The Big Zen Garden

Ron, you haven’t checked in for a while so I decided to hobble my ass to the slums. 10 stories and they all smelled like eggs. Phil (who was soused by the way) says hi. Jee…z he gets gropey when drunk.

So what’s the hold up, just stamp ’em, ship ’em.

Crap is that a pen in your hand? Tell me your not.

You don’t name the sand Ron. First thing they taught you. The sand names itself. You make the sand, you grow the sand, you watch the sand but sand names sand. It’s what we call freewill. We don’t give them any vote but we give them say. Say’s free, say keeps them happy and keeps our jobs cush. Without say, we’ve got a bunch of little nothings doing nothing. It’s boring as fuck. So we give them say and we don’t have to make cable tv and hooker allowances.

Why would you want to name one? Oh for, are you making a messiah? Do you have any idea what kind of fail rate Messiah’s have? Newsflash: avatars suck and prophets go offscript. Micromanagement is a no no.

Oh don’t give me that, this is different.

How? I was bored.

Uh uh my friend, I manage you, you have no idea what boring is until you manage you.

No. Breach of protocol, plus you need 200 more years before you’re up for promotion.

Just put… Evinrude back in the pile. Wait, Seriously? Fuck that, file a I527 Naming Intervention. Tina. Or Murphy. Get her an early adoption papers, parents could probably die in a meth lab explosion. Easily.
Okay, Charlie’s got a birthday party. Yeah he’s an asshole but he’s an unfair asshole and if you act all buddy buddy with him that could mean big things for you. I see the coffee pot is empty and dirty. I blame you.

Why?

Bored.

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The Thin Blue Lace

        I needed a win. Whatever else I needed, I needed a win. Charm and spite had worn away, and now was the winter of my time in the chair. It had been twenty seven hours and my wrists were raw against the zip ties. They were almost breaking. The room had a nicotine flavor and the dying yellow bulb was just enhancing the hue. Between me and the opposing wall was about enough for a twin size and a wardrobe, maybe a vanity. The bulb was begin to ghost on my vision but I didn’t dare look down for fear I was still dripping red.
        On that other wall, two men stood legs spread wide and arms crossed behind. They wore assorted articles from various uniforms with whatever equipment could be scrounged. They both had a blue shoelace tied just below the left shoulder. Behind them was an old wooden door. Outside that door was a man waiting for me to break. He was acting a bit like a first time cook: checking on the half hour, then half of that, then every other minute. All the while, he was hoping I would suddenly become what he wanted. The old knob turned and he walked in. I was still me but he was getting hungry.
        “Do you want to tell me what you were doing out there?”
        It’s a fair question. I was far from home, about as far as a human can go. It took legs, hooves and a Datsun Sunny but I got there.
        “A little boy dropped into the woods. I had to fetch him.”
    Never let it be known that you are a good person. Definitely never let Aziz know; crusades just seem to find me these days.
        “This boy who you dropped in the woods, how much was he worth? Did he come in bricks or little bags… or maybe a big wooden crate?”
        Some people see a forest beyond civilization and decide its a storage locker, others just die with their possessions.
        “He’s just a little boy.”
        “A little boy who poofed into Hell?”
        “He fell. Like I fell. Like you fell. Like everybody falls.”
        “I didn’t fall.”
        A native, you stop getting some for a while and you forget other people still do.
        “Well some people don’t end up in convenient places.”
        “Some people should stay at their end.”
        I stared at him, then through him. There was no man there, there couldn’t be a man there. It was just something that looked like a man.
        “You sure this boy is who you think he is?”
        Beyond men, they are others, some can look like men. This one was a boy. I had saved a scared little boy. Not that I would hold a lack of manhood against someone, glass houses and all that.
        “You’re. Not. Getting. Him.”
        My backhand sense was tingling. I managed to grin. His hand was cupped around a pistol. Maybe he didn’t have any bullets. Maybe he wanted me around for a little longer. I closed my eyes and thought of better places.
        I heard a jackhammer and then a knock at the door. There were new holes in the drywall. I slowly opened my eyes.
        ;My smile grew three times.
        “What are visiting hours?”
        “Criminals don’t get visiting hours.”
        The knock came again.
        “Sir there are people outside that would like to take Amber home.”
        “That’s me by the way.”
        “We do not give away criminals.”
        “Sir, all due respect, yes we do. At least today we do.”
        “Are you talking back to me son?”
        “Sir come out here.”
        “I’m busy.”
        “Sarge come out here!”
        This time it sounded like a cracking whip. Sarge’s shoulder pretty much exploded. One pig goes to Sarge, one pig to the door. The moment the knob turned another officer fell to the ground seeping from the head. My smile died. The two luckier officers ran to the porch of the police station. Forty five Hippopotamus later my zip ties were cut and I was being helped out the front of a shotgun shack. As my eyes attuned to the sun, I saw green, green metal haphazardly put together with treads and a cannon. A tank, a tank with a giant poking out holding a large rifle, my giant. As I trudge through the mud, Haley disappeared, shoved her gun somewhere and reappeared to assess me.
        “Can you climb?”
        I whimper.
        She accepts that as a yes. We slowly climb in. I’m greeted by a space cramped with groceries and an old lady driving.
        “I found someone going our way. So I opted to ride shotgun.”
        I look a little closer at the ‘shotgun’. It’s had a big fat clip, wood all over and iron sights. As far as I could tell, it couldn’t see through doors. We would talk about that later.
        “So a tank with a girl riding shotgun, but without a gunner.”
        The old lady pipes up.
        “We don’t have room for 4 and since we don’t have room for shells either, I told Phil to stay home.”
        “Well thank you. What’s my job?”
        “Make sure the eggs don’t break.”
    She handed me a basket. I sat down as comfortably as I could manage and attend to my duty. Haley leaned into a pipe, somehow comfortably. She could sleep there, she usually sleeps in worse places. We started moving.
        “Haley, what happened to the kid?”
        “He’s safe. He speaks not Arabic.”
        “Portuguese?”
        “That’s not Spanish.”
        “Farsi?”
        “That’s it.”
        ;“Do we have any frozen vegetables I can borrow?”
        Haley handed me a can of peas, which can’t help swelling. Oh well, I already had a win.