Terrors of Slopenstein
Kristin Anderson
Ms. Mouw
Creative Writing
3 May 2012
The small town of Slopenstein was a variable cesspool of dirt bags and scum. Dredged from the crap holes of the surrounding area these thieves and murderers, Encyclopedia salesmen and lawyers, found the lampless streets and warm climate of Slopenstein after dark most appealing. After dusk the streets were flooded with the blood of unfortunate stragglers.
This night, however, will be different. Although it seems, dear reader, that this night is exactly the same as any other and that come dawn the street sweepers will be jambed again with the decomposing corpses of the night’s prey, THIS night is not the same. Tonight is different. Tonight there is a different man on his way home late, a man who has the power to change this gory reality and create a new opportunity for a differing plot line aside from describing the gruesome stabbings over and over again.
Tungus Fuge was a man like many others. In the morning,, like so many others, he put his pants on one leg at a time. He put his shoes on one shoe at a time, and he suffered through his wife’s cooking one burnt eggy bite at a time. It would not be wrong, sir or madam reader, to say that there was nothing particularly interesting about Mr. Fuge. After all, he was an accountant, and not a very good one at that. But thankfully for this story’s author’s sake, ordinary characters sometimes experience extraordinary circumstances.
And so it was he, Mr. Tungus Fuge who was headed home late this night from the grocers. After a long day at work and a long argument with his wife of five, Tungus was forced to leave the house on an eran to the supermarket to fulfill his wife’s craving for Rocky Road ice cream. There was at least an our left of day light and although he was objective at first, Fuge enjoyed the opportunity to escape the torrential rain of his wife’s bitter remarks and ridiculous requests. He would have made it home safely too, if he hadn’t run into Great Aunt Meredith who insisted that he stay in the frozen food isle for days until he saw photos of each of her grand children from birth until today.
But he escaped, this Tungus Fuge. He has a way of escaping those sorts of things. He is a flexible slithery man, capable of slipping out of any one's conversational grasp. That, dear reader, is his super power. And so it came as no surprise that when a shadowy figure approached him on the street Tungus tried to disappear into the sidewalk like a puddle of undercooked custard. His technique was flawless, Aunt Meredith would have been bewildered, but, readers, this is merely because her eyesight and hearing had left her years ago, along with her good looks. As soon as she had let go of Tungus’ hand he had walked briskly away leaving her to converse with the popsicles and dilly bars which suited her just fine.
Yes, Mr. Fuge was spotted this night. I am sorry to say, because a person can transform into a dribbling custard no more easily than a hippopotamus can transform into a DVD player or a republican into a reasonable debater. The figure that approached asked for his wallet which he quickly overturned, but in the pit of his stomach, the depth of his being, something swelled in Tungus. He had to let it out, it urged to be released, and so, in a moment of lapsing judgment, Tungus Fuge sneezed directly into the face of evil.
The reprocucions of such a courageous act were enormous. It is possible, dear reader, that this figure was infected with a horribly contagious virus that would spread throughout the entire criminal underworld, killing the immoral and leaving the rest of society with a chance to live a normal life without fear. It is possible, dear reader, that this one biological necessity changed the world for the better. But that, my friends, is a story for another evening. Perhaps for now, I will just tell you that Tungus offered his best hanky to the snot splattered criminal, because that was the polite thing to do.
Ms. Mouw
Creative Writing
3 May 2012
The small town of Slopenstein was a variable cesspool of dirt bags and scum. Dredged from the crap holes of the surrounding area these thieves and murderers, Encyclopedia salesmen and lawyers, found the lampless streets and warm climate of Slopenstein after dark most appealing. After dusk the streets were flooded with the blood of unfortunate stragglers.
This night, however, will be different. Although it seems, dear reader, that this night is exactly the same as any other and that come dawn the street sweepers will be jambed again with the decomposing corpses of the night’s prey, THIS night is not the same. Tonight is different. Tonight there is a different man on his way home late, a man who has the power to change this gory reality and create a new opportunity for a differing plot line aside from describing the gruesome stabbings over and over again.
Tungus Fuge was a man like many others. In the morning,, like so many others, he put his pants on one leg at a time. He put his shoes on one shoe at a time, and he suffered through his wife’s cooking one burnt eggy bite at a time. It would not be wrong, sir or madam reader, to say that there was nothing particularly interesting about Mr. Fuge. After all, he was an accountant, and not a very good one at that. But thankfully for this story’s author’s sake, ordinary characters sometimes experience extraordinary circumstances.
