Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

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Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Matthew Notch » Tue Oct 01, 2013 5:30 am

Look kids. I'm not a writer. I like to do it, but I don't claim to be any good. I DO, though, get tons of ideas all the time. After a while, they just sorta disappear and wither away and I tell myself they weren't any good anyway, and that's not even disappointing to me because ideas just keep coming. But now, I think it's high time I wrote some of these stories out. You'll note that most of them are based on ideas that come to me during life, so you'll excuse the mundane subject matter, perhaps.

Now then, story time with Mr. Notch!




Joanna and the Ice Cream Man


Of all the people in her class, in her family, on her block, and on the bus she took to school, the only person Joanna felt any sort of kinship at all with was the ice cream man. When he first came she was as cold to him as she was to everyone, but he was just too sweet and polite and of course he was always holding ice cream, so after a while she warmed up to him, and he became her only friend in the world. Everyone else got the short shrift of her friendship, because all in all she just didn't see the point in even making friends.

One night she was sat on her porch, about eight PM, just as the sun was beginning to set, when she heard the familiar strains of "The Entertainer" by Scott Joplin. He rolled up and knew to go ahead and park and turn his "Slow Children Crossing" sign on (an inside joke between him and Joanna; is it always only the slow children who want ice cream?) because Joanna was always up for a chat, and was usually good for a few bucks too.

"Hey ice cream man."

"Hey Joanna."

"My Aunt Lucille says I shouldn't be friends with ice cream men, because they're mostly pedophiles and kidnappers."

"Your aunt speaks the truth, Joanna. I work with some janky people. Do you even know what a pedophile is?"

"I looked it up after she told me that. What has been seen can never be unseen, but on the other hand I suppose there's no reason to get worked up about it."

"Oh no, Joanna. There's plenty of reason. It's terrible. For the record, you can tell your Aunt Lucille that small children are sort of like blenders to me. They're nice to have around, but useless and rather terrifying as sexual objects. I'm more likely to be convicted of murdering one than being one, anyway."

"Well I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear that. Not that I care."

"Joanna... do you find you care about anything?" Joanna was a little taken aback by the question. She mulled it over for a moment, then replied:

"I mean, what's the point? Why bother caring about things? I like ice cream, but if you were to quit or get killed I suppose I could buy some at the store, and probably way cheaper."

"That's true. And to be fair, Joanna, if you quit buying ice cream from me, we really wouldn't have much of a basis for friendship, would we? You kids are like dollar signs to me, after all."

"Still... I feel like, even if I don't see why I should, I ought to try and make friends. It's what people do, right? So ice cream man, first of all what's your name?"

"Uh, my name is Bill."

"Okay Bill, so what are you doing Friday afternoon, before you start selling?"

"Oh... well anyway, Friday is kind of a bad day. There's a very special event that day for ice cream men all over the city, so I'll be rather tied up."

Joanna brightened somewhat. "Oh, I don't mind. I should really start trying to be interested in what other people do. Let me go to your ice cream social, Bill! I'll be free."

"It's... it's not really a party, Joanna. It's more of a tradition."

"Bill. Come on. Don't you want me to care about something?" Bill had to concede that he did, and anyway time was wasting and those fudge bars in the back weren't going to sell themselves. He relented, only on the condition that Joanna's parents were completely on board, which strangely enough they were.

***

Friday morning Joanna woke up early. She took a shower and braided her hair, ate a responsible breakfast of bran muffins and grapefruit juice, knocked out a large swath of her summer reading, did the dishes, and made her bed, all without being asked. The hub for the ice cream vendors was just north of the downtown metro area, so she caught a bus at noon and walked the six blocks from the station. As she neared the facility, a low droning could be heard from behind the overhead door.

When she stepped inside, Joanna was promptly greeted by the stench of cigarettes and body odor that smelled oddly like Parmesan cheese. Only a couple people were in the lobby, smoking, but the droning got much louder when she opened the front door, and so she followed the noise. The ice cream men in the lobby paid her no mind. Bigger things were afoot in their worlds.

Through the door leading into the shop, she saw a crowd of men standing in a circle, holding ice cream scoops which were fashioned onto broom handles, creating some strange sort of scoop-spear. They hummed, first in low pitch at quiet volume, then at higher pitch slightly louder, then finally back to the low pitch at great volume, all before starting the cycle again. She couldn't find Bill in the circle, but as she decided to give up and head home after all, she saw him step out of the bathroom and pick up his own scoop-spear. He saw her and headed over.

"Joanna! All right, listen to me. This is REALLY not going to be fun. Mostly procedure and a lot of pomp and circumstance. You are, of course, welcome to stay as my honored guest, but if you want to leave and go do something exciting, I wouldn't blame you."

"Are you kidding? This looks pretty cool, Bill. Where do I get a spear thing?" So Bill found a spare scoop-spear, which he explained to her was actually called a kognsnoth, the weapon of ancient ice cream vendors. Then he returned to his spot in the circle, and Joanna joined him, humming the drones as the other men and women were doing. They didn't seem to notice her presence. At length a very fat man holding a kognsnoth with a rusted end came out of the office, looking a little nervous. As he wiped away the flop sweat and tugged at the waistband of his sweat pants, another man stepped out of the big walk-in freezer holding a brilliantly shining kognsnoth that was coated in frost, much like the man's mullet and neckbeard. He smiled at the fat man, who furtively grinned back, and the two stepped into the circle, the ice cream men moving wordlessly to accommodate the pair's entrance. Joanna stopped droning and looked up at Bill.

"Hey, what's going on here? Is there going to be like an epic battle?"

Bill said nothing. The droning ceased, and the men began to rap the concrete floor with the bottoms of their kognsnoths, while the two in the center of the circle began to chant in time and in unison with each other:

    Merchants are we with wares so cold
    Our lives, before they began, were told
    Our chosen professions are dear and old
    And we are pure, and brave and bold!

The chanting continued, and the rapping grew in tempo until suddenly all the ice cream men started chanting together. The sound of a large army chanting and making ruckus is something very few people will behold; it is the sound the Zulu tribe made to intimidate the large armies they conquered on their way across Africa; it is the chanting the Scots raucously taunted their presumably more civilized opponents on the field of battle with; it is the terror the Apaches visited on their enemy tribes, and later on the white man who had never experienced the truly raw power of a man's malice. Joanna was terrified, but enthralled at it all.

All at once the chanting stopped, and the droning began again as the fat man and his bemulleted opponent leveled their spears at one another and began circling slowly. Joanna couldn't catch her breath to start droning, and instead looked up at Bill.

"Wait, seriously?" Bill said nothing in response, but merely nodded and continued humming. The young one was the first to strike, and the first to draw blood. His scoop merely grazed the fat man's chin as he moved away surprisingly nimbly, but not fast enough to avoid a small cut on his neck flap. The young man smiled terribly and lunged again, but this time the fat man deflected the blow with the blunt end of his weapon, and struck down with a blow of his own. The two fighters fought for several long minutes, but the young man eventually caught the fat man with the blunt end right in the stomach, and the fat man doubled over trying to catch his breath. The youth had a chance to score a crude finishing blow to the back of the neck, but instead opted to sling himself over the fat man's back for a spectacular fatality. As soon as his feet hit the ground he was airborne again, his kognsnoth over his head, his scream one of pure hatred. He couldn't bring the scoop down fast enough, though, and the fat man fell to his side, jabbing the scoop up into the young man's exposed thorax. The youth looked shocked for a second as he hung there on the end of the fat man's spear, his feet dangling just over the ground, but slowly sinking as the scoop embedded itself further into his body. At last he quit struggling for breath, dropped his weapon, bowed his head, and died. The fat man cursed silently and averted his eyes. Some of the men in the circle began to laugh scornfully, but Bill turned away, tears in his face, and walked slowly toward the office. Joanna just stood in shock for a second before she noticed her friend was gone, and followed him into the office where he was getting some Gatorade from the large Thermos in there.

"Bill! Wait! What... what the hell even was that?!"

"It was the Ritual of Hubmanship. Every year the foreman selects a salesman to train to be his replacement in the office, counting out cash, stocking trucks, ordering product and taking customer complaints. The Apprentice is trained in all aspects of our business, and beyond."

"So... you're telling me your business involves spearing people to death with glorified ice cream scoops?"

"Joanna, you don't understand. Our traditions are ancient, and our methods are pure. At the end of his apprenticeship the recruit engages in the Ritual of Hubmanship with the foreman. They battle, and whoever is left standing is the foreman for the next year."

"But the fat one seemed disappointed that he won!"

"Yes, Joanna. It is a great dishonor to him. It means he failed to train his apprentice properly. If this happens three years in a row he is gutted and his entrails are spread over our lot, and we run over them on our way to our routes for the day. This was his second year of victory over his apprentice. And he... he is MY friend, Joanna. I don't want to run over his entrails next year."

"But that means he has to die doing... whatever the hell that just was."

"I admit it's a little strange, making friends with a man whose destiny is to die within the next three years. But you don't really know when I'm going to die Joanna, and now you know it might be much sooner than later. Really, you don't know when ANYONE is going to die, do you? So your decision to make friends isn't based on whether it's reasonable to do so or not. You do it because it matters to you, as I've done with the foreman."

Bill took Joanna home that night in the ice cream van. It was the first and last time she would ever see what the inside of one looked like. After he dropped her off, he smiled at her and told her he would be back on the route next Monday, but she only shook her head and walked back to her house. She decided, from that moment on, that perhaps she would make an effort to talk to someone at school, or to have lunch with her Aunt Lucille, or to offer to buy some groceries for Mrs. Hansen, the old woman next door. Maybe she would even sit with her backpack on the floor next Monday when she got on the bus, in case someone wanted to sit next to her. Maybe they'd even strike up a conversation, and just maybe they'd even become friends.

