Seamless clouds of dark grey filled the sky from horizon to horizon. Rain poured in torrents, hitting the ground with hard angry smacks. It lent a whole new meaning to 'rivers of waters in the streets.' The earth was soaked and flooded. It came so fast, there wasn't a chance for anything to drain off. Bolts of lightning struck every two or three minutes in random crazy streaks, tearing the ominous sky in sunder, while in between, the heavens were lit up as bright as day with great sheets of it. Between lightning it was so dark you couldn't see to read a book, even at noon. Streams of water ran into your eyes. It was impossible to see two feet ahead.
Impossible that is, unless you're a ghost writer. They call it literary licence. Because of it, the storm parts a little and you can vaguely begin to see a two-lane road. It runs straight as a dart across great plains of dripping, bent grain. As the storm continues to give way to your laser-like, literary-licenced eyes, you see a car. Not just any car either. You can tell that at a glance by its mud-flecked posh appearance. It could be compared to a celebrity turned tramp who has obviously seen better days.
The owner of the car was clearly not granted your own blessed eyesight. He was a model of caution and drove at not more than 10 mph down a slight, long, sloping grade. He also had his hazard lights on so that the (non-existent) cars behind could see him. As you zoom in with your marvelous eyes, you see that his windshield is a constant waterfall and that his wipers might as well be pitched for all the good they were doing.
As you watch, the car drunkenly skids into the ditch with tires screeching. You quickly advance towards the scene. Upon your arrival at the accident, the decrepit automobile was found to have been unoccupied at the time of the collision, and very likely for some time beforehand.
After some deliberation, you apparently decided that the luxurious Porsche now sitting empty before after its gentle decent into the ditch was now in need of a good owner. After some slight effort, the car was out of the ditch and cruising along at seventy miles an hour on what had now become a busy road despite the rain that brought the visibility, for everyone else, down to almost zero.
You rejoice with exceeding great joy at this procurement of a more gravity-bound vehicle. Floating around the world in a misty, vapory existence for seven years can be tiring. As you come at last to a city and zoom undeterred through a traffic light, you become aware of a strange thing.The car begins to groan and the engine cover ripples and bulges. At first, you think it is only the wind, which beats your car this way and that, but then the cover pops open and you realize for the first time that the car's owner was a ghost like yourself, (though not a ghost writer, but rather a ghost mechanic).
Apparently, Mr. Mechanic had left the car running at a slow speed while he flitted around to fix a knock in the engine. The wind had blown the cover down and trapped him inside.
Mr. Mechanic was hopping mad. You don't know if you've ever seen a mad ghost, but you don't fancy pursuing the matter. Rather than duking it out, you choose to leave the car.
Relegated once again to the terrible weather, you watch a human out in his garden attempting to place tarpaulins over his more delicate plants. You wonder afresh at the futility of man and become suddenly grateful that you no longer have to deal with such things. With a sigh you flit away, up, and up, into the nothingness beyond the storm.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
The Letter
"Good Morning, Mr. Smith!"
"Ehh? What's that?"
" I said, GOOD MORNING, MR. SMITH!!"
"Good morning to you too. Always mumbling. Can't understand it"
Mr. Robert Smith, now going on close to sixty-seven years, was losing his hearing. The previous exchange with Bill, his newspaper boy, had been the same for the last four years. In fact, similar exchanges had been noted for much longer periods of time with his grocer, doctor, secretary, and most importantly, his lawyer.
Our story begins not with a newspaper delivery, but the morning mail. As usual, on the first Friday of every month, Mr. Smith received a report from his lawyer detailing how Mr. Smith's business matters were going throughout the world. This particular Friday, however, he received three letters rather than the typical one letter. Knowing his lawyer as he did, Mr. Smith knew that something either really good, or something really bad had happened, and considering the fact that one of the three was labeled "Priority," he guessed that it was bad rather than good news.
Looking around the room where he was, he noticed that there was only one chair, and that it was already occupied by his aging secretary. Being the gentleman that he was, he moved to his personal office where there was a chair, and began reading the first of the three letters. The first of the three letters was the report that he normally expected to see, and was much as would normally be expected in any given month.
