The Train Ride

June 15, 2022 at 9:48 pm (Short Story)

Charles kissed Rose good-bye as he set out on the train for his job interview in London

As he went to find his compartment aboard the train, he noticed an individual standing and bending over through the door of a compartment.

The individual had, attached to the seat of his pants, a sign that read KICK ME. I’M AN OBNOXIOUS TWIT.

As people went by, they kicked him in the seat of the pants.

The individual then reached into his suitcase where he pulled out a dictionary or a thesaurus and then swore at the people who kicked him using various words that were obscure synonyms for the traditional cuss words.

Charles felt sorry for the individual so he went over and ripped the sign off the seat of his pants and threw it out the window.

It turned out Charles was sharing the train compartment with the same man.

Charles entered.

The man whose name was Ben Memfis spent 4 hours re-arranging the furniture in the compartment to his liking.

When Memfis had finished, Charles was relieved at being able to sit down.

Memfis asked Charles why he was taking the train to London when he could have easily taken a bus, a car, a boat, a bicycle, a horse and wagon or even rented a small biplane such as a Sopwith Camel.

Charles said he enjoyed train travel.

Memfis snarled that he found train travel boring.

Charles then asked Memfis why he was taking the train.

Memfis growled and then flipped through the pages of his Dictionary and Thesaurus where he gave a long winded ostentatious multi-syllabic multi-phonetic answer in response.

Charles woke up again when the man had finally finished.

“What was the idea of falling asleep while I was talking?” Memfis barked, “Are you practicing some sort of adolescent juvenile locker room humour?”.

“No,” Charles shook his head, “It just happens that you’re an extrmely boring individual.”

“Boring?” Memfis almost did an impersonation of Joe Biden in his underwear, “So the honeymoon is over?”.

“Actually Rose and I aren’t on a honeymoon yet,” Charles explained.

“Rose?” Memfis raised one of his singed eyebrows, “Why not a violet or a chrysanthemum?”.

“Rose is the name of the woman I kissed through the train window as the train was leaving the station,” Charles explained, “She’s my fiancee.”

“You kissed a woman?” Memfis’ often fractured jaw dropped.

He decided not to ask Charles what it was like.

“Why are you headed to London?” Memfis asked Charles.

Charles said it was for a job interview.

Memfis started firing off questions.

Why that job?

Why didn’t he apply for a different job?

Memfis pulled out an Encyclopedia of Trades, Skills, Professions and Occupations from his suitcase and started rattling off to Charles all the jobs he could and should apply for.

“What do you do?” Charles inquired of Memfis.

“I’m a Creative Writing Instructor,” Memfis growled, “I often have dreams in my sleep at night where I often tell William Shakespeare, Victor Hugo, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Emily Bronte and Fyodor Dostoevsky how they should write their stories but none of them listen to me.”

“That would explain why they became the giants of literature that they did,” Charles noted.

“Is this more juvenile adolescent locker room humour?” Memfis snarled.

Just then a man wearing a large Crucifix entered the train compartment, “So it’s Ben Memfis one of the world’s greatest psychic vampires sucking and feeding off the creative energy of others?”.

“Is this a pop culture mis-attribution?” Memfis started pulling his pants down.

The man with the Crucifix pushed Memfis out the train window just as the train was crossing a very tall railway bridge.

Memfis fell screaming to his death.

Ironically Memfis fell on top of pitchforks being wielded by Finnish trolls at the bottom of the bridge who were doing the famous Finnish troll pitchfork dance.

“How did Finnish trolls get to England?” Were Memfis’ last words and actions as he flipped through the pages of a Geography book before he died.

Memfis the troll was finished.

-A short story
written by Christopher
Wednesday June 15th
2022.

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The Reflection In The Glass

June 13, 2022 at 9:44 pm (Short Story)

“What do you see?” The man asked the gypsy.
“That my glass is half empty,” the gypsy answered,
“Although my shadow self sees the glass as half full.”
“No need to worry,” the man laughed,
“My glass is totally empty.
Both up and down.
I guess I’ve looked at a glass from both sides now.”
“Yes,” the gypsy looked up and smiled, “You’ve drank all the poison.”
“Poison?” The man gulped.
He fell face forward.
Quite dead.
Both up and down.
Both sides now.