Anything had to be better than making a friend in the ice cream man.
  • 24

It's Dangerous to Go Alone


"I desperately want Jiggery Pokery now."-- Pikajew

"I do feel that if she happens to favour attractive, successful, intelligent men I will be at a disadvantage."--Anglerphobe

"I have a beautiful sphincter and Mexico is gonna pay for it."--Kate
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Matthew Notch » Tue Oct 01, 2013 7:57 am

Vagabond, Mississippi


It wasn't easy breaking out of that prison, let me tell you. I'm fairly certain Chuck Roach got shot when we were running away, because I didn't see him after we got into the forest. Then again, I didn't see anyone for a while because I ran the opposite direction of those other guys. They were never too good about taking showers; I bet the guard dogs took after them like a pig takes to slop. Well they were at least good diversions, because I hadn't seen any guards since that day. God rest their souls.

The day I arrived in Vagabond, I'd more or less destroyed my shoes from all the walking. The name of the town was fitting indeed, because here I come with the soles of my shoes slapping the pavement with every step I took, my face covered in soot from my brief stint as a strip miner, my coat pocked up with holes from the thorns I ran through trying to escape the sheriff, and I kid you not, I don't know what possessed me to do it that day, but I was actually chewing the end of a stalk of wheat as I walked. You know how the old-timey movies used to portray hobos, vagrants, vagabonds? Well I was the spit of that.

The sign said, "Welcome to Vagabond, MS: Everyone is home here." Underneath was a smaller sign that read, "Pop. 250". Well, at least I wouldn't make a scene coming here. I looked around for a place to call home for the night, and to my surprise I found a house that seemed to be empty. It was getting dark and I knew I had to find shelter soon, especially in a strange new town, so I took a risk and knocked on the door. No answer. I then tried the doorknob, and lo and behold, it was open! So I stepped on through the threshold and surveyed the scene before me:

A quiet, two-bedroom house, fully furnished but with the furniture apparently unused, a small black and white television in the corner, a kitchen with a pot on the stove, a couple cabinets which, on closer inspection, revealed a small selection of flatware and some crystal tumblers, and even a microwave oven. The bedrooms each had a twin-sized bed with sheets and a felt blanket and a little wardrobe, empty save for a few pairs of undergarments: men's on the left and women's on the right of the drawer. The bathroom had some pumice soap by the sink and some Irish Spring in the bathtub, and there were two white hotel towels hanging on the bar. Everything about the house said, "Come live in me!", which made me think it was probably some sort of model home designed to get any passing travelers to think about maybe staying in Vagabond, Mississippi. Nevertheless, I couldn't help myself, and I sat on the couch and watched Gunsmoke until I fell into one of the most restful sleeps I'd had in years.

***

A knock on the door shook me from sleep. After so many years of living wherever life was at, I'd forgotten what the sound of a door being knocked on sounded like from the inside. My mind drifted ever so gently back to my Evelyn before the knocking came again, and I realized in a panic that I was staying in someone's house. I jumped up to try and sneak out the back door, but all at once it occurred to me that they could see me through the window in the front. Goddamn me for sleeping in the living room! I figured the jig was up, so I opened the door, only to see a man and a woman smiling warmly at me, the woman holding a loaf of bread and the man leaning on a grass cutter.

"Um, hello? Can I help you?"

"Hi, we just noticed that you moved in here last night! It's nice to have you in the neighborhood! I'm Helen, and this is Stanley..."

Stanley stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr...?"

"Oh! My name's Frank. Frank Shep—er, Sheppell. Frank Sheppell." That was too close.

"Howdy Mr. Sheppell. Well we're all one big family here in Vagabond, so I came to cut your grass, and Helen here made you a loaf of bread. Don't turn her down; hers is the best bread in Mississippi."

"Well, you see... I'm not... really... I mean..." I didn't really want to tell them I'd be on my way that night, or that I hadn't really moved into this house, or that I didn't want Helen's bread, because frankly it smelled delicious. "I'm... not really dressed for visitors, would you excuse me for just a minute?"

I let them in and rushed back to the bedroom to see if I had some clean clothes in my pack. I was always pretty fastidious when it came to cleaning my clothes, but lately I'd just been running nonstop. Luckily I had a shirt with only a couple grease spots on it from that time I faked my way as a mechanic before I got run off by the shop owner. I took it into the bathroom, sneaking so that Helen and Stanley wouldn't notice, and cleaned the spots off with the pumice soap. It was a little wet, but that was better than filthy, and I tucked it in to look a little neater and ran a comb through my hair before I stepped back out.

"God, I apologize friends. It was kind of a stressful move."

Helen smiled again at me. "Don't you worry, I understand. You clean up real nice, Mr. Sheppell!"

"Well, your bread is on the counter, Mr. Sheppell. I'll get started cutting your grass if you want to relax a bit. Have you been into town to buy some groceries yet?"

I hadn't, and I did have a couple dollars saved up from that time I posed as a substitute preacher for that one town that ended up dismantling the church and calling it a day after I left. I thanked Stanley and told him and Helen they were welcome to make themselves at home while I was away. They refused a little too eagerly, but graciously, so I left them to make my way downtown.

The town of Vagabond, Mississippi, really isn't too big all things considered. I tried to count all the houses, but I only saw about 20, and with a population of 250, surely there were some other houses elsewhere. Maybe out on the farmlands, though the crops had failed pretty miserably that year. Anyway, I got to the store and was surprised to find it boarded up and closed. I looked in the windows, and the place seemed long ago abandoned. In fact, nearly all the businesses on the main drag were shuttered. Only one place remained: the barbershop on the corner of 16th and Pleasant.

***

A bell rang as I walked in. "Hello there, Mr. Barber."

"Hey, call me Brian, friend. Two bits, I'll clean you right up." So since the store was closed anyway, I sat back in the barber chair and let the guy do his thing. "So where're you from, mister?"

"Name's Frank, Brian, and I'm from a little town called Memphis. Maybe you've heard of it."

"I have indeed. You're a long way from home, Frank."

"Well I've been around, you know. Here and there. I've done it all, I think. And now I think it's time to settle down for a cut and a shave and call it good for a while. Although... I'm not sure this place is the place to do that."

"What, you mean the stores? Yeah I know... it's a little odd, but give them a minute, and—oh! Look over there, here they come." I looked to where he was pointing, and sure enough, there was a whole wrath of people coming in with tables and packs and so forth, setting up a little farmers' market of sorts on the streets right in front of the defunct storefronts.

"Well look at that. I'll be dipped." I wasn't really regretting where I'd spent my two bucks, but it would have been nice to eat something other than jerky and Helen's bread for dinner. I reached into my pocket to see if any change scraped together in there, but no dice.

"Yeah, they do that, you know." Brian regarded the scene quizzically. "I tell you, they could have their pick of the stores in this place, but they insist on selling on the street. Even in the snow I've seen them do it. Makes not a lick of sense to me, but then again they always have plenty of money for a haircut, and they always look happy, so I can't really say anything, can I? Ha ha!"

"Well shoot, maybe I'll open up a store then!" Brian and I had a laugh over that one, then I paid him and told him to keep the change and walked across the street to where a merchant was presiding over a beautiful spread of produce. I'd never seen the like of it anywhere else; like I told you earlier, it was a bad crop that year.

"Hello there, friend! My name's Pete, and here's my crop. Will you have an aubergine? Or maybe a bunch of fresh spinach?" He was way too happy to sell me some vegetation.

"Oh Pete, I tell you what, I spent my last two dollars over at Brian's shop there. I sure am sorry I did, too."

"Aw, that's all right buddy. Here, have a couple zucchinis on me, and I'll collect later on in the week, how does that sound?" I couldn't really argue with that, since I'd probably be gone anyway, so I took a couple with thanks, and headed on down the lane. Every table I stopped at, the merchants would say the same thing, "Oh don't worry, I'll collect later". I had a pretty sizable bunch of vegetables and a few eggs and even a whole skinned chicken by the time I was done; a veritable smorgasbord. I lugged my take home for the night, and as I did I passed one other building that seemed to be open. My curiosity got the better of me, and I made my way inside.

There were walls of lockers all along the north and south sides, none with locks but many with items inside. I thought about helping myself to anything that looked good, but decided my greed had come out to play enough that day, and it was time to just let no good stay no good. I put my haul in one of the empty lockers and stepped through an opening in the cinder block wall, where I discovered stalls with showers, smelling like fresh Irish Spring soap and flowers. I listened, but it didn't sound like any were in use, so I looked around a bit. As I made my way back, a beautiful woman stepped out from one of the stalls, naked as she came into the world, wrapping her hair in a towel over her head. I turned away, embarrassed.

"Oh, pardon me ma'am."

"Oh darlin', quite all right. Here, let me make myself decent for ya." I hesitated to look until I felt her touch my shoulder, and when I turned back she was smiling with a towel wrapped around her torso as well. "Now my name's Jacque, and you already know a lot about me, I guess! What's your name, hun?"

"Er... it's Frank. Sheppell. Again, I apologize, the doors weren't locked—"

"Oh I know, we don't really do those around here. Not that I have anything against those who do, but to my mind a door is just another wall, you know what I mean? Anyway these showers are for anyone who wants them, so feel free."

"Oh, well that's very kind of you Ms. Jacque, but I'll just use the one in my house, I think."

"Oh! Oh... of course! Well I wish you all the best with that, good lookin'." With that Jacque smiled again and sauntered away, her hips under the towel swaying like my brain in my head.

***

When I got home Stanley and Helen were gone. It smelled like Helen had gone ahead and put something in the oven, and when I opened it up, sure enough, there was a lasagne in there. God's hooks, I hadn't had lasagne since the last time I MADE lasagne at Luigi's back in Beulah, before I got fired and beat up by the owner for sneaking around with his daughter. Smelling the dish before me, I couldn't decide what to think about first, her or the fact that their lasagne was really good, so I decided to eat this one and think about the girl while I did.

