Compatible

This story was originally created for a now defunct flash fiction site, "Flash Fiction Friday". I wrote it over twelve years ago. I ran across it on my other blog, "Lost in the Bozone Too".

I slightly edited and replaced the original Googled image with a local image instead.

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Caleb Winters sat in his wheel chair on a dock that rudely interrupted the flat calm of Forlorn Pond. His presence and the dock, the only proof Mankind even knew of this peaceful place. A loon cried off to his left and dragonflies swarmed in manic flight wolfing down mosquitoes foolish enough to be out and about. Caleb spotted his bobber begin to bounce.

Caleb's fishing pole was stuck in the rod holder Harold had zip tied to his chair a week earlier. Learning to fish with one hand had been difficult, but over the last seven days he came up with a system and yesterday he finally caught his limit. One more now and he would reach his limit today also. He pulled the rod out and yanked hard setting the hook. He immediately returned the pole in the holder to brace it. Awkwardly he began to reel the line in.

Whatever was on Caleb's line was bigger than any fish living in this pond. His rod tip dipped hard with each crank of the reel. Caleb stopped. Could it be one of those lake trout Harold boasted about? Called them togue or something like that. He was often not sure what Harold was saying. His thick Maine accent was frequently a foreign language to Caleb’s New York City ears.

Caleb brought the rod back up with a sharp tug. Nothing. He moved the pole one way, then another. Again nothing.

"Damn! Another snagged line. ....... Harold!......... HAROLD!..........My damn line's snagged again."

No response. Caleb sat in his wheelchair and fumed. What was the use of hired help if they were never there when he needed them. Caleb sighed, tried to calm down using those relaxation techniques that flexible filly at the hospital tried to teach him. No good. He continued to rant.

Several minutes later a man stepped out of the camp nestled in the tall pines some 75 feet up from the dock. He wore a bloodstained white apron and was wiping his hands on a dishrag. He looked down towards the dock. The afternoon sun had dropped far enough he had to raise his hand to his forehead to block out its intensity. He saw Caleb.

"Caleb! Did you call?"

Caleb turned in his chair as far as he could. Over his shoulder, "Yeah, where the Hell have you been? My line's been snagged for an hour. Get down here and fix it." Harold rolled his eyes. Caleb's ranting followed him as he turned and walked back into the cottage to locate the tackle box.

"What the Hell have you been doing Harold? You got blood all over your apron."

Kneeling down next to Caleb, Harold rifled around the tackle box looking for another hook and leader. Harold spoke. "Been cleaning all them damn fish you been catching. You ever gonna eat any? If not, I know a family that would appreciate the fresh fish."

"I don't eat seafood, you know that. Just toss it out."

Harold found the leader and the hook; he stood up.

"Toss perfectly good filets? No sir I won't do it. I'll drop em off for Millie and her brood on my way to town." Harold bent over and reached for the last bobber in the top tray of the tackle box. "You keep snagging something in the same spot. Ferchrisakes, try casting somewhere else. Think all I have to do is babysit you?"

Caleb opened his mouth and quickly closed it. He opened it again. "Just fix the line dammit, It's almost sundown. One more fish and I hit my limit again. Never thought I'd enjoy wrestling fish out of the water. You know I hate seafood dontcha?"

"Yeah Caleb, you already told me. You hate eatin fish, but you love catchin them. I'll sleep in comfort tonight bein reminded of that. Thanks."

Caleb looked at Harold again. His eyes became slits. "What bug crawled up your ass?"

Harold straightened up. His back complained, his knees screamed. He was getting too old for this nursing shit.

"Well, I'll tell ya Caleb. It was you. You crawled up my ass. You’ve done nothing but piss and moan since the day I rolled you out of the van. First it was the mosquitoes. They were eatin you alive. Then you didn't like how the bug spray made your skin all greasy and shit. We get past that and after the first night all you did was complain about how noisy it was here. Trees rustling, loons crying, ....Ferchrisakes Caleb we just come up from Manhattan. You think this place is noisy after living there that last 50 years....And while I'm at it, what the Hell were you thinkin when you bought this place? ....... Spent five million dollars and for what? I know, I know, you wanted your own retreat, your quiet place to escape Humanity. Well goddammit, then retreat and shut the fuck up."

"Caleb's eyes were no longer slits, they were bug eyed open. Oddly speechless, he took a moment to gather himself. Finally, "Well now, I guess you can pack up your things and we'll be done with each other. No employee of mine shows me disrespect."

Harold did not say anything. He reached out and grabbed the snagged line. He cut it loose and attached the new bobber, leader and hook. When he was done he threaded the hook through the fattest worm left in the small bowl next to Caleb's wheel chair. He handed the rod to Caleb.

“Here you contrary ole fart, fixed. Now fish and leave me the Hell alone." Harold walked back up the dock and headed for the camp.

Caleb spun his chair around and watched Harold's back disappear into the cottage. He smiled. The two of them had been together for 20 years now ever since the plane crash and the round the clock care Caleb needed from then on. He loved that old Mainer, he really did. But what he loved the most was pissin him off. 

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Once again, finding a song I liked for this post was a problem. I eventually came up with Joe Cocker's cover of "A Little Help From My Friends". The Beatles wrote it and sang it first, but Joe made it his own. No one ever sang it better. This version was filmed live at Woodstock in 1969 and included in the movie of the same name.. When I saw this film at the theater, I was high on 2 hits of orange barrels LSD .................. Just remembering it gives me chills. The man had some serious ability.

Reincarnation - Revisited

I am not supposed to remember any of this. Signs posted everywhere around The Interim tell me it is not possible. Yet, every conversation, every debriefing, every moment I spent in labs, classes, or hanging out in the Great Hall waiting for my number to come up has stayed with me after I was awakened for this next assignment. If anyone finds out, decommissioning with prejudice is what I will expect.

An expanding Universe needs to be watched over and tweaked as necessary. Delivered to the job sites via high outbursts of pure energy, M-Tees are the tools Controllers use to keep the Expansions dynamic and healthy. Because cross pollination could mean disaster, M-Tees are sent with no memories of previous assignments. We are provided physical substance (Existence Frames) through the biology of the local DNA pools. Only Controllers and the Board are aware of what we will be doing while they manipulate the various corporeal Realities.

Without M-Tees to offset the rigid unbending rules set down by the Predictability Guild, another Universe 14K might happen. The rumor floating around The Interim the last time I was there was Universe 14K was still out of control. It had gone Ballistic. Future deployments had been put on hold or were going to be. There was talk Terminal measures might be instituted. That’s what the Prep-Tech hooking me up for this trip told me. And even though Prep-Techs were only marginally smarter than a box of nano seconds, I figure there had to be some truth to it if the story had gotten this far down the food chain.

