Soiled Napkin by Nikolai

Soiled Napkin

Soiled Napkin who were't once a tree
Your only wish was to keep your dignity
But though were't set by a plate
No no you thought I want my life to run late
Knowing that a napkins life becomes trash
Once you become touched by potatoes that were mashed
You once looked so very fine
Because you were't made for a place where only rich people dine

The culprit that will end your life of ease
Walks through the door in the air there was no longer any peace
He was big and he was fat
And on the coatrack he put his hat
Followed the hostess to his chair
That is when your fate might finally become clear

Though you had survived many meals
When customers ordered salads with grated orange peels
This man was ordering the worst of things
He said to the waiter I want two dozen honey garlic chicken wings
The food arrived all to soon
You started sweating as if it were high noon
Clasping his hands, smacking his lips
Those wings would be wonderful with his favorite dips

Though you stayed clean a few moments more
As he licked his fingers and saying to the waiter 'I want some more.'
He reaches closer to you then the moment that every beautiful napkin dreads
It would truly be better to be a human who is dead

For after the meal to the garbage you must go
Then shipped to a dump more than six feet below
And because when you were born
Infused with chemicals that keep your life from being torn
Although the bugs like eating from the chicken wing fat stains
They avoid eating from your clean parts that remain
So from the beginning this was your fate
If only, if only you had not been placed beside that plate


Written by Nikolai


To see my music blog Click Here, or to read some of my other writing Click Here

How to Write a Love Letter by Lenitschka

This Cafe Chi game was several months ago, but it's one I have always been happy with. The Assignment: Write a Declaration of Love.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

No, that's been used before. I think. Plus counting off why doesn't seem like that effective a method.

Love is not love, which...

What comes after that? Something about not changing. Then something about storms and rain and all those descriptions of really dramatic love scenes in Regency costume. I can't do that either. My words couldn't compete with rain, green hills, or dramatic crescendos.

Love, love me do, you know I love....

Great. Now I was ripping off the Beatles instead of the Bard.

I have no words to say. They've all been said already; written, studied, summarized in essays, put on platinum records - and all much better than I ever could.

So what do I write to convey how I feel? No poetry ever would come right. I'm lucky if I can get a sentence out with the words in the right order, and I can never describe how I feel with any great metaphors.

So, I'll start with this:

I. Love. You.

Three words. Not a lot, but the ones that matter most anyway.

I love you.

It's a short lover letter, but I mean every word.

A Classical Piece - by Kolya

“Well darling, are we ready to go to the concert yet?”

“Not quite dearest.”

“Hurry now, we’ll be late.”

“We have to wait for your sister as well you know.”

“I know, but I’ve already accounted for that time, and we’re running out.”

“Did she find an escort this time Apollo?”

“Nope.  And you know that is just how she likes it.”

“Oh! But how can it be that such a fair young woman can parade the streets of Athens without so much as an escort!  It is outrageous.”

The gentleman, Sir Apollo just nodded.  Delphi always went on and on about his sister’s determination to end an old maid.  Inside, he knew his sister was only so stubborn because his wife was so obnoxious and pushy at times.  It wasn’t her fault.  She meant well.

His wife came made her grand appearance.  The hat on her head was new as of yesterday, and she couldn’t wait to show it off.

Off they went in the four-horse buggy. Up and down the streets towards the concert hall. 

The buggy stopped outside a row of fine apartments.  The attendant went to go fetch the gentleman’s sister.   Lady Artemis stepped into the carriage.  Her gown was a sparkling silver.

"Come boy."

The little terrier hopped into the carriage after them, and quickly onto his mistress’s lap.  Away they went to the concert hall.

Sir Apollo frowned as soon as his wife took a breath inward.  Out came a somewhat passive-aggressive rant about how proper ladies had handsome young men at their sides, and how many excellent and worthy young men Athen’s had to offer.

Lady Artemis just laughed.  Unaffected by her sister-in-law’s jibes. 

At last they made it to the concert hall. And Delphi’s remarks were turned upon the other ladies.

