LITERATURE: SHORT STORIES
J. P. Cloud
Hometown:
Los Angeles, CA
Statement:
I'm really just having fun pretending to be a writer. I take writing itself seriously, but I have no aspirations about it. Writing is and has been a very easy thing for me. I also do photography and art/illustration and portraits for hire.
Background:
Working on my first short novel, tentively titled "Dread Secret of Martin Boes" Below are excerpts from the upcoming book.
Meanwhile, here is some new free literature, a short story called "The Letter Never Sent". Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it
Upcoming:
Recently joined the Long Beach Writers group, Long Beach, CA.
Other:
NEW SHORT STORY 6-28-08
The Letter Not Sent
Those who administer psychiatric treatment sometimes ask their patients to write a strong, personal letter to another person who has somehow wronged them.The letter is meant for the patients to display all of their strong feelings, hopes and wishes that they could never possibly express person-to-person. After they write the letter, they are asked to place it in an envelope, write the address, put a postage stamp on it, and return to the office with the letter, ready to be sent. The patient has the choice of sending, or not sending the letter. By that time, however, the patient feels better, and decides not to send the letter; thus, "The Letter Not Sent".
He was angry. She had hurt his feelings. She was cold and heartless, a bitch. He paced around like a monkey in a cage. He was mad."How could she do this to me?", he repeated in his mind. His brain boiled. When he shut his eyes, he saw red flames. He was tired of her cavalier attitude in regards to his feelings. sick of her laughing at him, sick of her "Oh well"s. He was going to do something about it! He always wrote words well. People loved his story letters. He had that real knack for putting words down on paper. Sometimes, it was to his disadvantage, like the time he wrote an eloquent but angry letter to his boss, which got him fired; But at least he got to express himself. He felt he was a great writer, that he was was a "Wordsmith"...
That's it! That's what he would do! He would write the greatest break-up letter ever written in history! He jumped into his desk chair, pulled up the stationary, got out his Rolling Writer Pen and started writing.
He flew into the task like a hawk at its prey. It was easy, and he couldn't write fast enough to keep up with what he had in mind to say.
He started out with sarcasm spiced with contritement. He added a touch of insult. He notified her that he was not a weak sister, and that he had guts and coourage. He said he was a kind and loving person and didn't deserve what she did to him. He threw in a couple of 'bitch's for flavor.He tossed around references to her age, looks and suggested that she was not all that she had once been. He would show her who King Horse was. He hinted at his genius, and how she would miss him when he was gone. He said to her that he was "all you've got" and that she never listened to him. He even created a fictitious love interest that he told her had replaced her in his heart.("That'll get her", he thought) He said he was sick and tired of her.lackadaisical attitude and by God, this is IT!
He threatened, belittled, demanded, wheedled, criticized, bullied, whined, ultimated. cried, bargained, was petulant, was humorous, was resigned, was despaired, was ambivalant, was worldy-wise, was an innocent bystander victim of her cruelty. He wrapped it all up with the final denouement, the Wham-O, the Big Break-Up. It was a masterpiece. Such eloquence. Such genius. He even thought about reading it at the local open-mic poetry session.
They liked that kind of stuff.
He put it in an envelope with her name on it, and drove over to her house. He taped it on her door so she would see it when she got home from work. He walked away, head high and proud. He was glad he did something about it, happy that he was now a man to be reckoned with, a person of substance, not the dull-boy misanthrope he felt she thought he was...
He got home, took a shower, had dinner, and settled down to watch TV There was a situation comedy on, and as he watched, he configured his relationship alongside the sit-com's contrived relationships. He thought about his
girlfriend, thought about how she would feel when she opened and read his great letter...
Instantly he jumped up, put his pants on and got in his car and raced down to his girlfriend's house. He went 85 MPH through the streets, blew right through two red lights and a stop sign. He tore out like a berzerk madman, burning rubber and two-wheeling it on turns. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God", he whispered hoarsely, as he pulled up to her house. He looked hard at her door in the dimming light. The letter was still there! She didn't get back yet! He double-parked and jumped out and ran as fast as he could to get the letter. He grabbed it and pulled it off the door. He jumped back in his car, holding the letter in his hand with a death-grip. He got home and tore the letter into a thousand pieces and threw it away. He retreated to his living room and collapsed onto the sofa, his heart pounding, sweating and out of breath. He inhaled deeply,.exhaled a long, long sigh, and watched the last five minutes of the half-hour sit-com, which was still on.