What I do know that I am not supposed to know is - I am here, I am fully aware of where I came from and what the broad goals of our mission are. I even know which Controller I am working under. I worked with her a few assignments ago. Hard as nails and unforgiving. This trip was going to be no cake walk. I am already looking forward to being re-called.

No M-Tee, no matter their status, has a set time to serve. It is totally random. If every M-Tee stayed the same length of time, Chaos would not be able to function at the level necessary to keep those flounders over to Predictability at bay. There was no worse enemy to a successful Universe than Predictability. Let Predictability get more than one foot in the door of a Universe and before you can say Big Bang, another cookie cutter cosmos lines up neatly in the astral suburbs. You’d think they would be get bored with perfection. Perfect Universes never last. Eventually they all self destruct prematurely.

It seems I am about to meet my Controller. I know it is her. Her frequency hum is one I will never forget. Again I am puzzled. This is more information that should not be mine to have. The white clad native who is carrying me, hands me over to her. My Controller smiles as she takes me. 

Because I have not developed enough within the confines of this Existence Frame to process the local dialect, Controller’s words are unintelligible to me. But the message in those words is not. It comes through loud and clear through her eyes and the uptick in the Antag frequency of her signature wave length.

“I know you know because I made it so.”

I open the communication device my current Existence Frame has in order to reply. Nothing but a god awful screeching emits. Damn! This no wiggle room rule about following the natural order of things is cramping my style.

To fit in I must not be cognizant, mentally or physically upon initial deployment. A slow purposeful evolution in my development is necessary to dovetail cleanly with The Plan. Or so I am told just prior to each deployment. Unfortunately I am mentally aware but nothing physical seems to be working properly or is of a size to be useful in the first place.

The white clad native who just handed me over opens her communication device, “Oh look at the little rascal. Waving his arms, kicking his feet, and what a set of lungs he has.”

Still smiling, my controller looks at me with hard eyes. The native attending us continues, “Mom, you must be tired. 10 hours of labor is no walk in the park. I’ll leave you two now to get acquainted.”

The white clad native leaves me to the unknown whims and desires of my hard nosed Controller. Once we are alone, my Controller brings me face to face with what I assume is a direct link to her wavelength. Hmm. It appears there are two links, but she has chosen the left one. Okay.

As soon as I latch onto the external plug, information flows immediately. “Listen up asshole. I will go through this one time and one time only. Burp once if you understand, twice if you don’t.”

I burp once. An odd sensation of pleasure rushes through me.

“Okay then. Let’s get to it..........I noticed your hard work on our last assignment together. You showed me you had what it takes to make it to the next level. When we were done on Delpha Fuego Six, I petitioned the Board to have you raised to Con Apprentice. You do as you are told by following orders and your next assignment might just be as a Controller. ….. With me so far? Burp once for yes or twice for no. “

I comply with another satisfying expulsion of gas. Only this time it comes from an area of my Existence Frame I cannot see. My Controller’s face twists and contorts as if she is in pain. “Okay, quit clowning around Jerk Off and acting like you are an unaware M-Tee. My current Existence Frame does not appreciate that type of communication. When I say burp, I mean burp.” I burp once.

Suddenly she disconnects me from the link. She shifts her covering and exposes the other link and plugs me in. Another rush of information flows. “You already know our plans for this mission. Just some more random existence to help fill in the details for the Expansion. However, you do not know what my plan is. I have a little side project I want us both to work on. It is not sanctioned by the board,……..Call it a self designed volunteer enhancement of the plan for this existence. A small detour if you will. Understand?“

“Burp”.

I understood alright. She was going Rogue. I had heard of this happening from time to time, but had never been in existence when it did. And suddenly I knew what to do.

Apparently I was unaware of some top secret directives implanted prior to being jettisoned into this existence. Directives meant for me and me alone. The internal memo opened and in seconds I knew I would have to destroy her. And because the honchos who lead these Rogue investigations were never sure who was involved in Rogue plots, I would have to destroy all of her inner circle as well.

 Shit. This was going to be a short deployment. 14 years local time was my time frame. At the end of this time, I was tasked with instituting the termination sequence and then pulling my own plug by means of some locally acceptable self destruction technique.

The directive also called for permanent termination of the Controller. Jeez, she must have really pissed off the wrong Board Honch. 

Until then I was to burp when told to.

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Image used - "Reincarnation" by Greg Known

The Realm of Possibility - Redux

A flash fiction piece originally posted - Jan 2, 2012

I am posting again because recent events in Texas seems to be coinciding somewhat with this potential future scenario.

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Elder Jacob Bean closed the banned copy of the Scripture. He understood why the second book had been outlawed during the Troubles. Harsh times called for harsh measures. The clearly defined rules found in the first book were perfect in their simplicity and dovetailed well with the brutal measures taken to fulfill the Great Elder’s prophecy of the Final Reformation. He could not understand though why owning such an innocuous collection of harmless fables was still on the list of capital offenses. Would not a good caning suffice?

Rules were rules. Shortly Elder Bean forgot about it. He was only as inquisitive as he needed to be to render a verdict. Without new rules, his only choice was to convict. It was a shame they had no females of breeding age. At least they would have been spared. Elder Bean shrugged. The family of three would have to die.

“Jarrad get in here.”

No response. Servo-tech Jarrad was not at his desk. Elder Bean got up and walked out to the anteroom outside his office just as Servo-tech Jarrad came careening down the hall. “Deep Apologies Elder Jacob, …….call of nature.”

Elder Jacob Bean’s cold eyes studied his assistant for a moment. “I understand simple Jarrad. Even eunuchs have to urinate.” His eyes softened and what might be construed a hint of a smile whisked across his face and was gone. He handed Jarrad a bulky envelope. “Please forward this to the Council of Elders ASAP. I have rendered my decision.”

“Yes, right away your Holiness.”

~*~

The Final Reformation was in full swing by 2075. The Troubles that had started in earnest around 2024, ripped and tore through Humanity for fifty years. The planet’s population had at first tried to discuss their differences. Unforeseen political and military alliances were formed. Regional confrontations escalated into planet wide scorched earth campaigns. War, starvation, disease, and mass suicides took their toll. By 2035 less than two billion souls still walked the Earth. Religious zealots took control over two thirds of the planet. The Pan Asians controlled the rest.

The Age of the Three Kingdoms had begun.