“Oh my stars! What is Andromeda wearing?  Who does she think she is!  She is a married woman, not Aphrodite!   And dear me, Demeter looks like she’s more than just a little upset about her daughter’s recent engagement.  I would be too if my husband didn’t tell me of his scheming arrangements.”

“Fortunately,”  Sir Apollo interrupted, “Your husband has no daughter’s to give away in any such fashion my dear.  You have nothing to fear from me.”

Delphi smiled and her eyes sparkled as she gazed lovingly at her husband, “Oh yes, darling.  But of course, everything you do is so agreeable.”

“Look, Eros and his bride,  why don’t you go and say hello?”  Lady Artemis put in.

“It is!  Oh isn’t she stunning!  I think I shall.”

As soon as she had left, Sir Apollo took the opportunity to apologize.  “I am sorry Artemis, I promise she means well.”

“I know.” She replied calmly.

He was surprised.

“After all, it was not her fault Orion left me, now, was it?”

It was the most spiteful thing he had ever heard his sister say.  And she said it so calmly.

“It is beginning. Shall we?”

The concert was devoted to the Iliad.  The movements of the music were as strong and violent as the battle itself seemed. 

More so for the gentleman Apollo, he had not realized his sister held him in such contempt. In retrospect, what he had done had been very petty, but there was no going back.  And dear Artemis was so sweet, it cut even deeper.

So there he sat.  Sweating bullets, his wife was seated between him and his sister.  That was not a good thing.  If Delphi kept up, and Artemis told her what happened, his dearest wife would never forgive him.  She did not conceal or repress her emotions well.

The music continued into a calmer movement, still he was as tense as a bowstring.  Thus far, his ingenious idea for a night out had not gone at all the way he had planned.

The first segment neared a close with a small finale, and the intermission began.  Ironically, the lights fading in filled him with dread.

He did not think Artemis would say much to Delphi, but there was not telling what kind of punishment she had in store for him.

'Little Freddie Mischief' by Nikolai

Little Freddie Mischief

The lad was frolicking  in the field running towards the girl with golden locks.  Oh how they loved to prance hand in hand.  "Tee-hee" what fun! This is the life, finally escaped from our parents, running away as best of friends.  Now what shall they do, why of course, prance with the butterflies.

"Wow, Jack look at all the beautiful colours on the butterfly wings."

"Yes are they not wonderful Jill?"

"What are we doing here on the ground? Let's fly towards the golden rays of the sun."

To their surprise as she said this, they, both of them felt their weight lift and suddenly they were floating. Walking on air......'How did this happen?' They both thought to themselves.

"Is this not awesome? Flying has been something I have dreamed of all my life Jill."  

Meanwhile, what the two of them did not know is that there was a sneaky little man. He lived for one purpose, and one purpose alone which was to make children get lost.  Why would he do such a thing to children?  Well, because the only joy he had ever learned to enjoy from life was taught to him by his very evil mother. She taught him that their kind, his family in particular, had a very particular genetic trait that allowed them to feed on the feelings people have when they miss someone.  And when they used this ability, they gained magical powers.  Little Freddie Mischief was his name, and stealing children was his game.  He did not necessarily need to keep the children for himself. In fact, that would be quite imprudent, because he would just have to waste his precious magic baby-sitting.  So he simply made sure the children became lost and would never be able to find their way home.

That morning Little Freddie Mischief had snuck into the houses of Jack and Jill. One after the other he had placed magic beans into the baked beans that Jill's father had made for her, and the porridge that Jack's mother had made for him.

Little did those two tots know that their breakfasts were ticking time bomb's leading to the joy of flying.

"Yippee I love flying too Jack. Let's go to the mountains to the east, my Dad says that there are mysterious creatures there and that I should never go there. Since we can fly today we can fly away from any creature and be back before dinner."

"My mother has never told me that, but she has told me that there is a great big tree to the south that is unclimbable."

"Whoa, Unclimbable? Let's go there."

"Yipee!"

Little did these two best friends know that the tree had been planted by Little Freddie Mischief's mother, Mrs. Jabber Krumpit. It was a trap for curious children who would find it irresistible with new found flying powers. It had fed both her and Little Freddie Mischief on multiple occasions.  

