Road 4: The Solemn Passerby

After many years of loneliness, Barkly stepped out of his faded brown cape cod house. This place he called home was a trap, and had kept him hidden away from the world his whole life. Barkley was ready for change, and so that day he went to his garage to look for his car. But Barkley hadn’t been to his garage in years and didn’t have a car, not even a bicycle. His garage was mostly filled with rusted tools and broken lawnmower parts, which seemed fitting,considering he hasn’t cut his lawn since the summer before. All these things mowing, cleaning had little importance to barkley, but nevertheless he was venturing into the wild world.

He lived on the end of a dead end street, with almost every other house closed because of bankruptcy. He took a left down the cracked cement road to what seemed a diner. The flashing lights of the diner proclaims it had the best world-famous ribs’, and greatest chili. He walked into a small room with two tables, a couch and a small table with a cash register. He walked up to the cash register and asked for a medium soda. The man behind the counter had a bright red mole on his nose, and replied with thank you, please take a seat. Barkley walked to the table and tripped on his shoelaces. His head hit the corner of the table, and his body slammed against the wooden floor.

The cashier got up from his chair immediately and ran over to Barkley.

“Are you okay.”

Barkley sat up and leaned against the rusted gray trashcan. “Ya I’m fine.”

“Do you not know how to tie your shoes, or are ya just plain dumb.”

“Yes, i do and I think you’ll find it alarming that your shoes are untied and your fly is down.” The cashier looked down and turned beat red. He walked to the back and grumbled that it’ll be a minute for his soda.

See the truth is Barkley always had a slight of hand. He could move his hands swiftly and quietly without anyone’s knowing. He had not had must social practice with his unique ability but at the spur of the moment he could both reply and embarrass the cashier. The cashier came from the back and tossed a soda to Barkley. Barkley opened it and walked outside.

We Can See You

With so many interruptions and even more problems, I was losing myself. I slid open the glass door and walked outside. I had no friends, no one to help me, no one to keep me focused. I set down my writing tablet and my decaf coffee on top some bills laying on the picnic table. I had to focus. With my the elbows firmly place on the picnic table I looked to the great beyond. I pondered my existence, feeling the radiation of the forlorn stars. They were like me, I thought, All of them. Questions sprung to my mind debating every possible reason I was alone. The main personality flaw had to be of my random fixation on “unimportant” instruments. When you think of an instrument, you probably think of a piano or a guitar. But I had chosen to spend thousands of dollars over the past three years learning pointless musical objects or whatever. I was starting to believe them too. These forlorn stars actually seemed clumped together, almost forming a constellation. And then, suddenly, started blinking sporadically. The farthest star on the left flashed once and then moved out of sight. The middle stars began to glow brighter. The stars surrounding flashed every other second. I was understanding what they were spelling, and saying. Strange. I quickly grabbed my notebook and started to write down my vision. We can see you. I read it over and over and over again, at least a hundred times. The stars continued to flash, my vision of the universe hadn’t ended. When I woke up I had several sheets full of words, with no fundamental meaning. After pouring a bowl of cereal and looking over the pages for one last time, my brain clicked. I grabbed all my silly instruments and for the next thirty hours played note after note, tune after tune, and chord after chord, trying to make sense of it all. I sat down after several coffees and hours without sleep, played my song for one last time. As if it were the end of my life, I remembered something my grandmother had said to me a long time ago.

When I’m gone, think of me as a star in the sky. Think of mom and dad as a star in the sky. Think of every person you have ever loved as a star in the sky, and although gone from this life, remember we’ll be watching and waiting for you.

We can see you, and we love you.

The Island’s Anchorman

So, here I am eighty years old. Almost a dead man, definetly a dead man walking. I was born here, raised here, and will die here, on this island. This (no word can properly explain how bad this island is) island is my home, and these people on this island have made my home a house. A (ugh, I still can’t think of a word to explain how bad it is) house I don’t want to be a part of.

There could be a zombie apocalypse, nuclear war, or whatever instance you can conjure in your mind that would make me stay on this island. Oh ya, I forgot. So you could say I’m the island’s anchorman. I report the upcoming weather, and update them on any news stories. The mailman flies out very early in the morning where he receives a single letter containing all the matters just mentioned. I don’t actually know who sends these letters, I just report the noteworthy news. I normally deliver the news at the island’s hottest joint, the pub.

One of these days I’m going to make a good excuse to leave this island. And as I soon escape the creeping claws of this island, I would surely die. Fate would have it so.

The end.

Road 44: The Road That Leads Nowhere

I’m the “mayor” of this island, sometimes I wish I had asked for more. But alas, one can dream. You may have heard of me from the Nightlight Scandal, which made every single politician in Washington a mere stepping stone. I,in fact, orchestrated the entire Nightlight Scandal. What is this, you’ve never heard about it? Yes, you would have heard about it but I took the easy way out – not the easiest way out,mind you, but certainly a very, very easy way out.

The Nightlight Scandal was actually a program that could climb through any,and I mean any, computer,OS, or data, and pull out anything about anyone. Think of it as a super advanced Google search on anyone that has ever posted online or had an article written about them on a website. Its primary use is to dig up ‘dirty’ secrets, for use of blackmail.