~*~

Scurrying servo-techs connected last minute wiring to the feed going out planet wide. They applied last minute make up to aging Elder faces and fussed over positioning of the altar in the Elder Well. The two prayer benches upon which the Witnesses would sit had been scrubbed and polished. Three stainless steel crosses with braided wire restraints formed a semicircle around the altar in front of a larger Cross upon which hung the current facsimile of what Christ looked like now. He sported a stern face now days and fierce eyes. His arms were spread open as if welcoming all who ventured into the Elder Well, but it was his razor sharp hands that told the truth of what went on here. The Elder Well was designed for one purpose – to instill fear. Fear kept the Elders in power. Only the pious walked out of the Well alive.

Christ had finally transitioned from being the son of God and was now God’s Avenger.

Elder William Graham ll sat and fidgeted in front of his mirror. Tonight would be his first chance at the Bloody Pulpit. He worried every detail with his hair, his robes. He practiced his severe look. He worried that his sweat would show through the heavy makeup. After all, the Witnesses, comprised of the founding Elders would be watching his every move. Sweat would be a sign of weakness in his faith. A servo-tech with a clip board touched his shoulder. “Five minutes Elder William.”

“Are all the sacred devices in place?”

“Yes Your Holiness.”

“Well then, let’s break a leg.”

The servo-tech counted the last few seconds before the night’s festivities began. “9….8….7….6…..”, and then with his right hand he silently finished at 3 and …………… an off camera tech with a calm mellow, made for prime time voice began.

“Welcome good Christians of the Realm. The night’s Sacrifice is brought to you for the first time from the newly constructed and righteously blessed Harold Camping Studios here in New Holywood. Elder William Graham ll will perform God’s Will as Heaven’s Apprentice and will be witnessed by twelve of our most revered founding Elders."

"Tonight’s unfortunates are a family of three from Oxnard. Caught with a copy of the New Testament, the mother refused to acknowledge her sin and plead for mercy. Their fate was sealed when her husband tried to run with her and their son of six. So tonight for your viewing pleasure, …….tonight we have a three-fer."

"Ladies and gentlemen let the festivities begin……………”

~*~

Mullah Saluman Kaleri sat 6000 miles away watching the feed from the Realm. Others in his mosque considered the monthly sacrifices broadcast over the Net nothing but more foolishness from the Realm of God. He knew better. There was more to their monthly bloodletting than just reinforcing the fear of God to maintain control over their heathen majority. They wanted a new crusade. What they did today, tomorrow, next year was all aimed at defeating Islam. The sacrifices were a promise of sorts should the Infidels successfully overrun the Kingdom Of Allah. He knew this because it would be what he would do to them.

The Mullah watched the various players take their places in the Elder Well. He watched each “lamb” being led or dragged in by two ornately masked assistants who shackled them each to their respective crosses. He watched the Acolyte solemnly lay out the cloth which held the devices of the Sacrament and then stand at attention to the right. “Ah”, he thought. ”Tonight the new guy has chosen blades to purge their sins.” Mullah smiled and settled back to watch.

The music swelled. The house lights dimmed. The audience grew quiet. Suddenly, spots lit up Jesus. Fire and sparks shot out of his eyes. Heaven’s Apprentice began his slow march to the pulpit. Adorned in a simple red and green striped robe tied crudely with a knotted piece of hemp rope, he gave the appearance of a God fearing man until he looked at the camera. At once he became a figure to fear. William Graham ll acting as Heaven’s Apprentice had nailed the look. There was an audible gasp heard as the audience moved forward on their seats. This was a man to fear.

What followed was a well rehearsed sermon of the evils of allowing unclean thought to sully the mind of the faithful. Mullah Salumen Kaleri lost interest and turned the sound down. With one eye on the feed, he poured himself some tea and was just raising it to his lips when the first cut was made. Mullah turned the sound back up and settled in. “This guy knows how to do it.” 

He took a sip of tea.

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@ 1150 words

Image - Salvdor Dali - Christ of Saint John of the Cross 

The Nut Lover - A Very Late FFF #27 Entry

This is a piece I wrote for FFF #27  back in April of this year.  Not sure what happened, but I never finished it   So being lazy and generally an all around reprobate, I finished it off and here it is.  I wonder what Cormac will think?

The challenge was  Four Words that had to be incorporated into the body of the story-

Cache  ~  Cashew  ~  Eschew  ~  Through


The Nut Lover

Wilbur Pettigrew rifled through his stash of gourmet nuts.  He was looking for that unopened bag of Premium grade cashew nuts. He eschewed the new jar of grade A Almonds, shoved aside his bag of unshelled and undyed pistachios.  Wilbur ignored his can of mixed nuts from Brazil. Cashews were what he wanted, but no cashews were in his cache. Fondling the bag of Pistachios, Wilbur contemplated the gastronomical pleasure of pistachios this evening for dessert. No. He had been jonesing all day for cashews.

"Mom!.....MOM! Where's my goddamned cashews?" Wilbur stomped into the living room.

Mrs. Pettigrew slumped semi comatose in her usual Post dinner position on the couch, her second pint of Mad Dog 20/20 half gone sitting with the top off on the end table next to her. Clutched to her bosom was Wilbur's now opened bag of special order cashews.

To Wilbur's horror, Mrs Pettigrew had slumped just right so that from her gaping drunken mouth, a string of drool hung down into the center of the bag of those special ordered cashews. It was as if she had staked her claim and she had deployed the drool as a kind of tether or leash to make sure those cashews stayed in her possesion even if she dropped her guard.

For the millionth time Wilbur stood over her with clenched fists vowing silently that this was the last time she stepped over the line. For thirty years he had put up with her obnoxious drunken ways. No longer. He had been put on a waiting list for those cashews. They came from genetically superior Cashew trees in Panama. The nuts were beyond category and their taste was famous and sought out by nut lovers around the globe. His mother had finally pushed him over the edge. Tonight he would have to kill her.

~*~

"So doc, what did her son use to kill her? We figure from the ligature marks it was his hands. But I don't know. If you took a look at this guy, you'd never believe he had the strength to crush her windpipe like that. And then look at her. She has to out weigh her son by 50 pounds at least. No way he would have over powered her. Musta caught her when she was out.  From what the neighbors say, she was out quite often."

The medical examiner looked up from the cadaver he had splayed open on the slab. He gazed at the young detective standing near the foot of the autopsy table. Taking his scalpel he pointed it towards Mrs Pettigrew's liver. "Oh Yeah, she was out quite a bit. Advanced Cirrhosis here." Moving the scalpel up to her heart, he said, "And if that didn't kill her soon, this little beauty was a heartbeat away from blowing up. This lady liked her alcohol cheap and her tobacco in heavy doses."