Jack and Jill, traveled towards the bottom of the hill where the giant tree stretched towards the heavens. They landed on the ground in front of it. It didn't really look like a tree. It was more like a mesh of green vines stretching straight up into the clouds and beyond.

"Shall we go up, Jill" he said with a big smile on his face.

"Yes, let's"  Nodding in agreement.

They shot straight up, off the ground, almost up to the clouds.  Then as they were approaching the clouds there started to be lightning, violent lightning. A freak storm! What had just happened?

Little Freddie Mischief had been watching the children and holding this storm from forming using his magic.  But he had been strangely distracted by some music he had never heard before, it was beautiful.

"This is my favorite song Dear, Beethoven was a genius, and the pastoral symphony one of his greatest works." Little Freddie heard a man say in his head.

"Yes, I agree Dear. I love it!" Replied a woman's voice. "I am so happy to hear this magical music to go along with our magical day."

Was Little Freddie Mischief going crazy? He had been at this magic thing for a long time, but he had never heard voices speaking nonsense in his head before and neither random beautiful music.  Maybe this was a side effect of eating too much sorrow.  His mother, Mrs. Jabber Krumpit, had at times seemed crazy, so could it be that he would share her same fate?

He had let his concentration waver, allowing his magic to waver. And the weather forecast had said that a crazy lightning storm was ahead for that day. So, because his magic was no longer maintaining the good weather instantly the lightning started.  This foiled Little Freddie Mischief's plans for dinner that night.

"Maybe we should go home the weather is not good Jack."

"Ok, but we should try again tomorrow. I am getting hungry for some dinner, flying is tiring."

So they flew home, and frolicked some more this time taking giant flying steps through the fields in front of their house. Home at last.

Jack and Jill walked into their own respective homes. Their parents had both been widowed years before. As Jack walked into his house he was surprised that his mother wasn't home.

"Jack come to my house." Jill called from across the street. He ran across the street. Walked in the door and saw that Jill's father was holding a lute. Trying to pluck out a beautiful little tune, his mother sitting very close to him. 

"Both of you didn't finish your breakfast this morning, and we went on a magical journey together, we went to the 19th century, listened to Beethoven's 6th symphony, and fell in love.  You are brother and sister now, because we married there. We are a family now".

"Yipee!" exclaimed Jack and Jill in unison.

"We are trying to figure out Beethoven's 6th Symphony on the lute."

What Little Freddie Mischief didn't know about the magic beans he gave which made children fly is that when adults ingest them they get to travel through time and actually get to spend quite a bit of time in another time. Indeed enough time to fall in love.  Then they are brought back to the moment they had left.

If only Little Freddie Mischief had been taught by his mother to eat love as a little boy, because then he would not have gone to bed hungry that night.

Written by Nikolai


To see my music blog Click Here, or to read some of my other writing Click Here

The Umbrella - by Sasha

Maribelle took Oswald’s white gloved hand as she gingerly lowered herself from the motorcar, stepping as quietly as she could on to the cobble stones of the street. She paused to brush a bit of stray dust off of her pale yellow skirt, and then quickly checked her reflection in the car’s side mirror before waving at the chauffer. He started the car with a rather rude puff of exhaust before driving down the alley.

“It’s quite a nice day today, wouldn’t you say, Oswald?” Maribelle said conversationally as they strolled down the street. Indeed, the sky above them was a brilliant cerulean, only interrupted by a few wisps of silver cloud here and there. There was a cool summer breeze running through the air, a refreshing reminder that fall was on its way.

“Yes, ma’am, I would say it is,” Oswald replied.

“Good, good,” Maribelle said before the butler could make any other trivial contributions to the conversation.

They walked for a while in perfect silence, as Maribelle liked it. They passed quaint little townhouses, squished together in a fashion that the lady found quite distasteful. Their small windowboxes full of flowers were nothing but a sad attempt at gardening, and their cheerfully painted doors were clearly a cry for help echoing up from the monotony of suburban peasantry. Not two minutes into the stroll, a pack of children came running through the alley, spraying bits of mud at the bottom of Maribelle’s fine dress. The girl sighed.

“Umbrella,” she said.

“I have it with me, ma’am,” said Oswald.

