the sky

by horace p sternwall

the sky was empty. the king walked slowly down the road. nobody knew he was a king, because there was nobody left to know he was a king. he was already weary, although he had hardly walked a hundred miles. the crown was no longer heavy on his head, because he was not wearing it. he wondered idly where the crown was, and who was making what use of it. he wished he had an apple. he had always been quite fond of apples. nothing was left of his fine royal orchards. the king felt sad, and his feet were sore. if he could not have an apple, he would have settled for a kumquat. he wished a genie would appear, and grant him three wishes, or even one wish. how exhausting it was, no longer being a king, and walking down the road alone. he would have liked to turn to the left or right, but the road ran on perfectly straight. you see, this is a sad story, because once he had something - a kingdom - and now he had nothing. he walked along under the sky. which still contained no clouds. if he had never had anything, this would just be a plain unvarnished account of one of the millions of creatures in the earth walking upon it. and if he had never been a king, he would have been told to quit his bellyaching. and to remember all the poor souls who had trodden the dust before him. finally, a cloud appeared on the horizon. and the king wept at the unexpected sight. but the cloud disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived. i know you care deeply about the poor king’s plight. which, like yours and mine, will finally be resolved on judgment day.

i know you!

by genghis gilgamesh

conrad felt good about life. all his troubles were over. his life was empty of cares, and his brain was empty of distractions. all he needed was to get a little better organized, and he would be looking good. he might even give veronica a call. well, maybe not go quite so far as that. suddenly, as he was musing thusly, he saw harold approaching him. he had no particular desire to see or talk to harold, but he felt that crossing the street to avoid him was somehow out of keeping with his newfound equilibrium. now he saw that harold must have seen him, because harold was picking up his pace as he bore down on him. i know you! harold cried as he closed the gap. harold had the same foolish grin that had always challenged conrad’s sense of courtesy. i can’t believe i am meeting you here! harold exclaimed. i go out of doors almost every day, conrad replied politely. even when it rains. and i stay indoors almost every day, harold rejoindered. especially when it rains, ha ha! it is nice to see you, conrad said gamely. for any particular reason? harold retorted, raising his bushy eyebrows. no, really, it is always a pleasure to encounter you. i knew it! same old conrad, always mired in the muck of politeness and platitudes, ha, ha, ha! terrible thoughts gathered like storm clouds in the back of conrad’s brain. the euphoria of a few minutes ago was threatened by an undercurrent of primal abhorrence of harold and all the people in the world like him… the moment seemed frozen for an eternity. pull yourself together, conrad told himself. this, too, shall pass. he tried to think happy thoughts, but harold was saying something… something so terrible that conrad thought his brain would explode…

the perfect time

by fred flynn

even though it was inconvenient, victor decided to go for his daily walk. how was he to foresee the terrible consequences? it was nobody’s business, he thought, what he did with his free time. victor had never been noted for his sense of humor. franklin, his distinguished colleague, often mocked victor when he was not present to defend himself. greta, the secretary they had to share due to the new economy measures, did not care much for either victor or franklin. on this particular day, she knew that victor had gone for his afternoon walk, but she did not know the whereabouts of franklin. greta decided to forgo her usual trip to the company cafeteria, and use the time to write a long letter to her friend florence, who had married a chemist and moved to knoxville tennessee. maybe everything does not happen for a reason, but some things do. greta had just begun her letter to florence when the red light on her desk flashed on. this indicated something very important - something so important that either victor or franklin had to be notified at once. with a sigh, greta pressed the intercom button, half expecting that she would hear the voice of the director himself. instead a strange voice said - is this the perfect time? the perfect time for what, sir? greta replied uncertainly. this is just what i need, she thought. whom am i speaking to? the strange voice asked. i am the secretary for mister victor and doctor franklin, sir. did you wish to contact ether of them? am i to understand, then, that this is not the perfect time? the voice asked sharply. greta was now seriously perplexed, as well as terminally annoyed. i do not understand you, sir, she repeated, the perfect time for what? the time for everything to come together. the time for every what to come together? greta asked gamely. listen, the caller said in a more judicious tone, can you not hear it? the only thing i hear is your voice, greta replied petulantly. then all is lost, lost, lost forever. were you trying to reach mister victor or professor franklin? do you know whom you are trying to reach? yes, my dear lady, i know exactly whom i was trying... trying... trying... but it is too late...

down the road

by nick nelson

that is the umpteenth time you have said that. i have a vision, i have to proclaim it. do you have to proclaim it forever? i regret that it seems to bother you so much. purvis got up. he looked down the road. i can’t listen to you any more, he announced. well, excuse me, mullins replied. i’ll be on my way. mullins watched purvis disappear down the empty highway. these highways are always empty, mullins reflected. you wonder how anybody ever gets anywhere. i should have done this a long time ago, purvis reflected, as his feet rhythmically slapped the road. the road was quiet, and did not respond to his thoughts. purvis had always been the class clown. mullins was more serious, and aspired to be taken seriously as an oracle. it had always been that way. they were both in love with a girl named millie brown. millie brown met a man named dave dexter. dave dexter had friends in high places. he did not rub elbows with clowns or oracles, no matter how humorous or inscrutable they might have been. when millie married dave dexter, purvis and mullins left town. neither of them could forget millie. they gave up all hope. no destiny called them. they began to rub each other the wrong way.

the cabin

by horace p sternwall

gunther wondered if gaspard could be serious. he had been taken in by gaspard’s cleverness before. perhaps, gunther thought desperately, it was too early to make a judgment just yet. it had taken them five days to reach the cabin on the mountainside. gaspard had assured gunther that lillian would be waiting for them at the cabin. but there was no sign of her. we are actually a bit early ourselves, gaspard had breezily assured gunther. out on the mountainside a dog - or a wolf? - howled. duplicitous as gaspard had always been, nothing had prepared gunther for this. we may as well begin unpacking the supplies, gaspard announced. how gunther wished he had heeded jules’s warning! i feel a bit unwell, gunther murmured. just sit down then, gaspard replied unconcernedly. i will begin the unpacking. with a yawn, gunther collapsed into a large comfortable looking chair in front of the unlit fireplace. in a few seconds, he began to fall asleep. all the excitement of the last few days has taken its toll, he thought hazily. then - he heard the sound of the car’s engine starting up! he tried to heave himself up out of the large comfortable looking chair. but he could not do it on the first try and fell back, knocking the wind out of himself. suddenly he knew - he saw the whole thing! when he finally managed to get up and get to the door, gaspard and the car were gone! gunther staggered outside into the desolate night. gaspard had tricked him yet again! he was alone on the mountain - with no car, no food - and no lillian! he wondered helplessly if there were any supplies or firewood in the cabin. but he already knew … knew everything…

mister a

by nick nelson

do you begin to understand? i have no idea what you are talking about. let us take a moment to reflect. my quota of reflection has already been exhausted. can we agree that mister a is an awful person? it is not up to me or you to pass judgment on poor mister a. can we agree that mister a should be placed outside civilized society? i fail to see why he should be. come now, i know we can come to some sort of agreement. why do you pick on mister a? are there not dozens, or other whole denominations of persons who have acted in the same way? are you forgetting how he treated ms f? ms f has made a career out of complaint. i am beginning to lose patience with your loose generalizations. i have many more where those came from. sir, this is most egregious trumpery. mister a is a scoundrel, plain and simple, and must face the consequences of his vile misdeeds. i think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. you realize that most people, monitoring this conversation, would have no idea what we are talking about? very true. what of it? it does not excuse either mister a’s toxic behavior, or your facile attempts to make light of it. i think we have had enough of mister a. why don’t we put him aside for the moment and consider the case of mister b? every day the same thing. well, you must admit they just keep on coming. when i parked in the garage this morning i noticed that mister g’s car was not in its usual space.

the talk of the town

by horace p sternwall

you again. yes, it is i. did you really think you were rid of me? i had almost allowed myself to think so. i believe you owe me something. i can not imagine what. i demand that you retract all the lies you have been spreading about me. i presume you have some empty threats to back up your empty accusations. not for the moment, my friend. let us just say that i am checking in on you. gaspard heaved a great sigh after hercule departed. what a horrible existence i live, he thought morosely. just then isidore arrived and, without being invited, took a seat across from gaspard at the cafe table. i was just passing by, isidore announced in his booming voice, and i could not help observing that you were conversing with hercule. your knowledge is up to date, gaspard conceded. i was indeed conversing with that wretch, to my intense discomfort. might you let me know what he had to say? why might you, or anybody, have any interest in what hercule had to say? you must not have heard! hercule is the talk of the town. of all the - why, pray tell, is hercule the talk of the town? because he has taken the boulevard by storm, with his brilliantly witty modernization and reimagining of plautus’s…. of plautius’s… of something or other by plautus. you astonish me. it may not be my part to say so, but if you have some disagreement with hercule you might be wise to resolve it, because now that he is the talk of the town and has taken the boulevard by storm he may be in a position to do you a good turn. i perceive you are a man of the world, and will give your advice the mature consideration it merits. that is all very well, but how about buying me a drink? it will be my sincere pleasure. waiter!

the secret

by nick nelson

it is too late for that now. you know what they say, it is never too late. somehow i had forgotten that particular bit of wisdom. then just give me some money and i will be on my way. no. you can not mean it. i know what you are thinking. i am thinking a little common sense on your part might go a long way. i am tired of your jokes. i beg you, don’t do this to me. are you reduced to this now? i am sorry, deeply sorry for anything i may have said to turn you against me. you have always been the curse of my existence. well, i like that! must i have you tossed out bodily? so this is really the end. i congratulate you on your swift appreciation of the situation. this is a sad day, very sad. i shall have to play my final card, much as i dislike doing so. and what is this final card, that you have apparently concealed for so long? frederica! frederica! you rascal, how dare you speak her name in this house? so! it was as i guessed! i have found your dark secret! oh! oh! what have i done? you swine, you absolute swine!

aldrich

by genghis gilgamesh

who left this monkey here? i don’t know, madam. has he been up to any mischief? it is not up to to you to question his behavior. i only wish to know how he got here. he probably came through the front door. through the front door? was the front door open? yes, madam, it was. to expunge the great blooming fumes from polishing the front staircase. are you really telling me that you can not polish the front staircase without allowing monkeys into the house? some days monkeys get into the house no matter what you do. this discussion is ended. dispose of the monkey, if you please. i know that monkey. his name is aldrich. come along, aldrich. back to the great outdoors with you. he seems a tame sort. i would go so far as to call him polite. rather a serious chap for a monkey, i’ll give you that. call him what you will, he’s still a monkey. you never know, he might be something else in disguise. just what do you mean by that? i believe he might be prester john, or the wandering jew. that did not occur to me. well, you never know sometimes. i wonder if he escaped from a zoo. he seems to know the rules of polite society. look at him, sitting there minding his own business like the pope. any questions, aldrich? no? then we had best be on our way before madam returns. the garden looks quite nice today. yes, the oleanders look especially optimistic. afterwards, the house reverted to its eternal routine, as it was necessary that it should.

a message for cynthia

by genghis gilgamesh

oh, this is most unfortunate, charles exclaimed. what , exactly, is unfortunate? jessica asked. somebody has left a message for cynthia. in an unmarked envelope. is it anonymous? such things usually are. i should have to open it to find out. but it is addressed to cynthia. if i recall, you said it was unmarked. how then, can it be addressed to cynthia? quite so, if you must be a bloody pedant. i meant, of course, that there was no indication on the envelope as to who had left it. i am not sure i like your tone of voice. i was asking a perfectly reasonable question. and don’t play the victim with me, charles. it won’t do. don’t let us get off the subject. what are we to do with this damned envelope? besides just give to cynthia, you mean? what do you mean? cynthia is dead, she drowned off the coast of scotland last week. of course, excuse me. i had quite forgotten. have you no decency, treating poor cynthia’s untimely demise in so flippant a manner? who the devil are you to talk of decency? i’m the bloody archbishop of canterbury compared to you, thank you very much. forgive me for intruding, but what is all this row? maurice, you have arrived just in time. it gladdens me to hear it. in time for what, exactly? to open this anonymous unmarked letter to cynthia. you mean lady cynthia powders, who was shot hunting grouse in scotland last month? no, cynthia brace-benson, who drowned off the coast of that very same scotland, just last week. i am afraid i never knew her. was she as charming as all the brace-bensons?

fire and rain

by horace p sternwall

yonny, zeke, albert, and bunky sat around the campfire. do you remember uncle cuthbert? yonny asked conversationally. he was a funny fellow, zeke replied. oh i don’t know that i would classify him in that manner, albert opined. i do not expect that i would either, bunky added. the subject of uncle cuthbert exhausted, they stared into the fire. that was not a very interesting discussion, yonny finally broke the silence. how do you figure? zeke asked. do you remember that fellow that drove a lamborghini? albert changed the subject. and polished it every day himself? bunky inquired solicitously. i expect that’s the one. i can’t quite place him. he never was much of a talker. always rubbing up that automobile. he seemed to have no other interests or occupation. some fellows are like that - get hold of one thing and stick to it. uncle cuthbert was sort of that way too, yonny returned to his original subject. i don’t know about that, albert repeated his original claim. just then a few raindrops began to fall. before they knew it, the fire began to hiss, and the rain fell with a purpose. what say we move along? albert suggested. i knew this would happen, bunky grumbled. oh, stop your grunbling, yonny admonished him. it’s only a little rain. the sun will shine in the morning, zeke announced hopefully. nobody ventured to disagree.