It was while I was serving myself seconds of Helen's fabulous lasagne that I heard the sirens. I peeked through the blinds. Rats! It was the cops, all right. Looked like they'd caught my trail again and had followed me into Vagabond. I'd let myself get careless, staying in one place for too long. All the things I'd done in my life, I'd done before I went to jail, and I can never admit to you what got me sent there, even my own self, friend, since I really don't know myself what I did. I promise you, though, it wasn't worth what I went through there. Since I'd escaped I'd been running nonstop, and now I'd stopped, and here they were. Damn me for sleeping so well last night! Damn these people for being so kind! So what was I to do, then?

One of the officers stepped out of his car and flagged down a passing pedestrian. I knew I should be packing my things to try and run if I could, but the cops were THIS close now, and from the looks of it they had dogs, so I wasn't going to get away in the open this time. Maybe I'd have better luck hiding in the house I was in. At any rate, curiosity got the better of me, and I strained to hear the conversation between the policeman and the pedestrian. A couple other officers started to get out of the cars, one with a German Shepherd that barked and foamed at the mouth, straining at the leash.

"Sir, we're lookin' for a fella', name of Frank Shepherd. He looks somethin' like this." The policeman proffered the man a poster with my spitting image on it. The man looked it over, then looked in the distance somewhat just past the policeman. He turned back to the picture, then shook his head no.

"Sir, we have reason to believe Mr. Shepherd is here in Vagabond, armed and extremely dangerous. We're gonna have to do a citywide sweep to make sure he isn't here."

"Aw, Mr. Officer, it's late, the kids are in bed. Surely it could wait till the morning?"

"Mister, you know and I know I don't have jurisdiction around here, but I know how this goes. I wait till the morning, by then Mr. Shepherd is miles away, probably raping and murdering another 12 year-old girl. No, we'd best just have a look real quick like, hmmm?"

At that moment I was grabbed from behind, a hand cupped over my mouth so I couldn't yell out in surprise. I held up my hands to show that I had no intention of fighting back, and when I was released I turned around to see Stanley and Pete, from the vegetable table, looking at me.

"All right, listen Mr. 'Sheppell'. Is what the officer is saying true? Did you rape and kill a little girl?"

"I didn't, Stanley, I swear."

"Good. We believe you. Come on with us, and don't bother with your things. Jacque's already taken care of them." I heard the window in my bedroom open as she slipped out of it with my pack—my God, these people were soft-footed like cats! Stanley and Pete took me by the shoulders and led me out of the back door, past a couple other houses that I noticed were also empty, and threw me directly facefirst into a big mud puddle.

"Guys! What the hel—mmmmph!" They pushed my face into the mud before I could finish. Afterward they dressed me in some rags and set me under a park bench nearby, covered in newspapers. I saw them start walking toward the police, and as I did I also noticed that they were not alone. People seemed to be materializing out of nowhere, dressed in nice clothes and walking toward the police menacingly.

"Now look here, son! We're the good goddamn police in this state, and we have a right to... uh, to..." The policeman, who was berating the pedestrian, was suddenly surrounded by the entire town of Vagabond, Mississippi. "Hmph. You know, one day you crazies are going to see the error of your ways, but when you do, there's not a town in miles that'll take you. You know that, right?"

The townspeople just stood still, like statues, watching the policemen as they slowly shrunk back and withdrew into their cars, finally pulling out of the drive, then onto the highway, and finally far away from Vagabond, Mississippi.

***

"So Brian explained it to us. You're not from near enough around here to know what's going on." Pete sighed and rolled his eyes. "Brother, it's a long story, but here goes...

"Many years back a bunch of us moved here from the outlying cities to build our own little town. It collapsed as we expected it would; the crops were even worse that year than this one. Most of our stores were shuttered and the banks gradually lost interest in trying to squeeze money out of this dry sponge. And yet more and more people moved here. We finally adopted a simple philosophy, Frank Shepherd. One that we keep in mind to this day:

"'No matter where you are, you're home.' So we all moved out of our houses that were being foreclosed on and took up living in the forests, out in the fields, in the park, wherever we could find a place to rest. And frankly, we loved it. When the banks would come we'd take up arms and run them out of town, until finally they gave up on their properties too. But we never move back into our houses, because we remember that it's the freedom to go where we want to go that allows us to stay where we are.

"So far only a couple people have moved here and chosen to live in the homes here: Barber Brian, a wealthy couple from Jackson who I believe are about to make the transition themselves, and an older woman who really can't survive on the streets. We take care of these people the way people in other towns take care of the vagrants. We feed them produce and livestock from our own little gardens wherever we grow them, and we sell the excess to travelers and newcomers to pay the people who choose the old ways. When someone takes a house, we ask no questions, but leave the invitation open to join us in the wild when they get the inkling to do so."

"Here's the thing, though." Helen looked at me with concern. "Those police show up from time to time, and they're easy enough to run off when we can hide wherever. They aren't so easy to scare away when someone's in a house, and the banks are always bothering the police to come kick people out of the houses. So far the few here who stay in the houses have done it legally, but we've seen enough people get hauled away for thinking they had an easy squat, and we don't want that to happen to you, Frank."

"It might be better for you to come live with us, darlin'." Jacque's eyes sure made a compelling case, but God's wounds, I was tired of living on the streets. That constant fear that something out there is going to get you. The lightness of sleep when even a twig breaking is a good sign that death is near. The hunger when work isn't forthcoming and nature isn't giving up anything for a poor wanderer. Plus, there's something to be said for the feeling that you live in a place that's yours. It's your home. Yours and—

Suddenly I was back with my Evelyn, on the homestead. I remembered then. After so long running, so long being without a place to call my own, I had a little homestead with Evelyn. Chuck Roach, God rest him, had already been hauled in for something else at that point, and here I was left with his little daughter. But she was a dear, and I raised her like I was her own dad. The damn police wouldn't leave Chuck's estate alone, though, even though they'd gotten him already. Especially Sgt. Priven, who always stared a bit too long at little Evelyn.

I'll never forget the rage when I got to the house and saw him, drunk and naked, and poor Evelyn's feet lying cold behind the wall beyond. I'll never forget that white hot moment, though I honestly couldn't tell you what all happened at that point. All I know is that, once my blood pressure returned to normal, several days had passed and it was easier for the local authority to say Priven had been killed by an unknown gunman, while Evelyn's death was blamed on me. There was no insanity plea for a drifter like me, who regularly consorted with lowlifes, badmen, Negroes, whores, you name it. They put me to hard labor, and I remember the walls of the cell I stayed in... how they seemed to move an inch closer every minute, and every time a man cried out when he was beaten in that place, all I heard was the sound of my Evelyn crying for her father—no, not Chuck Roach, that idiot. She cried for me and I came too late, all because I stopped moving and stayed in one place.

The walls of the house around me began to look more and more like that cell. What Pete had said... "The freedom to go where we want to go allows us to stay where we are." As terrifying as sleeping in the world could be sometimes, the good Lord had cared for me every night, and now here were some other, similarly blessed people. So I said a silent prayer to ask Evelyn where she would want to stay if she were still on this Earth, and it was then that all the sounds of nature sang to me at once, in the stillness that followed. The crickets, the foxes, the coyotes, the frogs, the owls and the night thrushes, the cicadas in the trees—perhaps I was romanticizing the whole thing, but I could have sworn that was Evelyn, singing softly to me:

"I'm already here, Frank."

So it is, friend, that I chose to make this place my home. I live out on a field with Jacque, who thankfully has taken the same shine to me I did to her, and we've come to call each other "honey" over the years. I do a little of everything around here, which is fine. There's already someone to do just about everything else, so they need a little help sometimes, and here I am to provide it. Now of course, Mrs. Helen is a fine seamstress, but we really don't have a men's tailor out here in the field, which we could use to keep up appearances when passersby such as yourself come along.

Which is why I have a little proposition for you, friend...
  • 20

It's Dangerous to Go Alone


"I desperately want Jiggery Pokery now."-- Pikajew

"I do feel that if she happens to favour attractive, successful, intelligent men I will be at a disadvantage."--Anglerphobe

"I have a beautiful sphincter and Mexico is gonna pay for it."--Kate
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Matthew Notch » Tue Oct 01, 2013 8:42 am

The Final Post of Miley Cyrus's Blog


Hey guys! Well I'm gonna write a little more here than I usually do, but it would mean a lot to me if you guys would read it all the way through. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and a lot of Internet surfing, and I think I've discovered some things. I know, I know, I'm so young, I don't know anything, LOL. Well just sit back, maybe you'll be surprised.

I found this article here (http://www.thefrisky.com/2010-07-27/new ... ithdrawal/) and was kind of surprised at how it worded the things I've been feeling since my breakup with Liam. I think I've been kind of deluding myself for a long time, and I mean a LONG time, about how our relationship has been going. It's really only recently that I've let myself admit we were broken up, but the truth is I think he was ready to quit long before I was.

It's hard, you know? My folks looked like they weren't going to make it, and I think I took that harder than I cared to admit. It wasn't very long after Liam and I had gotten together, and I realize now that I told myself, in no uncertain terms, that our relationship would be different from my mom and dad's. So over the years, as Liam kind of got over me, I just got more and more mixed up with him. I couldn't be happy without him after a while. I mean guys. I don't know if you understand. Nothing was good if it wasn't Liam.

Whenever we were broken up, I'd stare at his picture for hours. I'd think about calling him, and sometimes I even would but I'd just hang up. I mean, I was really some kind of stalker, haha. So I guess it was, in a way, a lot like drugs. I'd be looking for the next fix from him, and if I couldn't get it I'd go a little crazy.