-A short short story
written by Christopher
Monday June 13th
2022.

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Don Quixote’s Roman Holiday

June 12, 2022 at 10:32 pm (Short Story) (, , , , , , )

The self-proclaimed knight-errant Don Quixote of La Mancha Spain decided to go on pilgrimage to Rome.

So he set out wearing his old wrecked armour and helmet and bent spear and broken sword on his old broken down and decrepit horse Rocinante and set out for Rome.

When in Rome, he set out to Saint Peter’s Basilica to view that sculpture known as the Pieta.

While approaching the basilica, a dwarf came up to Quixote and asked, “Which of these two men do you choose to be?”.

Quixote looked around.

He saw no one in the immediate vicinity.

Which two men was the dwarf talking about?

He looked down.

The dwarf had gone.

Vanished.

Quixote entered the chapel where he saw the Pieta.

The old knight stood in awe for over an hour in front of the statue.

He soon found himself joined by two men.

“How was this statue created?” Quixote asked the two men.

“Well,” the first man coughed, “This sculpture was originally just a rock. But after eons and eons of erosion caused by wind, rain, intense heat, intense cold and other natural factors it came to resemble the shape it is today.”

“I on the other hand,” the second man explained, “have heard that this sculpture was created by a man named Michelangelo Buonarroti. I choose to believe that Michelangelo Buonarroti created this sculpture.”

The words of the dwarf came back to him, “Which of these two men do you choose to be?”.

Don Quixote rode on the road from Rome back to Spain.

He looked around and saw how beautiful the world was.

The woodlands, the green grass, the multicoloured varieties of trees and their leaves and the beautiful crystal flowing streams.

He stopped when he saw a couple of children crying.

“Children, why do you cry?” He asked.

“Our mom sent us to find wood,” the girl and eldest of the pair answered, “We found the wood but we know not where to cross the stream again to get back to our home.”

“Climb aboard the noble Rocinante,” Quixote pointed to his old decrepit horse, “and hang on to me. And we’ll carry you across the stream.”

The children climbed on to the decrepit old horse and hung on to the old self-proclaimed knight in his old wrecked armour with his broken sword and bent spear.

When the horse emerged on the other side of the stream after having carried the children across the stream, it had turned into a noble and vibrant black steed and Don Quixote saw his armour turn into gold and his broken sword turned into a sword of pure and mighty gold.

If this world had a Creator and saw this scene, He’d have worked the miracle that unfolded.

If all that existed beyond this realm of things was a Void, it would not have cared, would have neither felt empathy or contempt, would not have felt love or hate.

It would not have felt anything.

For it was not alive, it did not have a personality, it did not even exist and it was definitely not Love.

-A short story written by Christopher
Sunday June 12th 2022

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Mariposa Noir

May 25, 2022 at 8:43 pm (Gothic, Horror, Short Story, Sorcery, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, )

The witch Mariposa Noir with her imp Iago in the background

Mariposa Noir had decided that she was going to behead her arch enemy the Sherrif of Tottingham with an axe.

Lord Malcolm Bellamy the Sherrif of Tottingham had burnt too many of her coven sisters at the stake.

She was always having to recruit new women to make the coven number stand at 13.

But Lord Bellamy always managed to subtract the number by raiding their midnight ceremonies and capturing her sisters and then burning them at the stake.

Most of her coven sisters weren’t as advanced in witchcraft as she was.

So they weren’t able to quickly turn themselves into ravens like she was and fly away.

Instead they were captured by Lord Bellamy’s men.

Then tried, found guilty and burnt at the stake.

“This Lord Bellamy shall pay,” Mariposa Noir stated as she picked up the axe, “he shall pay with his head.”

Her imp Iago found this statement so utterly funny for some reason that he started laughing his head off (quite literally).

“Oh, Iago,” Mariposa kicked the head out the door of the inn where they were staying and put his body in the garbage can.

Mariposa went upstairs to her room to work out the final details of her plan to ensnare and behead Lord Malcolm Bellamy the Sheriff of Tottingham.

In the meantime Iago’s head outside the inn was eaten by a brown bear who came out of the woods and his body in the garbage can was taken out and burnt along with the rest of the garbage.

So that was the end of Iago.

Mariposa Noir had one advantage when it came to ensnaring the Sheriff of Tottingham.

