Categories
Fiction

Crow argues with Snake

Crow lived in the rafters.

“You must go out and do good works. God demands it.”

His arms out wide, Samuel spoke to the emptiness of the church. Crow listened attentively.

“Man is inherently good for he is alive but he lapses into sin again and again. Why did God give man the capacity to do sin? It is because there is goodness in choice. Without choice, man would be an automaton, a slave to his instinct, wandering the world with an empty soul.”

Samuel died. Crow went to visit his grave.

An egg lay nearby.

Snake slithered over.

“Stop,” Crow said, “do not eat that egg!”

“Why not? It is my nature,” Snake said.

Crow thought. He did not know what to say. He believed it was good to save the egg because he came from an egg. Guarding the egg was a good deed.

Crow looked at Snake. His talons gripped the gravestone.

“I cannot stop you,” Crow said. “At the very least I implore you to look inside yourself and make a choice whether to eat the egg or not.”

Snake replied, “I have no say in the matter,” and ate the egg.

Categories
Fiction

The Red Shells

Premise: The slave trade, but the British are crabs, pre-Revolutionary Americans are snakes, and Africans are mice.

The Reds transported the Snakes of Europe to the shores of America. With their claw hands, they took £s as tax and exchanged for tea. The first snake Congress met.

“In our triangular trade of tea and mice for silver and cotton, we pay one tenth in tax to the Conch and one tenth in shipping fees to Barnacle Shipping a claw monopoly maintained by the Conch. A total of a fifth of our bounty.”

The mice holding snakes nodded in ascent. One of them spoke, “That’s one less field mouse for cotton, less one tenth the profit; and one tenth in trade for the necessary tools to cultivate the land; effects felt across all states and industries.”

“Although I find the practice of mice holding abominable, I am yoked to agreement,” a furnace dealer said: “I’ve shed not once this year for overwork.”

Meanwhile back in Britain, two crabs of the Conch court have tea. A painting from the Netherlands is hanged and various vases from the Orient are displayed.

Categories
Fiction

The Monk Hit his Head

At the temple a monk retrieved something from a closet. As he went to replace it, the stool was positioned beneath the doorframe, and so with this arms reaching for a top shelf, and ascending the stool, he hit his head squarely on the frame.

He groaned. He walked the hard-wood floors as he rubbed the top of his head. It was that spot directly at the center.

Another monk walking the opposite direction asked him what was wrong. He said nothing was wrong while thinking bad thoughts. He said nothing was wrong but the pain was there.

He wandered outside and watched the monks sweep. Whereas before he felt serenity, now he felt agitation, a dizzy drop at the bottom of a bowl (he could not empty).

Categories
Fiction

Front Button

N was getting ready for a date. He matched with a girl next door type. In the pic that made him want, she wore a tank top and her hair short. Seemed like an old picture, but N didn’t care.

After taking a shower, N rooted around for a good shirt. He found on but it was missing a button. He decided against wearing it, but remembered that he saw the button the other day behind the dresser against the molding. He thought he didn’t have time to repair it as he had to drive downtown, but that he would find the button anyway just so he wouldn’t think about finding it.

He moved an end table and leaned down to retrieve the button but to his dismay the molding was slightly discolored and moist. In fact as he pulled the dresser away and used his phone, he could see that the damage was far more extensive.

Categories
Fiction

Karam: Originator of the Lemon

Karam hailed from tribes north in A. continent. Learning of the climes of the New World, he set out, quite intentionally, with the goal of propagation of the lemon tree. He arrived with his lemon trees and lemon seeds in a southern area. He began the slow process of making varieties that were well-suited for new terrain.

Karam lacked a kind of business sense. He planted his lemon trees on public property. As a geometer, he had a highly developed sense of aesthetics, and his placement of trees in public and along hillsides bothered no one. He set up an experimental area and selected for rate of maturation and size in the New World.

After a few years of living in the New World, he was recognized for his cultivation skills. He was hired on different orchards often to cultivate lemon trees and other plants. The owners often got their start on lemons through Karam’s benevolence: his receptivity to answering questions as he tended to the trees, and then a willingness to take seeds or transplants from the public stock and provide his knowledge and experience in an on-boarding process.

The two children, Reti & Iter, the sons of David, another orchard owner, followed Karam’s step, and overtime these children learned much about lemons. One of Karam’s innovation was netting, used to prevent birds from eating the lemons. The children learned how to construct such enclosures.

Between his part-time jobs working on different orchards, he made enough to rent a house with a backyard in which he planted several lemon trees. However changing economic circumstance meant he had to move out after several years. His position was unenviable. Despite his productivity, and his initial brilliant idea, he did not own any lemon trees.

How was this possible? He failed to buy a farm early on. Perhaps he sunk too much into trees. Lemons also were not popular as people were not used to sour, but they had found a market nonetheless.

As a side hustle, Karam became a lemon seller on weekends at the farmers market. He also started to stockpile oil, for what purpose? Karam was upset. He was reported and charged with misdemeanor reckless endangerment. The oil was confiscated.

Karam felt trapped. The New World was a place of rules that were not familiar to him.

Even if his motivations were bad in hoarding oil, to propagate a fire, he could have changed his mind about it and sold the oil at a later date when the weather turned.

Karam had learned a bit of business with his interaction with orchards. But in retrospect he regretted dealing with any of the owners. Karam liked to be the face of lemons as it was in the early days. Even though he had so intimately helped them and set up their operations, they were no longer Karam’s lemons, but lemons from this or that orchard.

In a vision, he saw the orchards up in flames and a red sunset like in the lands of north A.

He felt nostalgia for his home country. The sights and smells. The sun and dry weather. The people mixed lemons with sugar and water to create the local drink, lemonade. Sugar being so expensive in the New World, he hadn’t the opportunity for lemonade, which beat out the local drink of tea, to which Karam added a wedge of lemon. Wait a minute.

