Island 4

John Stark will be glad he helped me.  Gerald probably would have done nothing except yell, but any help, any respite from the assaults and taunts of all the nasty, foul-mouthed children at that school was more than welcome.  Someday, I will repay his kindness, I thought to myself.  That day wasn't today.  Today I had Dagmar to deal with.  Ever since my ass was kicked, she was on a manhunt; hardly sleeping, and getting home late.  Frantically calling people, recalling, hoping.  Most nights Dagmar's sister was at our house.  Helga she was called.  She would plop me in front of the TV in the guest bedroom, and bring me food.  She didn't speak English, so she always seemed to just keep me safe, there wasn't much interaction.  After she knew I was settled in for the night, watching cartoons and the like, she would head straight for the living room to catch up on the German soap operas she so loved.  They were beamed in straight from Berlin via satellite for quite a price.  I was getting tired of this routine.  I felt like a prisoner.  Why should I have to suffer twice for losing a fight to ten older kids?  Dagmar was no closer to finding these kids than I was to freedom.  Something had to be done.  It was near the middle of the night, and I was "asleep", or so Helga thought, when Dagmar got home that night.  All I could hear was loud German chatter, yelling and screaming back and forth.  It sounded like two burly elephant seals barking at each other right before battling for a mate.  I slid the sheets and covers off of me and landed as quietly as I could on the creaky hardwood floor in my bedroom.  I knew Dagmar couldn't be reasoned with, I knew she wasn't going to find these kids.  She didn't know what they looked like, only descriptions given to her by a five year old.  Dagmar, though she wanted it so badly, would not be the one to avenge me.  I would have to find these bastards myself.  I knew what they looked like, and I knew their minds.  They were booze thirsty and pretty dumb.  They weren't foolish enough to return to the fast and sleazy, but there was another liquor store a few blocks from there.  I could picture them standing out back in the rear parking lot with their paper bag covered prize, passing the bottle, laughing and smiling, thinking they were all in the clear for what they had done.  I slowly and silently shuffled the soles of my footsie pajamas along my enemies of the moment, the floorboards, and went to the bookshelf.  I pulled down as many of the bulkier volumes in my collection as I could.  The collection ranged from one-fish two-fish, to goodnight moon, so I was going to have to grab quite a few books to accomplish what I had planned for these fools.  I tucked and jammed as many books as I could into my pajamas.  When I was fully stuffed, and just about ready to head for door, the barking from the living room suddenly died.  Oh poopy!  Dagmar is going to come check on me.  I shuffled as quickly as I could and made a whole-hearted dive toward my bed.  Plunk... I misjudged that one.  My knee smashed into the bed-frame, and I clenched my teeth as hard as I could to keep from screaming.  Luckily, I had two handfuls of sheet.  I grasped with all of my might, and hoisted my body back on top of the bed, and slid the covers back over me just as I heard the gentle click of the doorknob.  Dagmar's version of stealth was not as graceful as mine, and every time the floorboards creaked and moaned, so did my heart.  "CRRREEEAAAKK" She will foil my plans if she sees the books, I just know it.  "SQQUUEEAAAKK" I had been holding my breath, I realized, and I was running out of air.  "CREEEEAAAAAKKK"  Let this air out slowly, she is about to lean in for the kiss!!!  "SQQUUEEAAAKK" I pursed my lips together and leaked the air out of my lungs as quickly but quietly as possible.  I felt the bed shake as Dagmar's massive hand pressed on the edge of the bed.  It felt like twenty earthquakes were rumbling through me all at once.  The wet slobbery kiss landed softly on my cheek, and I could hear her faintly whisper, "Süße Träume!"  and then, "CRREEAAKK"
Whew, what a relief.  "SQQUUEEAAKK"  The panic was subsiding.  "CRREEEAAAKK"  My heart was slowing back down.  "SQQUUEEAAAKKKK"  My muscles were relaxing. "CLICK"  She shut the door softly, and all was calm again.  Too calm, my eyes shut at the shut of the door, and I was struggling to open them again.  I felt my body rolling uncontrollably, seeking comfort.  My body thought it had won, sleep it would have.  Those bastards had won too I dreamily thought, until Dr. Seuss salvaged my redemption, the corner of one fish, two fish jabbed sharply into my ribs.  "YOOOWWWZZAAA" I bellowed as I woke with a start, but fortune was on my side.  Helga, wasn't finished with her soaps, and just as I screamed in pain, one of the characters shrieked in anger.  Perhaps, they knew my cause was just...


