Dracul Van Helsing

Mr. Philos de Mammon was an investment banker on 
Wall Street.

The last few weeks on Wall Street had been catastrophic.

Lehman Brothers had failed. Merrill Lynch had been absorbed by the
Bank of America. It was still doubtful whether the House of Representatives
would pass U.S. Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson’s $700 billion 
bail-out bill. Although the U.S. Senate had just done so.

Philos de Mammon was eating lunch on the top floor cafeteria of
the building where he worked.

He had forgotten his cell phone in his office on the 21st floor-
a fact for which he cursed himself.

As Philos de Mammon sat there eating the last of his submarine
sandwich, he noticed a bunch of people who usually spent
their lunches yacking on their cell phones were busy 
jumping out the window.

“Fools,” Philos de Mammon thought to himself.

By breaking the glass after jumping straight through the window,
all these fools were letting quite a draft in at this altitude.

When Philos de Mammon walked over to empty his garbage, he 
took a quick look out the huge broken window from which several
hundred people had jumped during the course of the noon hour.

He looked down.

A whole bunch of people were jumping out the windows
from lower floors as well.

God, no wonder it felt chilly in here, Mammon thought to
himself.

Philos de Mammon took the empty elevator down to
the 21st floor where he worked.

As he got off the elevator, the office was deadly quiet.

No chitter chatter about last night’s Dancing With The Stars
performance on TV or some secretary whispering to a colleague
that she had failed her pregnancy test.

Just the occasional loud-piercing scream before some poor falling
snook hit the pavement on Wall Street below.

Philos de Mammon picked up his cell phone.

He had gotten over 36,000 text messages over the course

of the noon hour but after going through the first 10, he
deduced that they would all probably pretty much say the same 
thing.

Apparently the Dow Jones had dropped 10,000 points-
a record in history.

This was worse than the bust that started the Great Depression of
the 1930s.

“It’s 1929 all over again,” Philos de Mammon thought to himself.

He looked out the window. Coincidentally, exactly 1,929 people were 
passing his floor at that moment when he looked out as they were
on their way down to the street below.

Fortunately for Philos de Mammon, he had wisely invested all of
his money in a private Swiss bank account.

So unless the Large Hadron Collidor (LHC) had wiped out all his
money in that bank (as well as his 10-year supply of Swiss cheese
that he had hoarded in the Swiss Alps), he should be okay.

Well no need to work for the rest of the day, he thought.
As his company had probably just gone bankrupt anyway.

Philos de Mammon took the elevator down to the street.

He walked out the front door of the office building
for the last time.

Good thing that he had brought his umbrella today
he thought as he opened it up and walked and whistled
his way down the street.

The umbrella protected him from falling bodies as he 
walked.

 To Live By The Sword

It was a spring evening in 1912.

And Doctor Paul Lindley professor emeritus of Medieval History
at Uriel College, Oxford was examining a sword.

“Congratulations, Professor Quigley,” Doctor Lindley smiled
at the younger man, “this gold sword from the Celtic inscriptions
on it is indeed King Arthur’s sword Excalibur. Through this find,
you have proven that a man shrouded in mist and myth really did
exist. And so did his famous sword.”

“I was right to dig around the remnants of that ancient lakebed near
Glastonbury Tor,” Professor Quigley smiled back, “I thought it was the
lakebed which when a lake had the mystical Isle of Avalon on it. And so
the sword Excalibur was there. I shall make a great deal of money from
this find.”

“Money,” Doctor Lindley coughed, “but this sword is an important part
of Britain’s heritage. It must be given to the British Museum.”

“Nonsense,” Professor Quigley glared at the older man angrily, “I already
have an American millionaire in New York lined up to buy it. He’s to pay me
one million dollars for it.”

“I’m going to report this to the Antiquities Authority,” Doctor Lindley pointed
his finger at the younger man, “we do have laws in this country about plundering
important historical artifacts and selling them for profit.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Professor Quigley grabbed the sword
and thrust it through the older man’s breast piercing his heart and killing
him.

Professor Quigley wiped the blood off the sword and put it in his suitcase.
His boat to New York would leave tomorrow.

The next morning consternation could be heard throughout the
college rooms when Doctor Lindley’s body was found.

But Professor Quigley was already at the British Customs desk in Southampton.

“Open your suitcase,” the Customs officer instructed.

Professor Quigley felt faint.

“Joe, a woman has fainted,” another customs officer called out, “could
you lend a hand?”.

“All right, go ahead,” the customs officer waved Quigley aboard.

With his suitcase containing the sword Excalibur locked safely away in his
cabin, Professor Quigley breathed deeply the salt air as the ship left shore.

Yes, he Professor Ichabod Quigley had an appointment with destiny…

… the professor was still smiling as he walked beside a life jacket
emblazoned with the ship’s name…

… R.M.S. Titanic…

The End.

 Casting Pebbles In A Stream

A Short Story Written By Dracul Van Helsing June 26th, 2007

The boy threw the pebble into the stream.

“Look grandpa, look!” the boy shouted, “how when I cast that
pebble into the stream, it made ripples that reached the distant 
shore!”.