"Doc, I don't care what was going to kill her. I just want to confirm what did kill her." The cop moved closer to the table. Leaning in, he stared at Mrs Pettigrew's insides like he was perusing a newspaper.

The forensic expert walked to the lab counter upon which sat a very expensive microscope.   "Well you will most likely have to let her son go I think. He didn't kill her."

"What do you mean he didn't kill her?  He admitted it."

The Medical examiner peered into the microscope and then stepped back.  "Take a look.  This is what killed her."

The young detective bent down and gazed at the specimen under the lenses.  "Okay Doc, what am I looking at?'

"Son, that is a Cashew nut morsel.  See the darkened edges?"

"Yeah I see it."

That's a mycotoxin.  And not just any mycotoxin.  These cashews I fetched out of her guts are some kind of hybridized nut I have never seen before.   The cashew tree this nut came from has been manipulated to produce nuts that are larger and more flavorful.  Unfortunately, the mycotoxin density increased when larger nuts were grown.   I did some research and it looks like your killer lives in Central America. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Better late, uh, being late does not make it better.  It just means I finally showed up.

FFF #41 - Proof - 100 words

Friday Flash Fiction time again.  This week I was going to write a longer piece than my usual 250 words or so.  And I did.  But 1300 words into it, I hit a wall.  I walked away from it for several days hoping I would have a Eureka moment while going through the motions of my normal day.  Nope.  No Eureka moment.

So instead, I am going with the story I already had on the bench.  100 words and a tad political.  The starter sentence was provided by  The Professor  -  "He walked in and slid the photograph across my desk."

Proof

He walked in and slid the photograph across my desk. I glanced at it and slid it back.

"Yeah so?"

"Yeah so? You wanted proof. Here it is." Ralph shoved the Kodak moment back in my direction.

“Ralph, this is not what we are after. I can’t print this.”

Ralph stared at me. “But this will ruin him. Isn’t that what your crew wants?”

How could one of the sheep understand?

“Ralph, the fact that he howls at the moon once a month won’t ruin him. Proving he is a Muslim and was really born in Kenya will. Get it?”
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Now I am off to tame the wild jungle.  See ya..................................

FFF #40 - The Gurgling Voice

This week's FFF was well I just do not know where it came from.  I started it on Friday.  Got busy and left until this morning.  I certainly had no plan when I started it.  The resulting tale is testimony to that.  It certainly did not follow my original idea when I came up with the starter sentence many months ago.  Starter sentence in bold.

The Gurgling Voice

"I heard footsteps on the wet sidewalk and the sound of keys."

"What happened then?"

"Well, a kind of gurgling and then .......a voice."

"What kind of voice?"

"I just told you.  A gurgling voice."

"No, no  you didn't.  You said you heard a gurgling and then a voice."

"Sheesh dude.  I heard a voice.  Can I get back to the dream now?"

"No.  I don't think so."  Benny had his eyes glued to the mirror.  "We gots cops on our tail.  Stash that roach and look straight."

"But Benny, I think you need to hear the rest."

"Stuff the story Jackie til we get through this."

Benny pulled over to the shoulder.  Blue and red flashing lights seemed to bounce off everything -  the wet pavement, the guardrail, the billboard off to the right announcing to everyone within sight Five Oh had another poor slob in their crosshairs.

The cop car pulled in behind Benny's old heap stopping far enough back and out into the highway enough to be the textbook picture of a traffic stop.  Two doors opened and then closed.  Benny began floundering in his glove compartment looking for the registration.  Jackie sat very still looking straight ahead. 

The sound they both heard next sent a chill up both spines.......................The sound of footsteps on wet pavement and then............some keys tinkled.  Benny sat up quickly and turned to his side window.  A flashlight blinded him.

"What's wrong officer?  Was I spe.........."

The echoes of the first gunshot had not died when  a second shot tore through Jackie's chest.  The last thing he heard was Benny trying to speak after being shot through the throat.  There it was - the gurgling voice.

"Why?" 

The two cops turned around and walked back to their patrol car.   The driver reached in and grabbed his mic.

"Car 54 here at mile stick 22 on the Old Post Road.  Send a wrecker and a meat wagon.  And strike License number "Alpha Beta One Fiver Niner" off the Polluter List."

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

Thanks once again to Cormac for keeping this FFF thing going.  It was what got me started and it is still my favorite weekly writing challenge. 

FFF #39 - 250 Words - An Elderly Gent in a Blue Smock

This weeks Friday Flash Fiction prompt is by Randal - "She knew time was running out, fast, but opening that door was Pandora's Box all over again."

I can't write in the genre I used last time. I guess the last time I wrote in some kind of crime genre. So whatever this is, here it is.............

She knew time was running out, fast, but opening that door was Pandora's Box all over again. There would be no peeking, no second guessing. Once that door opened, she was committed whether she was ready or not. She would give no quarter. Nor would she expect any.

"Sylvia?"

“Yes John.”

“What the Hell are you doing?”

“Looking for my list.”

“Your list?”

“Yes Dear, my list.”

“You have a list? What the Hell for? I thought we were here just to check things out.”

“Well, I have a list of things to check out.”

“Oh.”

John stepped back and looked at his wife as she struggled elbow deep in her purse looking for the list. Something told him they would not be coming home empty handed.

"Got it". Sylvia held up a crumpled envelope. She studied it and then carefully tore it in half. She turned to her husband and handed him a half.

"We've only got a few moments. You take this part of the list and ...................."

Massive glass doors began to split and slide to the side. The crowd gathered poured through the opening, shoving, jostling and stepping on each other's heels. A blue smocked elderly gent looked very frightened as the crowd bore down on him.

He straightened his shoulders and managed a weak smile.  His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Welcome to your new Super Walmart."

And then the elderly gent was down. Sylvia stepped on his stomach as she passed over him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As always, any comment is welcome.  Especially those of the critical kind.

FFF #37 - "Losing the Key to Life" - 250 words

Starter sentence this time was provided for us by Cormac. At a generous 250 to 1100 words, I chose the short cut.  Only this time I tried another dialog only piece.  Let me know what you think.

"As with juggling, the key to life is to keep the procession moving steady and don't look down."
---------------------------

"As with juggling, the key to life is to keep the procession moving steady and don't look down."

"No it ain’t. Life's all about balance man. Give and take. Shake and bake."

"Shake and bake? Shit dude, you even know what you are talking about?

"Yeah I do. Sure know a lot more than juggling keys or whatever shit you’re spewin."

"Okay smart guy, balance us out of this mess. Cops are streamin in like alewives through the Dead River Dam."