“I know you have it with you,” Maribelle remarked. “I would like it, please.”

“Madam, you said yourself that it is quite the lovely day outside,” said Oswald.

“Oswald, is it your job to tell me what I should be doing with my things?” asked Maribelle.

“Well, yes,” Oswald pointed out. “Your mother did charge me with watching you on your little excursion.”

“Do you think,” said Maribelle through gritted teeth, “that giving me an umbrella will do me any harm, oh great butler Oswald?”

“I suppose not,” Oswald admitted, and he pulled the umbrella out of the extremely large and very feminine purse he had the unfortunate task of carrying. It matched Maribelle’s dress exactly, down to the buttercup yellow fabric and patterned lace overlay.

“Thank you,” said Maribelle curtly. “And I would like to go that way.”

The lady gestured to the right. A patch of greenery could be seen in the distance, through a long alley walled on each side by three-story apartment buildings. She propped her umbrella on her shoulder and began making her slow, careful way through the street. The corridor seemed to channel the breeze into more of a constant stream of wind.

About halfway through the alley, Maribelle thought she might have the good fortune not to meet anyone on her walk. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that a young gentleman emerged from one of the apartment buildings. He was dressed in a rather unappetizing brown, like grass in winter or a bit of dry soil. On top of his plain clothes, he also chose to wear a hat that served only to emphasize the squarish nature of his face.

“Oh hello there,” he said cheerfully. Maribelle resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Only in the city would she have the misfortune to be greeted by peasants. She angled her umbrella so as to hide more of her face, hoping to show her disinterest.

“That’s quite a nice dress you have there,” the young man said.

“Yes, it is nice,” said Maribelle. “I chose to wear a color that goes well with my skin tone today. I suggest you do the same. Good day.” She strode past the boy’s house, forcing herself to walk a little quicker than she would have liked to in this outfit.

“You have a nice day too, ma’am,” he said before going on his way.

Maribelle had almost reached the safety of the park – the city was beginning to suffocate her – when she was interrupted once more, this time by a young mother emerging from the park, pushing her child in a stroller.

“Good morning,” said the woman. “That’s quite a nice umbrella you have there.”

“Isn’t it though?” Maribelle said, exasperated.

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, does it?” the mother remarked.

“No, it doesn’t,” said Maribelle.

“Well, enjoy your walk,” the mother said as she passed Maribelle and Oswald, looking a bit disconcerted.

The wind really started to pick up as the two entered the park. The rustling of the leaves had a calming effect, drowning out the sounds of the motorcars in the streets behind them. The few rays of sunlight that made their way through the trees were blocked by her yellow umbrella. Maribelle took a deep breath, inhaling a great deal of smog mixed with a slight scent of fresh grass.

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it, Oswald?” Maribelle commented.

“Indeed,” Oswald replied, almost shouting now against the strong wind.

Maribelle’s umbrella began to buckle under the pressure. She smiled serenely up at the sky, which was still a deep blue. Oswald seemed a bit concerned, and kept fidgeting with his jacket, which was constantly being blown open by gusts of wind.

“I think I can guide myself from here, dear butler,” said Maribelle, unhooking her arm from Oswald’s.

“But, ma’am, you mother instructed me –”

“Oh do stop saying words, Oswald,” interrupted Maribelle, picking up her stride. “I honestly don’t care what my mother has said.”

To Oswald’s great surprise, Maribelle started to hop. It was the most graceful hop he had ever seen, yet it was still quite strange. Maribelle smiled, still looking up at the sky. She walked into a small clearing in the park and her yellow umbrella picked up the rays of the sun, turning the color from a pale buttercup to a brilliant topaz.

Maribelle paused once more to brush the last bits of mud off of her skirt, and then she took one last hop. The wind howled just as she jumped, and her umbrella caught the gale at exactly the right moment. Oswald cried out, but it was too late. Smiling, Maribelle rose into the sky, her face illuminated in the brilliant light of the sun.