After some deliberation, he decided to request his normal cup be served right then rather then waiting for his normal eleven o'clock cup. Why this change of routine? Because he felt that the remaining letters contained bad news rather than good, so he wanted to be well prepared for the tragedy contained within the unexpected missive now laying on his desk.
After slowly consuming and enjoying the tea that one of his businesses manufactured, he opened the second letter that his lawyer had so unexpectedly entrusted to the public mail service for delivery to his office. This letter informed him that his lawyer wished to take a month off, and would it please Mr. Smith to grant him leave of absence while he took a much needed vacation?
Understandingly, Mr. Smith straight away wrote a somewhat lengthy letter apologizing for his apparent lack of sensitivity to the needs of trusted employee and friend, and also noted that he was giving the poor fellow a raise.
After sending the letter off by means of his secretary, he began looking at the third and last letter now sitting ominously before him, daring Mr. Smith to read the contents valued at two shillings postage. As he reached over to open the letter, he glanced at the clock realizing as he did so that he was nearly ten minutes late for an important meeting.
Thankful for the slight escape from the letter that was sitting there looking smug, he raced to the boring meeting that as the mayor of the city he was required to attend. By the time the meeting was over, he recognized that it would be best to read the letter the next day rather than going back into the office that evening to read something that probably contained undesired information. He decided rather to come in early the next morning to read the unpromising letter.
The next morning, early the next morning, he headed into the office to read the letter that had cost him a whole nights sleep and added many a cup of tea to his diet. As a precaution, he decided to reserve a spot at his local hospital in case of a heart attack, and also called his primary doctor to ask that he attend during what was now becoming an opening ceremony for that letter so glaringly stamped " Priority."
It was nearly nine o'clock by the time the doctor arrived. After the doctor had setup his heart monitoring equipment, and located the bottles that could be necessary in the the development of any sudden health issues, he sat down preparatory to opening the letter. Before actually breaking the seal however, he decided to jot down a quick Will and Last Testament in the unlikely case that he fail to survive the onslaught of the letter.
Completely ready, he broke the seal, and painstakingly drew the letter out from with the dark confines of the envelope bearing his name in a bold, black scrawl that few could replicate. Finally free of its bindings, the letter gloried in the fresh light now laying so plentifully across the desk. He would dare to read what the postal system had marked "priority."
Despite dreading have to look at, read, and comprehend the missive now open before him, Mr. Smith did so. A first glance told him that all was not lost, that in fact all was much as it should be. Being the responsible person that he was, he told the doctor that he would have no need of his services that day, but would he mind confirming his normal appointment due for later that month? He also proceeded to cancel his reservation at the hospital, and apologized for being a no-show during such a busy season.
After taking care of his responsibilities in that direction, he proceeded to read the letter, which is much like the following, but of a somewhat lengthier variant.
Mr. Smith,
As regarding your birthday, may I offer my sincerest congratulations on you newest attainment of your already impressive lists of accomplishments at whatever you turn your hand to. It has been my pleasure over the last twenty-four years to work under one of the most kind and considerate men that I have ever known, and I wish that every man could be as blessed as I am knowing you. Thank you so much for all you have done for me and others throughout the years.
Yours Truly,
William Pritchard, Solicitor
"Ehh? What's that?"
" I said, GOOD MORNING, MR. SMITH!!"
"Good morning to you too. Always mumbling. Can't understand it"
Mr. Robert Smith, now going on close to sixty-seven years, was losing his hearing. The previous exchange with Bill, his newspaper boy, had been the same for the last four years. In fact, similar exchanges had been noted for much longer periods of time with his grocer, doctor, secretary, and most importantly, his lawyer.
Our story begins not with a newspaper delivery, but the morning mail. As usual, on the first Friday of every month, Mr. Smith received a report from his lawyer detailing how Mr. Smith's business matters were going throughout the world. This particular Friday, however, he received three letters rather than the typical one letter. Knowing his lawyer as he did, Mr. Smith knew that something either really good, or something really bad had happened, and considering the fact that one of the three was labeled "Priority," he guessed that it was bad rather than good news.