The phone rang.
He answered. It was her.
"Hi! Watcha doin'?
"Huh? Nothing! Just watching TV".
.
J.P. Cloud
6-28-08
Chapter 30: Designed by Martin Boes
Martin Boes and Soleil gave Porky the Grand Tour of the Boes-Soleil main office. It was huge. It was at least 500 feet from end to end and 200 feet wide. It was dotted with strategically placed furniture, terraces and indoor gazebos designed by Martin Boes.
The room was trussed by giant symmetrical pylons and columns designed by Martin Boes. The pylons and columns were cleverly disguised as rain forest trees with fern gardens and soothing, cascading rock waterfalls designed by Martin Boes.
In the center of the room was a stainless steel clear beveled-glass
spiral staircase going downstairs only, designed by Martin Boes. It was the only way in and out of the main office. To exit the building, one had to take the stainless steel clear beveled-glass elevator designed by Martin Boes down to the revolutionary, award winning employee parking lot designed by Martin Boes.
(There was a secret vault containing a fuel-less vehicle designed and built from retrieved alien technology by Martin Boes' father, Telemon Ajax Boes, but nobody was supposed to know about that)
The only thing in the Main Office that was not designed by Martin Boes was his personal desk chair, the one and only Eames Chair designed by Charles Eames.
Only those who have lived with an Eames chair would ever know what they posessed. The black leather polished wood encased swiveling vessel was the base of every major decision in the 1960's America. The Eames Chair made you a person you were not. The Eames Chair was a magical thing that was sublime. The swiveling balance of the thing placed you in the Center of the Universe.
This is why the only thing not designed by Martin Boes was The Eames Chair.
Porky was awe-struck. Never, never, never in a thousand years did he ever think he would be hired at such a place, much less be invited into the Boes-Soleil Inner Circle. But Martin Boes and Soleil liked Porky's talented design work, but moreover, liked Porky.
"Oh George!", said Soleil, "We wanted to show you this tree."
Porky walked over with Martin Boes and Soleil to one of the fern pylons. There was a very small tree in an exalted pottery vase designed by Martin Boes. It sat upon a stainless steel and clear beveled glass plant stand designed by Martin Boes. Porky looked at the tree, unimpressed. "Thats...very nice." said Porky. "What kind of tree is it?"
"You never heard of a Bonsai tree?" said Soleil. touching his arm for one second. "They're miniature trees cultivated for years by the Japanese. This one's five hundred years old."
"You've gotta be kidding me!" blurted Porky. "That's five hundred years old?"
"At least five hundred years old." said Martin Boes.
"It's Marty's", said Soleil. "The cost was atrocious. Look at this one, George." She walked over to another fern-pylon. she pointed to another little tree. "This one is only a hundred and fifty. It's a baby. It's mine. Marty gave it to me for my birthday."
"Uh-oh..not again", said Martin Boes.
"Yeah, he wouldn't buy me a five-hundred-year-old one, so I had to settle for this, the cheap son of a bitch."
There was a pause, then they all burst out laughing.
Chapter 31: Last of the Dodos
Next, Martin Boes and Soleil showed Porky the Dodo feather.Martin Boes had acquired the Dodo feather from the London Museum, who had in its possession the only known remains of a Dodo bird.
The last Dodo was killed and eaten by a Dutchman on the island of Mauritius in 1682. The last remains of the Dodo were retrieved from an Oxford trash heap; A professor had decided to discard the dusty, ugly old stuffed Dodo. A student found it in the trash and tore off its head, a leg and a few bones and feathers. That was all that was left of the Dodo bird.
Martin Boes, in exchange for designing a new wing at the London Museum, was 'awarded' a single precious feather plucked from the neck of the head of the last Dodo. He gave the last Dodo feather to Soleil as a birthday gift. It was encased in a clear, protective, beveled Lucite container designed by Martin Boes.
Chapter 6: Shogun Master
Once, George "Porky" Parker was taking his evening walk to get some excercise in.
Although he still had his handsome, jet-pilot features, Porky's girth was approaching 300 pounds now, and his image was now befitting his name. Most of his life, he was slim and trim and his name belied his looks...now he was indeed, "Porky"
.