And so it was he, Mr. Tungus Fuge who was headed home late this night from the grocers. After a long day at work and a long argument with his wife of five, Tungus was forced to leave the house on an eran to the supermarket to fulfill his wife’s craving for Rocky Road ice cream. There was at least an our left of day light and although he was objective at first, Fuge enjoyed the opportunity to escape the torrential rain of his wife’s bitter remarks and ridiculous requests. He would have made it home safely too, if he hadn’t run into Great Aunt Meredith who insisted that he stay in the frozen food isle for days until he saw photos of each of her grand children from birth until today.
But he escaped, this Tungus Fuge. He has a way of escaping those sorts of things. He is a flexible slithery man, capable of slipping out of any one's conversational grasp. That, dear reader, is his super power. And so it came as no surprise that when a shadowy figure approached him on the street Tungus tried to disappear into the sidewalk like a puddle of undercooked custard. His technique was flawless, Aunt Meredith would have been bewildered, but, readers, this is merely because her eyesight and hearing had left her years ago, along with her good looks. As soon as she had let go of Tungus’ hand he had walked briskly away leaving her to converse with the popsicles and dilly bars which suited her just fine.
Yes, Mr. Fuge was spotted this night. I am sorry to say, because a person can transform into a dribbling custard no more easily than a hippopotamus can transform into a DVD player or a republican into a reasonable debater. The figure that approached asked for his wallet which he quickly overturned, but in the pit of his stomach, the depth of his being, something swelled in Tungus. He had to let it out, it urged to be released, and so, in a moment of lapsing judgment, Tungus Fuge sneezed directly into the face of evil.
The reprocucions of such a courageous act were enormous. It is possible, dear reader, that this figure was infected with a horribly contagious virus that would spread throughout the entire criminal underworld, killing the immoral and leaving the rest of society with a chance to live a normal life without fear. It is possible, dear reader, that this one biological necessity changed the world for the better. But that, my friends, is a story for another evening. Perhaps for now, I will just tell you that Tungus offered his best hanky to the snot splattered criminal, because that was the polite thing to do.
Articulations of the Persons Behind Door to Door
It’s the 14th of December
I hope you remember,
that we music students are poor.
I knock on your door.
Please let me in,
I am your dear Fruit and Cheese Salesman.
I see that you have a dog,
a small yappy dog,
but I am not deterred.
Although a large friendly puppy is preferred,
I do not judge.
Please let me in,
the words of the poor fruit and cheese salesman.
Your doorbell is busted
your doorknocker is rusted,
but determined I am
to sell you this candy, cheese and ham.
My hand hurts from knocking
I hear you in there talking.
Please let me in,
I am the persistent Fruit and Cheese Salesman.
Now I see that I’ve finally got your attention
Your puzzled, annoyed, and looking for redemption.
With a crook in your hip
You just can’t get a grip
on why you’ve been bothered this day.
I’ve interrupted your soap.
You’re really not interested.
Why am I bothering you?
Why is this neighborhood salesman infested?
Why are we people always asking for money?
I’m really not too bright, am I honey?
I smile politely,
and try to take it lightly,
as you tell me to take you off the list.
Next year I’ll tell some freshman sap
that you bought nearly two hundred dollars of merchandise.
Then they’ll come to your door
and beg for some more
generosity, you obviously don’t have.
I’ll annoy you again,
just because I can.
The revenge of the Fruit and Cheese Salesmen.
I hope you remember,
that we music students are poor.
I knock on your door.
Please let me in,
I am your dear Fruit and Cheese Salesman.
I see that you have a dog,
a small yappy dog,
but I am not deterred.
Although a large friendly puppy is preferred,
I do not judge.
Please let me in,
the words of the poor fruit and cheese salesman.
Your doorbell is busted
your doorknocker is rusted,
but determined I am
to sell you this candy, cheese and ham.
My hand hurts from knocking
I hear you in there talking.
Please let me in,
I am the persistent Fruit and Cheese Salesman.
Now I see that I’ve finally got your attention
Your puzzled, annoyed, and looking for redemption.
With a crook in your hip
You just can’t get a grip
on why you’ve been bothered this day.
I’ve interrupted your soap.
You’re really not interested.
Why am I bothering you?
Why is this neighborhood salesman infested?
Why are we people always asking for money?
I’m really not too bright, am I honey?
I smile politely,
and try to take it lightly,
as you tell me to take you off the list.
Next year I’ll tell some freshman sap
that you bought nearly two hundred dollars of merchandise.
Then they’ll come to your door
and beg for some more
generosity, you obviously don’t have.
I’ll annoy you again,
just because I can.
The revenge of the Fruit and Cheese Salesmen.
