ye commit whoredoms and spend your strength with harlots, yea, and cause this people to commit sin, that the Lord has cause to send me to prophesy against this people, yea, even a great evil against this people?<br /><br /><strong>Priest 3</strong>: How dare you condemn us!? We are your priests, your spiritual leaders, consecrated by the King himself!<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Know ye not that I speak the truth? Yea, ye know that I speak the truth; and you ought to tremble before God. Ye shall be smitten for your iniquities.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 3</strong>: We've already heard all this stuff from you.<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Ye have said that ye teach the law of Moses. And what know ye concerning the law of Moses? Doth salvation come by the law of Moses? What say ye?<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Wow! He's turned it around and is questioning them, now.<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: That's the strategy I use in chess. A good offense is a good defense.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 1</strong>: Yes, Abinadi, salvation comes by the law of Moses. Of course it does.<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: I know if ye keep the commandments of God ye shall be saved; yea, if ye keep the commandments which the Lord delivered unto Moses in the mount of Sinai, saying:<br />I am the Lord thy God, who hath brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.<br /><em>Thou shalt have no other God before me.<br />Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing in heaven above, or things which are in the earth beneath.</em><br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Hey! Abinadi is quoting from the 10 Commandments. I recognize them from seminary two years ago!<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: You must have learned something after all, Sally, in between all of that note-writing. The 10 commandments are part of the law of Moses. The priests say they teach the law of Moses, so Abinadi is reminding them of what that law actually says.<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Have ye done all this? I say unto you, Nay, ye have not. And have ye taught this people that they should do all these things? I say unto you, Nay, ye have not.<br /><br /><strong>King Noah</strong>: Away with this fellow, and slay him! For what have we to do with him, for he is mad!<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Look, they're trying to grab Abinadi, but they can‘t!<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Touch me not, for God shall smite you if ye lay your hands upon me, for I have not delivered the message which the Lord sent me to deliver; neither have I told you that which ye requested that I should tell; therefore, God will not suffer that I shall be destroyed at this time.<br />But I must fulfil the commandments wherewith God has commanded me; and because I have told you the truth ye are angry with me. And again, because I have spoken the word of God ye have judged me that I am mad.<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Look, Sally, Abinadi’s face is shining with a bright light!<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: I remember reading in seminary about Moses when he was on Mount Sinai. His face shined the same way.<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Abinadi was just quoting from the law of Moses, and now Abinadi looks like Moses!<br /> <br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Ye see that ye have not power to slay me, therefore I finish my message. Yea, and I perceive that it cuts you to your hearts because I tell you the truth concerning your iniquities. Yea, and my words fill you with wonder and amazement, and with anger.<br /><br /><strong>King Noah and all the priests</strong>: Grrrrrrrr!<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: But I finish my message; and then it matters not whither I go, if it so be that I am saved. But this much I tell you, what you do with me, after this, shall be as a type and a shadow of things which are to come.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 1</strong>: I’m gonna get you!<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: And now I will finish telling you of the commandments, for they are not written in your hearts. Ye have studied and taught iniquity the most part of your lives. And now I continue:<br /><em>Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.</em><br /><em>Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. </em><br /><em>Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.</em><br /><br /><strong>Jimmy’s Mother</strong> (from the other room): Jimmy! Jimmy! You haven’t taken out the trash! You go and do it right now, before you watch any more TV!<br /><br />[Jimmy takes the remote and presses “pause”]<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Aw, Mom!<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Jimmy! What did Abinadi just say? Honor thy father and mother!<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Okay, Mom! Sorry I forgot! I’ll do it right away!<br /><br />[Jimmy goes, and then comes back and presses “play”]<br /> <br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>:<br /><em>Thou shalt not kill.<br />Thou shalt not commit adultery.<br />Thou shalt not steal.<br />Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.<br />Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his man-servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbor's.