“That’s right,” his grandfather smiled, “sometimes when we cast pebbles 
into the stream of life, we never know where they might end up!”.

What a bunch of crap! the boy now a man thought to himself as he
sipped his coffee in a Parisienne cafe.

The man had become an artist. An artist in Paris which had
long been his dream.

But was his dream to starve as well? He certainly didn’t make much 
money for his sketches and paintings.

It was August 1938. And there was some talk of war in Europe.

That was all he needed the embittered artist thought.

He lived in a broken down rat infested apartment.

All he could afford was bread and cheese.

And now all he needed was tanks roaming through the streets of Paris.

He James Potter the farm boy from Missouri was now an artist in Paris.

Was this really his childhood dream?

He thought as his stomach growled from hunger.

He went to his usual stretch along the River Seine. And sketched a sketch.

He then added watercolour to the sketch.

A couple from Prague were on their honeymoon in Paris.

Jake and Adela Epstein were intrigued with the young artist and 
bought the sketch of the River Seine that he had just sketched
and watercoloured.

Happy in love, they shared their joy with the young artist by paying him
10 times the usual fee he received for one of his sketches.

When Jake and Adela returned to their hotel room, 
Jake said, “I think I’ll have a bath.”

Adela said, “I think I’ll go to that boutique in the lobby
and see what they have!”.

“You mean you’ll buy what they have!” her husband winked at
her.

“You know you love the dresses I wear!” Adela winked back at him.

“That’s very true,” Jake had to admit.

And with that, the beautiful young brunette grabbed her purse
and already wearing one of her favourite dresses, a beautiful rose coloured
dress, she skipped out of the hotel room.

She returned an hour later.

“What? No new dress?” Her husband teased.

“I thought I’d save it to buy champagne,” Adela laughed.

Jake looked into Adela’s beautiful dark eyes, kissed her and said,
“I’m the one buying the champagne! I have a lot to celebrate.
What other man is so blessed that he actually gets to marry the
love of his life?”

When they returned to the hotel after having an exquisite and delightful
dinner (with champagne), there was a message waiting for Jake.

His mother had taken seriously ill in Prague.

They would have to leave immediately.

“I hope this isn’t too disappointing for you,” Jake addressed his wife.

“No, I understand,” Adela smiled.

Jake looked into her eyes. He saw that she did indeed understand
but he couldn’t help noticing an extreme look of disappointment as well.

June, 2007.

Eli Epstein was driving his grandfather Jacob around New York City.

He had picked his grandfather up at the cancer clinic and took him 
for his daily drive.

Eli was glad to do this. For he knew that Jacob didn’t have long to live.

And he knew his grandfather had had a hard life.

His homeland had been invaded.

He had been deported to the concentration camp at Auschwitz where his
first wife had died.

Grandpa didn’t talk much about his first wife.

Grandma had told Eli before she died that she loved Jacob
and she knew that Jacob loved her. Jacob Epstein was a good and
kind and decent man.

But she knew that Jacob still carried around deep within him and
deep within his heart the memory of his first wife.

Eli parked the car and took his grandfather for a stroll along the avenue
in this shopping district of pawn shops and second hand stores.

“You know I don’t have a photograph of her,” Jacob remarked, 
“all the photos of her were destroyed when our apartment in Prague 
was ransacked. All these years without her and 
not one photograph.”

Eli knew his grandfather was talking about his first wife.

“I just wish I could see a picture of her,” tears formed in the old man’s eyes,
 ”so that I knew my memory wasn’t playing tricks on me 
as I recall what she looked like.”

As they turned the corner, Jacob Epstein let out a loud cry.

He pointed excitedly at a painting in the window of a small antique store.

“That’s her! That’s her!” Jacob cried, “that’s Adela.”

It was a painting of a beautiful dark haired young woman with exquisitely
lovely dark and penetrating eyes. She was wearing a beautiful and lovely
rose coloured dress and smiling the most radiant smile.

They entered the store and asked to examine the painting.

The artist’s signature on the painting read James Potter 1938.

On the back of the painting was this inscription,

Painted by myself James Potter on August 15th, 1938.

It was meant to be a honeymoon gift from a young bride
Adela Epstein for her husband Jacob.

Mrs. Epstein paid me ahead of  time more than the usual fees I
receive for such a painting. 

For some reason,  Mrs. Epstein never showed up to collect it.

signed,
James Potter

They payed $10 for the painting from the shopkeeper.

Although Jacob Epstein would have gladly payed anything.

The nurses told Eli a week later that his grandfather was looking at
the painting on his bedside and smiling that morning he died.

Sometimes when we cast pebbles into the stream of life,
we never know where they might end up.

It was autumn in Tokyo, Japan.

a cool chilly autumn day in Tokyo, Japan…

… and Aya Mazumi was wearing a spring dress…

albeit accompanied by a brown overcoat, a colourful scarf and knee-high boots.

Why was Aya Mazumi wearing a spring dress on a cool chilly autumn day?