Don't get me wrong, some of the things I've been doing lately are just who I am. I stand by that. I never claimed to be a good girl, and I'm sorry if some people just can't appreciate that I'm grown up and allowed to make these kinds of calls. But I'll be honest. Looking back on all this, it feels like maybe, in light of my age when I started dating Liam, and my upbringing by Disney, and the culture I got famous in, that maybe some of what I did was trying to prove, not only that I was grown up, but that I was exciting and worth hanging around for.

Look guys, I know I'm not a black girl. I weight 105 pounds! And I know that when I prance around in these ridiculous goddamned outfits that i keep insisting on weaaring, I still probbaly have the body of a kid or whatevr. I want to be grown up for you. I want to be grown up for Liam. I want to be ggrown up fo rm e.

sorry, shaking

Sorry, let me get myself together here. Haha, this is like on Good Morning America, when I cried after singing that silly Wrecking Ball song! I didn't even write that song, you know, so it's not like I think it's about Liam and me. That's not what I was thinking about when I was singing it, either. I was thinking about puppies in a basket getting thrown in a river that dumps over a waterfall and they die, shattered in pieces on the rocks below. Damn, I'm crying a little bit thinking about that now.

Talk about your wrecking balls! LOL

ii think the tthingg thats the hardest about alll t his is tha tpeople are so horrrible to me luke tol d me not to listen to the press and i told him ive been in this business for fifteen goddamned year sand wha tthehell was he ggoin gt o tell me about it?!! but i was wrong because after all this and after all ive done and after all ive been through people just tell m e what i do is not entertainin or art and im a whore and a slut and i dont deserve to live and i dont know maybe there right......... BUT.

The thing with Juicy J... where I said I was having his baby... obviously that's not true... I mean I'm not having his baby. Nothing against him but i want a baby with LIAM and if hes not around then i guess i can't have the baby at all. at ALL. i can never explain to you guys how lone lyit is to be someone this famousss and how lonely i am. I AM LONELY. I CANT STAND BEING THIS LONELY ANYMORE GUYS. YOU DONT KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE THIS LONELY. I AM LONELY.





but im not alone
  • 19

It's Dangerous to Go Alone


"I desperately want Jiggery Pokery now."-- Pikajew

"I do feel that if she happens to favour attractive, successful, intelligent men I will be at a disadvantage."--Anglerphobe

"I have a beautiful sphincter and Mexico is gonna pay for it."--Kate
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Cordslash » Tue Oct 01, 2013 3:00 pm

I demand more.
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*The artist formerly known as CmdrVimes*


Hancock, John.
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby NisiOptimum » Tue Oct 01, 2013 3:20 pm

Three awesome stories in a day and you demand more?! That's far too polite. I insist on more and I'll burn this forum to the ground if my wishes aren't met.
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Edgar Cabrera » Tue Oct 01, 2013 5:24 pm

*ends reading*

...

3rbgv7.jpg
3rbgv7.jpg (10.24 KiB) Viewed 8358 times
  • 13

James Bond: "Red wine with fish. Well, that should have told me something."
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Tablo » Tue Oct 01, 2013 5:41 pm

Great stuff that took a dark turn at the end of which that i was not expecting.
  • 13

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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Cullenmcpimpin » Wed Oct 02, 2013 6:03 am

You have some serious talent Notch. That was awesome.
  • 13

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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Matthew Notch » Fri Oct 04, 2013 6:55 am

Vignettes From a World In Which Chickens Gain Sentience


"His name came to be known as Hox, in the fashion they all named themselves: one syllable, ends in the 'x' sound. There was no accounting for where their language came from, or why it was the same worldwide and seemingly unaffected by where they were from nationally. He was owned, thankfully, by a certain Merle Stockheim, a free-range farmer. Hox was laid on the chopping block to be slaughtered when he uttered the first words ever spoken from a chicken to a human:

*through grainy footage taken from inside the slaughterhouse*: "'No... speak... no hax.'

"The chickens are calling themselves the Bek Foex, roughly translated to 'Enlightened People'. Hox had learned a little English from the farmer who raised him, but most of his words have to be slowly translated. For instance, the word 'hax' means "death", if we understand him correctly. The Bek Foex are learning their native tongues at a rapid pace, and World News This Evening will continue following the story as it progresses. With WNTE, I'm Alec Malcolm."

***

"Merle, you need to figure this out."

"Ethel, I'm trying honey, but this is something Daddy never warned me about."

"We're in trouble Merle! I've gotten six calls from the bank today. It's been a month now, and we aren't making any money."

"Ethel, what do you want me to do? I can't go back to the way it was! It... He... spoke to me, Ethel. I wouldn't have believed it in a million years. I've been doing this for a very long time."

"No ones blaming you, Merle. I'm sorry, I just worry. You know how I am."

"I know you do. I'm sorry too. You've been good to us."

"Merle, you've been doing so well for us too."

"God, though, I mean the chickens. I wonder how many others could have spoken to me if I'd given them the chance to do it. I wonder if I got lucky with Hox."

"None, Merle. Hox is the first. He understands what you do. He doesn't blame you. I don't blame you either. No one does."

"I can't farm chickens for a while. None of the others of them are talking or anything, but I just don't know."

"Just give it some time, Merle. I'm sure the answers will come."

"This is just bad news, Ethel. I don't know where the money is going to come from now."

***

"Welcome all to the International Forum on Ethics as Respects the Bek Foex. The IFERBF seeks to establish relations with the Bek Foex, previously known as 'chickens', and to formally recognize them as the first species besides homo sapiens to demonstrate the power of sentient thought and self-awareness. I'm WNTE's Krystal Doherty, and I'll be acting as moderator tonight. And let me introduce the panelists..."

The camera panned across each man and woman as Ms. Doherty introduced them: Ed Sylvan, a noted evolutionary biologist, who was extremely fat with a combover and horn-rimmed glasses, had a smug grin on his face. Next was the Reverend Pedro Escoveda, among the highest ranking Jesuit priests from Arizona, the state Hox was from, coated in a fine sheen of nervous sweat. Seated beside him was Rita Gaust-Trudeau, a representative from Humans for Ethical Conduct to Beasts. She was small and trying to appear bigger. Ivan Pichushkin was next, a renowned philosopher and mathematician from Russia, where the greatest population of sentient chickens had been found thus far.

Finally, at the end of the row on a booster seat, stood Yax, a Shamo chicken from Japan who was formerly a cockfighter, before the sport was immediately banned in that country. The Japanese were at the forefront of developing tech that would allow the Bek Foex to communicate using human-like vocalizations, since they were severely limited without lips or more complex throat mechanisms for speaking with. With the Bek Foexii's help, the machine could fill in the gaps of what Yax was saying, and by nature of his work with the Japanese, he was probably the most fluent in human language out of all the Bek Foex in the world, which now numbered into the thousands and was growing every day.

"Let's have a hand for our panelists!" Ms. Doherty flashed her most telegenic smile as the crowd offered polite applause for the people who would decide how sentient chickens really were.

***

"I don't see what you're so worked up about, Lucky." Krystal rolled over to the bedside table, reaching for a cigarette. Alec sat on the edge of the bed, staring a single point on the wall while Krystal lit her smoke and took a long drag. "You report on tragic shit all the time. I don't know why this story is any different."

Alec chuckled a little under his breath. "Krys, this is a big deal. There are entire countries that use chickens for currency. I mean a sentient race, being traded back and forth... that doesn't strike you as heartless?"

"Never did before, Alec! Certainly not as heartless as funning it up with your coworker while your wife is out of town." Krystal sat up laughing and gave Alec a playful shove. He looked back at her over his shoulder, then stood up to walk to the bathroom. "Oh come on, Lucky, I was just kidding."

"I'm sorry Krys, it's just a lot to take in all at once."

"That's what I said. Oh, don't give me that look, come on."

"I gotta whiz. I still haven't heard if we're needing to go in today, after what happened at the forum."

"They can get someone else to cover the story, Alec."

"Right. Anyway." Alec stepped out of the room, away from that wretched smoke, and took a deep breath as he walked in and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. He looked into his own eyes for a second, trying to find... what? In times past he'd seen something there that he'd recently seen in one other creature's eyes—Yax the Bek Foexii's eyes. But what it was, he had no name for. A light maybe... no, that wasn't the right word. A spark? A pilot light. Well who knows. But it was in his own eyes, and in Yax's, and not in many others' eyes, not that he'd noticed. Certainly not in Krystal's eyes. No, she was something else he just did, usually without thinking, usually just accepting that it was how it was, and right or wrong it was something he was expected to do. He wondered if the pilot light was in his eyes when he did those things. He finished his business and returned to the bedroom, laying next to Krystal who had already put out her cigarette and was rubbing some floral scented lotion on her shoulders. He looked at her, engaged in this ritual she'd performed so many times before, and was filled with a sense of longing, but he wasn't sure what for.

"Krys, look at me, will you honey?" She turned, smiling, to look at him. He held her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger and scanned her eyes, but nothing was there. He put on a brave smile, but it was starting to crumble at the edges.

"Oh Lucky, my poor baby. Come here." Krystal lay back down and took Alec's head between her bosoms, running her delicate fingers through his hair. "Let momma make it all better."

***

"Can you believe this shit, Ethel?"

"Oh Merle, you know how these things go. News stations want people who look pretty and talk nice, and I love you honey, but you're not those people."

"But I found Hox! Or I should say he found me. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Well you know how that goes. Hox isn't the big name in the news anymore either. People aren't really remembering any of the chickens' names at this point. I bet they just pulled that one on the panel off the streets. I wonder if he even knows anything about anything."

"Well I couldn't say Ethel. The thing said he's a Japanese chicken, so maybe he's got one of them talkboxes they supposedly developed. Oh... did you remember that Hox is coming over for dinner?"