"Looks like it don't it? We're in a world of shit for sure………..And you said it was gonna be an easy score.

“Would have been if you hadn’t brought that freakin cannon… and then actually used it……..Look at her. Jeez what a mess. Right through the eye. You could have just winged her.”

“I told her to stay down on the floor more than once. She shoulda listened…….. she was makin me crazy with all the hysterics, all that blubbering.”

“Well it sure made the rest of them behave. I’ll give you that…………..but through the eye?............Damned cold dude.”

“Dead is dead. Don’t matter how it happens. She’ don’t seem too upset about it.”

“Great. More blue lights coming. How many cops do they need ferchrisakes?……….We ain’t skating this time. “

“Think we should give it up?”

“I dunno man. We’d live longer.”

“Yeah, long enough to stuff a needle in our arm.”

“Maine ain’t got no death penalty.”

“Oh. Well then I guess it’s up to us. Gimme that gun.”

~*~*~**~*~**~~*

Later....................................

FFF #36 - 3rd try - Souvenirs

My third effort for Cormac's weekly FFF challenge. 

This story came to me one bit and a couple of pieces at a time.  It came so hard, I was sure I had bitten off more than I can chew when I indicated I would write a seperate story using each of the three starters.  I had planned to keep this one to 250 words, but well, 250 words is more difficult sometimes than I think it is. 

Welles says, "In the distance I saw all kinds of birds circling over something, but I couldn't tell what from where I was." 

This starter could be taken almost anywhere.  I ended up with this.
______________________________

Souvenirs

"In the distance I saw all kinds of birds circling over something, but I couldn't tell what from where I was.  But I had my suspicions.  After all, the man's been missing now what?  Three, four days anyway."

"Well sir, saw them birds orbiting something so I crossed the stone wall  into the pucker to check it out.  'Bout fifteen minutes of bushwhackin got me to the clearing.  A couple of vultures looked up at me when I busted through the brush.  It was Gil alright.  Birds had taken his eyes and I'm guessin some furry critters had visited.  Couldn't tell what killed him, he was such a mess.............Damn freaky I'll tell ya.  Draped over that big rock all splayed out like he was."

Wilfred Brackett paused.  Lifting his beer mug, he tried to catch Jeff's attention at the other end of the bar.  No good.  Jeff was too involved in Cleo's cleavage and thinking dirty thoughts.  Cleo was too involved in allowing Jeff to harbor those dirty thoughts. 

"Why don't you two get a room ferchrisakes", Wilfred said under his breath.  He sighed or maybe it was more of a groan as he unwound himself from the bar stool.  Forty years of living off the woods had taken their toll.  He gimped around the back of the bar and pulled another draft for himself.

Sap Benson watched Wilfred.  "Hey Will, what's up with the hand?  Quite a gash there."

Wilfred finished pulling his draft and held up his hand and rotated it.  "Yeah, one of them damn vultures got me when I tried to scatter them.  A feast like Gil drew em from all over."  Wilfred limped back to his stool and struggled up onto it's worn seat.  He took a sip off the top of his beer.  Foam dribbled from the corners of his mustache onto his grey beard.  He didn't bother to wipe it off.

"So whatja do about Gil?"  Sap hated and loved Will's stories.  They never seemed to follow any convenient line.  Came out in bit's and pieces until finally the listener had the full scoop.  But in the end, his tales always satisfied.

Will wasn't about to be hurried.  He turned and looked at Sap.  "Didn't do anything.  I came here."

"You left him out there?"

"Well yeah.  Even after what all the critters had eaten, Gil was still no light weight.  Musta been 250 lbs of dead stinkin meat layin there.  I didn't have my portable winch or a shovel with me.  What the Hell did you think I was gonna do, carry the fat bastard out on my shoulders?  Came here and called the State Police bout twenty minutes ago.  Let them deal with Gil."

Wilfred settled in and concentrated on his second draft.   Sap knew better than to push for more information.  It would come in it's own time.  He continued to nurse that one beer he allowed himself when he came to the Eustis Bar n Grill. 

"Odd thing though." Wilfred set his empty mug down.  "I weren't the first one to find Gil."

"How do you know?"

"The clearing where I found him was right off that old tote road that comes out near the Simmons place.  You know, the old road all them ATVers, motorcycles and those fools who ride bicycles in the woods use to get over to the Gap north of town."

"Yeah, I know the trail.  Use it myself in the winter when I take the sled out."

"Well sir, found a couple of tire tracks leadin from the old tote road right up to Gil's body.  Fresh too.  Had to be after that rain we had this morning."

"What kind of tracks?  Did you call the cops?"  Sap was caught now.   He was even thinking a second beer might be needed.

Wilfred turned and looked at Sap with disgust.  "Some kinda motorcycle or pedal bike they use in the woods I'm guessin........and I just told you I called the cops.  Pay attention ferchrisakes.  Matter a fact, I'm supposed to meet up with them shortly to show them where Gil is.  Figured I needed stop first for some, what do they call it now, hydration?"  Wilfred grinned.

Just then the front door swung open.  As it is in every small bar in every small burg of the World, every eye in the place turned to see who was coming in.  Two figures were standing in the bright back light of the open door.  They were laughing as they looked around for a place to sit.  Two mud spattered young men settled into a booth along the wall behind Wilfred and Sap.  Their skin tight shorts and yuppie watches told everyone these guys were mountain bikers  from away.  Everyone turned back to what they were doing and ignored them.

Wilfred finished his beer and again extricated himself from the bar stool.  His bones whined and complained as he straightened up.  He turned to Sap. "Want to head up with me to meet the cops?"

Sap looked down at the last gulp of beer in his mug.  He wasn't sure viewing or worse, smelling the rot of a large dead body in the woods was a good idea.  His stomach was skittish around that kind of thing.  But he grabbed his beer and drained what was left.  Hopping off  his stool, he said, "Yeah....Sure.  Why not?"

He and Wilfred headed to the parking lot. A car with Massachusetts plates was parked next to Wilfred's old Chevy Blazer,  Two mud covered bikes were secured into the racks on top of it.  Sap looked the bikes over as he walked around to the passenger side of the Blazer.  Something caught his eye.  He began to open the passenger door, when suddenly he slammed it shut.  Turning he studied the car from Massachusetts.

"Will..........Uh hey Wilfred."

Wilfred had already settled in behind the wheel and was fumbling with his keys.  He looked through the passenger window.  "What?  Come on Sap, we gotta go."

"No Will.  You gotta see this."  Sap pointed to the bikes on the roof of the car from Massachusetts.

Wilfred tried to lean over far enough to see the bikes on the roof of the car next to his.  They were too high up.  Grumbling and fussing, he climbed out of the Blazer and limped around to where Sap was standing.