Because it was the dress she was wearing when her fiance Yasuhiro Fujimoto first proposed to her…

when he first proposed to her on these very steps…

… on which she was now sitting…

… earlier this year…

… in the spring…

It had been a golden spring morning when Yasuhiro had come knocking on her apartment door…

What?” she asked as she stood there in her nightrobe and rubbed her sleepy eyes.

“Come with me,” he smiled at her.

“But it’s 6 AM,” she protested.

“I know the birds are up happily chirping… and the flowers are opening their petals to greet the sun… not many people around,” he smiled, “it’s the best time of day.”

“Give me a minute,” Aya closed the door.

For some reason Aya felt she should put on her new spring dress that she had just bought.

She didn’t know why.

She just felt that she should do so.

“You look lovely,” Yasuhiro gazed at her in admiration as she opened the door.

They walked through the park and chatted happily as the birds sang and the gentle morning breeze brushed their faces.

They walked down the park steps towards the neighbourhood’s main avenue…

… when Yasuhiro spoke, “Let’s sit on these steps for a moment.”

Aya adjusted her dress and sat down.

And Yasuhiro sat down beside her.

He reached into the pocket of his spring jacket and pulled out a small box.

Aya gasped when she saw it.

She felt she knew what was in the box.

Yasuhiro went down a couple of steps and got down on one knee…

… and opened the box…

… containing a sparkling shiny diamond ring…

that gleamed luminously in the spring morning sun…

… and seemed to send off little gleaming glittering rings of light…

… up and down the steps…

… and into the sidewalk and the street below.

“Aya,” Yasuhiro held out the ring, “my darling, my life, my love, will you marry me?”.

And she answered yes.

They embraced.

They kissed.

Such sweet embraces.

Such sweet kisses.

Aya as she sat on the steps looked at her hands and her fingers and her fingernails (now none of her fingers wore a ring) and smiled to herself as she recalled those sweet kisses. And sweet embraces.

They had walked further down the street alongside the elegant wall below the neighbourhood park.

When suddenly Yasuhiro stopped…

“As you know,” Yasuhiro spoke, “the government is deploying some Japanese peacekeepers to Afghanistan. I’ve been selected to be one of them. Nothing dangerous. With my engineering and construction background, I’ve been hired to build a new school for a village that has none. I’ll be gone 6 months I’m afraid.”

After a minute’s silence, Aya spoke, “I guess that gives me 6 months to plan the wedding. At least I’ll have you out of my hair while I’m doing that.”  She laughed as Yasuhiro gently brushed back her hair.

“Indeed,” Yasuhiro smiled.

Aya radiantly smiled back.

“Aya,” Yasuhiro was silent for a moment and then spoke again, “I want you to have something else. My grandfather’s gold watch that he gave me. It’s my most prized possession. I want you to have it.”

“What do you mean?” Aya pushed the watch back into Yasuhiro’s hand, “you’re coming back. No need for me to have the watch.”

“Of course I’m coming back dearest,” Yasuhiro patted her hand, “I just want you to keep the watch for safekeeping. You can give it back to me when I return.”

“No,” Aya’s eyes flashed anger, “you keep the watch. You can give it to me to hold on our wedding day… after you’ve safely come back.”

Captain Yasuhiro Fujimoto had only been deployed in Afghanistan for 3 days when his convoy had been hit by a Taliban suicide bomber.

There apparently wasn’t much left of him.

And no watch.

She should have taken his watch she now thought to herself.

His ring she kept on the mantelpiece in the living room of her apartment.

She could have kept his watch there as well.

His watch. Time. Eternity.

Time and eternity would have become one with his watch alongside his ring on the mantelpiece.

And now on these cold autumn evenings, she sat alone on the sofa.

And now on these cold autumn evenings, she sipped hot cocoa alone.

Somehow as she walked through the park and alongside the elegant wall which enclosed the park, she could not help but smile and feel happy.

As if her Yasuhiro was walking along beside her.

And somehow she felt her Yasuhiro was indeed walking along beside her.

She stopped on the sidewalk in front of the steps…

… as she noticed something on the ground…

… she knelt down and picked it up…

… Yasuhiro’s watch…

… As she held it in her hand…

… sparkling luminous glittering gleaming rings of light danced down the steps…

… as they had on that spring day not so long ago when Aya held up her engagement ring and the rings of light had reflected off the diamond in the morning sun…

… it was true what they say…

… there’s nothing more powerful in the universe than love…

… and love has a way of performing its own magic even when it seems the distance between two hearts…

feels like the distance between time and eternity…

                        THE END.

Someone once asked me where I get the inspiration for writing my short stories.

Well I get it from various sources.

My short story that I wrote tonight and posted above was inspired by one of my favourite music videos…

… a Japanese music video…

featuring one of my favourite singers…

Aya Matsuura singing an incredibly beautiful and lovely song…

… accompanied by an incredibly beautiful and lovely melody…

… the name of the song is Namida.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flt3WEIdHuc

Please watch it as I think by watching the video (remember to put the sound on), you can see and hear for yourself the source of my inspiration. I cannot really understand the words but from the tune and the tone of the melody, I have imagined in my mind what the words are trying to convey. And I have come up with the above story.