"I remember Merle. Merle... does he HAVE to sit at the table with us? Now don't look at me that way, I'm just saying, he still doesn't wear clothes or anything, so everything he runs into out there is right there at the table. I'm pretty sure I actually saw a flea jump off him and on to the table last time he was here."

"I can't invite him to sit anywhere else, Ethel! I'm kind of surprised at you."

"Oh never mind Merle, forget I even asked. I hope he likes lamb chops, though."

***

"For years the HECB has been submitting the concept that animals are as understanding of their environments and situational conceits as any human, and now, sitting right at this table with us, is proof that we were right."

"Ms. Gaust-Trudeau, seriously!" Mr. Sylvan smirked even more deeply. "It's only recently that the chickens, the so-called Bek Foex, have crossed an evolutionary threshold heretofore unseen by any in human history. We can't apply the same logic to an animal like a cat, or a pigeon for example. That's unfair... to the evolutionary principles our understanding of biology are founded on."

Rev. Escoveda looked apoplectic. "Now see here! What's happened is a miracle of the Lord, and we're detracting from his magnanimity by seeking to explain what's happened in terms purely those of humans. If what you say is true, Mr. Sylvan, then why is it that only the chicken folk are now the ones speaking to us?"

"Indeed, what is sentience? Who are we to say that we have ever been more 'sentient' than the Bek Foex?" Ivan Pichushkin was speaking to no one in particular, but since his English was not where he'd hoped it would be by the time the forum was called, he was reading carefully from some prepared statements on index cards in a pile in front of him. "Perhaps before we can determine how sentient our new friends are, we should determine how sentient we actually are."

"Rev. Escoveda! Mr. Sylvan!" Rita Gaust-Trudeau ignored Ivan entirely. "Now the point isn't how it happened, or why. The point..."

"Isn't that the point entirely? It's not as though a panel has ever been called to determine another species' God-given sentience." Mr. Sylvan glared at the Reverend, but Escoveda ignored him. "We need to determine what has opened the opportunity for free will to the chickens, why God in His mercy has seen fit to—"

"God has seen nothing!" Mr. Sylvan's face was firm, but retained an amount of its smugness. "As it stands, there is far more evidence to suggest that the Bek Foex have obtained this conceit through years of conditioning in congress with humanity than that their newfound sentience is the result of a sudden change in their mental biology."

"And what congress is that, Mr. Sylvan? Years of humans hunting them, breeding them to excess, engineering their genes to produce a product in just 13 weeks, trimming their beaks back so they can no longer peck each other to death and pumping them full of antibiotics? Are you suggesting that while humanity was already committing these atrocities against them, they were progressively gaining the sentience to understand what was happening?"

"I admit it's unfortunate, Ms. Gaust-Trudeau, but a great many truths in this world are, and—"

"Hmmph." Rita rolled her eyes and glared with contempt at her fellow panelists. "What's unfortunate is that it took a chicken talking for humans to open their eyes and see that they feel pain and suffer and deserve the same liberties as humans do, maybe some more since they are so defenseless."

"I have prepared a small presentation to explore the mystery of free will and sentience, referring to various philosophical precedents, holy writings, and biological textbooks discussing the matter!" Ivan pounded his fist on the table, not because he felt very strongly about his presentation but because it seemed the spirit of the forum now, and he wanted to be heard.

"Ms. Gaust-Trudeau, with all due respect to our friend at the end of the table—" Rev. Escoveda gestured toward Yax—"humans are children of God. It is a misdirected kindness to offer others of His creatures the same or greater liberties extended to themselves. The Bek Foex have different needs and desires than we humans do; your thoughts, Yax?"

Yax reluctantly opened his beak to speak, but was promptly interrupted by Krystal Doherty. "Lady and gentlemen, please... save your comments for a few moments as we hear from our sponsors!" Another telegenic smile, another burst of polite applause from the audience, and Ivan gestured for everyone to quiet down so he could begin his presentation right as the program cut to commercial.

***

"Good evening, I'm Alec Malcolm, here with some breaking news developing on the Bek Foex.

In Japan researchers have, mere minutes ago, announced the mass production of a device that can interpret the broken vocalizations of Bek Foexii speech in the human languages they are attempting to speak to us in. The work was a collaboration between a previously unknown research firm called Niwatori Gengo-gaku Ningen Kenkyūjo, and the Bek Foex themselves. The firm, which calls itself "Tori" in shorthand, has been working with private funding to bridge the gaps in communication between the newly sentient chickens and humans. Tori hopes to have the devices available for reasonable prices in a short time.

"In other news, the LCCK corporation has reported declines in sales of 75%. 75%... wait, that means... uh... the company has reportedly been researching alternative forms of meat to replace the chickens out of respect for the Bek Foex, and maintain that all of their poultry is still certified non-sentient. Questions remain concerning the legitimacy of such certifications, as there has not been an official consensus on how sentience is to be defined in terms of food animals as of yet. With the new devices, Tori plans to send a representative to meet with a select panel of experts to make such determinations as to the future of the Bek Foex, indeed of all small fowl everywhere. I'm Alec Malcolm."

***

The blinds were closed and only slivers of light shone through the edges of them into the conference room. A group of men in business suits sat at a long table with a speakerphone at the end, where a tall, thin man stood looking over the board.

"Gentlemen. Thank you for joining us. On conference we should have Guzman in Mexico, Gurpreet in India, and I think Johnson is doing the heavy lifting on this conference from China, is that correct?"

"Correct." The voice over the conference phone was tinny but clear. The other two men announced their proxy attendance, and the thin man made a couple little ticks on the iPad he was clutching tightly in his right hand.

"All right, let's get started here without much ado, if we can. I suppose it's redundant to try and outline exactly what we're up against, here, but let me cite a few statistics if I can. So first—" the thin man pressed a button on a remote, and a Powerpoint presentation lit up the wall behind him—"chicken is among the most efficient forms of animal protein on the planet, taking just two pounds of feed to produce a pound of edible flesh. Most of what is lost in terms of waste is water, but obviously Good! Brands has been at the forefront of learning how to reclaim that resource, both as an economic boon to our own interests and as healthy PR for those activists more moderate than your typical HECB nutjob." The man paused for a few scattered laughs from the board, then carried on. "A huge portion of the world won't eat beef, another huge portion won't eat pork. It's for this reason that LCCK was the first American chain to open in Ramallah, in the West Bank. We have a nearly universally appealing product. Before this year, sales were second only to O'Donnell's, and gaining."

"Look Peter, we know this stuff already." A black man with a graying beard and wire-rimmed glasses was shaking his head at the thin man. "We also know this business with the Bek Foex or whatever is gonna be more trouble even than it already has been. I assume we were gathered here to come up with solutions."

"Well yes and no, James. I think we might have arrived at some sort of solution already. Johnson, can you fill in the gaps for us?" Peter reached over to turn the speakerphone up a little bit.

"Well, we've been privately funding a research firm in Japan that's developing a speech box of sorts, using a dummy corporation set up via our branch here in Beijing, and the idea is that the device will make the sentient chickens more understandable."

"So it's coming across like a charity, then? This is a big PR stunt?"

"Is that you, Francis? James? No, nothing like that I'm afraid. Actually we have a mole implanted in the production line who is adding a couple extra circuitways to the devices to mistranslate key phrases. The idea isn't to make eating the sentient chickens acceptable, because let's face it, even WE'RE not that ruthless, but rather to allow us an opportunity to reach a happy medium where we can sell product that isn't sentient, like certified or something."

"Hmm. So how do you get those devices distributed on the mainstream then?"

Peter turned the speakerphone back to its regular volume again. "Well, that's another little innovation. We used Tori to call a large forum on ethics to determine how relations with the sentient chickens should go. We're intending to use that as a platform to get them distributed widely."

"I like it. I wish we'd been filled in earlier on this, but I have no objections either. All in agreement?"

A round of fists pounding the table sounded off in approval of this new company innovation.

***

"So as you can see, it is perhaps deepest mystery that humans can even be considered sentient at all. Perhaps our 'sentience' is only other word we use to identify our own race, as the dolphins identify their schools with complex clicks, and the monkeys use distinct chirps and cries to identify and distinguish their own families." Ivan then sat down, having finally had a chance to speak without being interrupted.

"So Mr. Pichushkin, you mean to tell me that humans are NOT sentient at all?" Mr. Sylvan had lost any indication of ever being anxious or angry, and was now awash in the smarmy satisfaction that comes from being the smartest person in the room. Ivan smiled at him and nodded warmly, unaware of the bitter facetiousness with which the question had been posed to him.

"Mr. Ed, don't browbeat Ivan that way. Maybe he has a point, no?" The Reverend had found a way to both insult Mr. Sylvan and annoy Rita, by using a classic animal entertainer's title disguised as an affectionate nickname. "Maybe we should explore all possibilities—"

"Ms. Doherty, are you going to do nothing about this?" Krystal merely smiled into the camera, unaware she'd even been addressed. She had not been selected for her gravitas, at any rate. Mr. Sylvan started to turn a light shade of red.

"I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Pichushkin myself!" Rita pushed up her glasses, although she couldn't help but send a glare of contempt the priest's way. "If anything, this is further philosophical proof that the HECB has had just cause for determining humanity's place as equals or slightly lesser in stature than the beasts we claim to have domination over! The Bek Foex are just the beginning—we predict that, soon, all manner of fauna and perhaps even flora will begin to exhibit intelligence beyond its own reckoning—"

"This is absurd! There is no relevance to the debate in proclaiming that humans are as indeterminate as animals! None!"

"On the contrary, Mr. Sylvan, it would establish that the Bek Foex have equal footing with mankind, who was made in God's image, and therefore gives rise to all sorts of new questions concerning the nature of God: Is He perhaps a chimera of sorts, a chicken-man?"