to be continued     

Island Part 3

There I was; just me, the asphalt, my teeth, and my blood.  Somehow I didn't feel like my relationship with any of those three would ever be the same.  But what can you do, somedays you just lose.  The cops arrived first, followed by a fire truck and an ambulance.  A lot of people to help one schlub who got his teeth kicked in.  But I was ever grateful.  The last thing Devil-face needs is a more fucked up face, I couldn't help but think.

"How you doing, killer?"  The cop (Fernandez, or so his badge read) sympathetically said.  

"Been better"  I sputtered, looking at the cop through watery eyes, they welled up as soon as I was forced to admit my situation.  It always seems to be the moment you have to tell someone else about it is the moment it becomes real.  I did my best at reconstructing the scenario to the cop in my little kid way.  Boy did he get a laugh when I recounted Susan's squeal.  Next thing I remember I was in the hospital where Dagmar worked, laying on a hospital bed covered in gauze.  She got word, and you could tell only one emotion was ever going to enter that woman's body this night.  RAGE.  Capitalized for a reason.  Livid, is hardly an apt description.  One look at me and she was off on a head hunt.  Fernandez wasn't expecting the shit-storm that was about to rain down on him. 
"How the Hell could you let this happen to my Nature!!!!  What the FUCK has this world come to, some poor kid gets his ass kicked in the streets and you cops do nothing!  That was your kid how would you feel you smug son of a bitch!"  Her rage was so pure and malevolent every one in earshot dropped what they were doing, half in fright half in morbid curiosity.
Fernandez was taken aback, but took it all in stride.  This was not the first time an angry mother yelled at him.  "I am sorry ma'am, we got there as fast as we could.  We will catch those kids that did this, Susan and Shane, and all their little friends and dole out a proper dose of Justice, I swear it!" 
Dagmar's face remained red and the notepad in her hand felt the worst of her frustration.  She stormed off down the Hall,  slamming into carts and rattling trays on her way out the nearest exit.  It took every ounce of her not to smash down the whole damn hospital.  All the eyes in the place were fixed on the spectacle of the extensively large, rageful German doctor redder than a hot tamale, most glad she was heading out of the place.  Her pace quickened when she was alone and when she could see her car she broke into a run.  She thought she might know who this Susan might be. 

Well that was how I met Susan, the rest of what happened that night is a whole other story altogether.  Back to John Stark, a strong, mostly silent kid that always kept to himself.  It was a couple of weeks later I would meet him, my face still looking the worse for wear.  The cries and chants of "Devil-Face" only seemed to get louder after my ass whooping.  Losing a couple of your front teeth really made you look like you had fangs I guess.  John Stark might have been the only sympathetic soul in the small town of Larksburg, just a couple of miles by sea from the islands where my folks had their mission, and where I was born. 
"Devil-face, how did you get even uglier?"  Gerald, a portly eighth grader with more belly than wits, belched at me.
"Shut up Gerald, at least the kid can see his toes from where he stands.  Now get out of here before I smash your face pot-belly."  John Stark retorted. 
"You're lucky Devil-face.  Next time I am going to make you even uglier, cursing the whole town like you do."  He spoke tough, but he moved extremely quickly for a fatty, with John Stark threatening him like he was.  John kept to himself, sure enough, but when he decided he didn't like someone, they could sometimes end up looking worse than me. 
"Thanks!  I am sure tired of getting my ass kicked, I needed a little rest."
"Don't mention it.  This don't mean I like you, Devil-face, I just hate injustice and Gerald.  Now beat it!"

Samson's dilemma

Samson's dilemma,

by Walter and George Talbott

Samson was a wand'ring gent

who fled the job of management

Samson was a kindly fellow

to his friends he said Hello

but his boss was mean and rude

always giving sammy 'tude

So one wintry day

when Samson was feeling less than gay

He gathered his stuff up in a sack

he rolled up his sleeves and yanked up his slacks

Boss, my boss I am leaving post haste

Your business is good, but your life is a waste

Your hair is too short and your eyes are funny

You are so greedy all you care for is money

I have had enough I will never return

The bridge behind me I will gladly burn!

The next time I see you, you'll be in an urn

and with that, he strode out the door

he went to the barber's store

He thought to himself the world will be mine

if I cut my hair and give my shoes a shine

He knew not the fate that lay before him

He knew not the power of his mullet

God cried that day and swallowed his gullet

Samson my boy your hair!

Great power comes from there!

Lose your locks, lose your strength!

You need all of your fabulous length!

Every barber worldwide

felt something strange stir inside.

Who would cut such a glorious doo?

How did the scissors pierce their way through

Samson bellowed fear not my fellows

I am still strong and supple

look at that pillar

I will smash it

look at that mountain

I will trash it

He tried with all of his might 

to break the pillar to topple the mountain

but all that came of the fight

was a sad sad sight

Samson the man was now Samson the fountain

tears were streaming across his face

I must flee, I must flee this place

he yelled he shrieked but no one would listen

the poor fellow no longer glistened

The poor fellow was just a man, 

even though he had a sweet tan

strange short tale

Three legs are only useful if you are a tripod, or if you are Toejam.  Otherwise, two should do.  Four ain't bad, but hands are better.  Or maybe centaurs had it right.  I don't know anymore.  I really don't.  But, I do know I hate those scum.  Those invaders, devastators, destroyers.  Killers of all that is good, save for me (I am still alive).  My friends, family, fellow planet dwelling creatures, all gone! Dead, twisted, torn to pieces by those beasts, those three legged monstrosities.  It wasn't this bad even a week ago.  I was sitting on my couch drinking a beer, just smiling, just enjoying everything.  A biologist on the verge of a major breakthrough.  But alas, the beasts arrived, on shiny starships, mad as hell.  Red like the devil, but shaped like angels.  That is why they deceived us so!  A gentle manner about them and a calm that could break a hurricane.  

a tale part 1

"a tale is a story, sometimes boring, but sometimes interesting (like this one).  Too many times a story starts in the middle, goes back to the beginning and then catches up to itself to end in dramatic fashion.  Thisstory starts after it is all over.  I am telling this story from the grave.  Not in a creepy way, I just can't tell it any other way since I am dead.  And the most interesting part of the story is that you will have to infer what happened from how I describe my current situation.  I am not six feet under ground, but only about a foot and a half.  I wasn't buried here, I landed.  I am still wearing a helmet.  It is pretty smashed, but enough of it is left to still be considered a helmet.  The suit I am wearing is brightly colored spandex.  I look like a human cannonball, and just might have been one.  I have been here for about thirty five and a half years.  I only used to be buried about 1 foot deep, but the sands of time have covered me over.  It wasn't suicide, you could tell from the knife in my back.  the knife looked like it belonged to crocodile dundee, but in fact it did not.  It was just a very large knife with a crocodile skin handle.  What a dishonorable way to go, stabbed in the back and fired for the last time out of the cannon I so loved, or so I think I recollect.  That is all I remember, the end.  Who was I?  There is a picture in my pocket of a lovely lady, perhaps about my age, but how am I to know?  It could have been my wife, or just a lover.  It is hard to remember things when there are more maggots in your skull than brains.  Oh to return to the beginning, to stop this from happening.  Is my wife ok?  Was my wife the one to stab me?  Could that be my daughter?!?!   Dearest me, to have life again.  give me but 2 years, higher being!!!!  What are you?  Who are you?  Why don't you help me?  What is the plan?  Why I am not in it anymore?  Have I really completely served my purpose?  What kind of sordid tale are you trying to tell?  Well its got nothing on my story.  My life was the best of all lives, I like to tell myself.  Why not?  Well I hope my story has inspired you.  I can't really gather any other info for you.  You decide what might have happened to me and let me know.  Look around above ground and get back to me." That is what this corpse is telling me, what is it telling you, Jimbo? 
Well sir, I think that lady is not his daughter.  He looks a little young to have a 20 something daughter.  I don't think he was a human cannonball sir. 
Then why the hell is he in that damned suit. 
He looks to me like a bicycle rider.  That helmet is definitely not strong enough to be fired out of a cannon. 
Unless he was an amateur, eh Jimbo?  You damned simpleton, follow what the corpse tells you!  Don't just make stuff up!!! 
Sorry sir, you are right sir, definitely an amateur cannonball.  But how, sir, did the amateur cannonballer fly 300 feet across this pond here? 
He was quite the amateur, you idiot!  He dreamed big. Isn't that at least obvious to you?
Well sir where do you think he was fired from?  Should we see if there are cannon tracks?
Oh my dear friend, I would fire you if you wouldn't do more damage to the world without my genius mind looking after you.  We are like Holmes and Watson, if Watson were as dumb as a bag of bricks.  I suppose we are more like Holmes and a bag of rocks he carries around.
Sir, that was a bit harsh, don't you think?
now you are thinking!!  This was an entirely harsh way for the man to die.
No I meant you sir!
Oh shut up, you are wasting our time with your pouting and whining, lets get back to the case.
Alright sir, sorry again sir.
Now tell me my friend, where do you think this amateur set his cannon?
Well I would guess the other side of the lake?
Good thinking, lets do a lap around and see what we can see.

