Claudia’s Silence

April 2, 2021 at 10:22 pm (Short Story)

As he came through the door, he noticed his wife.

She turned her back on him.

It was going to be one of those days.

No doubt she was angry at him for ignoring her advice this morning.

She retreated to her own room.

He sat down and read the news of the day.

Most of it bad.

Hard to be a politician these days.

He soon found his reading disturbed by people who had come to his door that his servant had let in.

Representatives of the local religious authorities.

They were complaining about an inscription he had written.

He just sent them away with a wave of his hand.

Another man came to his door.

Wanting the release of the body of the criminal that had been executed that day.

He granted the release.

The servant rang the dinner bell.

He went to the dining room and ate dinner with his wife.

Claudia was silent all throughout the meal.

When the meal was over, Claudia again went to her room.

As for Claudia’s husband, he went on to the balcony and looked at the stars.

He thought back to the day’s events.

His wife sending him a message just before a trial he presided over began, “Have nothing to do with that just man. I have had many troublesome dreams this day because of him.”

The representatives of the local religious authorities appearing to him and complaining, “Write not on his cross, Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews in Hebrew, Greek and Latin. Rather write Jesus of Nazareth, He Who Claimed To Be King of the Jews.”

He dismissed them with a wave of his hand saying, “What I have written, I have written.”

And then a counsellor, a member of the Sanhedrin, named Joseph of Arimathea coming to him and asking that Jesus’ body be released to him.

Which he granted.

As he stood up looking at the stars and the sky, he recalled something that a man who had been a visitor to the city of Athens had once said to him.

Apparently in addition to altars built to the various gods and goddesses of Olympus, the people of Athens also had an inscription TO THE UKNOWN GOD.

Who was this Unknown God he wondered as he looked up at the stars and the sky?

Oh well, perhaps in the next life, in what lay beyond death, he might meet this Unknown God.

He doubted very much he would ever meet this Unknown God in this life.

So thought Pontius Pilate.

-A short story written by Christopher
Good Friday, Friday April 2nd 2021.

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Portrait of Tapairu The Tahitian Sleeping Beauty

March 21, 2021 at 10:27 pm (Art, Arts, History, Romance, Short Story, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Portrait of Tapairu the Tahitian Sleeping Beauty

“What an absolutely beautiful painting,” Sherrielock Holmes the (quite literally) immortal twin sister of London consulting detective Sherlock Holmes gazed at the newest acquisition now hanging in the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London.

Mr. Truffles her orange tabby cat purred in agreement and looked up affectionately at the painting.

“It was painted in Tahiti back in 1894 by one Sean Seamus O’ Gill an Irish painter and artist who lived on the island of Tahiti around the same time as the French artist Paul Gauguin,” Dashwood Forrest the art gallery owner and curator explained, “sadly Mr. O’ Gill is not as well known as Gauguin.”

As the old grandfather clock chimed in the gallery and the statue of a gnome emerged out of a small drawer to turn over an hourglass whose sands had just run out, images from a past time seemed to filter into the present.

Sean Seamus O’ Gill looked at the vision in front of him.

“What a vision,” Sean Seamus O’ Gill remarked to the French missionary priest Father Jacques La Croix.

“It’s like that old Irish hymn whose lyrics begin “Be thou my vision”, eh, Sean?” Father La Croix smiled.

“I guess you could phrase it that way,” Sean nodded, “She does look divine.”

“That she does,” Father La Croix agreed.

“Are you sure she wouldn’t object to being painted while sleeping?” Sean asked.

“No,” Father La Croix shook his head, “She wants to be painted while sleeping. She wants this portrait to be called the Tahitian Sleeping Beauty. She wants to give it as a gift to the man she’s going to marry.”

“She’s engaged?” A look of disappointment crossed Sean’s face.

“Nothing official yet,” Father La Croix answered, “but she hopes to be.”

And so that was how Sean Seamus O’ Gill came to paint the portrait of Tapairu the Tahitian sleeping beauty.

Over the next few months, Sean would sketch drawings and eventually paint pictures afterwards of Tapairu dancing at night in the village center like a royal dancer.

He would sketch drawings and paint pictures afterwards of Tapairu singing to school children during the day.

One of the village matriarchs took notice of his work.

“I’ve been told that an artist likes to depict a subject he loves,” she smiled.

“Um… Tapairu just makes a good subject,” The artist seemed to blush, “That’s all.”