Still pointing his finger, Sap said, "I thought you said the birds had taken Gil's eyes?" 

Wilfred followed Sap's finger to the bikes on the roof.  All he saw were wheeled contraptions that made no sense to him.  "What are you talking about?  Of course the birds got his eyes.  That's one of the first things they go for."

"Look harder Will, right there on the fork of the green bike."

Suddenly Wilfred spotted them.  Impaled on each fork leg was an eye ball.  Blue just like Gil's.  Wilfred stepped closer to confirm.  Yes, it was indeed a set of eyeballs stuck on these forks.

Stepping back, Wilfred considered this for a moment.  Finally he looked at Sap and said,  "Damn tourists and their souvenirs."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And yeah, that's a picture of my bike.  But I ain't from away. And I ain't from Eustis either.  Although I once had a sticker on my old Datsun pickup that said. "Get Useless in Eustis."  It was from a tittie bar there I absolutely do not remember visiting.

Until next time...........................................

FFF #36 - 2nd try - Dreams Do Come True - 250 Words

Friday Flash Fiction's starter sentence this week was "writer's choice".  I chose a big bite by claiming I would write a story using all 3 starter sentences.  What follows is effort 2 using  Sue's sentence , "You know that feeling when you wake up sweating and think 'thank goodness it was only a dream'?"

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Dreams Do Come True

You know that feeling when you wake up sweating and think “thank goodness it was only a dream”? Running dreams do it for me. Dark hulking figures chasing me down ancient cobbled alleys or through and under gruesome trees wearing Spanish moss under the full Moon. I hear footsteps behind me. My breath is labored and …………………….

Seems all of us have a couple of dark dream sequences we repeat from time to time. Only this time I wake up sweating and my hopes are dashed. The Moon is indeed above my head and dancing in the dark wind, Spanish moss moves to its dark rhythm.

A twig snaps. I turn to face the sound. Behind me another twig snaps. Every sense jerks into overdrive. The sweat, that breath I can not catch is not from a dream. This is no virtual world of my own making. There are hulking dark figures out there. And they want me.

I remember now. My previous hours play back through my mind. A fight, much blood and……………………………….I look down to my shirt. It is torn, tattered and covered with, ….yes, it’s blood alright.

Kneeling now, I peek around the tree I woke up under. Some brush rustles to my left and I turn. Coming towards me are two hulking figures. Throwing my back against the tree again I open my mouth to scream……………… A light blinds me.

“Over here........... Bring the buggy. Dude’s all cut up.”

“Well, at least this one’s still alive.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A big thanks to Cormac for keeping this flame rolling while I took my mini sabbatical to face the real challenges out here in the physical world.

FFF #36 - 1st try - The Shepherd – 250 Words

Starter Sentence - Looking at it from their point of view, then yeah, I would be pissed also.
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Looking at it from their point of view, then yeah, I would be pissed also.

But I cannot worry about the feelings of others. Let them be angry, raise their clenched fists and stamp their feet. The Process will not be stopped. They cannot stop it. I cannot stop it. I can only keep it somewhat on track. Without my guidance, the process would spin out of control. More than the few I upset now would be in a world of hurt. Most if not all would not even exist without my steady hand on the tiller.

It is funny though. The pain I cause for some becomes pleasure when experienced by others. In some quarters I am deified. In others I am vilified. But in many, my existence is ignored or even denied.

Many resent the power I have over their lives. Others embrace my dominance and assign me abilities I will never have. I deserve no thanks. I deserve no resentment. It is my job.

In the beginning it was easy. The network was small and had not yet stretched past the horizon. Now it wanders aimlessly beyond line of sight and mind. My efforts become more diluted with every passing moment.

Omnipotent I am not. Neither am I impotent. I am but a steward tasked with trying to keep the balance between now and then. Keeping that balance may not be convenient or kind. Without balance, there would be no existence of any sort.

Now say Amen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I decided to use my own starter sentence for this Friday Flash Fiction effort.  I have delusions of grandeur again by thinking that since it is a "writer's choice" week, I will attempt to write something using each of the three sentences suggested.

We'll see............................................

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Image - William Blake's "The Ancient of Days" - If interested in this really cool old dead Brit - go here

FFF #35 - Guard Duty

This post, such as it is, marks my return to Friday Flash Fiction.  It has been awhile.  Not sure what to think of this one, other than it came to me when our grey cat, GG, strutted up to me trying to meow through the vole he had stuffed in his mouth.  Found the picture and well, what follows was the result. 

The sentence this week came via Flannery  - "I don't disagree with you, but you have to admit, this puts me in a delicate position."
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"I don't disagree with you, but you have to admit, this puts me in a delicate position."

With one eye Tony looked at Vic in disgust while the other eye targeted a lazy fly. "I hate it when you go all hoity toity Vic. Delicate position? What the Hell does that mean? You wearing something belonging to the missus again?" Both eyes were now drawing a bead on the fly.

Vic turned and looked at Tony.  He cleared his throat and said,  "You know I like to be called Victor."   Tony grunted.  His attention was now on the fly.

Vic gazed out on the wide expanse that seperated them from Dark Woods. He turned back just in time to see Tony flick his tongue and catch the fly. While Tony convulsed his throat tossing back the fly into his gullet, Vic continued.  "If I have spell it out for you my wart encrusted friend, I would say that while I can see your point and agree with you, my new position as a Ward of the Periphery does not allow me the freedom to put our safety before the safety of the group."

"Jeezum Vic,  Ward of the Periphery?  Fancy titles don't change the fact we are pulling plain ole guard duty.  You are expendable my friend.   All I suggest is a way to deal with this new stream that has marooned us here.  Ya know we can't stay here.  Too exposed.  Those nasty stinkin owls would just love to make you lunch.  You know they don't leave much when they are done.  Puke your hard parts up while your soft parts come out the other end.   I ain't throwing myself in harm's way to save your dumb ass.  Makes more sense to find our way back to the edge of the Dark Woods where we can relax and still keep watch. "

Victor pretended to consider Tony's suggestion.  But voles are hardheaded little jerks.  He had been given a directive and a position to hold.  By God, he was going to follow through.  Turning around was not an option. "Again Tony I cannot emphasize too strongly how much I agree with your turn and run suggestion, but Boss Mole gave both of us a job to do and I for one consider it my duty to see this mission through............ You want to turn back?  Go ahead.  I will stay.  Maybe we can move over there near that hump?"

