the cat

by corinne delmonico

peter pan woke up from a curious dream in which he had been a cat chased by a giant mouse. peter did not set much store by dreams and did not regard them either as prophecies of future events, or as keys to his own personality. he did not have much of a personality, and did not think overmuch of future events, preferring to take life one day at a time. but the dream about being a cat perplexed him, and he could not stop thinking about it as he made his morning cup of instant coffee. as he was sipping his coffee, he idly picked up the reader’s digest, a subscription to which had been purchased for him as a birthday present by his court appointed guardian, mr william wilson. his eye fell on an article entitled, “do you need a new consciousness?” peter became so engrossed in the article that he let his cup of coffee grow cold. this is just the ticket, he thought, this is exactly what i need - a new consciousness. on his phone, he tappped in the question: how do i find a new consciousness? but the did not find the answers were very informative. some of the answers were: grind your monkey like coffee. ? this sounded like something to do with romance, and peter was not a romance person. steal things off other people’s desks at work. peter worked at a startup fast food establishment, and he and his fellow employees did not have desks do not let your little liver pills scatter. what was a little liver pill? did it make a big liver smaller, or a big liver smaller. peter did not trust the answers he was being given. not for the first time he began to wonder if his life, and the universe, were controlled by an evil clown. and did the evil clown who controlled the universe have a name? he decided to go out in the street and ask the first person he saw if they knew the name of the evil clown. but once out in the street - south broadway - he lost his nerve and could bring himself to accost anyone and ask the question. he decided to back to his room and try to fall asleep and encounter again the giant mouse who had been chasing him and ask the mouse about the clown. but on his way back to his apartment he was arrested on an outstanding warrant for an undisclosed crime. he was brought before a stern magistrate, who combined elements of the giant mouse and the evil clown.

henry, part 2

by corinne delmonico

to read part 1, click here

so i can go? that is what i said. did you have anything you wanted to ask me? who do you like in the bears-packers game tonight? i thought it was tomorrow night. no, it is tonight, for sure. the bears are favored by four and a half. for four and a half, i like the packers. want me to put a bet down for you? uh, no, i want to think about it a little bit first. the game is tonight. i heard you the first time. have a nice night, henry. you too, mr lord high inquisitor. * hello, ms frietchie. hello, henry. how did your session with the inspector go? very well, thank you. he asked me to say hello to you for him. yes, he is always a gentleman. i am not going to ask you what you discussed, because i am not by nature an inquisitive person, and besides, i am prevented from doing so by the privacy act of year 23. he told me to call him the grand high inquisitor. there is no such office, but he does like his little joke. such a pleasant gentleman. yes, he does. i have a great sense of humor myself, and i like other people who have a sense of humor. moving right along., i have arranged an appointment for you with the doctor. on wednesday at 0900 hours. thank you. can i go for a walk? yes, but be sure you do not exceed the limit of fifteen minutes. i will do my best not to, but unforeseen circumstances may intervene. another of your little jokes. be back in fifteen minutes. * where is henry? he is not back yet. is he ever? but he never really leaves, does he? like the rest of us.

henry, part 1

by corinne delmonico

i will just take two, thought henry. and a third. one more will not make a difference. might as well finish them off. henry! you startled me. what do you think you are doing? what do you care? besides, you saw very well what i was doing. ah, adding effrontery to your insolence. are they not the same thing? go to your space. expect a summons from the doctor. and from the advisor. and from the inspector. what! from the inspector? that seems a bit extreme. go to your space. * i am sorry to see you here again today, henry. i did not come here, mr inspector, they brought me here. you try that joke every time, henry, but this time i did not use the word that you came here, i only indicated that you were here. whatever, what can i do for you today, mr inspector? for starters, you can stop calling me mr inspector, and address me as most lord high inquisitor. for real? no, just kidding. you see, i can have my little joke too. that’s good, everybody is entitled to a little fun once in a while, even most lord high inquisitors. down to business. your offenses are piling up. henry. they are not serious offenses so far, but numbers count. i can count too, mr inquisitor. i got three more minor offenses before i get sent to jupiter, and then i get a hearing and at least one appeal. i can always count on you to know the rules of the game. i am pretty busy today so you can go. i just do not want to see you here four more times. say hello to ms frietchie for me. so i can go? part 2

in my room

by henry drown

mom, can my friend come over? over? over where? over here. where is here? here, in my room. of course, why not? you mean it? your interface is working, isn’t it? that isn’t what i meant! well, what do you mean? i mean i want my friend right here in the room with me. you mean with their ectoplasm and yours with no boundary between them? i guess, if you put it that way. but the whole point of the interface is that you can not spread your demons to another person. i don’t have any demons. of course you have demons, you have yourself, don’t you? are you saying you are not a demon? who has been filling your head with this nonsense? i just know that i am not a demon. how do you know it? i just do. you listen to me, young person, you shut off your interfaces and create a billion new universes and then we can discuss this some more.

conflict

by corinne delmonico

marcia flamm married bradley miller because she was tired of listening to her parents and her extended family asking when she was going to get married, and predicting terrible things if she did not. marcia knew from television and the internet that there was such a thing as feminism, and that women in “today’s world” supposedly did not “have to” get married any more, but as far as she could tell that was only on television, like wars and earthquakes and serial killers. she did not like bradley much, but he was kind of quiet and mostly kept to himself, and what were you going to do? her mother and her aunt jane had often told her that getting a job and getting married were just something you had to do, so just deal with it. whatever. so she married bradley. marcia and bradley both had boring jobs that they did not want to talk about when they got home. neither of them liked to cook, and they both sustained themselves mostly on the food they ate on their lunch hours at work. on weekends they ordered takeout, marcia usually chinese or thai, and bradley pizza and grinders. they only had one television but as only bradley watched it, this, too, was not a source of conflict. marcia spent her off hours staring into space and reading. her favorite authors were james patterson and nora roberts. neither of them took the slightest interest in politics or the “culture wars”. they were barely aware that the “cutture wars” existed, although they occasionally heard arguments regarding them at their workplaces, or at the cafeterias where they ate lunch. sex? don’t ask. it was not a source of friction or conflict, let us leave it at that. so, all in all, they got on well enough. until one day bradley decided to grow a beard. i don’t like that beard, marcia told him. well, isn’t that just too bad, bradley retorted. so, you are going to grow it, even though i do not like it? marcia persisted. you got that right, bradley laughed. marcia made no further reply, but the next morning, before bradley was awake, she packed a couple of bags and left. bradley never saw or heard from marcia again. they had lived in an apartment, and both had their own cars and their own bank accounts. bradley put the few belongings marcia had left behind in storage in case she should ever return and wish to claim them. he rented a smaller apartment, for only a little more than half of what they had been paying together. at christmas bradley received a card from marcia’s mother, addressed to them both. he sent marcia’s mother a note explaining that marcia had left him. he never heard from the mother or any of marcia’s other relatives again, any more than he heard from marcia. if all conflict could be resolved so amicably, it would be a better world, do you not agree?

the proposal

by corinne delmonico

i am a man of few words, madam, and i will not beat about the bush. i am listening. it is my understanding , that as i have come into possession of this house in which you are presently residing, you now are left without a domicile. your understanding is strictly correct, sir. how sylvia hated having to address this creature as “sir”, instead of “my man” or “my good man”! well then, i have a proposal by which you may continue to live under this roof, quite as comfortably as you do now. and what might that proposal be? that you marry me. faugh! that is the most absurd thing i have ever heard, or ever hope to hear. i take it that is a “no”. it is most certainly not a “yes”. in that case, madam, i bid you good day. i will be here to take possession of the premises on wednesday next. and with that, mister grover took his leave. sylvia’s maid - she only had a personal maid and a cook left in the household - showed him out. sylvia remained seated, staring into the unlit fireplace. * when sylvia told her tale to cousin tessa and uncle roger, she did not receive the sympathy she had expected. can you imagine! sylvia exclaimed. the sheer unadulterated cheek of the fellow. i do not know, sylvia, uncle roger intoned dolefully, it sounds to me like the chap was making you a rather generous offer, under the circumstances. sylvia could not conceal her shock at roger’s unfeeling words. a generous offer! but i am above him in station! not any more, cousin tessa interspersed dryly. you are pleased to be droll, tessa, sylvia replied. but what am i to do? and where am i to go? i am totally unfit for any occupation , however menial or degrading. you could take up the time honored occupation of governess, tessa asserted doubtfully. at my age? with no experience of such occupation? do you know of anybody who would even consider hiring me? do governesses even exist any more? you could look online, roger suggested. you mean on a computer? sylvia asked. you could always sell your body, tessa offered. sell my body? do you mean to some sort of laboratory to be experimented on, like frankenstein’s bride? no, that is not at all what i meant, tessa replied. she briefly explained to sylvia what she did mean. now you have really gone too far with your attempts at drollery, sylvia asserted scornfully. you disgust me. i am quite serious. it has been the last resort of millions of women since time immemorial. look here, roger put in. it is not quite so bad as it sounds. i have heard - only heard, mind you - that transactions of this nature are usually quite perfunctory and businesslike. quite so, tessa added. you do not have to bother humoring and soothing the male ego for hours or days at a time, as with a husband. i wish you would both stop talking nonsense, sylvia asserted staunchly. but all your jesting aside, what am i to do, now that i no longer have a roof over my head, and you have both declined to take me in, as was the virtually obligatory custom in times past. you are to accept mr whatshisname’s offer, roger said with finality. that is what you are to do. but he has already indicated that he has withdrawn the offer, sylvia pleaded. i will talk to him, roger said. i will talk to him. i will sit down and have a man to man talk with him, and settle everything. trust me. yes, roger, tessa agreed. that sounds like a plan. sylvia had no reply. outside in the distance, a lonesome train whistle blew.

the sky and the rose

by corinne delmonico

jason harris’s mother, emily, had a little room of her own in an assisted living complex, and he visited her almost every sunday. emily read a lot, and she often gave books to jason and recommended them to him. one afternoon she was particularly enthused about a book titled “the sky and the rose” by hester morrison. she gave jason her copy and made him promise to read it. on the next sunday, emily asked jason what he thought of the book, and jason, who had read a few pages, replied, truthfully, i just could not get into it. oh, i am sorry to hear that, emily replied. i thought it was a wonderful book, and reminded me of so many things in my own life. the conversation moved on to other things. ten days later, after one more visit, emily died. jason felt kind of bad that he had not been more able to share emily’s enthusiasm for the book. he still has his copy, and might try to read it again some day.

epitaph for a slob

by corinne delmonico

amanda arkwright was brought up to be neat and tidy and to always make her bed neatly as soon as she got up in the morning. she became very adept at making her bed, with perfectly aligned hospital corners. her mother, who often found fault with her on other matters, occasionally complimented her on her dexterity in this matter. when amanda came of age she married a man somewhat older than herself named bradley white. he was a rather stern individual, and like amanda’s mother, disapproved or denigrated most of what she did, but even he was forced to admit she did a great job making her, and his, beds in the morning. eventually bradley died. freed from his constant supervision, amanda gradually relaxed the strict ways she had been brought up in. for a while, she continued making her bed neatly out of sheer habit, but the passage of time eroded even this. on some mornings, she did not even make her bed! the time came for amanda to die. her neighbors noticed that she had not been seen for about a week, and some conscientious person notified the authorities. amanda’s body was discovered by a couple of ambulance technicians, in the front room of her little one bedroom apartment. look at this mess, one of the technicians, a young womam named shirley simmons, said on entering the bedroom.. she didn’t even make her bed. the other tech, an older man named ben wainwright, an easygoing sort and something of a philosopher, demurred. she probably dropped dead before she had a chance to make it, he pointed out to shirley. i don’t think so. she is dressed, isn’t she? and in the other room. she was just a slob, plain and simple.