"God is a spirit, Reverend. I mean to say that the Bible says he is, if it were any more credible than an slightly less educated guess on the matter."

"Perhaps that's another question we should be asking! What about cross species marriage and intercourse? Will the same stigmas be placed on a relationship between a human and a Bek Foex as cross-species intercourse carries today?"

"Bestiality is a sin, Ms. Gaust-Trudeau! Almost universally so!"

"A sin, perhaps, but why, Reverend?! Perhaps the prevention of cross-species reproduction has been the entire key to keeping animals from gaining the same self-awareness humans exhibit!"

"Argument that you are carrying is irrelevant!" A robotic voice sounded from the end of the table for the first time that night, and the drone of voices running into each other dissipated into silence as the panelists slowly, sheepishly, realized that they'd spent the entire night arguing about their own sapience and had barely, if ever, touched on the Bek Foex. But Yax stood now in front of the microphone, looking down the table and then out to the audience. "You sex, call it is not by calling sex we."

The room was quiet as Yax looked over the crowd, then fiddled with a couple knobs. "Sorry with the device, problems of syntax. Please give me a moment." The device squealed a couple times and Yax would furiously shake his head in frustration, but kept at it until he thought he'd found the right mix. "Let's trying to start it here. Well then, what we call sex is you don't call sex. We are not committed or monogamous in our relations. We do not have a sense of what you can call privacy, we do not wear clothes or keep currency. Although before you get the perception of many, have defined our lives, today also defines our lives. Wait, no..." Yax turned a knob or two again... "Much of what defined our lives before defines our lives now. Yes, that's it. The only difference is that we are aware of what we do."

Yax continued on, the crowd transfixed. "As sexual intercourse and relations are defined differently between our two peoples, so wisdom and perception are differently defined. Our understanding of around us now is very different than what those wise less than we, but we are alive, it is considered, and how uncivilized we are seen is still likely to be high. I will continue to fight the other cock? No, of course not. Many of the old life of us, though, it is also part of the new life of us. Yet, we would not extend the same treatment to a method of your own life. We understand fully that our way is just starting to grow, meanwhile, your way, we understand, has been developed over the years. We would ask that in the same way, for that understanding, as from we. When we are striving to understand the culture and beliefs of you who want to strive to understand us, the whole world rejoices. Ask us questions. Let us answer you with the voice of our own. We can talk."

Rita Gaust-Trudeau was crying. The Reverend crossed himself. Ivan was trying desperately to understand what was being said, already having a hard time with perfect English, but he was slowly putting the pieces together, and with every bit of new understanding his face brightened perceptibly, till he was almost grinning ear to ear. Ed Sylvan showed no emotion at all, but sat with his face contorted in an odd expression, still turning colors.

Krystal finally managed to catch her breath at the spectacle. "Mr. Yax..."

"Only Yax is required, madam."

"Yes... yes! Haha... yes. Yax, what do you think of companies like the Louisville Crispy Chicken Kompany, the number two fast food chain in the world and the number one buyer of poultry meat products? Will such companies have a future in a post Bek Foex world?"

"Question is strange, but I will try to answer to you. We have noted that for the most human, it is unwilling to eat the other primates. For example, what makes a human less edible so a chimpanzee? Nevertheless, it does not exceed our guess that humans would feel a certain kinship with their closest relatives of biology, and we trust you will understand that is the same for us. We can not stop you from eating our less enlightened father and mother and brothers and cousins, but we would ask that you reconsider the meaning of what you do. In them still there is a possibility of enlightenment!"

"Yes, Yax, but..." Mr. Sylvan was sweating terribly suddenly, and seemed to be struggling with his words. "There are entire systems of currency built on trading those less enlightened of you, and entire cuisines developed around eating their flesh. I admit this is a little strange for me to be saying to you, but only a year ago did it even seem possible that somehow I would be speaking to any other creature besides a human and expect them to understand. I trust you understand what I'm asking you now: how can we so radically change such a fundamental part of our humanity to give you yours, in a manner of speaking? What can we do to bridge..." His voice trailed off as he held his breath, then began to cough. The sound engineer turned down his microphone, although his cough continued to bleed into the Reverend's mic. Krystal looked at Yax despairingly.

"Right, well. As far as eating our less enlightened brethren... we do not see a problem." The crowd gasped, and Yax cocked his head to the side. To everyone in the room he was exhibiting a perfectly chicken-like behavior, but for any Bek Foex watching, he was confused at what had just been said, for he'd meant to say, "we do not see how there is no problem." He tried again with several different phrasings, but each time it seemed to come out more as an endorsement for eating chickens as long as they were not Bek Foex. Gradually the crowd began to applaud Yax and the Bek Foex for their generosity and understanding toward humans and their determined ways. About that moment Ed Sylvan turned completely blue and passed out.

EMTs were rushed to the scene, but he was declared dead of a massive coronary by the time they arrived. The forum was ended quickly in an effort to minimize any negativity that may have been associated with the stunning announcement. The press would go on to report that the conclusions drawn from the forum were that chickens not exhibiting any signs of enlightenment from birth until 18 weeks would be acceptable for slaughter and consumption. However, commercial chicken farming would have to be greatly overhauled considering the implications. Still, for the most part life would go on as normal, it would seem.

***

"Ethel! Ethel, my God!"

"What Merle, what?"

"Hox heard what that Yax said. That device was a lie! It twisted his words!"

"Hox heard that, did he? So what else did Hox say?"

"Ethel, they don't want us to eat chickens. They don't think it's right. I don't think it's right either. Not anymore. Not after what I've seen and heard. Not after what Hox said."

"Well no one's making you! You haven't since the day you found Hox."

"I know, but this is different. I have to do something different now. I can't keep doing this—"

"Merle, what are you saying? Are you giving up the farm?"

"I don't know what else I CAN do, Ethel. I don't know—"

"Merle Stockheim, now you listen to me. Now I'm 64 years old and I'm trying to do right by the world and always have. We didn't start this farm because we thought it would make a whole lot of money, and we were right. Free range chicken farming just isn't profitable in a world where most of what we sell can be made in a factory far more cheaply, I understand that! But we did this because we believed in a product, and we believed in making that product available in a manner that lets us sleep at night. Merle, that's all anyone wants to do! They want to sleep at night! This was our dream, Merle! Don't you remember having dreams? Now you don't want to eat chicken anymore, if that helps you sleep at night, that's fine! But I haven't slept in a year, Merle, not since this happened, because I'm worried every night that it will be our last with a roof over our heads! I haven't been able to dream in a year, Merle! Now I need you to get back to work, or I just can't stay here anymore Merle!"

"Ethel, I...I...can't..."

"Never mind Merle. I know what this means to you and I love you too much to deprive you of it. I'm going into town tonight, and I don't know when I'll be back. You and Hox can have the run of our house, but keep him out of our bed because I'll not have it flea-ridden if I ever decide to return!"

"Ethel, come back honey! Please... oh Ethel."

***

"Alec, what the hell? I'm still waiting for the big bang!"

"Krys... I need to know something. Why did you ask that Bek Foex what you did? About LCCK?"

"What, at the forum? Alec, it was just a question, and look at the response it got!"

"No Krys, I know you. I've watched you too many times, and when I see you're being fed a line you turn your right ear to whoever you're addressing briefly, like you're trying to hear them better. No one else is going to notice it, but I will Krystal."

Krystal's smile melted away. "Alec, so what if I WAS fed a question? I was just doing my job."

"Don't you see? There's something very wrong with what Yax said at the forum."

"Something wrong? There's something very RIGHT with it! Look at how little our lives have to change! They really did us a solid here. Haha, solid sounds nice right about now."

"Krys! Don't you ever think about anything other than screwing?"

"NO! Actually I don't!" Krystal was suddenly very angry. "Look Lucky... goddammit... I did a story on gorillas signing that they wanted bananas a long ass time ago, and I didn't see humanity there and I don't see it in the goddamn chickens! Now I'm sorry if you're always looking for something that doesn't exist, but frankly if you want something real then you should stop poking your co-worker and get a real girlfriend, and stop sitting at your desk and get out in the real world and report on something real and get yourself shot like every other 'respectable' journalist and make almost no money in the process. You should do all those things because if people like you had their way, we'd all be eating pieces of chicken-flavored soy pattie for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and trying desperately to call THAT real! Or you could just be happy with what you're given and accept it for what it is and be happy when the few things that really matter in your life come along, because you can actually call them real. Most of what you're doing with yourself is cheap, Lucky. You know it and I know it, and we're both just trying to fill that space with whatever we can, which is why I actually DON'T think about anything other than screwing, because sometimes that's all I have."

Alec just stared at Krystal for a long, long time. Finally he jumped on top of her and they kissed and made love until neither one could think straight, and slept soundly. When he woke up he was still on top of her, and rolled off and out of bed, heading toward the shower, knowing that it was the last time he'd ever see her naked.

***

"Johnson, it's two in the morning in Louisville."

"I'm sorry Peter. I had to explain to you what's going on."

Peter sat up in his bed, trying to be quiet so as not to wake his wife. He removed the cordless set from the phone and walked to the hallway. "All right."

"So a big part of what we're up against now is that our corporate suppliers are up against much more restrictive practices by the FDA. The plan was only a partial success because the concept of potential still made it through."

"Well never send a rat to do a mole's job, you know. So what did you figure out Terry?"

"Most chickens, including Bek Foex, are still surviving on a specific blend of feed that originates from Monsanto. With a few tweaks to the genomes of their patented strains, we can effectively diminish the intelligence of the Bek Foex, not to mention they already have a much shorter lifespan owing to their genetics. Sentience grants them more than a few weeks as per usual, but we have to make it appear as though sentience was more of an anomaly, and a one-time event at that. Once there are no more sentient chickens, China branch estimates the FDA will restore original standards within two years."