He had figured out monetization.

Using his savings, he bought pounds of sugar. The following weekend, he started to sell lemonade at the market. He had a few customers and was generally hopeful.

Reti & Iter, the lemon aficionados, and now teenagers, took a great interest in his business. They observed how he poured sugar & puzzled the foreign name, lemonade.

A week later on the opposite side of the market, Reti & Iter were selling lemonade, “David’s Lemonade”.

Karam sent a letter to David:

Dear David,

Congratulations on your new venture.

I am the originator of the lemon and creator of lemonade.

I will sell my formula for lemonade & trademark.

I think it will be a huge win for everyone involved in the farming community.

Please let me know your response.

Sincerely,

Karam

Karam got a response immediately:

Hi Karam, this is interesting! Give a me a day to work on this; I will reach back soon!

Time passed and Karam wrote again:

David,

Wanted to reach out again.

Have you considered what an offer might look like? My thoughts are a transfer of IP followed by a two year consulting contract. During this period, I’d be able to consult on any internal projects, provide training, and continue to work on lemons & lemonade.

Sincerely,

Karam

There was no response.

Karam returned to his old experimental plots. They lay withered, untended. Karam went back to his homeland.

The next year he returned with new lemon trees, but this time he did not rid them of the pest, the yellow beetle. He dug up his old plots and replanted. The plants matured and produced fruit. Lo & behold, Reti & Iter took lemons from the tree and along with them, beetles.

Soon there was a beetle outbreak not only on David’s orchard, but many others.

The story was picked up by the press and Karam was roundly blamed.

Karam no longer works as a cultivator. These days he is more interested in seed banking and gardening. He also runs a newsletter where you can read his side of the story.

Categories
Fiction

The Alternative Childhood History of a Franchise Founder

J was a student. He had a terrible bully. He feared going to school.

One day, sitting outside under a tree eating his lunch, he heard a commotion coming from the school cafeteria.

He moved his way through the crowd and saw his bully on the ground swollen and red with labored breath. A nurse administered adrenaline and saved the bully’s life. Later, it was determined that the bully had a severe peanut allergy; information that made an impression on J.

That year, with his bully in the hospital, J made four friends.

One summer, J and his friends decided to all get jobs on farms, except one friend that moved to the city. Another friend worked on a peanut farm. Incidentally, the daughter of the farmer there became J’s girlfriend.

The four farm hands & the girl went to visit friend five in the city. They ate at a burger place which was swell. Five said, “I’m attending school to become a trucker. Maybe I can visit you all on my trips when I’m done,” which is when J had the idea.

“Let’s start a burger joint out where we live, then you can come visit us.

“We’ll use our connections & take all the ingredients fresh from the farms. And we’ll give away peanuts as an appetizer.” J’s girlfriend hugged his arm.

“Fine by us,” his friends said.

Categories
Fiction

The Alternative Childhood History of a Salt Magnate

M lived in a log cabin. “Crash!” A tree fell through the roof. The winter was hard.

He had a small toy of a horse, made of wood, which he used to calm himself. He put it down for a second and a beaver stole it away.

As his father did repairs, he heard the gnawing echoes.

He moved to the city. One day, as it rained, he spied a girl in a yellow raincoat. Thinking of what to say, he approached her. But as the gouts of rain fell between them, a beaver dashed out of the rain. “Ach!” she screamed and ran away.

He entered the salt business which is how he made his fortune and opened an arboretum.

The mission of an arboretum is to conserve trees; as such beavers are unwelcome visitors. They are caught & released far afield.

Categories
Fiction

Chess Prison

I was sentenced to 10 years in prison for tampering with computers. The robot judge allowed me to choose where I would serve my sentence. I got to go to Chess Prison. Each cell has a computer screen where you get to play chess against a computer. The rules of the prison stated that we were allowed no communication with the outside. If you beat the computer, you got to go free. This was not a normal computer setup. The screen was built into the wall and it would always show the current position. When it was time to sleep the screen would dim. Each cell also contained a chess set. The library was only chess books. There were simul chess rules. Every prisoner was playing black against the computer that played white. We talked about our games, all of us inmates over meals. There were no rules against communication between inmates because it didn’t matter. The computer was unbeatable by humans.

There has to be an engine out there that can beat this computer. I once thought for 1 month on a move to no avail.

One of the stronger players here looks over the moves of the other players. We’ve reasoned that if all of us are playing well then statistically one of us might beat the Computer. Also, maybe, just maybe, the computer will divide its resources between all of us: if we are all playing well, it will become an overloaded queen, instead of a queen that can take all the pawns.

It’s not only chess here. There is a gym. A lot of us despite our failings take inordinate pride in our bodies. It is something that the Computer doesn’t have. We are not sure where the super computer is located on the premises. With all the brainpower we’ve dedicated to the problem, we think it is deep underground.

Inexplicably, I found a hacksaw blade lying around. When we were all asleep, a robot must have been doing something or another and it replaced the blade of its hacksaw and left the old one lying around. Thank you cosmic ray. Instead of playing chess, I’ve been wedging the blade between the wall and screen, in order to separate the screen from its holding. Maybe I’ll find something behind there.

I’ve managed to separate the screen which has fallen through the back of the wall. There is a hollow. I can look down and it is dark. There is a small space which the cables pass through from below. If I follow the cables back I’ll get to the computer. I manage to squeeze my body in. It is tight. I shimmy my way down.

Other cables bundle together. I’m a child again climbing down rope. I’ve stood upon the cluster. There was a door leading out. I must find the settings. Here they are. I set the difficulty to master level and cover-up my tampering. I climb back up. I replace the screen. My conscience is clear. Surely we will start winning now.