With such power over any one person, you have to ask, What do you do with it? Well, my mother once told me, with great power comes great responsibility. So instinctively I pulled up every dirty secret on every single politician in washington. I thought about doing the same for other countries, but I have smaller fish to fry for now. I loaded it all up on my hardrive and backed it up multiple times, now time to make some calls.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

First I set off many security systems all over the White House, this way when when I called with my list of demands they’d know I wasn’t playing around. I ran through my checklist (Ive always planned these things through carefully) West Wing-check, Oval Office-check, Cafeteria-check, hey, you have to have a sense of humor. All the systems shut down, causing the power to go out, it clicked on minutes later and I immediately dialed the White house phone, I thought about the oval office number but the president had probably already been evacuated.

Let’s paraphrase what ended up happening:

So I called, introduced myself as a British citizen (although I am not), and gave them my list of intents. And I intended to release everyone’s dirty little secrets, even the presidents. And, of course, I wanted to talk to the president myself. Although I was transferred to another phone, but the man who answered wasn’t the president, so I threatened him with immediate release of all confidential files that the FBI,CIA, or NSA had. He sternly replied with, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.

My reply? Oh, good sir, I’m not a terrorist, I just simply want everyone to know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But I’m willing to give it all up. For a beach house, see I didn’t exactly know what I wanted yet, so I just made it up as I went, The line was silent, he hasn’t hung up but he certainly wasn’t talking to me- or anyone. I figured I had been muted.

Two minutes later the president was on the line. He asked me about every tiny detail about the program I had made. And ended up offering me my own place to rule, and it came with a beach house! I ended up taking the offer and now am the winner of a beach house and mayorship on a tiny island. But hey, one can dream, and I dreamed small.

The end. And maybe just the beginning.

The Persistent Salesman

The persistent salesman never gives up, and absolutely never takes no for an answer. Because of this they come off as an annoying and rude person. A salesman also is hardworking and determined to do their job.

A salesman comes in many forms from a lemonade stand to a car dealership. A true salesman is recognized when they set up a lemonade stand in the middle of January when it is snowing and ten degrees below zero. A salesman is determined to get a sale, even if there is no demand. Another example of a salesman is an employee at the local car dealership. After an entire week of having no one even look at the cars in the dealership, a true salesman takes the card to the customer. They turn on the car and drive over to the local neighborhood to make a sale. After reaching a calm and quiet community, a salesman shows what their car can do. They put the top down and rev the engine, which in turn tears up the asphalt road. They do this until the entire neighborhood is outside and wondering, “what in the world are they doing?” The salesman states that this car could be theirs for over five hundred dollars a month for four years and after they would have to return the car to the dealership. Every person realizes what a scam the salesman is offering and goes back inside their houses. A true, determined salesman doesn’t take no for an answer, and is so hungry for a sale, the salesman returns to the dealership and buys the car for himself.

Road 1

“What is this place?”, I thought. I don’t remember anything before I woke up here on this island. In the weeks since I haven’t found anyone else, not even any animals. I don’t know why, but this island I am on is desolate. And the only memories I have are of me waking up and stumbling around this island.

Day 21-
For the past three weeks I’ve made some crude tools to cut coconuts off the palm trees. I used a spearhead I found in the sand and tied it to a stick to make an axe. I also found an apple tree by a small lake, this island is very strange. I’ve used some seeds from the apples to plant more apple trees and even made an irrigation system, so I’ve been busy. Somehow I managed to find a sac of goods including flint ands steel, a proper axe, and some other tools and goods.

Obviously someone had been here, at some point or another, but who? And why? I made a small fire pit on the beach and would lay by it all night for warmth. Sometimes I couldn’t fall asleep, I’d stay up trying to collect any memories I had before this island, but I didn’t have any.

Day 30-
A ship of some kind appeared on the ocean, hopefully they will sail over here. Tonight I’ll try to gather some wood to make a bonfire. If I’m lucky they’ll see the smoke and rescue me.  Progress on my apple orchard is going well. Still no trees, but these things don’t happen overnight, although I wish they did.

I’ve been thinking about life before this island. I must have existed before because I’m 1. Already aged to about 25 years, I don’t really know for sure because I can’t even remember my age. And 2. Already know the basic skills of an experienced farmers, maybe I was a farmer before appearing on this island, I don’t know its just a thought.

More coming, soon. Update: I think the ship spotted me, and since then has adjusted its course for my island, I think.

A few hours later –

Oh no, they have guns, and don’t look happy. Umm, goodbye.

A Short Story A Week

Despite my better knowledge I am putting time constraints on my writing. Ya ya ya, the first post (if you go back and look) says that I had a desire to post once a week. And I found that to be putrid (an underused word, I think). So I erased all my posts and started over. I posted a couple more times and then stopped for about four months (depends).

But now I really enjoy writing, even if it isn’t good writing! And I find writing shorter stories easier, considering I haven’t become a “professional” writer, who knows if I ever will be?!?! But none of that matters, why? Because writing is something I enjoy, so I am going to do it. And who knows, one day, in the dreary future, I will be submitting my first book to a publisher… to get it turned down. But one can hope, and others can dream, and few can.

-paulfy