Victor turned and took a few tentative steps towards the hump further out into the Great Unknown.  A Sparrowhawk dropped out of the Sun just missing Victor with those impaling claws they like to keep so sharp.  Victor piddled and then panicked.  There was no cover. Not even any dead leaves to try and crawl under.  The new stream had washed everything down to dirt.

Tony watched as Victor ran around in circles screaming.  He looked bored.  Voles were just so damn high strung.  Smart maybe, but jeez they were an ansty breed.  Tony swallowed some air and bloated his throat in a show of defiance in case the sparrowhawk was watching.  He was pretty sure though, that sparrow hawk was already on the hunt for other game.  They rarely hit the same place twice.  He let Tony get through the worst of his panic attack and then spoke up.

Vic!.......Victor........."  Nothing, Vic was too busy being hysterical.  He needed a few more minutes.  Tony settled down and once again looked across the broad expanse of water that blocked their return to the Dark Woods and safety. 

He could easily just hop into the brook and swim across even though it was not in a toad's nature to swim much.  But he could do it.  Leaving this whiner behind was becoming more attractive with every frantic spin Victor made.  But then there would questions to answer, paper work to fill out, and besides, he actually liked the little furball.  Victor was the only mammal in the community who would scratch his back when it itched.  Tony sighed and hopped closer to Victor.  Flicking out his tongue, he caught Vic right between his beady eyes and almost knocked him down.  That got Vic's attention.

"What the Hell Tony?  That hurt."

"With or without you Vic, I'm finding some cover."  Tony hopped into the shallow edge of the stream.  "Come on Vic.  I will leave you."

Victor looked at Tony poised in the shallows ready to retreat.  He turned back to gaze towards the Great Unknown.  Lifting his nose, his whiskers twitched as he tasted the air coming from that direction.  He turned back to look at Tony.

Tony moved further out, stopping just as the water came up under his chin.  "Coming or not?"

Victor's shoulders seemed to slump as he scurried over to Tony and jumped on his back.  "Okay, let's go.  But you know there's gonna be Hell to pay when Boss Mole finds out we abandoned our post?"

Tony rolled his eyes.  "Only way he finds out is if one of us tells him.  Now hold on  and stop fidgeting."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later.......................................................

FFF #26 - 250 Words - "Climax"

Not sure why I wrote another 250 words with this starter sentence from Cormac. I did really like the prompt though. "What do you see when you close your eyes?" So many possibilities. The great efforts of the others is testimony to that.

I have been tossing images of old tractors around in my mind for quite awhile now. And how can I mention tractors without mentioning chawin bacca? Besides nothin picks up my day more than a picture of a flashy red tractor.

“Climax”

"What do you see when you close your eyes?"

Jacob looked at the salesman and said, "What?"

"Sir, if you could, please close your eyes. What kind of tractor do you see yourself tilling that back forty with?"

Jacob tugged on his beard and looked this citi-fied stranger over. Out of his bacca pocket he pulled a half plug of Climax and tore off a healthy chunk with the five teeth he still had. He got the wad rolling real good and said, “Why dontcha close your eyes Bub and tell me what kinda tractor you see me on." Some bacca juice dribbled from the corner of his mouth and into his beard.

Sid said, “Why sure thing , Mr. …..”

“Name’s Jacob Blanchard.”

“Okay Jacob Blanchard, I’ll just do that.” Rubbing his temples Sid began.

“I see a field. In this field, a shiny new Farmall “Mogul 8-16” sits idling with a new double wide disc rig tagged on. I see you slide onto that shiny new black seat. Caressing the steering wheel with one hand and releasing the brake with the other, you smile your way through that back forty. You finish so fast you’re a half hour early for supper.” Smiling, Sid opened his eyes.

"Nice story bub but I din’t come for no tractor.” Jacob spit some well chewed Climax on Sid’s left shoe. “I come in to find out what fool parked in front of my dumpster. I’m guessin that fool would be you.”
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Later................................

FFF #26 - 250 Words - "Say Goodbye"

Cormac, the host of Friday Flash Fiction, provided us with the starter sentence this week - "What do you see when you close your eyes?" I did not give this sentence a thought until Friday morning as I headed to the bike shop. An idea popped in when I had no way to record it for later treatment. Usually when this happens, I can never remember the idea later when seated with fingers poised ready to pour it out onto the screen. But damn if I wasn't able to remember 90% of it and that I wanted to do it in 250 words. I'm becoming a big fan of 250 words. Constraining, but not so much you can't make a point. Short enough for the ADD types like me. And it's a hoot to try to do it in 250 words.

I am not sure why it is yet another violent rip and tear piece. Maybe it has to do with the current political atmosphere. Been watching too much of Glenn Beck and Hannity I guess. Anyway, I went where the sentence took me.

Another odd thing about this piece. As usual I wrote it first and then found the image. As well as the image fits, I almost expect Harlan Ellison to knock on my door at any moment with a knife in his hand.
_______________________

"Say Goodbye"

"What do you see when you close your eyes?"

Axle was not even thinking about closing his eyes. Not with that knife in Jack Top’s hand pressed so hard an inch or two under his left ear.

Jack Top grabbed Axle’s hair and roughly tilted his head back. "I said, what do you see when you close your eyes?" Axle knelt whimpering and losing control of his bladder. He looked up into Jack Top's eyes.

Axle had always been slow on the uptake. It took him a second, but he closed his eyes. Some seconds later they fluttered open. "Uh, nothing Jack Top. Don’t see a thing. Black I guess. Why?" Piss began to soak through Axle’s pants and into the carpet.

Jack Top closed his eyes. His free hand gripped Axle’s hair so hard he could feel some of it coming loose at the roots. “I tell you what Axle. When I close my eyes, I see red. Beautiful red everywhere. Nothin but red.” Jack Top then sliced Axle’s throat open from ear to ear.

Jack Top stood staring down at the wet red gash he had created under Axle’s chin. He watched the gushing blood drain the life out of Axle’s eyes. A look of serenity and calm came over Jack Top’s face. He sighed and closed his eyes again. His knife fell to the floor.

Rivet Head whispered, “If he ever asks me that, what do I say?”

Zip looked at him and said, “You say goodbye.”
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Image - Acrylic by Joe Machine of the Stuckists
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Edited out after David read it the first time - "He stared hard into Axle’s eyes as Axle knelt whimpering and losing control of his bladder."

FFF #25 - Having No Pride

This week's Friday Flash Fiction starter sentence comes from Aussie Paul - "He had been told crawling would get him nowhere." Since I have little time to give a longer piece because of work constraints, I gave myself 30 minutes to come up with a six line effort. Okay, so I actually spent maybe an hour on it. The first six line effort got me in the ball park. After another half hour, I think I made it better. The last line was inspired by a movie by the Coen Brothers. One of the verbal exchanges between Bernie Bernbaum and Tom Reagan. Bernie died anyway. Except for the fact that Bernie was gay, maybe the whole piece was inspired by this movie. John Turtorro's acting just fascinates me. 