<br /></em>Have ye taught this people that they should observe to do all these things for to keep these commandments? I say unto you, Nay; for if ye had, the Lord would not have caused me to come forth and to prophesy evil concerning this people.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 2</strong>: Don’t judge us! We know the law as well as you do.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 3</strong>: We are a rich and prosperous kingdom. The Lord has blessed us. He has saved us because we do know the law.<br /> <br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Ye have said that salvation cometh by the law of Moses. But salvation does not come by the law alone; and were it not for the atonement of the Messiah, or Christ, we all must unavoidably perish, notwithstanding the law of Moses. In fact, all of the ordinances of the law of Moses are symbolic of Christ.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 1</strong>: What strange ideas are you trying to preach to us now? You’re trying to lead us astray with your talk of an atonement and of Christ.<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Did not Moses prophesy concerning the coming of the Messiah, and that God should redeem his people? Yea, and even all the prophets who have prophesied ever since the world began—have they not spoken more or less concerning these things?<br /><br /><strong>Priest 2</strong>: I don’t know what you’re talking about.<br /><br /><strong>Priest 3</strong>: He really is mad.<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: Have not all the prophets said that God himself should come down among the children of men, and take upon him the form of man, and go forth in mighty power upon the face of the earth? Have they not said that he should bring to pass the resurrection of the dead, and that he, himself, should be oppressed and afflicted?<br /><br /><strong>Priest 1</strong>: What prophets? What are you talking about?<br /><br /><strong>Abinadi</strong>: You quoted from the words of Isaiah 52. So now I shall tell you what Isaiah said next, in Isaiah 53. This whole chapter is about the Messiah and the atonement.<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Wow! They tried to trap him with Isaiah 52. Now he’s going to quote Isaiah 53 to turn everything around and put everything in context. He’s using the next chapter from Isaiah to answer them. Brilliant! Isaiah is cool after all!<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Isaiah certainly is! And luckily, I’ve studied it along with my scientific experimenting. In fact I can explain Isaiah to you right now--I have been thinking about what he said in chapter 53. . .<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy’s Mother</strong> (from the other room): Jimmy! You’ve been watching TV long enough! Now turn that thing off and come help me in the kitchen!<br /><br /><strong>Jimmy</strong>: Yes Mother. I’ll see you later, Sally.<br /><br /><strong>Sally</strong>: Later.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-60173488065336211332009-12-10T12:52:00.002-07:002009-12-10T12:55:16.435-07:003, now 4 emhases for salvationThe church has added an additional mission to complete the current trifold mission of the church. We are now a four-fold gospel. <br /><br />The new addition? <br /><br />See <a href="http://www.sltrib.com/news/ci_13965607">here</a>.<br /><br />How do you all feel about it? I kinda feel like jumping with joy, sunbeam-style.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00466860937596192472noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-57696238509048825722009-11-05T08:09:00.002-07:002009-11-05T08:14:37.226-07:00A Tabernacle in the Wilderness: The Tabernacle as a symbol.President Hinckley’s 2007 remarks upon the rededication of the tabernacle:<br /><br />“Now this building has undergone extensive renovation and remodeling to bring it up to the latest seismic code. With this undertaking, we hope and pray that its historical features have not been destroyed.”<br /><br />“Some of the old benches have been saved and will continue to be used. But as you’ve already discovered, the new benches are just as hard as the old ones were!”<br /><br />“Exits have been added to meet modern-day requirements. The great stone pillars, which constitute its outside walls, have been greatly strengthened and fortified. The roof has been strengthened with the addition of steel trusses, with new roofing applied.”<br /><br />“Changes in this building, I remind you, are not new. Even shortly after the days of its creation, it was modified. Originally there was no balcony, and this had to be added.”<br /><br /><br />“This is a peculiar building, the only one of its kind in all the world. It was built almost a century and a half ago in the days of the poverty of our people. It was literally a Tabernacle built in the wilderness.”<br /><br />“The temple was far from finished at the time. Those who built the Tabernacle did so with faith, as well as their rudimentary architectural skills. Skeptics, of whom there are always many, predicted that when the scaffolding was removed, the roof would come down with it. This did not happen, and it has remained in place through sunshine and storm through all of these many years.”<br /><br />From the Prayer:<br /><br />"we dedicate, rededicate, and consecrate this, the Salt Lake Tabernacle, to Thee and to Thy Beloved Son, that through many years yet to come it may serve as a place where Thy people may gather for many reasons."