Stallery Mansion - by Sasha

When I was very small, I always thought Stallery Mansion was some kind of fairy-tale castle. It wasn’t too far from where I lived, and sometimes I would pass it when I rode my bike home from school. It stood in the middle of an impeccably green lawn with a little brick path growing through it. There were not one but two fountains that sat on either side of the house itself; one had little cherubs to catch the water in their sculpted hands, and dolphins spewed jets on the other side. The house was made of fancy red brick with grey stone finishings, and ten balcony windows facing the front alone. Huge wooden doors would have welcomed guests if there had ever been any.

The thing about Stallery Mansion was the giant front gate. I could never get close enough to the house to see who lived in it, because a wrought-iron, intricately patterned gate stood between me and the little brick path winding through the pristine green lawn. In all of my life, I had never seen anyone come in or out of that gate, and I rode past the mansion every day. Mum said it was because the people who lived there were very high society, and they only went out in the late evening when I was in bed. They didn’t want to go outside when it was light outside, she told me, because it would ruin their skin and give them wrinkles.

I knew Mum was lying. The real reason that no one ever came in or out of Stallery Mansion was because no one could leave. The only person who could live in such a fancy house would be a princess. Princesses are usually very gracious and love to give out presents to their subjects, especially to little girls who eat their dinner every night. So obviously, the only reason that the princess wouldn’t grace me with her presence was because she couldn’t. There were plenty of stories about evil witches and stepmothers that locked their princesses in towers, and I figured that Stallery Mansion was probably harder to get into than even Rapunzel’s tower. Thus, it was clear to even the simplest of minds that a princess was locked in that castle. Mum just wanted to keep me from trying to save the princess because it was too dangerous. There was probably at least one dragon guarding her, after all.

Every day after school, I would ride up to the gates of Stallery Mansion and look through them, trying to catch a glimpse of the princess through the house’s curtains. I vowed that I would someday save her, and that no one should have to be held captive, even if her castle was kind of pretty.

I knew that there was one thing that was always necessary when it came to saving princesses: a prince. There was no way I could get passed a locked gate and fight at least three dragons on my own; I needed a kind, brave, and strong knight to help me. The only problem was that I didn’t know of many princes around where I lived. There was Benny, one of the teenagers who worked at the candy store and always gave me candy when Mum wasn’t looking; he was very kind. Our gardener Mr. Cotton once sprayed a whole hornet’s nest and threw it away, which was definitely very brave of him. And Dad was very strong; when we moved here he brought all of out of the truck and brought it into the house. But none of them were true princes.

I finally had the answer one day at lunch. I fell and scraped my knees while playing tag at recess, and he helped me up and got a teacher for me. I knew, when I looked into his big hazel eyes and newly grown front teeth that he was the one. Helping a girl when she was down was kind, brave, and strong. I even heard his dad was the president of a big company, which was pretty much the same as a king in my books. I told him immediately after school was done that he had to meet me at Stallery Mansion, at midnight.

At first he was skeptical. He had seen Stallery Mansion before, everyone had, but he didn’t think it was that great. I asked him if he had ever seen the gates open, or anyone in the grounds, or coming in and out of the house. His eyes widened, and I knew he hadn’t. He thought maybe it was haunted, but I assured him it was because there was a princess locked away in that house. I told him we had to meet after dark, because cool things only happen at night, when all of our parents think we’re asleep.

That night I waited until it was dark. I almost fell asleep once, but I stopped myself. I had to wait it out until midnight. Well, in truth I only waited until about nine o’clock, but it felt like midnight, so I went to meet Rory. He had obviously had the same idea, because he was already at Stallery Mansion when I showed up. And the strange thing was, the wrought-iron gate was completely wide open.

An Ode to Courtly Love

All red heads are saucy.

These are the words that crescendo in my head, flowing and bouncing, traipsing down the corridors of memory and nostalgia.

I won't take these slights personally, she's just playing hard to get. I'm sure she just needs to make sure of my intentions, and that my reputation is sound. I have to do good works! Of course! I whooped and hollered, startling the nearby flock of geese. I think one of them hissed at me. I didn't care!

I seemed to float and bounce on wings of sparrows! These were her favorite bird, of course. 

I'll paint her a portrait! Oops, I can't paint. I'll write her a poem! Damn, I can't spell. I'll feed the poor! Er... I don't like how they smell... I have to find something praiseworthy!...