Post-Birthday Concerns
I’d like to believe that, as I grow older, the years will treat me and my gigantic forehead kindly and I won't have forehead wrinkles. But I think the unpleasant drooping is inevitable. The truth is that I raise my eyebrows too much. Whether it is in surprise, condescension, or excitement, I always catch those bushy brows waggling. I say I don’t want wrinkles, but heck, I’ll be lucky if my skin doesn’t stretch out so much from years of eyebrow dancing that I have to hold it up in order to see. I’ll look like one of those Scottish sheep dogs with the hair over their eyes or a very unfortunate prehistoric woman. Maybe fashion will have evolved eough by then that drooping over eye baggage will be in style. But I doubt it. So I will just have to stop. I’ll stop being surprised, condescending, and excited all together. In the name of beauty, I’ll do it! If Joan Rivers can cease to have the expression of human emotion then so can I. I’ll be harder to read than the third base coach and more motionless than an overweight person stuck in the window seat of an airplane. Then, at least, I will have some control over the destiny of my upper facial region.
Type of Person who Comments
I knew a man who knew all too well,how to judge another. As though
this man knew more than others
who deserved a drop of life.
I knew a man wise in his folly
who made countless lists of
nameless names like a Saint
he wrote in ink black and he
wrote in white the deserving-est
of them all he was.
I knew a man who counted
his deservings and his nots.
He thought, “I am christian
for I think in Godly ways
about my dear Adams and
and my poor darling Eves,
and the serpents of man
who have tricks up their sleeves.
Their picture’s aside from my
handsome hand,
their difficulty is my reflection.”
I knew a man whose inquiring
eye looked no further than
the pages of the book he wrote
for himself.
“I read, therefore I am, what
no other man is. I see what
others can not. I breathe
when others do not and
from this book
I drink down my fill.
A spill I will not let it lie
for another man to drink up
the knowledge of who should live and die.”
The Kings and the Cobbler
Craig: I’m Neo, King of the rock!Reddy: I’m sure you are. Why don’t you come down… Neo.
Craig: Neo ain’t never coming down, the King of the Rock.
Reddy: What is this “Neo” buisness, Craig? You’d best be on your way home, I heard your wife’s in a bit of a tiffy. You’ve been gone for ten hours.
Craig: Time shmime. I’m Neo, now, leada of the orthodoxy.
Reddy: Neaderthal is more like it. Come down from there.
Craig: I wheel not.
Reddy: Oh come onn. Marlene made peach cobbler. Isn’t that your favorite?
Craig: Not interested.
Reddy: Craig don’t make me come up there.
Craig: You wheel not!
Reddy: Oh yes, I WHEEL too!
Craig: Well you best not.
Reddy: And why is that?
Craig: ‘Cause I know what’ll happen if’in you do. I have a superior intellect.
Reddy: Is that so?
Craig: You bet. I been standing on this rock fer…
Reddy: Ten hours?
Craig: Nine hours, forty-eight minutes and thirty-six seconds. Although I coulda lost count on account of your nincompoopery.
Reddy: Good lord, Craig. Get down from there! You shouldn’t be standing that long with that knee of yours anyhow.
Craig: Yes, he is. He is.
Reddy: What? Who is?
Craig: The Lord. The Lord is good. Yes sir. I’ve been standing here on this rock just listening to him talk.
Reddy: That’s a very long conversation. What’d you talk about?
Craig: Oh, I wasn’t doing no taking. Haven’t you ‘eard of the tran-zee-hence of Gawd? Why I wouldn’t even know who I was talking to, let alone what to say. So I just figured I’d stand here an’ listen. You know. Being real tran-zee-hent receptive.
Reddy: pause Well?
Craig: Wheel what?
Reddy: What did he say? Did he reveal some grand piece of his master plan? The outcome of the next Bot chi Ball Tournament? Oh, I suppose he told you the secret recipe to Aunt Bethany’s Peach Cobbler.
Craig: No.
Reddy: Well then what did he say? (pause) You don’t suppose he remembers that time when you shaved Mrs. Gregory’s cat, do you?
Craig: I don’t appreciate hows up in the air your nose is getting, Reddy. I hope you snort up a locust.
Reddy: Then by the grace of God, let it be so!
Craig: Don’t go temptin’ the almighty, Red.
Reddy: Do tell me when you became endowed with such wisdom.
Craig: Like I was tellin’ ya.
Reddy: Right that metal plate in your head started picking up radio stations again. Was the Skeleton show a real hoot this afternoon?
Craig: Oh no, you don’t. It wasn’t no radio, Reddy. I heard ‘im and he went and tol’ me some valuable infrom-ation.
Reddy: Please tell me it wasn’t about your system. Listen, Craig, there isn’t any God, on this Rock or otherwise that is ever going to break you even at the tracks. Your up to your neck in debt already!