Having No Pride

 

He had been told crawling would get him nowhere. 

 They knew nothing of his resolve and patience. 

 After all, he had found the one rich woman who would cater to his groveling ways. 

 Having no pride, self humiliation became his stock in trade; his road to success. 

 Now Death sits at his front door and yet he has no fear. 

 Confident the Reaper will let him skate if he is on his knees and soils his britches just so. ____________________________________________

  Image - Painting by Buen Calubayan

FFF #23 - Duck & Mouse

It's Flash Fiction Friday time again. This week the starter sentence had options. "I/He/She/It/They/(place name here) had to kick out the back window to escape." 

 I chose to once again poke fun at some sacred American icons. Not sure why. Maybe it was because I was banned for life from Disney World back in 1977 for smoking pot on the monorail with members of Black Oak Arkansas and crew. But I think it is just because I really love Mickey and friends. I grew up with them and this is my way of letting them know that I know movie stars are human too. They have the same needs we all do, even if they only have four fingers on each hand.

 

Duck & Mouse 

 Duck had to kick out the back window to escape. 

 As Mickey and his henchmen poured in the front gate. 

"The Duck has to pay", Mickey declared. 

"Get Him. Kill him. Before it's too late." 

Donald thought he was clever, so clever he smiled.

"Mickey you're an idiot. Minnie loved it. No way it was rape." 

Just then Mickey ran into that back room with a view.  

Saw Duck on the window balanced, ready to screw.  

Dug deep in his pocket for some ammo to reload 

To avenge Minnie's honor, killing Duck before he hit the road. 

Duck just cackled and flipped Mouse the bird 

"Tell me something Mickey, just what good sir, what is the good word?" 

"You defiled poor Minnie, your ass is mine now" 

"You loser, you clown, you feather brained turd." 

But Duck did not hear him, he had leapt to the ground 

Flew the coop, took a powder 

Falling four floors tends to make for a very ugly sound. 

Mickey rushed the window, still hoping to shoot 

Leaned out, looked down and saw it was moot. 

For Duck was sprawled flat, splat, like a collapsed top hat 

Stone dead on the concrete, expired........ nightie night.

"Well my work here is done", Mickey declared with puffed chest. 

Went home, grabbed a beer, headed to bed for some rest 

Instead found his woman, the mouse of his dreams 

In bed with that damn Goofy and ecstatic in mid scream.

  As You Were............................

FFF #22 - Your Highness

What follows is my contribution for Friday Flash Fiction #22 - Four Words

Manic

Panic

Organic

Non-corrosive

Even though I told Cormac to enjoy his time off, he came up with a challenge after all. Thank you sir for the prompt.

Here we have another SciFi attempt. Or is it just another weak effort on my part to find God again? I also decided to attempt a dialog only piece. The process of metal protection mentioned actually exists, even though I am sure I have it all wrong as to how it works. It is just a story after all.
______________________

Your Highness

"Jones, I thought we were supposed to to be looking for a non-corrosive solution to this problem. Just look at the oxidation taking place under the lens of the microscope. This new material you came up with is corroding faster than the last batch we created."

"Patience Professor, patience. The alloy combination I came up with needs more time to congeal with the particulates and moisture in the air. Certainly some corrosion will take place. I warned you this would happen. But what looks like corrosion is actually the final phase in the transformation of man-made inorganic material into an organic material even Mother Nature would embrace.

"Right. More of your SciFi wizardry.....atom sized robots or something. What is it you call it again?"

"Nanotechnology. And it is not Science Fiction.........Look, you agreed to help us with this once you found out where I came from and what I had to offer. I can just pack up and leave you here stumbling around like the old fool you are. There are others with similar letters behind their name who would jump at this opportunity. I picked you to become the "famous Nobel Prize Winner" who will save the World for future generations. You will become the father of Nanotechnology. It is all part of the plan. But let's get something straight. This is not so much Nanotechnology, as it is a major step in it's development. Without this one innovation, Nanotechnology will not exist within the time frame we have set up. It is imperative that you understand it enough to bullshit your way through an explanation. So pay attention."

"Well then, carry on sir."

"Okay, so here we have what looks like a basic piece of steel. As you have just pointed out, it is beginning to corrode even faster than it normally would. Up until now, your approach has been to defeat corrosion by just mixing various metals in various ways without any real consideration to how corrosion works. My method and process takes corrosion and uses it against itself. Exposed to the elements, this piece of steel will form an outer layer of corrosion...what you people call rust. But only in the outer layer of molecules. Once this has happened, the corrosion will stop as the outer layer of rust forms an impervious protective cover to any further chemical breakdown of the alloys inside. It ain't pretty, but it works."

"I read your formulas. I read your explanations. I have listened to you and tried my best to understand, but ......."

"Don't panic Professor. All you have to do is be able to bull shit your way through this like you have the rest of your life. You were chosen just because of your almost magical ability to fool all the people all the time. Trust me. History will thank you and honor you. But only if you follow my directions."

~*~

"Control? Techfred Williams here. There seems to be a glitch occurring in Alternate Future number 4."

"Uh, Is that not Techfred Jones' mission?"

"Yes Control, he just arrived and was debriefed yesterday. But there is a spike in the viability index numbers that bothers me."

"Get him on the horn immediately."

"Yes Sir. Techfred Williams out."

~*~

"Well Professor......"

"I prefer "Your Highness"."

"Uh okay. Well "Your Highness", you really screwed up this project. I laid out specific instructions and you tossed them as soon as I left the room. I will admit we never anticipated this omnipotent tendency of yours, but there it is. Five minutes after I have gone, you go all manic and start believing you are the World's Saviour. To your credit, you obviously have some talents we did not anticipate."

"Like controlling the World?"

"Yeah, like controlling the World."

"So what is it you want Jones?"

"Nothing Prof....uh Your Highness. Just stopped in to ask you if you remember the microscope and what you saw in there?"

"It is burned into my memory."

"And you do remember the instructions I left you?"

"Of course. All I had to do was alter them some and well, you are calling me "Your Highness" now."

"I see. I would have thought you were smart enough to remember some of the basics of scientific endeavor. When experimenting, stringent procedures must be followed in order to get reliable results. You wandered off the reservation Professor and I am just here as a courtesy to tell you we are pulling the plug on this experiment."
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Until next time...............