lucy

by corinne delmonico

everybody knew lucy lee. she was the fairest maiden in the village. they remembered the day the king had ridden through the village. the king had pointed to lucy and exclaimed, that is the fairest maiden i have ever seen. naturally, this gave the villagers ideas. they nodded sagely to each other, and expected the king to return at any time to claim lucy and make her queen. they expected that lucy, when she was crowned queen, would remember them and shower them with blessings and favors. joshua smith, the miller’s apprentice, did not share in the enthusiasm. joshua had strong opinions as to lucy’s destiny. he had long indulged in visions of making lucy his own. smitten with jealousy, joshua began going for long walks in the woods at night, heedless of bears or bandits or demons. but he knew in his heart he was doomed, one way or another. years passed. the villagers began to get restless. lucy, fair as she was, did not get any younger. but the remembrance of the king’s visit died hard. at last, joshua could bear it no longer. encountering lucy one morning, as he was returning from his restless night in the woods, and she was setting out on the high road to the county market with her basket, joshua confessed his burning passion. i am very sorry, joshua, lucy replied plaintively, but i can not disappoint the devout hope of my poor widowed mother, that the king will return and make me his queen. suddenly joshua and lucy both heard loud laughter coming from the woods beside the high road. they had no idea who or what could be producing the mocking sounds. an owl flew out of a tree, up into the blue morning sky. joshua deduced that the creature was st matthew, laughing at lucy’s and her mother’s foolish faith in the king’s honorable intentions. but lucy deduced that the owl was telling her to laugh at her fears, and that the king was even then on his way on a white horse, with a ring of gold for her finger…

forty years

by corinne delmonico

a princess was seated at a little table in her garden, reading a sacred book. a little flower was growing in the grass beside her. it began to rain. the princess, who was sheltered from the rain by an umbrella set in the middle of the table, did not look up from her book. “it’s raining! it’s raining!” cried the flower excitedly. the princess raised her eyebrow. “so?" she asked the flower. “it has not rained in forty years!” the flower replied. “yes, but the gardener waters you every day. water is water, however you get it. are you not satisfied with the way the gardener fulfills his duty?” “but - this is different! it just feels different,” the flower protested. “nonsense.” the princess returned to her book. after a while the rain stopped. the princess fell asleep over her book, as she did most afternoons. the rain returned again. this time, it spoke to the flower. “i will return tonight, “ the rain said, “when the princess and all her servants are asleep. we wil go away together, you and i, to a land where i will visit you every day. do not say anything to the princess about this. she is old, and does not understand these things.” “i won’t tell, “ the flower promised. the princess woke up, put a marker in her book to show where she had stopped reading, and went inside . it has been a good day, the princess thought. i have learned a great deal. she looked forward to the night, and pleasant dreams.

neurons

by corinne delmonico

i'm just a bundle of neurons, like you and john the baptist and i raced down the hill with confucius, to see who could run the fastest with machiavelli and joan of arc, i questioned the meaning of fate as we sat beside the seashore with alexander the great cleopatra and cesare borgia went in for a swim but caligula sat all sad and alone because no one would talk to him i started to build a campfire with pocahontas and buffalo bill when they returned from their excursion picking blueberries on the hill we sat around the fire singing ballads until dawn and i began to wonder where the elephants had all gone errol flynn and theodore roosevelt started a poker game but i did not play because all the cards in the deck were the same every card in the deck was the ace of spades with a bullet hole in it shot by jack slade every bet they made was called by judas iscariot who raked up all the chips and rode away in a silver chariot i'm just a bundle of neurons whirling through space they say i have messalina's heart and st teresa's face queen victoria's sense of humor and marie antoinette's smirk but i have never had a job because i don’t like to work