Purple Parkas or The Random Wheel of Winter's Fate

     It was the heart of winter and the winds billowed through the streets covering them with the white powder typical of the solstice. I walked penitently, pulling the collar of my wholly inadequate coat to the brim of my nose in a desperate attempt to keep the freezing air out of my lungs.

     I had not yet received any royalties off of the solo album I had spent months composing and recording in a damp studio beneath Fifty First Street and money was getting tighter and tighter. I wondered if I had any bread left in the apartment to make some buttered toast. I wholly doubted it and was sure that ache in my belly was not to leave for some time.

     The snow kept pushing further and further into my eyes as I walked toward my poorly insulated apartment in hope of some shelter. I had a few inches on the many candles around the flat that might give the few square feet a bit of warmth.

     What could have possibly happened? I thought it was a dynamite record as did my manager, but nobody seemed to be buying. Once in a while I would head over to Toni’s Records and examine my album in front of the other customers to possibly increase some interest, but it was to no avail. Maybe it was time to write something new. Something different. Maybe I could score some commercials or do a Christmas album. Those always seemed to sell. Or perhaps I could do what everyone wanted me to do. I could get a respectable job somewhere fixing shoes or work my way into the bonds market. These were the thoughts that grazed my mind as I pushed through the snow.

     I came at last to my small apartment and went to grab my key. I reached down into my jacket pocket only to find an unfamiliar hole. There was no key. There was no entrance.

     Alas I sat on the front steps to the building, unsure as to what would be my fate. Would I freeze to death on these cold concrete steps? It seemed likely. I could not see more than a few feet through the continuing blizzard and I could not get inside. There was nowhere to go and I was unsure that my feet would take me. I tried to breathe hot air onto my numbing fingertips but my breath cooled before it reached its target.

     All seemed lost when out of the unbreachable torrent of frozen precipitate came a purple parka and bright pink snow pants. The colorful figure approached the building and me. It was a young woman. The brightness of her attire stood in stark contrast to me in my dark, cold and inadequate drabs. She didn't notice me at first with her eyes staring intently at the ground which became more and more difficult to find. Once noticed, I gave the slightest of waves.

     ‘Oh! Hi!’ She said, ‘Have you been here long? Do you live in this building?’

     ‘I live in this building yes. I've lost my key. I seem to have a hole in my pocket. I don’t know what else to do. Could you perhaps let me in?’

     ‘Of course! Even if you don’t live here it would be ludicrous to make you stay out in this blizzard. You might die for heaven’s sake. Come in. We’ll call the landlord and get you another key.’

     ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

     She helped me indoors, and led me to her apartment. I was allowed to have a seat and my gracious host got me a warm of tea. Once I had relaxed a little she sat down across from me. She looked at me curiously.

     ‘I know you! You’re a musician aren't you?’

     ‘Yes, yes I am.’

     ‘I have your record. I bought it at Toni’s a couple of days ago. This is so exciting! You’re a genius.’

     ‘Beethoven was a genius, I just write folk songs.’

     ‘But your work is good. I like it.’

     ‘Well thank you.’

     We talked and talked for hours and eventually started dating. We live together now and she pays the rent while I write and sing and all is well.

     

Love, after a season - by Kolya

This is the revised version of a poem I wrote some time ago (outside café-chi).  It is now in iambic pentameter, and officially follows the pattern of a Shakespearean Sonnet.  I am proud of myself, and where better to show and share then the writing club blog?  So, here it is:

Love, after a season

A summer once abided in my heart,
So warm and indescribably serene
A moment weak and ripe for Cupid’s dart
Which innocence could never have foreseen.

Like autumn’s shadow, love brought with it change

Inspiring beauty, colour and contrast
A novelty so crisp, intense and strange
Surreal and dreamlike, how long would it last?

Then callous winter came with biting frost,

My heart, so stung and pained from bitter cold
Absconded; broken, bleeding, bruised and lost
Is presently in winter’s numbing hold

You’ve come, the dawning rays of spring, I know.

My heart recoils, it cannot yet let go.

The Villain Monologue - By Kolya

A café-chi writing exercise. A villain's monologue.  Enjoy.