end of part 1.......  Shall there be another part?  Hopefully

face melting (Island part 2)

The deadly face melting leaf of the deadly face melting plant, Amorpha cutis-fundo, landed squarely in the middle of my forehead, and burned into it a deep purplish-blackish leaf print.  It was my scarlet letter, proof I came from a strange background.  Growing up I tried to hide the mark, I was embarrassed and ashamed.  Kids would shriek and throw stones at the hated devil-face, the name I was given.  On more than one occasion I was pummeled mercilessly by small hordes and bastions of mischievous miscreants, simply for having that scar.  It was during one of these assaults I first met Susan Leonard.  She was the leader of a particularly ornery group of oafish assholes.  I was but a first grader, and her group were sophomores in High School.  Every day I would walk by the local seven eleven type store, I forget the name now it has been so many years.  Something like fast and easy mart, or the fast and sleazy as I would often call it.  What a place for bands of angsty teenage dipshits.  There were always at least a few out front, trying to fish for booze and cigarettes.  Frustrated with their failed attempts at procuring their beloved contraband, Susan's group was anxious to lash out at society, their fellow man, and most unfortunately for me, any young, vulnerable goober stupid enough to stroll past the fast and sleazy without at least a fat friend you could easily outrun.  I rounded the corner of Billings St, and took my usual turn onto Main, it was then when one of Susan's stooges spotted me.
"Susan, check it out.  Do you see what I see?  It's that devil-face kid.  No wonder we can't get no fuckin' brews the luck that kid brings.  I oughta kick that ugly lump, and teach him a lesson."  some burly, blundering bastard declared.
"You know what Shane, I think you should sock some sense into that slimy, salamander-skin face of his."  Susan slyly slithered.  Shudders ran up and down my spine, I tightened my grip around my backpack straps, swallowed a big gulp of saliva, and tried to remember the words of Dagmar, my German foster mother.  "Stop your fretting child, life ain't petunias, its thorny roses!  But roses ain't just thorns!"  This was a thorny rose type situation I was in.  But I wasn't seeing much rose, just a bunch of thorns.
"Fart faces!" I howled with all my might.  There was only one way out of this situation, running certainly wasn't an option.  That is what they were expecting.  I flipped the back pack off my back and held it in front of me with my arms locked.  Digging my feet hard in to the ground I began a dead sprint toward Shane hoping to knock him over.  A kerfuffle they were after a kerfuffle they would get!!!  I could see nothing except the black fabric of my backpack and all I could hear were my own howls of rage, confusion, and fear.  "Kerthwack!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Shane did a quick side-step, save for his right foot.  I was tumbled to the pavement faster than a cheetah can run.  That was the least of my worries.  The feet of many a forlorn, booze-thirsty nitwit were soon smashed down on me.  What a whooping.  Lost two teeth and broke my wrist in the fall.  Susan's cackle rang in my ear, all else was silence as far as I was concerned.  Sure an oaf kicks your ass with his steel toed boots it sucks, but a strikingly beautiful babe's espadrille stings more.  And that is what she was, gorgeous.  She was the rose, Shane and the others the thorns.  How could the rose betray me?  Vengeance, the word spelled itself out in my head, and I had to have it.  My remaining teeth were what had to bring it, for the rest of me was too pummeled and broken to exact it.  Susan geared up for another stomp, and I was ready for it.  I grabbed at that dazzling ankle with everything I had, every desperate cell in me was churning at max capacity.  Eureka!!  The ankle was mine, now bite you fool, bite goddamnit, I thought to myself, your window is closing.  I took a bite out of that leg like it was the finest pastrami sandwich in the finest New York deli.  Oh if ever a leg could taste like heaven, this was it.  