Sean did wonder though which of the many suitors that seemed to want to attract Tapairu’s attention, Tapairu had given her heart to.

On the night of Sean’s birthday, many of the villagers gave Sean gifts.

Tapairu gave Sean a carefully wrapped and rather large present.

Sean opened it.

This was what he saw.

Sean then remembered the words of Father La Croix that she wanted to give the portrait of the Tahitian Sleeping Beauty as a gift to the man she wanted to marry.

Tapairu smiled happily at him.

Sean smiled happily back.

-A short story and
vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday March 21st 2021.

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Carson Cody Albion En Route To The Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera

October 7, 2020 at 11:00 pm (Arts, Entertainment, Film, Short Story) (, , , , , )

The year was 1948.

And Los Angeles Private Eye Carson Cody Albion had earned himself two tickets to the Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera.

The newly formed company would be mounting its first production – a performance of Verdi’s Rigoletto in a church hall in Beverly Hills.

The two tickets Albion had received were payment for a case in which Albion had tracked down a valuable stolen piece of furniture made by Hollywood furniture maker Francesco Pace.

Pace was the man who started the company and was its first director.

Albion accepted the tickets because he realized Pace was putting all his money into getting the opera company up and running.

It was fortunate for Pace that Albion was an opera lover.

Albion asked an up-and-coming young Hollywood actress Eva Roman if she would be his date for the evening.

Eva agreed.

They went for drinks before the opera at The Tropical Nights Lounge in Beverley Hills .

Actor Orson Welles came strolling through the door and strolled up to the couple.

“Carson, Eva,” Welles asked, “How are you doing?”.

“We’re off to see Verdi’s Rigoletto being performed by the new Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera Company,” Eva answered.

“Well,” Welles smiled, “Do beware of licentious Dukes of Mantua and hunch-backed court jesters when you’re attending the performance.”

“Will do,” Albion sipped his bourbon, “How about court jester’s daughters named Gilda?”.

Welles winced.

“I’m sorry, Orson,” Albion apologized, “I forgot Rita’s most popular performance was as Gilda.”

The Rita to whom Albion was referring was Rita Hayworth who was Orson’s ex-wife whom Welles had recently divorced.

Rita Hayworth had played Gilda in the 1946 film titled Gilda.

Gilda was also the name of the court jester’s daughter who gave up her life to save the Duke of Mantua (whom she loved) when she protected him from the assassin that her father Rigoletto had hired to kill him.

“It’s all right, Carson,” Welles took his usual glass of red wine from the Tropical Nights bartender, “I was an ass for spending more time in my thoughts and ideas for new movies than I was in giving my wife the attention she deserved. It was as my barber once said to me, genius can have its draw backs.”

Welles took his glass of wine and went and sat in a booth by himself.

“You know,” the bartender wiped the bar, “There but for the grace of God goes God.”

Albion did not smile or laugh.

It was a remark often said in Hollywood about Welles.

“The path of genius can be lonely at times,” Eva remarked.

“It can, indeed,” Albion looked over at Welles.

Albion looked at his watch as Eva put her stole over her shoulders.

The pair headed out to the performance of Rigoletto.

Welles continued to sit in the booth alone with his thoughts.

The bartender made a Shanghai Sling for a customer.

Welles watching could not help notice the irony of the drink being made.

“The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” Welles thought.

He finished his wine, left his money on the table and left.

He walked past a movie theatre showing a poster of the film he and his ex-wife Rita had made together before their divorce The Lady From Shanghai.

The theatre ticket cashier looked at Welles as he walked by.

She thought to herself what others had thought, “There but for the grace of God goes God.”

-A short story written by Christopher
Wednesday October 7th 2020.

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Orson Welles Contemplates Movie Scene

April 12, 2020 at 10:57 pm (Biographical, Film, History, Movies, Radio, Short Story) (, , )

Orson Welles Contemplates A Movie Scene

The year was 1940 and Orson Welles was in the process of filming his classic film Citizen Kane.

It came to Welles’ attention one day that a popular radio show host was visiting the studio next door to where Welles was shooting.

Welles himself had been in radio as the voice of that mysterious figure The Shadow (whose alter ego was Lamont Cranston wealthy young man about town) from September 1937 to October 1938.

Welles had also been the host, star and narrator of CBS’ Mercury Theatre On The Air which ran for 22 episodes from July 11th to December 4th 1938.

