(Author’s note: Life gets busy. And when you get a new case handed to you with a whole bunch of things going on to get fixed, priorities come up. However, I am glad to finally have some time to write. Here’s this week’s Fictioneers entry!)
(Author’s note: National Novel Writing Month is in full swing. I’m at about 17,500 words out of 50,000. I am going to be spending a lot of time coming up with marathon writing sessions, but I believe I am doing well. I now need to work on finding an editor to help with starting out this new venture. Oh well, we’ll see what happens. Anyhow, here’s today’s Fictioneers!)
“I don’t know about you, but Bob Dylan absolutely has to be the Jester.” “How do you figure?” “Take a look at history. Elvis’s music was big, until Bob Dylan came along. And Bob’s music was the big thing until the Rolling Stones came along.” “What does Elvis and the Stones have to do with it?” “Elvis was the King. The Jester stole the King’s crown. Bob Dylan took over after Elvis went through the military. As far as the Stones? Their 1967 album is ‘Their Satanic Majesties Request’.” “So, Mick Jagger is Satan?” “Don McLean was on to something.”
Gerald the storekeeper looked up, noticing the teenage girl spying different products on the shelves. He opened the window to let the sea air fill the tiny shop.
The girl kept looking around, and when Gerald got a good look at her, he smiled.
“Ophelia Krain! What are you doing here?”
She looked up and crinkled her eyes.
“Tryin’ to find a special lure.”
Gerald stopped for a second. Why would a pretty girl need a lure?
“Any reason?”
“Dad’s coming to visit”, she beamed.
Gerald frowned at her.
“I hope he’s not going to stay long…”, he said, grabbing the brass knuckles under his cabinet.
(Author’s note: I am currently in the beginning stages of transition from Australia to my next assignment, which will be in…I actually do not know where. We’ll see what happens. Here’s today’s Fictioneers offering, again not based on a true story.)
Everyone was finally together. All 85 of Mitchell High School’s class of 1995. And the stories were flying.
“Do you remember Joan Snart? Apparently, she’s directing adult films in Hollywood.”
“Can’t be anything like my ex-boyfriend, Russell Graves. He’s the undercarriage cleaner for Greyhound in Seattle.”
The laughter was palpable, and the stories continued. That was, until the name was brought up.
“Anyone heard from Brian McLaurence?”
The entire place had become silent at that instant. The class looked at each other, and bowed their heads.
“Robbery,” someone said, “I was on duty. I found him. Died on scene.”
Gordon “Pete” Stack would normally have been happy to see his grandchildren on this birthday, but he just was not very happy. He had all that he would have needed: a wonderful wife who had been with him for nearly 45 years, three great children who were credits to his family, and now he had a few awesome grandchildren who were becoming grandteenagers.
This day, his 69th birthday, he was just not pleased with anything.
He sat on the porch of his nice estate overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and studied the world. He saw what he remembered and what the world had become, and he was quite displeased by all of it. And it seemed to all land in his mind on this very day.
Two of his grandchildren, 12-year old Sasha and 14-year old Mariska, came out to the porch and sat down on a swinging rocker next to him.
“Grandpa, you don’t seem like you’re very happy to see us today,” Mariska said, looking over at him with concern.
“Bah. It’s not you,” he grumbled, as he shifted his weight in his chair, “I was just thinking back on my life a bit, and seeing where I’ve been. There were many things I missed, but many things that I also took delight in. Those days are gone now.”
“Like what?”
He looked over at them, and it was like someone clicked the detonator on a time-travel bomb.
“Well, let’s see. You have in today’s world some singer who sings like a boy, looks like a girl, and can’t spell beaver right…”
Sasha snorted at this, finding it a little funny.
“You have people who tell you lies and market it as the truth, while the truth from your ancestors becomes lies to be disbelieved…”
Mariska just sighed at this.
“…And you have a bunch of spoiled brats who aren’t willing to take care of their own families, expecting the world to give it all to them, all while they smoke weed. Do you know what I had when I was young?”
Sasha and Mariska looked at him, and leaned forward in anticipation.
The kids looked at him like he was from another world, but still fascinated.
“Let me tell you. Things were much different, and in my opinion, much better. We had a lot more of the desire to create and build things. Big things, great things. Now, it’s all small stuff like microchips, processors, and other such junk.”
“But, Grandpa. You’re not old. You’re just an advanced teenager. You’re still young, you’re just still young with a different time period in your mind.”
Pete finally cracked a smile at this.
“Well, let’s just say that I have some things that your parents don’t know, and I’m willing to give you some of my wisdom. It’ll be my birthday gift to you.”
His smile became a wily grin, as Sasha and Mariska moved closer to hear what he had to say. Just as he was about to say something, one of his old friends started walking up the walkway. He turned his head towards the old friend, grabbed his shotgun, and walked up to the edge of the stairs.
His old friend started to say hello, when Pete yelled at him
Music and Fiction 