Mwahaha! I have done it!  Look at me!  No, wait, don’t look at me I’m not ready.  Gah!  Why is this part even necessary?

I don’t understand why ALL villains must monologue.  It doesn’t make any logical sense.  Of course, being a villain is not the most logical thing either, or so you’d think.  But the problem is I suck at EVERYTHING.  I sucked at being a hero, and now that I finally have my epic moment of triumph… I can’t get the monologue right!!!!  Why am I here?  I could give reasons from my childhood... NO.  You don’t want to know.  Granted, you don’t really want to know any of this, you’re just plotting your escape. Speaking of which, I’m supposed to tell you that escape is futile right?  Whatever, have I wasted enough time yet?  Can I get on with my plan?  Oh! There’s a thought, my plan.  I have to tell you how devious it is, and how much more complicated it is than need be.  Hmmm.  This would be a lot easier if it wasn’t so simplistic. On second thought, no, I won’t tell you that.  It is too embarrassing.    Next on the list, Ah yes, how the plan is unstoppable.  Well that is complete crap, it could be stopped quite easily if…  Oh no!  How could I forget!  I’m supposed to have a count down.  Dang it, I am so sorry, I completely forgot… which means, it already happened? What?!?!?!  I succeeded?  But the heroes always win! What is this madness???  I was supposed to monologue, and then the hero would save the day.  Why do I suck at everything????  Oh!  I was supposed to demand something in exchange for my hostage too.  Oops.  And to think of all the chaos I just caused, and I can’t even enjoy it properly because I just suck as a villain.  I give up.  I’m just going to leave now, and no, I won’t tell you where I’m going. Or wait, no, I will.  I am not going to plot my next act.  I am going to go to bed, after I eat some ice cream to sooth my depression because I suck at life.

Circus Sideshow

This was for the "bring in the ninjas" exercise on Monday the 9th of September.

It was amidst the dry monotony of mid-summer that it happened. I was at that time on janitorial duty in the mess hall. It wasn’t a bad job to say the least. It gave me a great deal of time to think. It would be another week before Lisa or Brett would come to visit and I had lost the will to continue watching the news, or any of the benign broadcasts that were allowed into my cell at night.

     The claustrophobic condition of being locked in a small cell with five others had long since worn off, but the days were getting longer. Time is supposed to stretch in here I suppose. 

     I was mopping the floors along with five others in the mess hall. It was nearing the first lunch rotation and I was staring at the progressively browning bucket of soap and bleach when they came. There must have been dozens of them. Inmates dressed like clowns. Bowties, oversized shoes, wigs, white make-up and red felt noses and all. There must have been at least fifty of them. I don’t know how they did, or why, but they marched into the mess hall and started turning over tables. Two of them came up to me and pushed me up against the wall. I didn’t resist. How could I? I couldn’t even think of a course of action to take. They bound my hands and feet with duct tape and I was left to watch the whole event unfold. They took crowbars to the kitchen doors and pried them open and before you know it the kitchen staff were being pulled out one by one and bound.

     One of the clowns stood on a short tower of tables he and his crew had assembled.

     ‘We will not take this oppression any longer! We want what we want and we’re not going to stop until we get it!’

     An eruption of cheers burst from the felt ridden masses.

     ‘Warden! Warden! Come down here with your guards if you dare! We have terms! We have leverage!’ The spokesman was shouting at the cameras. What guards were present had already been overwhelmed and bound. I saw one of the kitchen staff lose his breakfast onto the recently polished linoleum. I looked over to the bleach bucket I once controlled confidently, hoping for the day to end sooner. I began searching the clowns for weapons. Was there a chance that I might not survive this day? How did they overtake the guards? They must have had something. ‘These people think that because we are felons, that our sense of entitlement is unfounded. That because we have broken man-made laws, that we are unworthy beings lower than dust. We say no. We say that today is our day. We want what we deserve as human being living in a civilized nation. Come down! Come to our level! See what we are capable of, both in veracity and in compassion. All of these prisoners of prisoners will be set free. We will go back to our lowly cages. We do not ask much, but our demands must be met or this circus sideshow will continue indefinitely!’

-Eric T. Behr