The Sheriff did not know what she looked like for she was able to turn herself into a raven quite quickly when Tottingham’s men arrived on the scene of her coven’s midnight ritual.

And Mariposa Noir was a beautiful woman.

. . .

Lord Malcolm Bellamy was enjoying his glass of ale when he arrived at the inn.

He instructed the innkeeper to carve himself a large piece of roast wild boar off the spit in the fireplace.

Food and drink, the Sheriff of Tottingham smiled, all that was needed to complete his evening was a beautiful woman…

The cup Bellamy had in his hands about to touch his lips froze when he saw the vision of Mariposa Noir descending the stairs.

“Oh, my God,” the Sheriff exclaimed.

“Good evening, your Lordship,” Mariposa approached.

“You’ve heard of me?” Tottingham was pleased.

“You’ve rid the county of so many witches,” Mariposa answered, “Who hasn’t heard of you?”.

The Sheriff had to agree.

“I’m afraid not much can be done with your axe whose head broke earlier this evening,” the innkeeper said as he walked through the door, “The blacksmith says you’ll probably need a new axe.”

“Very well,” Mariposa shrugged.

“What did you need an axe for?” Tottingham asked.

“To cut off the heads of some chickens,” Mariposa replied.

“That is a useful purpose for an axe,” Tottingham crowed as he nodded his head.

“Perhaps you’d care to lay your head against my bosom,” Mariposa suggested.

“An excellent idea,” Lord Malcolm Bellamy did just that, “My, what long red painted fingernails you have.”

“The better to rip your head off, my dear,” Mariposa smiled as she did just that.

-A short story written by Christopher
Wednesday May 25th 2022.

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The Lounge Singer

May 2, 2022 at 9:58 pm (Detective story, Film, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, Short Story) (, , , , , , )

Cantolina Aguirre the lounge singer

It was May 1949.

And Carson Cody Albion was sitting in a high class cocktail lounge in Los Angeles.

The name of the lounge was The Purple Canary.

Albion wasn’t sure whether there was such a thing as a purple canary.

He thought most canaries were yellow.

But then again up until 1697, most Europeans thought all swans were white.

Then came 1697.

And Dutch explorer Willem de Vlamingh discovered black swans in Australia.

So maybe there are purple canaries.

Perhaps someday one will be found on the moon.

What made him think of the moon just now?

His eyes and ears returned to the singer and the song.

Cantolina Aguirre was singing the song Blue Moon.

When the song was over, Cantolina Aguirre came and sat at Albion’s table.

“Nice of you to sit here,” Albion smiled.

“I’m your contact,” Cantolina explained.

“Contact?” Albion looked puzzled.

“Didn’t Soong Mei-ling hire you to escort weapons from the Aladdin Tea Company Warehouse to the ship Blue Tiger down at the docks?” Cantolina inquired.

Soong Mei-ling was Madame Chiang Kai-shek the First Lady of the Republic of China.

She was the wife of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek the President of China.

The Kuomintang Chinese Nationalist government was currently in trouble and there was the possibility that China could fall to Mao Tse-tung’s Communists.

Concerned people across the U.S. were sending arms to Chiang’s government worried that the U.S. government wasn’t doing enough.

“She did,” Carson nodded, “but I was expecting my contact to be Chinese.”

“I was born in Shanghai,” Cantolina answered, “My father worked at the Spanish Consulate in the city.”

“Wow, don’t I have egg on my face,” Albion remarked after a waiter accidentally spilled Egg Foo Yung all over him.

Cantolina gave him the passwords he was to use at both the warehouse and the loading docks for the ship Blue Tiger.

Albion stood up to go on his mission.

“I’ll be working here until 2 AM, ” she said as she got up to return to the stage.

“Do you ever make love to any of your contacts?” Albion asked before leaving.

Cantolina grabbed a napkin and wrote on it with her red lipstick.

She then folded the napkin.

“Here’s the answer,” she said as she handed him the folded napkin, “Don’t open it until you walk through that door again.”

Later after Albion had completed the mission, he returned to The Purple Canary and walked through the door.

He opened and unfolded the napkin to read her red lipstick answer to his question.

ONCE IN A BLUE MOON.

Cantolina noticed his entrance and his unfolding of the napkin.

She immediately began singing the song Blue Moon.