After jogging up and dpwn the 60 step stairs one time, Porky was all in. He found a bench and sat down. On the back rest of the bench was a memorial brass plaque dedicated to the four Wyvrnwood brothers, who had all apparently died in a plane crash...the plaque ended in the song phrase, "...for those in peril in the air". There were beautifully sculpted portraits of the four boys, which Porky admired for a few seconds, then plopped down.
About twenty yards away sat an old Asian man with a big, beautiful German Shepherd dog. The old Asian man had long, white hair parted in the middle.Porky was reminded of a Shogun Master.
Porky breathed in and he breathed out, catching his breath. He knew running up and down the stairs at his weight was a risk to his heart, but he had to start somewhere, sometime...once was enough.Porky looked out across the harbor with the giant cargo cranes and watched as the cruise ship launched, flatulently blowing its tremendous horn.
As he watched this, he heard some guy yelling "Fuck!" He turned to his right and saw a young man in a bright red baseball hat shouting and cursing in the old Asian man, the Shogun Master's face:
"You;d better fucking listen to me, you old piece of shit!" he feigned, then slapped the Shogun Master's face. Porky winced. "You FUCKING listen to me when I talk to you, you FUCKIN' asshole! He slapped the old man again."FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! YOU FUCK!" He hit him again. Porky winced again. He could hear his hand slapping the Shogun Master.
The Shogun Master didn't react- not at all. He merely flinched and did nothing but pet his big, beautiful German Shepherd...it also didn't react at all to the shouting and hitting. It was as if the dog was blind. Two ladies walking down the pathway noticed Red Hat slapping and shouting "Fuck" at the old man. They passed without looking, but turned and looked back, noticing that Porky was also looking.
This went on for a good five minutes. Red Hat danced and hovered in the Shogun Master's face, taunting him, feigning and swearing, occasionally hitting him in the face.. But Shogun Master still did not react, except to stroke his German Shepherd with delicate fingers. The big dog could have easily turned and bit Red Hat's arm, but did nothing.
Porky couldn't believe his eyes. He'd never seen anything like this before. He looked hard and long at the two, trying to make sure that this was really happening. And there was no doubt about it, Red Hat was hitting the old man. It was not some sort of a theatrical rehearsal... he was whacking the old man. Porky could hear the sound of hand hitting flesh hard.
Porky hated and loathed bullies. He'd had more of his share of them in school and in waking, working life... the sad truth was, people would attack other people for no reason at all. Porky knew bullies, knew the bully patterns...he'd seen them all before.
But this was something different, something... ineffable. Why didn't the old man react to this punishment? Why didn't his German Shepherd react?
Red Hat finally stopped abusing the old man, and with a final "FUCK YOU!" at the top of his lungs, he lurched away and retired to a nearby African Baobab shade tree, sitting down next to another man who was lying prone on his side.
The Shogun Master petted and caressed his dog, protectively. The two ladies with their dogs returned down the path. THey stopped by the Shogun Master and asked him if he was all right. The Shogun Master dismissed them with a wave of his hand, as if to say "I'm fine, I'm fine."
Porky couldn't stop looking at Red Hat and Shogun Master. He was transfixed by the recent events. He wondered if the Shogun Master was really a Zen Master, letting the abuse and hatred flow around him like a cool, running stream. Porky turned away, blinking, feeling nauseated by what he had just experienced. He wanted to forget about it...if Shogun Master didn't care, why should he?
A few minutes passed. Red Hat's recumbent companion got up and somnambulently trundled a few yards towards another Baobab tree, then collapsed on his side. Porky guessed correctly that he was trying to take a leak, but was so drunk he couldn't make it.
Now Red Hat got up and walked back to the old man, shouting, "Hey fuck-face!"
He was coming back for more!
Red Hat wobbled and weaved, did a dance, taunted and feigned and jabbed at the old man, who again, didn't react. This seemed to anger Red Hat, and he slapped the Shogun Master on his forehead.
Porky got up. That was enough. His eyes fixed on Red Hat, he walked over to the two, in a kind of trance. There was fear in the trance, but there was more concern than fear in Porky's body. He was on a primal, animal response mode. Red hat hit Shogun Master once again, with an audible "thwack". Porky quickened his pace. Twenty feet from the two, Porky said "Leave him alone!".