Looking around the room where he was, he noticed that there was only one chair, and that it was already occupied by his aging secretary. Being the gentleman that he was, he moved to his personal office where there was a chair, and began reading the first of the three letters. The first of the three letters was the report that he normally expected to see, and was much as would normally be expected in any given month.
After some deliberation, he decided to request his normal cup be served right then rather then waiting for his normal eleven o'clock cup. Why this change of routine? Because he felt that the remaining letters contained bad news rather than good, so he wanted to be well prepared for the tragedy contained within the unexpected missive now laying on his desk.
After slowly consuming and enjoying the tea that one of his businesses manufactured, he opened the second letter that his lawyer had so unexpectedly entrusted to the public mail service for delivery to his office. This letter informed him that his lawyer wished to take a month off, and would it please Mr. Smith to grant him leave of absence while he took a much needed vacation?
Understandingly, Mr. Smith straight away wrote a somewhat lengthy letter apologizing for his apparent lack of sensitivity to the needs of trusted employee and friend, and also noted that he was giving the poor fellow a raise.
After sending the letter off by means of his secretary, he began looking at the third and last letter now sitting ominously before him, daring Mr. Smith to read the contents valued at two shillings postage. As he reached over to open the letter, he glanced at the clock realizing as he did so that he was nearly ten minutes late for an important meeting.
Thankful for the slight escape from the letter that was sitting there looking smug, he raced to the boring meeting that as the mayor of the city he was required to attend. By the time the meeting was over, he recognized that it would be best to read the letter the next day rather than going back into the office that evening to read something that probably contained undesired information. He decided rather to come in early the next morning to read the unpromising letter.
The next morning, early the next morning, he headed into the office to read the letter that had cost him a whole nights sleep and added many a cup of tea to his diet. As a precaution, he decided to reserve a spot at his local hospital in case of a heart attack, and also called his primary doctor to ask that he attend during what was now becoming an opening ceremony for that letter so glaringly stamped " Priority."
It was nearly nine o'clock by the time the doctor arrived. After the doctor had setup his heart monitoring equipment, and located the bottles that could be necessary in the the development of any sudden health issues, he sat down preparatory to opening the letter. Before actually breaking the seal however, he decided to jot down a quick Will and Last Testament in the unlikely case that he fail to survive the onslaught of the letter.
Completely ready, he broke the seal, and painstakingly drew the letter out from with the dark confines of the envelope bearing his name in a bold, black scrawl that few could replicate. Finally free of its bindings, the letter gloried in the fresh light now laying so plentifully across the desk. He would dare to read what the postal system had marked "priority."
Despite dreading have to look at, read, and comprehend the missive now open before him, Mr. Smith did so. A first glance told him that all was not lost, that in fact all was much as it should be. Being the responsible person that he was, he told the doctor that he would have no need of his services that day, but would he mind confirming his normal appointment due for later that month? He also proceeded to cancel his reservation at the hospital, and apologized for being a no-show during such a busy season.
After taking care of his responsibilities in that direction, he proceeded to read the letter, which is much like the following, but of a somewhat lengthier variant.
Mr. Smith,
As regarding your birthday, may I offer my sincerest congratulations on you newest attainment of your already impressive lists of accomplishments at whatever you turn your hand to. It has been my pleasure over the last twenty-four years to work under one of the most kind and considerate men that I have ever known, and I wish that every man could be as blessed as I am knowing you. Thank you so much for all you have done for me and others throughout the years.
Yours Truly,
William Pritchard, Solicitor
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Metamorphosis of the Shoes
A pair of Shoes lay silently on the floor under the bed. Small points of light followed the bare-foot steps of the little girl.
"Will she put us on today?" wondered Lefty Shoe hopefully.
"I doubt it," replied Right-o Shoe with a sigh. "We're just not good enough anymore. Ever since she got those fancy shoes from the mall, she hasn't even looked at us."
"Those Fancies are so stuck up too. What possessed her to buy them? Didn't she know how ornery they would be?"
"Of course not, Lefty, humans can't tell the difference just by looking."
"Look, she's putting them on. And they're giving her trouble too. What a surprise...Not. I wonder where's she's going. We never go anywhere or see anything anymore. I think we should do something about it."
"What do you mean?" Asked Right-o.
"I know where the shoe blacking is," replied Lefty.
Right-o made an aghast sound. "You mean, move around without Feet inside of us!? You know that's against the Rules! Think of how much trouble we would be in if a Human caught us!"
"We wouldn't get caught. I know how to be quiet, you know how to be quiet, and the humans sleep at nighttime."
"We-ell...But, but, my heel has developed a squeak. " This confession was difficult for Right-o to make.
"We'll stop by the Parent's room on our way down then. Dad's Rebok's are professional chiropractors. Come on, we can do it."
"Ok, I guess."
In the darkness that evening, two flopping shadows low down on the ground might have been seen making their way down the stairs. A little later, a faint screech as Dad's Nike's knocked the squeak out of Right-o. Then, the creak of the basement door.
"We're here. The blacking is on that shelf. I'll get it. You get the rag in the corner." Lefty climbed the shelf laboriously.
Forty minutes later, they stepped in front of a cracked mirror.
"Say," said Lefty, "we look pretty good, now we just have to wait for it to dry."
"Wait," answered Right-O, "We might as well go the whole nine yards. I saw some glitter on the desk upstairs. We could give ourselves a sparkle.
"Great idea, Right-O! That's the spirit! We'd better hurry before this dries though, or it won't stick."
The next morning, the little girl tripped over them as she got out of bed. She grunted, and then looked down to see what had caused her fall.
"New shoes," she squealed happily. "Just what I wanted! Mom and Dad must have put them there when I was asleep."
As they walked out of the room happily encasing the beloved Feet, Right-o and Lefty couldn't help waggling their laces at the Fancies.
Right-o and Lefty winked at each other. "Viva la Olde Shoes!"
"Will she put us on today?" wondered Lefty Shoe hopefully.
"I doubt it," replied Right-o Shoe with a sigh. "We're just not good enough anymore. Ever since she got those fancy shoes from the mall, she hasn't even looked at us."
"Those Fancies are so stuck up too. What possessed her to buy them? Didn't she know how ornery they would be?"
"Of course not, Lefty, humans can't tell the difference just by looking."
"Look, she's putting them on. And they're giving her trouble too. What a surprise...Not. I wonder where's she's going. We never go anywhere or see anything anymore. I think we should do something about it."
"What do you mean?" Asked Right-o.
"I know where the shoe blacking is," replied Lefty.
Right-o made an aghast sound. "You mean, move around without Feet inside of us!? You know that's against the Rules! Think of how much trouble we would be in if a Human caught us!"
"We wouldn't get caught. I know how to be quiet, you know how to be quiet, and the humans sleep at nighttime."
"We-ell...But, but, my heel has developed a squeak. " This confession was difficult for Right-o to make.
"We'll stop by the Parent's room on our way down then. Dad's Rebok's are professional chiropractors. Come on, we can do it."
"Ok, I guess."
In the darkness that evening, two flopping shadows low down on the ground might have been seen making their way down the stairs. A little later, a faint screech as Dad's Nike's knocked the squeak out of Right-o. Then, the creak of the basement door.
"We're here. The blacking is on that shelf. I'll get it. You get the rag in the corner." Lefty climbed the shelf laboriously.
Forty minutes later, they stepped in front of a cracked mirror.
"Say," said Lefty, "we look pretty good, now we just have to wait for it to dry."
"Wait," answered Right-O, "We might as well go the whole nine yards. I saw some glitter on the desk upstairs. We could give ourselves a sparkle.
"Great idea, Right-O! That's the spirit! We'd better hurry before this dries though, or it won't stick."
The next morning, the little girl tripped over them as she got out of bed. She grunted, and then looked down to see what had caused her fall.
"New shoes," she squealed happily. "Just what I wanted! Mom and Dad must have put them there when I was asleep."
As they walked out of the room happily encasing the beloved Feet, Right-o and Lefty couldn't help waggling their laces at the Fancies.
Right-o and Lefty winked at each other. "Viva la Olde Shoes!"
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