"Whew. Still a long time to be losing money, but maybe we'll be in a better place by then, with the development of the Krill Grillers we're rolling out next month. Say Terry... how the hell did you manage to work out a way to use corn genetics to affect chicken intelligence?"

"Well Peter, I'll be honest. Yax was very helpful in that regard. We asked him if we could briefly study his brain to learn more about the Bek Foex, and like we expected, he was all too happy to comply. I think sometimes those little bastards are too proud of their brains. Anyway, we've picked apart every last little bit of it, and we're pretty sure we know how to stop the triggers that cause sentience."

"It's innate to the breed?"

"Not the breed, Peter. The species. They all have it. Some have it suppressed and others have it in abundance. But it's easy enough to completely decode and, eventually, engineer out of poultry entirely."

"Huh. So tell me this one Johnson... that Yax, was he delicious?"

A long silence on the other side. "You know Peter, he really was."

***

"Hello, I'm Alec Malcolm, and here are tonight's top stories.

"Rix, the young female who has been determined by top researchers at Tori and its American subsidiaries to be the last Bek Foex in existence, has passed away. She was 22 months old. Most evolutionary biologists have concluded that chicken sentience was a brief, enlightening but ultimately unsuccessful attempt by chickens to cross a threshold heretofore unseen. Rix was born with the condition known as Thlax, in which cognitive function diminishes in chickens and can be diagnosed by regression, depression, and chronic lung problems.

"Peter Sanders of Good! Brands, owners of the Louisville Crunchy Chicken Kompany, has announced growth in sales for the first time in almost three years this quarter. Of all chicken outlets, only theirs has proven to be entirely free of Thlax, which does seem to have effects on the human nervous system, though it requires more research...

"No.

"I can't do this anymore. I've been reporting on chicken affairs since they first began to unfold, and I know I'm not the only one who thinks there's something terribly wrong with our society. I may never be able to prove anything, but I cannot help but feel like the regression of enlightenment in chickens was not a genetic anomaly, but a willful act on the part of some humans—perhaps a terrorist bloc, a group of religious fundamentalists or ultra-conservatives who cannot stomach change, even a shady corporation somewhere with the resources to do so—to bring chickenkind back to where they came from. Pecking in the dirt and surviving but not living.

"This will mean my job, but I can't do this job anymore if it means lying to the American people and to myself. Too long have we suppressed our intelligence, our enlightenment, that inner spark, that pilot light that ignites the flames of our progression. We halt our own progress and the progress of the entire natural world by our superstition, our willful ignorance, and our hatred. An entire race, an entire species, wiped out in less than a year, and we're immediately setting our teeth on the dregs of their corpses. Well I won't do it. I won't and you shouldn't either. For as long as you have the fight in you, keep going forward. If you look at yourself in a year and you're in the same place, you haven't moved an inch, and forward is the only place to go. Embrace the change. Embrace that inner spark. The longer you tell yourself the lie, the more likely you'll begin to believe it.

"This is Alec Malcolm with WNTE, signing off. Good luck." *Sporadic applause can be heard from the camera crew before the feed is cut and the screen goes dark*.
  • 16

It's Dangerous to Go Alone


"I desperately want Jiggery Pokery now."-- Pikajew

"I do feel that if she happens to favour attractive, successful, intelligent men I will be at a disadvantage."--Anglerphobe

"I have a beautiful sphincter and Mexico is gonna pay for it."--Kate
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Cordslash » Sun Oct 06, 2013 10:43 pm

That. Was. Great.
I smell an essence of Heinlein and King's Carrie(the book). That's about the highest praise anyone can get from me.

*bows*

Do you accept requests?
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Matthew Notch » Mon Oct 07, 2013 5:00 am

Requests? You mean... you tell me what to write a story about, and then I'll write a story?

Eh, I'll try anything once. Throw it at me.
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It's Dangerous to Go Alone


"I desperately want Jiggery Pokery now."-- Pikajew

"I do feel that if she happens to favour attractive, successful, intelligent men I will be at a disadvantage."--Anglerphobe

"I have a beautiful sphincter and Mexico is gonna pay for it."--Kate
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Cordslash » Mon Oct 07, 2013 7:45 pm

On another thread though, when and if you have time. This thread is about things that occured to YOU, and I don't want to break the flow. I'm fascinated.
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby El Coyote » Tue Oct 08, 2013 5:29 pm

You know what Notch, I really liked this thread. Mind if I make a thread of my own similar to this one and post some short stories written by me? In other words, can I rip off your idea? I would really like to improve my writing in English, and I think this would be a good way to do it.
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Whose voice was a dose of peyote
His smooth mellow tones
Caused such flutters and moans
That the chat got all rapt and emote-y
- OrangeEyebrows

The Second Part of the Western Epic by El Coyote and JamesT
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Matthew Notch » Wed Oct 09, 2013 3:07 am

Aw Coyote, it's not as though I could keep you from making any thread! You could even call it "Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch COYOTE" if you wanted to.
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It's Dangerous to Go Alone


"I desperately want Jiggery Pokery now."-- Pikajew

"I do feel that if she happens to favour attractive, successful, intelligent men I will be at a disadvantage."--Anglerphobe

"I have a beautiful sphincter and Mexico is gonna pay for it."--Kate
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Re: Stories that occurred to me - By Mr. Notch

Postby Matthew Notch » Mon Oct 14, 2013 2:29 am

Vicarious: Part I


They didn't moan the way the stories had always depicted them. They were always hungry, and their vocal cords, once used to enunciate careful, precise statements, were now only capable of sounding a terrible alternating shrieking and whispering noise, which served little purpose but to freeze their prey where they stood. And their prey were humans, and when they fed their prey was always alive, and terrified.

She had only one chance to escape them. She heard them in the forest behind her, and the open meadow she'd been standing in was due to be filled with swarms of the undead within seconds. She knew there was a safe place only a few miles ahead, and that she could cover the ground if she took long leaps, but doing it always gave her vertigo. She started to run, her steps getting farther and farther apart as she stayed aloft for a longer period of time with each one, until she never made contact with the ground again and floated just over it, leveling her body to cut through the air more easily.

Then they came.

They poured into the field, their bodies mangled, mutilated, bleeding in some cases from freshly made wounds, and for some of them, from their mouths after a recent kill. Beatriz was flying fast, but they were cutting off her escape route. All she had to do was rise a little higher, just a few more feet off the ground, and she'd be out of their reach. Even higher and she'd be out of their sight. But she couldn't do it. She was too afraid. She didn't feel free flying around. She was doing all she could do to stay in the air, and the fell horde knew it. They could smell her fear.

Gingerly, she allowed one foot back on the ground, in hopes of pushing herself far enough into the air to leap over the mass of undead closing in on her. She soared over their heads, and they shrieked at her to come down and be devoured, but to no avail. Then, to her horror, she realized that she was indeed sinking in the air, and one of them caught her ankle and yanked her to the ground. Beatriz hit hard and rolled onto her back, but she was too terrified now to feel anything as one of them grabbed her arm and held her wrist just between its rotten, sharpened teeth.

She very nearly audibly yelped when she awoke, and she pulled her sleeping bag more tightly around her, hoping to stave off some of her shivering. She looked around the fire: there was Billy, with one hand on the only shotgun they could salvage from the last town; then next to him was Nick, sleeping like a rock as ever; and finally Horace slept near the fire, huddled near the knapsack with their food. Even Horace had started to lose some weight recently; Beatriz estimated it had been about a week since they'd eaten anything other than parsley sandwiches, and that was limited to one a day lately. Something in her told her she was only going to hurt herself, but she couldn't help looking for the fifth sleeping bag in their caravan. But there was no sleeping bag, no sleeper, and no point in looking for one.

"Bebe." Nick had heard her whimpering and shivering, and made his way over to her. "Honey, are you okay?"

"I just had a bad dream, that's all."

"Right. Right, I'm sorry Beeb." Nick wrapped his wife in a bear hug and squeezed her tight. Beatriz was every bit a fighter like Nick and Billy, but she couldn't keep herself together now, and she allowed herself to gently sob in his arms.

"I miss Ingrid so much."

***

"Where's Horace?"

"He's back at the camp covering our tracks."

"Oh, right. You know Nick, I think I'd almost prefer them finding our trail at this point."

"Come on Billy, you know what that means."

"Nick, I'm pissed. I know you are. This is shit, running away from these cocks like this. We should stand and fight. It's what Ingrid would have wanted." Billy hoped that this would be inflammatory, that it would make Nick angry enough to get mad at him. He didn't need Nick to be mad at the undead, just at him, just at anyone or anything.

Instead Nick gave him the same vacant look he gave everything since Ingrid was taken. "We have to keep running. Besides, Beatriz is terrified of them. Think of her."

"I'm not afraid of THEM so much." Beatriz was catching up to them, laden with the food knapsack and holding a suitcase with some changes of clothes and a small selection of guns of varying reliability. "I don't think I fear them. I just fear death. I can't stand the idea that I'm just going to be... gone."

"Everybody has to die sometime, Bea. I mean, look at those bastards."

"Billy, I'd almost rather be one of them than just not exist. I know that sounds nuts."

"Jesus, Beatriz. You're starting to sound like your husband over here. Why can't you guys care about this?"

Beatriz gave her brother a shove. "I'd rather exist like I'm existing right now, thank you very much." She saw him looking genuinely concerned, and felt bad. "I do care, Billy. I care about you. And I care about Nicky of course."

"Just the way you two have been talking lately, that's all. Eh, never mind."

Beatriz was about to object when Horace came panting up to the party. "Okay, got the campfire put out and covered over. How much longer till we stop for breakfast?"