The most notable episode was Welles’ October 30th 1938 adaptation and broadcast of H.G. Wells’ The War of The Worlds which came across like a regular news broadcast and sent a great deal of the American population into panic thinking they were actually being invaded by Martians.

The popular radio show host in the studio next door was the host of a program that Welles himself liked and enjoyed listening to.

Welles summoned the radio show host to talk to him as he wanted the man’s input into a movie he was considering making.

During the course of the conversation between Welles and the popular radio show host, Welles told the man, “I’m thinking of bringing an old story to life and setting it in modern times. Do you think it is proper for me to do that?”.

The host asked Welles what he was thinking of doing.

Welles mentioned that he’d have one set of characters wearing expensive jewel laced wrist watches as they were plotting.

And a couple of other characters would be wearing the robes of U.S. Supreme Court justices.

The radio host said that would be all right provided Welles didn’t change the nature, essence and personality of the character who was the central figure in the story.

Welles said he would not.

The popular radio show host gave his approval to Welles’ idea.

. . . 

Welles sat down with pen and paper in front of him and conceived of a scene for the movie he was contemplating making.

The woman he was thinking of for the central female role in the film was a young starlet he had recently met called Margarita Carmen Cansino of Hispanic heritage who had recently changed her name to Rita Hayworth.

Welles pictured Margarita sitting at a table in a lounge downing several cocktails and mourning the recent death of a friend.

A man tries to make a move on her and she quickly brushes him off.

Leaving the lounge, she calls a taxi and heads to the funeral home where her friend is.

She walks into the viewing parlour where his body was available for viewing.

“Egad, wrong parlour,” she sighs and heads to another.

She races around the funeral home trying to find the parlour.

In one viewing room, she encounters a man who speaks to her in a foreign language.

She brushes him off and goes to find the funeral home director.

She encounters a man standing in front of her.

“You must be one of the undertakers,” Rita’s character says to him, “I was wondering if you could tell me what viewing room Joshua Josephson is in.”

The man said to her one word, “Mary.”

She then recognized him.

She then understood the words the man speaking in the foreign language had said to her in one of the viewing rooms, “He is not here. He is risen.”

. . .

Post-Script: The popular radio host that Welles had met at the studio that day in 1940 was Father Fulton J. Sheen (who later became a bishop and later an archbishop) who had hosted NBC’s The Catholic Hour on radio since 1930 and would host it for another 10 years until 1950.

The people Welles would have as wearing expensive jewel laced wrist watches were the Pharisees.

The two men who would be dressed in robes of Supreme Court justices would be Pontius Pilate and Herod Antipas.

Sadly Welles never made the picture.

Fulton’s one bit of advice to Welles in setting the Gospel story in modern times was to make sure that Jesus’ character was still that of “God incarnate as man, born of a virgin, performed miracles, died to save humanity from their sins and rose again from the dead on the third day.”

The movie scene mentioned above was totally of my own creation and speculation.

I do not know whether Welles had intended his future wife Rita Hayworth to play Mary Magdalene or not.

Or whether the final scene would be set in a modern funeral home.

Or whether Mary Magdalene would be looking for the body of Joshua Josephson (which is how you’d say Yeshua bar Yosef or Jesus son of Joseph in contemporary English).

-written by Christopher 
Easter Sunday
April 12th 2020


Mary Magdalene (portrayed by Margarita Carmen Cansino aka Rita Hayworth) with the red roses she is planning to lay at the grave of a recently departed friend.

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Lady MacBeth and The Death of Soleimani

January 14, 2020 at 11:53 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Plays, Short Story, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , )

Lady MacBeth and The Death of Soleimani

Lady MacBeth’s ghost served as a spirit advisor to Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman.

Her advice had started out very bloody indeed and the Crown Prince had to rinse very hard to get the blood of Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi off his hands in the eyes of the world.

In fact to a certain extent, he still had not done so.

However he did manage to get blood off his hands in the eyes of Donald Trump.

And that was the important thing.

Lady MacBeth advised the prince MbS (as he was called) to let the blood be on someone else’s hands in planning future killings.

Several months ago as MbS mused aloud in a paraphrase of England’s King Henry II murmuring about Thomas a Beckett, “Who will rid me of this troublesome general?” referring to Iran’s Gen. Qasem Soleimani, Lady MacBeth suggested, “Get Trump to do it.”

After whispering in the ear of Nancy Pelosi to go ahead with impeachment hearings against Donald Trump, Lady MacBeth’s ghost returned to Saudi Arabia from Washington DC and informed the Crown Prince, “The stage is set. The trap to be sprung. Trump’s ego will ensure the job to be done.”

When Trump was impeached, Lady MacBeth returned to Washington to whisper in Pelosi’s ear to hold up the Articles of Impeachment and not deliver them to the Senate right away.

Said Lady MacBeth, 

“He whose toupee from red spider monkey fur has bleached golden in the sun,
Thinks a quick acquittal by the Senate will be so much fun.
But let not golden showers be the only thing to rain on his toupee,
I say rain on his parade should be your Democrats’ way.”

Pelosi took Lady MacBeth’s advice and held up the articles of impeachment.

Trump fumed in the darkness of the night,
As bald head replaced toupee in the absence of light,
“When Oh God,” he addressed his image in the mirror, “shall this trial come to an end?
Isn’t it time once again for lesser wills to bend?”

Lady MacBeth put hand gently on yonder narcissist’s groin and whispered,

“Nay, soft, Roy Cohn’s once golden boy,
Among Netanyahu’s Messianic backers,
Thou art their most favoured goy,
Take out this Qasem Soleimani who gives poor Bibi such pain 
And causes Saudi oil profits to go down the drain.
Bibi and MbS alike will think you a man with golden spike
rather than a circus clown turned tethered dyke
And your approval ratings will soar
while Pelosi’s articles be in tatters on Senate floor.”

And so Trump gave the order for Soleimani to be taken out by drone.
And then had Big Macs delivered to him via his app on the phone.

“The blood is now on Trump’s hands,” 
Lady MacBeth watched the cheers coming from football championship stands,
As Melania quickly withdrew from the grasp of the Donald’s hands.

Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman smiled,
“How easy it is to wag the tail of this American dog 
A would be Caesar with the brains of a bump on a log.”

-A poem, Shakespearian drama
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday January 14th
2020.

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Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

January 13, 2020 at 11:55 pm (Fantasy, Folklore, Poetry, Romance, Short Story) (, , , )

Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

Walking through the large prairie museum
There was an authentic old steam train 
He went and climbed aboard 
And sat in one of the carriages 
Imagining he was travelling somewhere

Imagine his shock when the engine smoked,
The bell rang
And the conductor cried “All aboard”
And the train started moving

Not out of the museum 
On to the surrounding prairie
Instead the train travelled through the Swiss Alps
The man walked through the train 
And standing on the platform on one of the carriages 
was a beautiful dark haired woman 
Wearing a warrior’s breasted arm plate 
And a pleated black skirt 
And playing a cello 

The woman jumped off the train 
And the man was pushed 
And the man found himself in a dark wintry forest with falling snow 
And there was the same woman wearing a long flowing white dress
And blowing snow flowed through her long waving hair 
And she was still playing the cello

Soon the man found himself in an Italian Renaissance palace drawing room 
And on a lounge chair
(The same sort of chair on which Napoleon Bonaparte’s sister Pauline Borghese in the sculpture Venus Victrix by Antonio Canova had posed nude)
sat the same long haired woman
Now wearing a long elegant flowing red evening dress gown 
And still playing the cello
Behind her was a statue of the Greek goddess Aphrodite appearing to the right of the lounge chair
And appearing to the left 
was a dresser table
On which stood a statue of Saint Michael the Archangel triumphing over the Devil
And to the right of that statue 
also on the dresser was a human skull

The man soon found himself on a sunny sandy beach
And the same woman approached him
Now she was wearing a beautiful elegant yellow dress on which on the front was emblazoned a beautiful gorgeous looking fiery red Phoenix
The woman did not have her cello with her 
She approached the man
And then the Phoenix came alive 
And flew up from the front of her dress
And flew into the sky 
And thence into the distant horizon
Then the cello appeared in her hands 
And she once again began playing

Now the man found himself under water 
In a underwater palace
And there was the woman
in a white dress swimming 

But she had no cello with her

Then the man found himself in the arm chair of the fireplace room
In the house in which he lived

Shakespeare had once said, We are such stuff as dreams are made of 
Recalling that, the man mused that at least he was made of unique and unusual stuff.

-A poem and short story 
written by Christopher
Monday January 13th
2020.

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Reblog of Sadako Shado Tamashi

January 12, 2020 at 11:07 pm (Short Story) ()

Here’s a re-blog of a short story I wrote about a year and a half ago.

Dracul Van Helsing

Sadako Shado Tamashi

The archivist at the British Museum was looking through a bunch of early 20th Century Japanese photographs.

He came across a photo of a very beautiful young Japanese woman wearing a long white dress.

He stopped to look at her.

In fact, he looked at her for quite a while.

To his amazement, a heart ❤️ suddenly appeared in the photograph.

The word Yokubo appeared in the heart.

What the Hell? Archivist Moreau thought to himself.

What does Yokubo mean?

Moreau turned to the next photograph which was of a Japanese print of a Japanese Christ being crucified on the Cross.

That’s interesting, Moreau thought to himself, not too many of those pictures in Japan.

The next photo was of the same beautiful woman he had looked at a few photos earlier.

But now her long black hair was covering her entire face.

And blood (the colour…

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Ponderings: Ghost In The City? Or A City of Ghosts?

January 2, 2020 at 11:21 pm (Commentary, Ghost Story, Poetry, Short Story) ()

Ponderings: Ghost In The City?
Or A City of Ghosts?

As she walked city streets, 
she wondered,
was she a ghost walking in a city?

Or was she a mortal 
walking in a city of ghosts?

-A poem written by Christopher
Thursday January 2nd
2020.

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Reblog of A Young Legionary In Bethlehem: The Christmas Story Never Told

December 24, 2019 at 11:28 pm (Short Story) (, , )

A Christmas short story I wrote last Christmas.

Dracul Van Helsing

The young legionary had had a bad day.

After a night of rowdy drinking, he had forgotten the standard for his regiment.

And had left it overnight in the little town of Bethlehem.

The officer in charge of the regiment was thankfully merciful.

Instead of court martialing the young legionary for his most serious offense, he just sent the young legionary back to Bethlehem to retrieve it.

Although being sent back to Bethlehem was punishment enough the young legionary figured.

For Bethlehem had to be the most god forsaken place on this earth.

“Have fun in Bethlehem, Pompey,” his fellow legionaries had said to him.

Pompey was his nickname.

Pompey of course had been the name of the Roman general who had lost to Julius Caesar in the Roman civil war.

It was an inside joke that earned the young legionary his nickname.

As Pompey set out from Jerusalem towards…

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The Dance

November 23, 2019 at 11:34 pm (Fantasy, Short Story)

The Dance

Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain 
But I’d have to miss the dance.

-song by Garth Brooks

Peter came through the front door and his mother asked from the kitchen, “So, are you going to ask a girl to the Christmas dance next month?”.

“No,” said Peter angrily, “I don’t know how to dance.”

“But I thought you’ve been taking dance lessons in school the past few weeks,” his mother said.

“The class was full and I couldn’t get in,” Peter replied.

“Why didn’t you say something?” His mother inquired, “I could have paid to send you to private lessons at Madame Cotillard’s Dance Studio in town.”

“You know we can’t afford dance lessons,” Peter opened the door of his bedroom, entered and closed the door.

He’d have liked to ask Maria to the Christmas dance but he could just imagine making a fool of himself on the dance floor.

Peter looked over at his book shelf.

There was an old book on the shelf called Teach Yourself How To Dance.

A do-it-yourself book, Peter laughed, and yet the old saying was, It takes two to tango.

Despite that thought, he took the book off the shelf and opened it.

An old photo fell on to the floor.

Peter had never opened the book when he bought it at the rummage sale last year.

He just needed one more book for the 10 Books For 50c sale and grabbed that one.

He looked at the photo:

“Wow, I wouldn’t mind learning to dance with her,” Peter said.

He put the photo beside his bed.

After supper, he came back to his room and fell asleep.

When he awoke, the girl in the photo was standing in his bedroom.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I’m Simone,” the girl answered, “and I’m here to teach you how to dance.”

Every night for the next 2 weeks, Simone appeared at the same time and taught Peter how to dance.

So Peter asked Maria to the dance.

And she accepted.

Maybe he would end up being made fun of for his dancing.

And being made fun of would bring him pain.

But it’s like Garth Brooks once said.

He could have missed the pain.

But he’d have to miss the dance.

-A short story 
written by Christopher
Saturday November 23rd
2019.

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