"YOWWZZZAA!" Susan's scream was ferocious. Shane even shuddered.  Susan wrenched her foot free, at the expense of another of my teeth, but I didn't care.  Vengeance had come, the rose was mine.  A few more extra vigorous kicks and I was home free, sirens were blaring by now.  The fucking shits scattered faster than a Hippo's. 

Island

I write this story from a hut on an island in a lake in an island surrounded by a lake that is surrounded by none other than an island.  The final island is surrounded by the ocean.  I only tell you this to emphasize my isolation from the world.  There are three species of plants living here with me (they eat the sun, and sometimes flies), a lot of bugs: mostly biting flies (they eat me, and feed on frog blood), some frogs (they eat the flies; the flies sometimes eat the frog dung that is made up of flies for the most part, fucking cannibals).  I eat plants.  It is quite a tidy ecosystem.  Sometimes I introduce outlanders to the ecosystem by shooting birds or flying mammals (bats for the most part, sometimes when I am exceptionally lonely, and hallucinating on frog sweat, I pretend the bats are flying cows, but that doesn't count as a part of my ecosystem).  Before I stray too far from the subject of my island's ecosystem, let me not forget the mention of my gut flora.  They eat whatever I eat, and help me turn my food into shit.  My shit feeds fungi, which I forgot to mention earlier, but now I have.  I think that finalizes the food chain here on my island.  Let's get to the main subject of this story, how I got here.  I was the Captain of the once noble ship: the USS Wanderer.  We were a mighty crew of three.  Me, the cook: John Stark, and the first mate: Susan Leonard.  Let me describe each of them, how they died will be detailed later.  Me:  I was born to atheist missionaries, trying to spread the word of no God to the indigenous peoples of Outer Island, the outer island of the three earlier mentioned islands.  I was born because my Ma brought one year's worth of birth control on a two year mission (My Dad brought two year's worth of lust).  I was three months old by the time we had returned to the mainland.  They called me Nature's Blessing.  Short version was just Nature.  My folks both died about two weeks after we had returned from outer island.  Some sort of jungle fever caught up with 'em, the docs had never seen the like before.  On the mainland, one of the docs raised me.  She was an interesting lady, a German, real cold and calculating.  Taught me discipline and mathematics, but that was about it.  The rest I learned from John Stark and Susan Leonard.  They were both about ten years my elder, and fascinated by a strange kid with such a hippy name.  I was strange, cause my face was disfigured in the first three months of my life while I was still on Outer Island.  That place has a nasty ecosystem: Jungle cats, venomous snakes, large bearlike creatures with giant fangs, poisonous plants, and, yes, the fucking biting flies.  My face got melted by one of the nastier varieties of plant on that Hellhole.  An atheist missionary has an easy job of getting people to believe there ain't no god...