-A Carson Cody Albion Short Story
Written by Christopher
Monday May 2nd 2022.

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The Mexican Cantina

December 28, 2021 at 11:05 pm (Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Short Story, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

Rosa the singer inside the Mexican cantina

The year was 1959.

Richard M. Nixon was preparing to succeed Dwight Eisenhower as President the next year.

John F. Kennedy was on the phone to Marilyn Monroe asking if she’d drop by his place on New Year’s Eve and personally sing Auld Lang Syne to him.

Jackie Kennedy was shopping for rolling pins.

And the Greek god Zeus was in the office of Los Angeles Private Eye Carson Cody Albion asking him to locate Ganymede the cup-bearer to the Olympian gods.

Ganymede had apparently gone missing and was rumoured to be working inside a Mexican cantina.

Zeus wanted Albion to find him and bring him back to Olympus.

. . .

“I’m tired of you Olympians always whining about your wine all the time,” was Ganymede’s good-bye note.

Zeus wept.

He enjoyed the immortal youth bringing him wine.

And now he was gone.

He went to his Rolodex and found the business card for Carson Cody Albion.

He then summoned an eagle to fly him to Los Angeles.

The eagle was happy.

It was tired of eating liver all the time.

The titan Prometheus was happy as well.

. . .

In the Mexican cantina called Pedro’s, Rosa was singing up a storm.

When she had finished, she went and stood next to the piano.

Behind her stood the Greek god Ganymede disguised as a statue.

Carson Cody Albion had received a grape rather than an olive in his martini as he watched the show.

The grape contained a fortune cookie saying sized message that read I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK TO OLYMPUS.

It was signed Ganymede.

Albion wrote Zeus a note saying that Ganymede had joined a militia of anti-Castro Cubans being put together by U.S. Vice-President Richard M. Nixon and couldn’t be located.

Cody then went to Rosa’s dressing room and knocked on her door.

Rosa opened the door.

Albion entered.

Rosa closed the door.

In the dining area Ganymede sat wearing an I LIKE IKE button and dark sunglasses and got his palm read by a blind fortune teller.

Mistaking Ganymede for Fidel Castro, the blind fortune teller told him that he’d one day have an idiot son who would become Prime Minister of Canada.

And inside the dressing room, Rosa personally sang Auld Lang Syne to Carson Cody Albion.

-A Carson Cody Albion
Private Eye Short Story
written by Christopher
Tuesday December 28th
2021.

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The Dog Days of August

August 19, 2021 at 10:16 pm (History, Short stories, Short Story) (, , , , , , , , )

It was on this date (August 19th) back in 14 AD that the Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus kicked the bucket (having successfully crossed off Become Ruler of the Known World on his bucket list).

Rumours abounded at the time that he had been poisoned by his wife the Empress Livia.

. . .

“What is this?” Caesar Augustus asked his wife Livia.

“Your favourite,” Livia smiled as she handed him the plate, “Roasted mushrooms.”

“Where are the food tasters?” Augustus looked around.

“I gave them the night off,” Livia poured herself a goblet of wine.

“Gave them the night off?” Augustus’ face turned ashen white (If a Marxist Critical Race Theory professor of Classics and Ancient History had been there, he or she or it (if they belonged to the category of gender confused in the Alphabet Soup community) would have called Caesar Augustus out as the supreme example of white privilege).

Caesar Augustus ate the mushrooms.

“I don’t feel so well,” Caesar Augustus wiped his brow.

“I brought you some nice looking grapes,” Livia put a bowl of delicious looking grapes down in front of Augustus.

“They do look good,” Augustus noted.

He had one.

And another.

And then another…

Until he had finished them all.

“I think I’m dying,” Caesar Augustus stated.

“I’m not surprised,” Livia answered, “I put enough poison in those mushrooms and grapes to kill a horse.”

At that moment a horse neighed loudly from the stables before finally biting the dust.

Both Augustus and horse passed into the midsts of Sheol.

And the dog star Sirius continued on its merry way.

Livia when she was younger before she became Roman Empress and a terrible cook.

-A short story
written by Christopher
Thursday August 19th
2021.

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Shweta’s 6-Word Short Story Challenge Using The Word Drug

July 20, 2021 at 10:42 pm (Short Story)

A drug cured my cough permanently.