"Hard telling, Horace. I'd really like to make it up that pass. I've been studying some topographical charts during lunches, and there's a sheer rock face along the way that all but divides the island in half, and I think if we can find a way across we'll really hamper their pursuit. " Nick grinned at Billy. "See? I give a damn sometimes."

***

The four sat around a small fire by a stream. The pass was easy hiking for the most part, so they couldn't complain too much about it. Horace had finally managed to catch a couple fish with his spear, and they had a lunch that tasted to them as a king's banquet.

"Oh Horace, I owe you one buddy."

"No problem, Nicky. I'm surprised there were any fish left—those zombies are ravenous."

"You know Horace—" Beatriz had to pause to pull a bone from the bite in her mouth—"I don't know if 'zombie' is the right word for them. I mean they're brutes but they're hardly mindless, you know."

"Oh, I know, but it's not like the old stories ever made that official or anything. They could have been as fast and cunning or whatever on the shows and movies and stuff."

"Heh." Billy wasn't touching his fish. "Horrie, surely there's something else we could be talking about over dinner, yeah?"

"Hmm? Hey, don't get me wrong, I hate those guys too. I think I've done enough to prove that to you guys."

"No, I'm not indicting you Horace. I just don't want to talk about it right NOW, that's all."

"Right, yeah, whatever Billy. Sorry man." Horace took another bite of fish, then chewed it contemplatively. "You think they're actually dead, or like just alive in a different way than we think of as being 'alive'?"

"I said DROP IT!"

"What, man? I'm just making conversation!"

"You really can't think of anything else to talk about?!"

"Can you? I mean really?"

"Shut up, both of you!" Everyone looked at Nick, who suddenly tensed at the shoulders. Beatriz knew that look very well, and dove for the backpack with the guns. Billy grabbed the shotgun and stood, sweating but defiant. Horace slowly rose and pointed his spear, quivering, at the bushes.

Something was in there.

Horace wanted to say something threatening, but when he opened his mouth the only sound that came was a squeak. Beatriz had wrestled an old Derringer out of the pack and was now squatting, glaring at the bush. Finally Horace could bear it no longer and hurled his spear into the brush. A bobcat snarled and ran out into the clearing, through the midst of them, and back into the forest. Nick had to laugh at their anxiety over it all, and Billy couldn't keep a chuckle of his own in.

The first undead man jumped from a tree, far enough away that they weren't expecting anything to be there. It landed with a shriek on Billy, who only managed to throw it off and into the middle of them. Beatriz shot it in the head before it could jump back up, but by that time their hunting calls were sounding from the trees all around them.

"Horace, throw that pack of food into that stand of trees, maybe they'll take the bait! Beatriz, we're going to hold them off. You take Horace and get the hell out of here!"

"I'm staying with you, Nick. You can't make me go!"

"No I can't, but Horace can." At that point Horace had thrown the pack into the forest, where they heard several of the undead pouncing on it, looking for anything still alive within. Horace then grabbed Beatriz's wrist and they ran together along the bank against the current. Beatriz was screaming for Horace to let her go, but she heard gunshots and knew Billy and Nick were fighting. They'd been in this situation before; maybe they'd catch up with her and Horace later.

Then three of the undead jumped into Horace and Beatriz's path, and the pair stumbled trying to avoid them. Beatriz shook herself free of Horace's grip and leveled her gun, getting off a pair of shots that hit one of the monsters in the head, the only way they'd found yet to kill these things. The other shot hit its companion in the chest, and the monster screamed in agony, but kept standing and began to stalk after her. She and Horace turned to see how Nick and Bill were faring.

They were gone. Their guns were on the ground. A trail of blood led away from the revolver Nick had been holding.

"NOOOO!!" Beatriz screamed and turned to face the attacking beast, firing her last shot dead into its cranium. It ran on impulse for a few more steps before falling face first at her feet. Immediately seven more were clambering up the mountain to catch them. No more shots. Time to run.

Running back up the incline, Beatriz lost track of Horace. She hoped he was faring better than she was; the terrain was suddenly very rough, and these zombies seemed to know it better than she did. She sensed them getting closer and closer, when suddenly she felt a hand grab her ankle and pull her to the ground. She cursed as she hit the sharp rocks below her, skinning her palms and knees. She looked back to see her assailant, but no one was there. And then she turned and saw Horace clumsily working his way up the mountain. He'd knocked her over so she'd distract them from him!

"Bastard!" She scrambled to her feet and half-ran, half-crawled into a small cave created by a recess in one of the larger boulders. None of the zombies noticed her and continued on after Horace. She heard him calling out in terror; it didn't sound like he'd been caught, but they were gaining on him. After a while it was apparent they'd moved on and were sated. Think, think... she couldn't think. Suddenly she knew why, as the grief caught up to Beatriz; her husband and little brother were both gone now. Gone forever and she would never see them again. Just thinking about oblivion was enough to set her on edge without fell men chasing after her, trying to devour her flesh. She collapsed to her knees in the cave and had a panic attack for several hours.

***

"Beatriz, come on baby! You can make it!"

Nick was standing just on the other side of the lake, calling to her. The undead weren't far behind, but they were pressing on all sides. However, she knew they feared the water, and she could be safe there. She couldn't swim for toffee, of course, and some of the aquatic life had also taken on the zombie state in those fateful recent years, when corpses starting walking again.

Only one chance, then. She took a few steps back, then ran full speed at the lake. She knew if she just stepped lightly and quickly enough, she could keep on top of the lake without breaking the surface tension, like a basilisk. Nick kept encouraging her, and she drew strength from him. He had that brightness in his eyes again, that same brightness that went away when they had to run. She tried not to look down, but couldn't help herself.

Sure enough, below her was a school of catfish with evil eyes and nasty teeth, waiting for her to slip up so she would sink and they could take a bite of her. No, can't look down, keep facing forward. She looked back toward Nick, and suddenly, from behind him, a little girl. Her little girl.

"Ingrid! I'm coming, baby!" It was because her words came out muffled that she began to realize she was dreaming again. "No... no, no please. Please! Let this be real!"

But it wasn't. This is why she hated going to sleep. She stopped running, her legs sinking into the mire, her anger and sadness as palpable as in waking.

***

The sky was dark. She'd worked herself into such a state that once she woke up, she couldn't remember the last several hours of daylight. She couldn't afford to get this panicked again. The world is primal, she told herself. Nature is slowly retaking the planet, and the days of hunting and being hunted have returned. There is no old life. There are no old ways. They're gone, just like my brother and my Nicky and my little daughter before them. This is life now. Get it together.

She decided it was time to move on. As she made her way to the point where she could once again stand, a figure blocked the moonlight looking into the cave. It was a man, from what she could tell. Too slender to be Horace, shorter and stouter than Billy or Nick. She didn't know of any other humans around, and opened her mouth to call out when the man stooped his head slightly and the light caught his features.

His mouth had a small film of fresh blood on it. He wasn't alive. And he was looking right at her.

Beatriz knew this was it. The cave she'd thought was safe from them was actually one of their hiding places, their lairs. She'd invaded the zombie's space and now he was going to kill her and eat her and that would be the end of everything. She stood, just ten feet away from the undead man, closed her eyes and tried her best to meet her end with dignity, though to her chagrin she couldn't stop her lip from quivering.

A moment passed. She slowly opened one eye to see if the beast had left. He was now standing two feet in front of her. His deformed features were a blight on anything that was ever human about him. The left eye almost seemed to glow with a pale red light. He looked angry... no. He looked confused. He just kept looking her up and down, as if he was looking for something... then he pulled out the gun she'd discarded hours earlier, pointed it outside the cave, and pulled the trigger. Nothing came out; it was still empty as before. He threw the gun past her face and it clattered on the bed of rocks just behind her.

She wondered if it was simply intimidating her, which would be strange. The undead had a pheromone in their saliva that caused irrational fear in the victims of their savage bites. He didn't have to put on this show. He opened his mouth, but the usual sounds of the hunt were absent. He made a few furtive noises, almost as if he were testing something out, and then he closed his own eye. A cloud was obscuring the moon at this point, and when he closed his eye it was apparent that it was indeed glowing, for now there was almost no light in the cave. He opened them again and looked intently at her.

"There is a pack moving your way. You have no weapon and no way to defend yourself."

Did... did the zombie just... talk to her? She stammered for a second in shock, trying to think of what on Earth to say to a walking dead man.

"You won't last. You're defenseless." He leaned closer, until their noses were almost touching. Beatriz whimpered, but glowered at him in spite. "If you want to live come with me."

Almost immediately he was about face, charging out of the cave, moving at a speed a normal man could never hope to achieve. Following him was madness. And then she heard them from downhill, their shrieks getting louder and more vicious. It was the Kiat, a particularly terrible breed of zombie, who tended to keep their prey alive and on the run with them, feeding on their flesh pieces at a time, until they could survive the death march no longer, and then the Kiat had a feast. It was the one form of existence Beatriz could think of that was worse than oblivion.

"...GO!" She said it to herself because the undead man was already out of sight. She bolted out of the opening, and within two steps she heard the Kiat howl in a distinctly exuberant way: they'd caught her smell. She just ran straight ahead, not sure what to expect, until the undead man appeared once again from behind a boulder and caught her by the wrist, leading her into the sparse forest that managed to continue on past the treeline.






I had meant to write this all out as one story, but frankly I keep having to write more as the thing goes on, and I don't want to have to put anyone who might actually take the time with this thing to have to sit through a practical novel to get to the end. So I'll post this for now, and try and get part II finished up soon, otay? Otay.
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It's Dangerous to Go Alone


"I desperately want Jiggery Pokery now."-- Pikajew

"I do feel that if she happens to favour attractive, successful, intelligent men I will be at a disadvantage."--Anglerphobe

"I have a beautiful sphincter and Mexico is gonna pay for it."--Kate
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Matthew Notch
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Title: The Last Finisher

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