Craig: It’s a de-layed payment system. That’s how they work!
Reddy: So which horse will it be this time? Thirtyfive to one odds, the one with a name like “Screwball”? Or you could bet on the one with the blind jockey like you did last time.
Craig: You coulda tol’ me he was before the race started!
Reddy: I thought you would have figured it out when he walked out there with sunglasses and a cane.
Craig: He dunnot have a cane, you, you... sighs when he doesn’t find the right word dusint matter.
Reddy: Your right. Never needed that fifty dollars anyways. So he didn’t say anything about the races?
Craig: No, no. He wasn’t going on ‘bout anything like that.
Reddy: You should probably repent then, Craig.
Craig: That’s what I came down here for, some peace an’ quiet, then he talked a bit.
Reddy: So?
Craig:Sew.
Reddy: So? What?
Craig: I don’t know. Buttons, breeches, anything you want, ask Marlene.
Reddy: What happened next, you ignoramus.
Craig: Who’s callin’ who an ignormous?
Reddy: Come down from there while you’re only a buffoon and not a full blown numskull.
Craig: You come up here, ya patsy so I can show you what a numb skull feels like.
Reddy: You will not. he climbs up on the rock
Craig: Wheel too.
Reddy: WHEEL not!
Craig: I tell ya I wheel.
Reddy: You tell everybody that.
Craig: Take another step I dare ya. I’ll wallop ya good.
Reddy: quickly hits him in the knee, Craig stumbles and is caught at the edge of the rock by Reddy who takes a elbow to the mouth
Craig: You alright.
Reddy: Oh hell, you got me right in the kisser.
Craig: Serves you right.
Reddy: What for having more teeth than you?
Craig: I fixed that didn’t I?
Reddy: I just saved your live. Many people would be grateful.
Craig: I might have been if ya didn’t try to kill me first!
Reddy: So what.
Craig: I don’t know, blankets, hankies, panty hose, damn it all, who cares about sewing!
Reddy: Don’t start this again.
Craig: I was just saying.
Reddy: Yeah well. Stop just saying.
(long pause)
Why didn’t you come to breakfast?
Craig: Was out for a walk this mornin’. Sortin’ out my brain tidbits, you know.
Reddy:Yeah.
Craig: Then I got lost. Sat down on this rock when I got tired and I been conversin’ with the almighty ever since.
Reddy: What’d he say?
Craig: (pause) Lets get on home, Reddy, I’m starved.
Reddy: Now just wait a minute. What’d he say?
Craig: Ain’t important. Let’s go get some of that cobbler you was talkin’ about.
Reddy: I don’t want any. It’s probably cold by now.
Craig: Not if...
Reddy: What?
Craig: You know you’d expect something fantastic stuff to happen. Talkin’ to God you’d expect, clouds of smoke, bright lights and all, but... We was just talking about Marlee an’ the kid an’ crazy Uncle Herald an’ he just mentioned the rock...
Reddy: What about it?
Craig: Oh I don’t know. He said that this was a real nice spot, here on this rock, you know time really stood still for a while here, the trees stopped swayin’, birds went quiet and he said it was a shame that when I go an’ get off it, time’s gonna just fly by.
Reddy: Well, it does that anyway, doesn’t it? Sometimes I forget it isn’t suiting for me to ditch work and go jump in mudpuddles.
Craig: What’s suitin’ didn’t stop you from ripping a hole in those drawers.
Reddy: jumping up? What? Where?
Craig: Blink of an eye, he said. And kids’ll be all grown up, blink of an eye an’ you’ll be a old man, two blinks after that an’ you’ll see me again.
Reddy: How long have you been sitting on this rock, Craig?
Craig: churtling Heel if I know. I lost count after the first month.
Reddy: Lot of good you are, old friend.
Craig: So?
Reddy: Blouses and Camisoles.
pause while Craig struggles to comprehend this
Nevermind, friend, do you suppose the Cobbler is still warm?
Craig: Oh, I recon.
Reddy: Shall we? stands up
Craig: Yep. It’s getting about that time. stiffly attempts to stand up with Reddy’s help
Man this knee is sore.
Reddy: Sorry.
Craig: You will be, just as soon as I...
he stops when his foot hits the ground
Oh.
Reddy: What?
Craig: Nothing.
Reddy: Okay.
Craig: Nothing just happen’, right. You was the witness, right. Nothing just ‘appened.
Reddy: No, Craig, nothing happened.
Craig: Do I look older to you?
Reddy: Same to me.
Craig: Oh. (pause) That’s good.
Yeah.
Let’s go.
Exit.
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