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Mirage

June 13, 2021 at 10:36 pm (Fantasy, Science-Fiction, Short Story)

He was wandering lost in the desert.
He had stupidly wandered his way down a trail he wasn’t familiar with and couldn’t find his way back.
His mobile service didn’t seem to work out here and he couldn’t call for help.
His canteen was almost out of water.
Evening was approaching and a day of desert heat would soon be replaced by a night of desert cold.
Then he saw it.
A blue Chevy truck.
Most likely from the 1930s.
In mint condition.

He looked through the window.
The key was in the ignition and it appeared to have a full tank of gas.
He looked around.
And saw absolutely no one.
It seemed the vehicle was a godsend meant for him.
He got in and drove.

Some 80 odd years earlier at that very spot, a notorious bankrobber Sam Scarface Faring had pulled over to the side of the road to relieve himself.

When he turned around to get back into his truck, it had gone.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for Faring, a police vehicle soon pulled up along the road and saved him from dying in the desert.

Instead he faced a life sentence in prison.

A mysterious time/space vortex had helped one man in trouble and sent another man to his just fate.

-A short story written by Christopher
Sunday June 13th 2021.

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An Evening With The Carstairs

June 5, 2021 at 10:32 pm (Humour, Short Story) ()

“Well I suppose this would be an inopportune moment for me to ask the boss for a raise seeing as how you just shot him.”

So said Basil Carstairs to his wife Anne Carstairs.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Anne remarked as she held the gun in her hand, “He was the twenty-first person to come to dinner this year and not ask for a second piece of my apple truffle cake for dessert.”

“It’s a good thing for me I’m allergic to apples,” Basil commented.

“What are we going to do?” Anne asked.

“Well maybe that carpet you’re alway asking me to get rid of,” Basil thought aloud, “I could wrap his body up in the carpet and drive it to the dumpster in front of Nick Diamond’s Discount Carpet Warehouse and throw it in there.”

“An excellent idea,” Anne nodded.

It was a good thing that Basil had recently taken up weightlifting as a body inside a carpet was quite a heavy thing to carry.

When he returned from the avenue on which was located the dumpster in front of Nick Diamond’s Discount Carpet Warehouse, Anne was debating what she should do with the gun.

“Maybe throw it out the window,” Basil suggested.

Just then there was a banging at the apartment door.

“Police,” a voice called from outside the door, “Neighbours said they heard a gunshot coming from this room.”

“Now what?” Anne asked.

“Quick,” Basil went to answer the door, “Throw the gun inside the toaster.”

“The toaster?” Anne was incredulous.

“Yes,” Basil nodded.

Anne threw the gun inside the toaster just as Basil opened the door.

“Good evening, officers,” Basil bowed, “Neighbours are complaining about a gunshot you say.”

“That is correct,” the policeman nodded.

“It must be the wine I opened earlier this evening,” Basil pointed to the bottle in the ice container holder, “The cork gave quite a pop when it was uncorked. Sounded like a gunshot.”

At that moment the toaster popped up.

“Good heavens,” Anne rushed over to the toaster, “This toast has been burnt black. I better throw it down the garburator.”

Anne threw the “burnt toast” down the garburator.

“Do you mind if we take a look around?” Asked one of the officers.

“Be my guest,” Basil nodded.

After twenty minutes of perusing the apartment, “Nothing out of the ordinary here. Except… was there a carpet recently here?”.

“Yes, I spilled wine on it earlier this evening,” Basil explained, “My wife has such a thing about cleanliness, I got rid of it right away. Put it in the dumpster behind the apartment building. Probably still there now unless it was stolen by one of the neighbourhood gangs who figure they could probably still use it for something.”

“We’ll check that later,” said one of the officers.

“Would you gentlemen like to have coffee and a piece of my apple truffle cake?” Anne asked.

“Why not?” Said the senior officer.

Later after the officers had several cups of coffee to wash down their apple truffle cake, Anne asked, “Would you all like a second piece of my apple truffle cake?”

“No, gotta go,” said the senior officer.

“Me too,” said another.

“Me as well,” said a third and the fourth barked the same.

There was a mad rush to the door by all the policemen who quickly exited.

“Well, that got rid of them,” Basil noted.

A loud gurgling could be heard coming from the garburator.

-A short story written by Christopher
Saturday June 5th 2021.

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