Red Hat stopped, turned to look at the advancing Porky. Porky could see the fear in Red Hat's face. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Porky's fists clenched, and he thought of John Wayne. Red Hat straightened up and said, "Oh yeah? Well, FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!" at Porky. He squared off in a fighting stance, but Porky was there now, and he hit Red Hat hard, right on his head with his fist. Red Hat staggered, more shocked that anybody would have the nerve to strike him. "You motherfucker!", he shrieked at Porky. "You fuckin fat cocksucker!" Porky slapped him hard in his face. Red hat went down, got up again. He had a hurt, 'how could you?" look on his face. "I got two broken legs, fucker, leave me alone!"
"I saw what you were doing", said Porky. "You leave him alone!"
"It's okay", said Shogun Master. "I'm Okay...please"
Red Hat was practically crying. "I got two broken legs! I live here!", he said, meaning the beach park. I'm calling 911. Somebody call 911...please...will you call 911?" he said to a couple who were passing by. They had a cell phone, and they called 911. Porky chuckled. He wasn't concerned about the cops. "Who you think the cops are gonna believe, me or the homeless scumbag beating up old men?"
"Me", said Red Hat, stupidly answering Porky's question. "I got two broken legs!" I live here!" He rolled up his jeans to show the 911 couple his legs. Porky didn't see anything wrong with his legs. "Ya fat cocksucker!" Porky cooly smiled and back-handed Red Hat hard in his insolent face. He had found that he was enjoying this empowerment. Red hat fell over, came up and swung at Porky, missing by a mile. Porky punched him in his side, maybe breaking a rib. The 911 couple was concerned. Shogun Master kept saying, "Please! Stop. I'm Okay, please stop..." Porky grabbed Red Hat by his dirty shirt and hoisted him up. Red Hat was now crying. "Leave me alone, I got two broken legs", he mewled. He was showing his true bully colors now "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing?" He was playing up his supposed innocence to the 911 couple, who had not seen him beating the Shogun Master. "Here, let me show you my legs", he said appeallingly to Porky.
Porky let go and shoved Red Hat away, disgustedly. Immediately, Red Hat shrieked at Porky "You're going to jail, motherfucker, when the cops get here! Fuck you!"
"Leave him alone" repeated Porky, walking away.
"Where you going, chickenshit?, you fat fuck, you fat motherfucker you fat cocksucker!" Red hat thought that since Porky had slapped him twice after referring to his weight, that he could goad Porky into coming back and hitting him again, thus portraying Porky as the bad guy in the 911 couple's eyes.
But Porky was old and wise enough not to fall for that one.
"Oh,Stop, you're really hurting my feelings...trash."
"FUCK YOU, YOU FAT FAT FUCK, YOU FAT COCKSUCKER!" shrieked Red Hat, even louder, realizing he couldn't get a rise out of Porky. "Come back here and face the police, you fat fuck!!
"No thanks" said Porky, waving his hand bye-bye as he walked away. Porky decided it wouldn't be a good idea to stick around. The police, though they were doing a good job of flushing out the drug-addicted jailbird homeless scumbags from the beach, might not be so understanding of what Porky had done, especially with the live testimony of the 911 couple, who had only seen Porky beat up Red Hat. No, the cops would've hauled him in, for sure. The cops would've hauled the both of them in and asked questions later, if that.The 911 couple didn't see what Red Hat did to the old man, and the dog-walking ladies, who did, were long gone. As Porky slowly walked away, Red Hat spewed a shrill string of profanities in his direction, shrieking and yapping, laced with references to his weight and supposed sexual proclivities. Porky raised his middle finger as he walked away.
Porky went down towards the pier, marking with one eye the black-and-white cruiser now streaking towards the park. Porky ducked down the alley and took off his hooded pull-over, lest he be identified. He turned onto the pier, took three deep breaths and walked on. Porky's fingers hurt from the first hit on Red Hat's head, but he felt exhilarated...even good about what had happened.
Porky had been in some fights with strangers before. Most of the time, he had backed off before blows fell, and he felt like a craven coward, a chicken-shit. It was a horrible feeling.
This time, not so. He had given the trash scumbag what-for, and he felt right and just, despite the disapproval of onlooking strangers who knew nothing of what the bully did, and despite Shogun Master's forgiveness of his tormentor... he would most certainly do what he had done again, under the circumstances, and with no hesitation.
Porky walked erect and proud, smiling at the local fishermen and saying 'How ya doin'?" He walked to the end of the pier and got a beer to calm his nerves. He looked back towards the distant park and could see the black-and-white and the harbor patrol cars that had driven right up the curb onto the grass to investigate the 911 call. