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PAGE SIX Exercise Assignment August 31, 1999 Exercise #29: "The Letter":
He stared at the letter in his hand. He never thought he'd ever receive another, and yet, a part of him--a tiny bit of stubbornness in the back of his mind, hoped that just one more would someday come. The plainness of the business size envelope with no return address gave no hint of the importance of its contents. It was like all the others received years ago, now held together in neat little bundles by rubber bands, in a box safely hidden away in the attic. He had no doubt who had sent it. He had spent many a sleepless night pondering how he would feel should he finally receive the letter. He had no idea, during those hours of darkness wishing for the letter to arrive that his hands would shake like this, that his eyes would fill with tears, that he would be afraid to open it. Now it's all yours. You can use the above two paragraphs as an opening, an ending, or place it someplace in the middle. But you must use them. You can play around a little with the wording (but not the basic content) and certainly change the gender of the person receiving the letter. What does the letter say? Who is it from? Why is it so important? What led up to this scene? What happens afterward? Why the tears? Joy? Anger? Resentment? Relief? Sleeper Michael Bonapart suddenly felt ill. All the strength seemed to drain from his body, and he had to sit now, for fear his legs would give out on him. Feeling a little better, he stared at the letter in his hand. He never thought he’d ever receive another, and yet, a part of him-a tiny bit of stubbornness in the back of his mind, hoped that just one more would someday come. The plainness of the business size envelope with no return address gave no hint of the importance of its contents. It was like all others received years ago, now held together in neat little bundles by rubber bands, in a box hidden away in the attic. He had no doubt who had sent it. He had spent many a sleepless night pondering how he would feel should he finally receive the letter. He had no idea, during those hours of darkness wishing for the letter to arrive that his hands would shake like this, that his eyes would fill with tears, that he would be afraid to open it. As he stared at the letter now, he steadied his trembling hands. He wanted to believe that it was not really there, and that any moment he would awaken from this terrible dream, safely in his bed. While he fantasized about this, he let the letter gently slip from his fingers onto the mahogany desk in front of him. This was clearly no dream, and it was certainly no time for fantasies. As he eased back in the chair now, Michael felt the old springs gently creak under him, as if feeling the enormous weight he felt building in his mind. He reflected back on years gone by, when the letters had been more frequent, and when he seemed to have more of a stomach for the task at hand. * * * Michael Bonapart had lived in America for over thirty years now, though anyone that checked would find he had lived here all his life. Born in a small Missouri town the only child of working middle class parents, his life was all too ordinary. He had graduated in the top twenty percent of his high school class and went on to a small state college where he earned his bachelors degree in electrical engineering. Upon graduation he had moved to Phoenix, Arizona where he accepted an entry level job with DynaTech, a company responsible for maintaining the core operations of the nuclear power plant just outside the city limits. He had never married, had no children, and no immediate family since his parents had “passed away” during his sophomore year in college. You could find their burial plots not far from the house he grew up in, in Fairmount cemetery, just on top of the hill in the far southeast corner.
He had advanced somewhat quickly through the ranks at DynaTech, and now, after thirty years, he found himself as the senior technical engineer at the plant. He had been on the project since before the foundation had been laid for the operations building. He knew, by virtue of tenure and intense study, the entire operating scheme of the plant, as he had been instrumental in the design of the control facility.
Anyone who had taken an interest would have found this story to be unquestionably true. All the proper records and documentation were in place, and he had even gone “home” to Greeley, Missouri every couple of years to visit old friends and keep up appearances. But Michael knew a different story, one that was certainly more interesting and infinitely closer to the truth.... * * * The chimes of the grandfather clock in the corner startled Michael out of his daydream. How long he had been sitting there near comatose in retrospective thought, he couldn’t remember. Sighing heavily, he leaned forward and once again picked up the envelope, regarding it only for a moment before turning it over and ripping at the seal with his forefinger. As he reached inside and pulled the envelope’s contents out, his hands began to tremble again, and his mouth went dry. His worst fears had been confirmed. Though encrypted, the content was perfectly clear to Michael. It was only one simple line of text, but it spoke volumes to him. It was the culmination of thirty years of work. His purpose, as it were. * * * He had been day dreaming again, and this time it was the shrill cry of the telephone that awoke him from his reminiscence. Hazily he glanced up from the letter to the telephone on the desk and regarded it as though he had never seen one before. Again the clanging wail sounded, demanding that he answer it. Annoyed, he picked up the receiver before it could ring a third time. “Hello” he said, half expecting it to be a sales call. “The winds of change are blowing again my friend” said the cool, rehearsed voice from the other end.
Any doubts he may have had regarding the letter’s content were now dissolved by the all too familiar voice. “Yes, I have been watching the news.” He said, trying to steady his trembling voice. “Once the task is finished, your mission is terminated and you will return to the flock.” “I understand.” Said Michael, feeling a bit more composed this time. This response was followed by an endless silence, which was finally broken by the distinctive click from the other end. The caller had hung up, and Michael was on his own. He replayed the conversation in his head a few times. The winds of change were certainly blowing again, like a hurricane. * * * For the past three days the evening news had talked of nothing but the events that were transpiring in Eastern Europe. This evening was no different. In a surprise coup, the Russian Democratic government had been overthrown by the Communist hard-liners, catching the world by surprise. Now with their feet firmly back in the stirrups, the Communist party fully intended to reclaim the once vast territories of the former Soviet Union. An outcry had ensued from those now liberated territories for the United Nations to intervene on their part. The U.N. had, of course, issued the standard formal protests but had fallen short of any significant action. Noting the inaction of the U.N., the United States government had set its foot forth to protect the now independent states and threatened to intervene militarily, should Russia not stand down its threats. Now a stalemate ensued, and this is where the story remained this evening. The Iron Curtain had been drawn tight again and the Cold War picked up where it had left off, like players in a game of chess. Michael watched all of this intently, searching for some sign that would help him resolve the moral conflict he felt within his mind. No signs were forthcoming, and as the news ended, he glanced at his watch and decided that it was time to be going. * * * In his car now, somewhere west of Phoenix on Interstate 10, Michael coldly stared out at the vast desert. Even in the darkness he could make out the shapes of small creatures scurrying about, taking advantage of the break from the summer heat. As he did this, he listened to the local news on the radio for signs of an improvement in the current standoff. Still, there was nothing. A brown highway sign now caught his eye. He had seen it almost every day for the past twenty or so years, but it now seemed different to him, though he couldn’t explain it. Palo Verde Nuclear Power Facility – 2 Miles said the sign as his headlights reflected off of it when the car passed it. His heart began to beat rapidly now, though he hardly took notice, as he was concentrating on the headache building in his mind. Pulling off onto the exit now, he drove the last ten miles to the access point in complete silence. As he approached the gate, he casually handed the guard his access badge, and regarded him with a warm smile. “Good evening Mr. Bonapart, working late this evening?” “Yeah, I’ve got to catch up on some work for the directors meeting on Monday.” He said calmly. “Well, don’t work too late.” Said the guard as he handed the badge back to Michael. Without a word he drove past the gate and into the facility, parking at the far end of the lot. He had his own parking space at the front, but for some reason, thought it safer to park at the back. He could have taken his pick, really. It was Saturday night and the facility only maintained a skeleton crew of workers to handle emergencies at night, and on the weekends, there were even fewer people around. As he walked towards the main entrance, he thought of the guard at the front gate. He had worked there for some time and Michael recalled several short conversations with him in the past. Steve was his name, and if Michael remembered correctly, he had three small children at home. This thought made his stomach turn with discomfort and he quickly resolved to keep his mind on the task at hand from now on. Entering the facility, he proceeded directly to a room some distance down the hall on the first floor. He reached in his pocket for his keys and stopped in front of the door marked Central Monitoring and Testing Office. Unlocking it, he stepped inside to find that it was deserted, just as he had hoped it would be. He closed the door behind him and locked it. Now Michael was in what he liked to call “Mission Mode”. He was oblivious to anything but his immediate surroundings and was completely focused on the task before him. His mind was clear of any thoughts or feelings other than completing the job. It was all part of his training, and it had always worked perfectly. At the far end of the room were several monitors, watching various parts of the facility. Scanning them quickly now, he saw no signs that would indicate anyone was working besides him. On Saturday nights the only people in the facility would have been the security staff and a few maintenance engineers, who were undoubtedly getting drunk behind one of the reactor coolers. At the center of the room were several computer screens and keyboards, each serving its own purpose, but linked to each other through the facilities vast computer network. On the left wall was an extensive series of monitoring gauges that mirrored all of the vital statistics of the plants three reactors. Pulling a chair from the corner, Michael sat in the center of the room in front of the series of keyboards and reached out his hands to begin his work. He paused momentarily and took a deep breath. He had helped design this system several years ago and knew every command and backdoor in the system. Exhaling, he began to work fervently at the keyboard, expertly manipulating the computer to do his bidding. Little by little he made his progress. The first thing he had to do was take the central monitoring systems off-line and place them in “test” mode. This would ensure no audible alarms would sound during the process. Next, he accessed the controls for the reactor cooling system. The reactors were cooled by large pipes that carried literally millions of gallons of water through them and past the reactor. The water would absorb the heat from the reactor and take it away. It was a constant process that ended near the cooling towers that vented the steam from the reactor heat. The flow of water to the reactors was monitored and controlled to give the proper amount of cooling to the reactors. With the system thinking it was in test mode, Michael set the cooling flow controls to ten percent. This setting could hardly keep one reactor cooled, let alone three. Next, he accessed the power output control and monitor for reactor No. 1. It was running at fifty-two percent, which was a moderate pace. He quickly moved its output to eighty-five percent. He looked up at the wall opposite him and noticed that some of the lights near the gauges were beginning to flash. It was the cooling flow indicators. They were alerting to the fact that the cooling was not sufficient to the three reactor outputs. Normally, this would trigger an automatic shutdown of the reactors, but Michael had seen to it that this would not happen. Returning to his work, he brought the other two reactors to eighty-five percent as well. His work was nearly finished. Michael removed a small diskette from his jacket pocket and held it firmly in his hand. On the disk was a program that would completely disable the entire computer network. If someone were to notice this, they could simply just reboot the network, but that would take more than three hours. Gently he placed the diskette in its appropriate drive on the small remote computer by his feet and uploaded the program. CONFIRM COMMAND EXECUTION < Y/N > The monitor blinked its request asking him to confirm the running of the program. Michael raised his hand to confirm, but stopped short. He thought of the letter he had received that brought him to this point in time, and remembered he had a letter of his own to leave. He removed it from his pocket, and read it to himself one more time. My name is Mikhail Aykaykovich. I have been a Russian Sleeper spy for 30 years in this country. Though I have deep reservations about my actions, the good of the Communist State must prevail at this time. May God have mercy on my soul. Satisfied with its contents, Michael placed the letter on the desk next to him. He seriously doubted that anyone would ever have the chance to read it, but just in case. He looked back at the wall of gauges again, this time practically all the little lights were flashing. He estimated he had about fifteen minutes before he could not turn back. He looked at the monitor again. CONFIRM COMMAND EXECUTION < Y/N > He thought about his life over the past thirty years. It had been a good life. He was having serious reservations about this now. He thought of the guard, Steve, at the front gate. He thought of Steve’s three children and his wife. He thought of the other seven million people in the surrounding area, and how they must have lives very much like Steve’s. None of them deserved this. Did he really want to go down in history as the greatest mass murderer since Adolph Hitler? He didn’t want to answer these questions now, and cursed himself for his conscience. As much of a mass murderer as he may become, he was certain he would not be the last in this world. Oddly, that gave him a small amount of comfort, and he quickly turned and pressed the button to confirm the program. There was no turning around now. The deed was done, and all was lost. He sat back now and waited. In roughly five minutes, all three reactors would suffer a complete meltdown, and if they didn’t explode, they would spill out thousands of tons of radioactive material, which would infect communities for a one hundred mile radius. Millions would surely die, and millions more would suffer its effects for generations to come. Michael leaned back in the chair now and closed his eyes as a tiny tear slipped from one corner and rolled down his cheek. He could no longer feel the heat on his body as he fell to the floor, convulsing and burning. © Tim Ells 1999 Exercise Assignment September 07, 1999 Exercise #30: "Worst of the Worst":
This exercise stems from a suggestion New Writers Member, Kim Smith sent in. * * * San Jose State University has just announce this years winner of their "Bulwer-Lytton Prize"--an award given for the WORST opening sentence of a novel! The winner is David Chuter (an Englishman) for: Through the gathering gloom of a late October afternoon, along the greasy, cracking paving stones slick from the sputem of the sky, Stanley Ruddlethorp wearily trudged up the hill from the cemetery where his wife, sister, brother, and three children were all buried, and forced open the door of his decaying house, blissfully unaware of the catastrophe that was soon to devastate his life. Also, one of the runners-up lines read: Her breasts were like ripe strawberries, but much bigger, a completely different colour, not as bumpy, and without the little green things on top. * * * Here's your assignment: Now I REALLY want to see how bad you can be. Write a WORSE opening sentence than these. Of course the worse of the bunch will be the best and chosen as the Choice Selection of the Week.(Did I say that right?) Constables Grayson & Wilson "Constables Grayson and Wilson arrived at the victim's attractive, however somewhat pretentious home in response to neighbour's reports of alleged screaming, at approximately 17:23 hours to discover the victim, a Mrs Angelica Poorbody, lying dressed in a particularly beautiful white chiffon dressing gown which appeared very expensive however did little to conceal her ample but most delightful bosom, on her patio tiles in a pool of blood, and on closer examination she had appeared to have been shot in the chest number of times, multiply stabbed in the stomach region and bludgeoned about the head, which led us suspect she may be dead," read Constable Grayson from his notebook, upon which he closed the book and returned to his seat in the court room. © Katrina Bell 1999 Exercise Assignment September 21, 1999 Exercise #31: "Photos 05":
I've heard it said a picture is worth a thousand words. As writers we provide the words to describe the pictures. That is what we will be doing for this week's exercise assignment. Select ONE of the scenes from our "Photo Page". Write a short story or poem using the scene you have selected. I Love You Child of Life PG: Language, Graphic Violence, Strong Sexual Content Three hundred years the oak tree stood before I found it to be my strength of purpose. Its beauty kept my resolve pure and true. Now it's five score years after my death, and I'm still drawn to the place where my children sleep, undisturbed by the passage of time. Through the ages visitors to my tree have said they have seen the souls of my children; some have heard their cries in the night; and others have sworn they've seen me walking around their graves, but none have ever found them. The first of my children was Mary Peters, a sweet woman, with wide hips on which I held onto when I took her in my house. She screamed with the lungs of the young so loud when she saw my knife, I hurried her dispatch should my neighbour hear, and consequently never felt the exhilaration of a slow death - something I soon realised would be the catalyst for my thirst. I can still hear her sweet voice pleading with me when my knife broke the surface of her lily- white neck before I plunged it deep to the cartilage of her throat, and cut off her scream in a gurgle of red frothy blood. How serene she looked, with her eyes so wide and blue. I often wonder if she heard the swallows as they snatched at the flies the odious stench her defecated body attracted before I buried her. The river that's behind you and to the right, served as my cleansing vessel to wash away the sins and blood of my children. There I would inspect the marvel and wondrous gift of life, to increase my knowledge of the new art called medicine. It soon came to pass that I needed live subjects on which to observe and study the inner workings. In her death throes, Mary gave me the mechanism of the voice and the way the trachea moved to accommodate the swallowing action of her gullet - albeit with her rich blood. Her final resting place is that slight swell at the base of my tree. Look close and you will see. If you should dig there you'd find her broken limbs neatly packaged into her torso, with her head neatly arranged into her bowels. If anything I was neat. Rather than carry my children to their resting place, I had the idea to invite them to see my tree in the field I owned, far away from prying eyes and sensitive ears. But my second child, Lady Dawson, proved reticent, and required all my cunning to get her to my tree. A thirtyish woman, married to our Lord of the Manor, she looked down at what she called peasants; only in public you understand, I soon found out that in private she took us to her chamber to fulfil her needs when her husband travelled the land. I eventually took her to lay beside sweet Mary after courting her affection, and servicing her need, for two score days. Lady Dawson was a succubus, of that I was so sure at the time. She laughed with the devil did that one. She could hold her ankles up to her ears and invite you with her eyes to taste her sweet nectar and then lull you asleep between her thighs with her sweet, evil tongue. Alas, she became the last one to partake of that pleasure. With her limbs staked to the ground I proceeded to peel away the skin from her belly, and once splayed open I could draw the muscles and tendons and note which ones moved when I massaged her vagina. I had expected to find the devil's disciple lurking away in her womb, but no matter where I probed it could not be found. For a full two hours I kept her alive until I concluded her sexual lust resided in her brain. Her slow death became my first work of art, not as crude as Mary, I tied her hair with ribbon and painted her nails - I even asked if she liked the colour. I will admit now that the prelude to my children's death excited me to such an extreme their deaths took on an exponential curve. When I realised Lady Dawson could no longer entertain me I took her head in my arm and twisted it to hear the crack of bone and the groan of escaping breath. Lady Dawson lies neatly packaged to the left of Mary. My children grew in number over the years, and each contributed a part of themselves to my knowledge and growing collection of body parts. My most prized possession were Rosemary's crystal clear blue eyes, who confirmed my suspicion that one could see quite well when the eyes were removed from their sockets. I doubt if she ever thought she would see what constituted a female breast. I had some difficulty with my male child. The women felt secure in my company knowing how I preferred to sleep with my own sex. How obtuse of them. They believed themselves to be safe. But the men refused to come near me. In the end I sacrificed my lover, and bound him to my tree where I took him one last time. He looked so at peace after our love. Before I took away his manhood, I spoke words of comfort to him, and explained why I needed to see how he produced his milk of life. I did promise him a fellow man he could lie beside as I measured the full quantity of his blood, but alas, that never came to pass. And yes, eight pints he offered up to me. My last child came of her own free will one afternoon in May. She actually skipped to her death with the smell of spring flowers to accompany her - lilies as I recall. Her name was Sara Mortimer, who had the softest, and purest skin of all my children. I'd been asleep under my tree on top of my Lady if I recall when Sara appeared and asked me why I smiled so coquettishly and felt the ground in such a provocative manner. "To be close to the ones I love," I replied. "Come and see." She actually giggled before she ran her hands over the lush green grass, only to stop when her fingers rested against the inside of my thighs. "Will you clear my hair of the rape seeds," she'd asked, and explained she had fallen asleep in the meadow. While she sat between my outstretched legs I counted each and every one of the seeds I extracted from her flaxen hair. She told me she had read my book of poetry, my one and only claim to fame, and decided that I expressed love in such detail I might be able to help her with a matter, of which she found difficult to approach any other man. She confessed to me, that on the morrow she was to marry the preacher's son, but knew nought about how she should act in her marriage chamber. How innocent and kind of her to pick me. While she felt my hot breath on her neck, and I watched her skin erupt in goose pimples, I told her all about the joys of the flesh and much more. You must understand Sara was not planned, merely a side dish placed before me by old man fate. So quick to learn, and eager to please, we soon ended up with her thighs around my waist in experimentation with my manhood deep within the place young boys dream of in their self-administrations. On the crest of our passion we kissed, and from her new found knowledge she snaked her tongue right into my mouth for me to suckle. 'Twas then I partook of her tongue in one bite. Oh, the added excitement of her appendage in my mouth had me stiffer than her sweet mouth had earlier, and I matched her throes thrust for thrust, while she screamed her sweet words of agony into my ear. I suppose Sara could be called my nemesis, as she was the only child from where I lived. The villagers spent all the next day and the Lord's day searching for her, and 'twas only when a concerned groom burst through my door to ask for assistance he saw me adding the finishing touch to my new coat of Sara's flesh. There was no trial. A quick search of my house produced the offal from my children which I'd placed in oiled sacks beneath my bed, so why they claimed they were hidden escapes me. And my medical samples were correctly identified to be not from animals; the breast gave that away. In the irony of their disgust they hung me from my tree, on the right hand branch that curves down and then up -- you can still see where the rope dug into the bark while I twisted like a puppet master's marionette above my children. They actually buried me above Sara without ever knowing. Now I'm damned to spend eternity around my tree, and, if you look close, when the morning mist begins to rise, you can make out my shadowy figure. And for those willing to experience what my children felt, close you eyes and feel the hairs on your neck bristle from my hot breath before the cold metal of my blade glides across your throat. And hear my sweet words. I love you child of life. (c) Copyright September, 1999 by Chris Curtis. All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced, copied, distributed, published, quoted or used in any form for commercial gain without the express written permission of the author. Exercise Assignment September 28, 1999 Exercise #32: "Over the Edge":
Lets suppose that any one of us is capable of being pushed to the point of where we 'go over the edge' and react irrationally. It can be a slow building of things--situations if you will--which push us to the point where we react totally out of character, do the unexpected. Or, it can be one thing that totally wipes out all emotional, financial, physical, etc., support in a large sweeping onslaught, thus causing us to react differently than we would normally. Could you kill another human and enjoy doing it? Could you rob the "Seven-Eleven" down the street, or pull off an even bigger heist. Could you charge the local McDonalds with a machine gun? Could you withdraw so completely that life around you no longer has a hold, that you create your own reality? Could you wipe out your family, your co-workers, and feel justified in doing so? Could you calmly pick up all the computers in the office around you and throw them out the window, a sense of satisfaction coming as you hear them crash against the pavement below? Could you...well, you get the idea. Create a character--a 'normal, average, everyday person'. Show us in the beginning how they are just like anyone else ("He was such a good person....}, just like you or me. Add a character flaw--we all have them. It can even be something good (loyalty, honesty, cleanliness, etc., turned into an obsession that becomes uncontrollable). Use this character flaw and gradually push it to the extreme with credible situations. Perhaps ending in one major situation which forces a turning point. Show us how your character is gradually pushed over the edge and what his/her reaction will be. You can make it into a horrible situation ending in a nightmare of tragedy. Or, you can end with your character being able to go over the edge and back, resolving the conflict and perhaps learn something about him/herself, making them a little stronger. So basically, we have a normal person like yourself, who is pushed just too far until they go over the edge. The ending should leave your character a changed person--for better or worse. Romance writers--many crimes are those of passion. Poets--show us the metamorphosis from good to evil, and perhaps back. Just remember that your character must first be shown as an average, everyday person before we can appreciate that which has pushed him/her over the edge. The Feline Question The large yellow tabby licked its paw slowly, carefully, languorously. As soon as the paw was done, he used it to rub his whiskers, then his face, working on all the hard to reach spots. “Oho, it’s bath time, Tiger. And how nice you look,” the elderly lady with soft white hair spoke to the furred creature sitting next to her on her couch. His yellow eyes looked at her with an inscrutable expression before he returned to his grooming.
Whump! Whump! Two oversized half grown kittens began chasing each other as they leapt from a counter top and ran full speed through the cottage. “Those two! They’re at it again. I wish I had half their energy. Don’t you, Tiger? Two old ones like us, we have to stick together.” Tiger ignored the white haired woman’s speech. Finished with his bath, he yawned and stretched out, paws flexed, and prepared for his afternoon nap. “I’d better get dinner going.” Adelia was used to talking to herself as she went about her simple routines of daily living. She didn’t really consider it a monologue, since she was usually talking to one of her “children”. These were a group of about twenty members of the feline species, that lived in various states of rowdiness or boredom in her two-bedroom home on the edge of town. Adelia had always loved animals, and had begun collecting kittens and strays that were abandoned several years ago. Tiger had been her first orphan, a small ball of yellow fluff that quivered piteously when she had seen him one day on the roadside next to the old dump. No one lived near there, and Adelia knew the kitten had been abandoned by an uncaring owner. She had made John, bless his memory, stop the car while she went and rescued it. The tiny fluff ball had begun purring almost immediately when she picked it up, and the bond was forged. John had always teased her about her “cat hobby,” as he called it. Now he was gone, and only the furry creatures filled her loneliness. Lord knew Sarah and David never had time to come visit anymore. Adelia remembered the fight she had had recently with her daughter on one of her rare visits. “Mom, you have to get rid of these cats. They’ve taken over the house. It’s a public nuisance here.” “They’re not bothering anyone, missy. I don’t see why you get so worked up about them.” “Mom, you can’t take care of them anymore. You’re almost seventy years old.” Sarah’s face had the self-righteous look of the appointed judge and guardian of such matters. “I may be getting up there, but I get around okay. These cats aren’t any problem for me.” “The neighbors are talking. Do you know what they call you? The crazy old cat lady.” “And since when have I cared about what those nosey yokels think? Sarah, ever since John died, these cats have been my biggest comfort. It’s not like you ever come over that much.” Adelia had wanted to bite the words off, as soon as they were spoken, but it was too late. The truth had been spoken. Sarah had left in a huff, and hadn’t called in almost two weeks. Well, she would get over it, she always did. Adelia went to the cupboard. “Hmmmm, boys, it looks like our food is getting low.” The two young toms near her feet purred in response. At least money was no problem. John had been so wise, providing all that insurance money. And all those stocks and bonds. No, the babies would never go hungry, that was for sure. Adelia hobbled into the small grocery store down the corner from her house. It was run by a pleasant young couple who had come to the rural town to escape the big city. Erin, the owner, smiled at her as she entered. “How are you today, Adelia?” he asked. He was such a nice young man. So polite, and helpful, too. “Fine, just fine. Erin, could you get me a couple of bags of cat chow? And some pears for me?” “Sure, no problem.” the young man hurried to get the items, his long legs covering the aisles in a few strides. He was back soon enough. “Thank you, dear. I appreciate your doing this for me.” “I don’t mind doing anything for my best looking customer.” Erin winked a green eye at Adelia. “Oh, you can lay off the charm. I know better. How’s Julia?” “She’s fine. She’s at the clinic today. The doctor says the baby is coming along just fine.” Julia was five months pregnant, and Eric glowed with pride. “Well, you just take care of that pretty young wife of yours.” “I will.” And Adelia knew he would. It showed on his face. Back at the house, Adelia was greeted by a chorus of meows. High pitched, insistent, they proclaimed one and all the hunger their feline owners felt. Adelia filled the bowls up, then put them down. A small feline stampede began. Soon, the only noise was the crunching of sharp teeth against dry bits of chow, like so many miniature nutcrackers. Her children fed, Adelia went to the cupboard and got down her own supper. A can of vegetable soup, with crackers looked good. The soup began heating, and she got out a bowl and paper towel to use with her dinner. The phone rang at that moment. “Mom?” It was David, her son. He called dutifully once a week, chatted for five minutes, then rushed off, guilty pangs of neglect eased for the time being. “How are you? Sarah called me last night, and told me you two had a fight.” Yes, blunt as usual, David never wasted any time getting to the meat of things. “Well, we had a little disagreement. She and I see things differently.” “Mom, you do have to admit these cats are getting to be a bit much. How many do you have now? Twenty, thirty?” “Maybe if you came over once in a while, you’d be able to see for yourself.” How awful she couldn’t control her tongue lately. It ran away with itself. “I didn’t call to pick a fight with you. I just wanted to know how you’re doing.” “Fine, David, you don’t have to worry about me. You can go back to whatever you were doing.” “That’s not fair. You’re getting awfully irritable lately. Are you feeling okay?” “Never better, David. I’m doing fine.” The next day, tragedy struck. When Adelia arose in the morning, her hair still wrapped in her scarf, and padded into the kitchen in her fuzzy slippers, the sight that greeted her horrified her. Tiger was stretched out on his side, his lifeless eyes wide open, his body stiff. Adelia stooped over the cat, and touched it. “Tiger, Tiger, how can you leave me? You were my favorite.” The tom was only eleven years old, that wasn’t so very old. Adelia felt a sharp pang in her heart as she looked at the unmoving form. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t let Tiger go. She sat for a while, staring at the dead cat. Suddenly, she thought of something. An article she had read somewhere. Maybe, just maybe.... Carefully, she wrapped his body into a plastic bag, and placed it in her freezer, next to the meat. And made her calls. The man at the counter saw the elderly lady hobble into the foyer, carrying a large sack. She looked determined, yet genteel, with her white hair, wrinkled cheeks, and long grey dress. A perfect customer, he thought, as he smoothly glided over to her. “May I help you?” he asked, polite deference in his voice. “Yes, I called earlier. I wanted to know if you could help me with my problem.” “I see. And your problem is?” It always started out this way, and the salesman almost rubbed his hands with glee. He could see a potential customer here, he was never wrong. “Well, I need your services.” “Well, we have many plans available. Would you like to look at our brochure?” “No, no, I know what you do. I looked you up before I came. And talked to your owner for a bit.” “Oh, good, good. And which plan do you want?” “Whichever one is best for Tiger.” “Tiger?” This was a new one for the rep. “Yes, I want my Tiger frozen, so he can be revived some day.” “Your Tiger? Frozen?” The salesman’s dark eyes showed confusion. “Oh, yes, I brought him with me. You do freeze people don’t you? I saw your ad in the phone book.” “Madame, we are specialists in cryogenics. It’s not exactly what I would call“freezing” someone, rather, it is placing them in a suspended state.” “Oh, good, then you can help Tiger.” With those words, Adelia opened her sack, and placed the frozen block of cat on the counter. “Good heavens! That’s a cat!” “Yes, that’s my Tiger. I want him suspended.” “Madame, this is highly irregular. We don’t normally suspend pets.” “Sir, my cat is very special to me.” “Er, yes, but I’m afraid I can’t help you. You see, he’s already been frozen. If we were to try to suspend him, there would be problems. Severe problems.” “What kind of problems?” Adelia was mystified. “Well, first, we would have to thaw him, and it would cause tissue damage. All the swelling, then compressing of tissues. I’m afraid Tiger would come out in a pretty poor state as a result.” “So you can’t refreeze him?” “Er, uh, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” Adelia was surprised, and saddened. “Okay, I’ll take him home then.” “Yes, I think that’s best.” The salesman watched her go, shaking his head in wonderment. Tiger was given a proper cremation, and placed in a small jar on the mantel. Adelia began to plan ahead for her other “children”. Tiger’s demise had reminded Adelia of her own mortality. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” Adelia said to the middle aged man dressed in a soft grey suit with striped tie and gold cuff links. “No problem, Mrs. Irving, I always have time to meet with you. How can I help you?” The lawyer looked at her expectantly. “I want to do something for my babies. After I’m gone.” “Sarah and David will appreciate your thinking about them.” the lawyer settled back in his chair. “Oh, no, not them. I meant my cats. They’re my real babies now.” “Let me get this straight. You want to do something for your cats? What, exactly, did you have in mind?” Adelia leaned forward, her face showing excitement. “I want to create a shelter for abandoned cats of all ages. One that would have soft bedding, plenty of room for exercise, toys for them, and good food. Not one of those sterile pounds, but a real home for them.” “You want to set up a home for orphan cats?” the lawyer was trying to conceal his surprise, but his eye twitched anyway. “Yes, yes, exactly! A foundation that could do this. I can set up the trust immediately.” “Well, this is very unusual. Have you talked to Sarah and David about your plans?” Adelia looked scornful. “Of course not. They would shoot this down in a minute. All they want is my money, and they’re counting the days until I go. Maybe if they spent some time with me while I’m still living, I wouldn’t mind. No, John left me the money to do with as I please, and this would really please me.” The lawyer flexed his hands into a steeple, then placed his chin on them. “You know I want to help you, Adelia. I’ve known you and your family for years. But people will criticize you. They won’t understand this. You need to think this through carefully before you make a decision of this magnitude.” “Oh, I have, young man, trust me, I have. I have thought this through carefully, and this is what I want.” Adelia reached into the large bag at her side, and placed blueprints on the lawyers desk. “I had a friend draw these up for me. This is what I want for my babies.” The lawyers looked at the blueprints, his thinning hair showing as he leaned over them. “You’ve gone to a lot of work already, Adelia. I’ll see what I can do.” Adelia hobbled out of his office an hour later, and stopped in the snack bar for a cup of tea. It was her reward for a job well done, and she felt pleased with herself. Her babies would be taken care of. The car door slammed, and an energetic middle-aged woman with short brown hair and low pumps came charging up to the front door. She opened the door without knocking, and began looking around. “Mom, where are you?” she called out in a strident voice. “Back here, Sarah. I was bathing Gingersnap.” Adelia’s voice floated in from the bathroom. “The fleas have been terrible this year, and it was her turn today.” A look of disgust wrinkled the woman’s face, as she saw the almost score of cats lounging, leaning, playing, napping in the house. The cats returned her look with ones of inscrutable mystery, like so many sphinxes of old. “ I wanted to come by and check on you. I hate our being mad at each other.” Adelia walked out of the bathroom, a toweled wet cat in her arms. She sat on the sofa, and began rubbing the wet creature briskly. “I’m glad you came by. I wanted to talk to you anyway. The lawyer said I should.” “The lawyer?” Sarah’s ears almost visibly perked up. “Are you working on your will?” “Yes, but don’t get that excited look, Sarah. It won’t affect you.” “What do you mean, Mom? It won’t all go to David, will it? Dad left you several hundred thousand dollars, that’s a lot for one person.” “How much he left is none of your business, or David’s. I went and saw Bradley the other day, and changed a few things in the will. He said I should tell you and David, so I am.” “What kind of changes?” An exasperated tone crept into Sarah’s voice. “I’m setting up a foundation. Something to help take care of the cats after I’m gone.” “WHAT? Have you gone completely crazy? Those cats don’t need anything but a good pound.” “That’s how I thought you would feel, and that’s why I did this.” Adelia’s face had that stubborn look, the one that wouldn’t be budged. She had known her daughter would fight her on this. “Mom, you can’t do this. You’ve gone completely senile, completely off your rocker. NOBODY in their right mind leaves money to cats. Only batty old ladies.” “I’m sorry you think that’s what I am.” The next few days were calm for Adelia, as she cared for her babies, chatted with Erin and his sweet wife Julia at the store, and listened to her favorite shows on T.V. The summons came in the mail. It was very formal looking, on white parchment paper. It stated that Adelia was to come to court in two weeks, where a competency hearing would be held, to determine if power of attorney should be given to her oldest child, Sarah. Adelia read it and felt a pang of sadness, then placed it on the kitchen counter. Children could be so cruel. Julia and Erin came to pick Adelia up on the day of the court hearing. Both of them had taken care to dress nicely, Julia in a soft flowing maternity dress, and Erin in a nice shirt and slacks. Adelia was dressed in black, as if she were in mourning. Once they were underway, the trip seemed to pass quickly. “Thank you for coming and getting me,” Adelia said as they arrived at the courthouse. “Well, I think Sarah’s wrong. You aren’t incompetent, any more than I am.” Julia’s eyes flashed as she spoke. “I hope the judge is sympathetic to older people.” Erin spoke what everyone felt. Sarah sat on the left side of the court room, and barely acknowledged her mother when Adelia entered. Dressed in a red silk dress and silver grey scarf, she looked the height of matronly correctness, her hair styled until each curl was in perfect order. Adelia and her friends sat on the right side of the courtroom. She looked around for David, but didn’t see him. But there was a lawyer there, dressed in a nice wool suit. It was someone she didn’t know, and was sitting next to Sarah. Bradley would be there soon enough. A movement in the doorway caught her eye. It was David, walking with a tired gait down the aisle. He saw his mother, paused, then walked to where his sister sat, and joined her. The two brown headed siblings conferred quietly. Bradley came soon after, and joined Adelia, his hands full of paperwork and a bulging briefcase. Next came the judge, a kind looking man of about forty years in age. The hearing took quite a while. The new lawyer, whom Adelia had never seen before, droned on and on about senility, the “aberrant behaviour” that Mrs. Irving had been demonstrating, and how alarmed her “loving children” had been over her “recent deterioration.” Adelia almost snorted at that, and leaned over to Bradley. “The only thing they’re alarmed about is they might not get all that money.” Bradley looked at her, and nodded quietly. The strange lawyer also called up several neighbors, who testified about Adelia’s “eccentricity.” When Bradley got up, he addressed issues of private rights. He called Julia and Erin to the stand as witnesses to Adelia’s competency. He then called Adelia to the stand. After she was sworn in, the questions began. “Mrs. Irving, how many cats do you own?” “Are they well cared for?” “Who handles your affairs for you?” “Do you love your children?” Adelia dutifully answered each question, although she paused on the last one. She turned to the judge, and asked him a question. “Your honor, may I make a statement, please?” “Of course, Mrs. Irving. This is a hearing, and any testimony you give could be helpful to my making a decision.” “Your honor, do you have children?” The judge looked surprised. “Well, this is highly irregular, but I will answer. Yes, I have three children. One is married, and the other two are finishing college.” “How often do you see them, or talk to them?” “Mrs. Irving, I believe this is the first time I have ever been interrogated in my own courtroom. I believe I see them once or twice a week.” He looked slightly amused as he answered her. “Well, your honor, my son there,” Adelia pointed to David, “only visits me once a year. On his birthday, so he can get his check. And my daughter next to him,” she pointed again to Sarah, “comes over once or twice a month. She stays for five minutes, then leaves. She’s just checking that I’m still alive and breathing.” “Mrs. Irving, this is very interesting, but what does that have to do with your competency?” “I was getting to that, sir. These two children really don’t care about me. What they’re waiting for is for me to die, so they can get my money. On the other hand, my cats are my sole comfort in my old age. They love me unconditionally, don’t argue or back talk, and listen to me when I need someone. Why shouldn’t I leave my money to creatures that love me, rather than those two ungrateful children?” “Your point is made, Mrs. Irving. But often it is assumed that all assets will go to the next of kin. Human kin, that is.” “Well, I disagree with the assumption.” Adelia got down from the stand, and sat next to Bradley. The judge ruled that Mrs. Irving’s judgment was still in question, and a new hearing was scheduled for the next week. He needed time to think over the testimonies. Sarah was livid. “I don’t believe this! Of course she’s incompetent, and why we need another hearing, I don’t know.” David tried to soothe her. “Well, he is questioning her judgment, sis, so don’t get too upset yet.” Adelia walked past them on her way out. She looked at her two children with contempt, and said, “ I hope you two are happy with what you are trying to do. Me, I couldn’t sleep at night.” She then left, slowly walking to the waiting car outside. Sarah came to check on her mother that weekend. She was really trying to keep track of Adelia’s activities, but she called it daughterly devotion. She walked up the cobbled walk and pushed on her mother’s door. It was locked, which was quite unusual. Adelia lived in a small town, and had never locked her door as long as Sarah could remember. “Mom, are you there? Are you home?” There was no answer. Instead, all was silent. Too silent. She went around back, and the door there was locked as well. She peeked inside a window. The house interior was dim, with no lights on. She finally opened one of the windows, pushed in the screen, and climbed into the silent house. The first thing she noticed was the silence. No meows. No noise. It was as quiet as a library, and she tiptoed around the house. That was when she saw the note on the kitchen table. With trembling hands, she picked it up and began reading it. “Dearest Sarah, By now you will have entered my house once again without permission, or even knocking. I tried to make it a little harder for you this time. But I know you will have gotten in. Don’t try to find me. I am safe, and well, and so are my babies. Looking for me will be futile. The past few days, with the help of friends, I have covered my tracks completely. I am where you can never reach me. You and David may have the house, and all that is in it. I hope you two find some peace in your lives. Mother” “Oh, dear Lord, what has she done now?” Sarah felt dizzy, faint, as the room seemed to spin around her. Her mother was gone, and she didn’t have the first clue where she might be. Sarah and David spent the next year hiring detectives to try and track their mother down. The detectives were completely unsuccessful. In the warm tropics of Belize, a white haired woman was sunning herself on the patio of her home. It was beautiful, right on the beach, and had a huge enclosed yard in the back. A young girl came to her, walking across the covered terrace, and offered her an iced tea. “Senora quiere una merienda?” she asked the elderly woman. “No, no, I’m not hungry right now, thank you. But Tommy here might want something.” “Si, senora.” The maid rushed inside to prepare refreshment for Tommy. “Well, Tommy, life couldn’t get better, could it,” the woman said, as she rubbed the thick velvety grey fur on his back. Tommy purred in response, as he watched the kittens playing on the shaded patio. The woman leaned back, a satisfied smile on her face. Yes, life was good, especially if one had one’s babies with them. © 1999 svali Other New Writers' Choice Selections Page Four
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