<br /><br />"At one time most of the Latter-day Saints lived here in this valley and in other surrounding areas where settlements were established. Now, Thy work has grown and spread over the earth until we have more members outside of this nation than we have in it."<br /><br />I listened to the dedicatory prayer yesterday and was struck by how this edifice, the Old Tabernacle, is in so very many ways symbolic of our church. It touched me deeply. I found myself moved as I listened to the prayer. Here’s a link to <a href=" http://www.lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?hideNav=1&locale=0&sourceId=2930b5658af22110VgnVCM100000176f620a____&vgnextoid=2354fccf2b7db010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD">President Hinckley's talk and dedicatory prayer</a>.<br /><br />I chose only a few paragraphs from the address. There is a great deal of touching commentary on the early church and pioneers that were our foundation. <br /><br />What are your thoughts?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00466860937596192472noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-47041023664075824772009-10-25T22:38:00.003-06:002009-10-27T08:32:49.646-06:00<span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">How Influential, Actually, Is Music?</span><br /><br />Heaven is always making music, with perfect harmony, created in accordance with its celestial motions, as it is said, The heavens declare the glory of God (Ps. 19:2). Some say the source of this music is an orchestra of angels. Others say it is the rhythm and melody of the planets and stars as they circle the heavens.<br /><br />If, by chance, this music should reach our ears, irrepressible cravings would emerge, frenzied longings, and insane passions. These longings would be so great, we would no longer take nourishment from food and drink in the manner of mortals, but as beings destined for immortality.<br /><br />This happened to Moses when he ascended Mount Sinai. There, for forty days and nights, he touched neither bread nor water. Soon the strains of this heavenly music reached his ears, along with the words of the Torah as God recited them. It is said that for the rest of his life Moses heard this unearthly music, just as the light that shone from his face after Sinai always remained with him.<br /><br /><em>(Howard Schwartz,</em> Tree of Souls, The Mythology of Judaism<em>, p. 188)</em><br /><em></em><br />* * * *<br /><br />But as to Genun, Satan came into him in his childhood; and he made sundry trumpets and horns, and string instruments, cymbals and psalteries, and lyres and harps, and flutes; and he played on them at all times and at every hour. And when he played on them, Satan came into them, so that from among them were heard beautiful and sweet sounds, that ravished the heart. . .<br /><br />Then when it was day, Genun blew the horns and beat the drums below the mountain, as he was wont. the children of Seth heard it, and came as they used to do . . .<br /><br />Enoch at that time was already grown up, and in his zeal for God, he arose and said, "Hear me, O ye sons of Seth, small and great--when ye transgress the commandments of our fathers, and go down from this holy mountain--ye shall not come up hither again for ever." But they rose up against Enoch, and would not hearken to his words, but went down from the Holy Mountain.<br /><br /><em>(2 Adam and Eve 2-3, 20, 29-30)</em><br /><em></em><br />* * * *<br /><br />I was talking to people at dinner the other night and they'd heard about the show or seen it and we started talking about the significance of the Beatles politically. So many people, in America particularly, come up to me and say, "You changed my life." This whole idea of the significance of the Beatles is incredible. Someone mentioned the Russian thing—the bringing down of the Iron Curtain.<br /><br /><em>(Paul McCartney: the Billboard Q&A September 12, 2009)</em><br /> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-28585960667734344882009-10-14T23:16:00.008-06:002009-10-14T23:50:15.527-06:00Religious FreedomCamilla emailed me the link below... It's a speech Elder Dallin H. Oaks gave at BYU-I yesterday, and well worth the read. I was just going to reply to her email, but thought this would be a great discussion to have on the blog.<br /><br /><a href="http://newsroom.lds.org/ldsnewsroom/eng/news-releases-stories/religious-freedom">click here</a> to read or <a href="http://web.byui.edu/devotionalsandspeeches/Default.aspx">click here</a> to listen<span style="font-size:85%;"> (to listen, try the mp3 link if you don't want to worry about downloading software)</span><br /><br />or <a href="http://newsroom.lds.org/ldsnewsroom/eng/news-releases-stories/apostle-says-religious-freedom-is-being-threatened">click here</a> for a summary of the articlemerrilykarolyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16354896948729639433noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1757356218962367669.post-52328055568353971242009-10-07T11:50:00.002-06:002009-10-07T13:16:45.346-06:00Music and LDS sacrament meetingsWhen I saw <a href="http://www.feministmormonhousewives.org/?p=2673">this thread</a> on one of my favorite (ish, depends on who's posting and on what topic) websites, my first thought was to post it here, but I feel like I've posted here, too much. <br /><br />But... this is a discussion too wonderful to pass up with you folks. So read the post, and a lot of the comments, too! And tell me what you think. And Adelle and Cam, I won't mind if you copy-paste your comment from my other blog into this one. I might do the same.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00466860937596192472noreply@blogger.com9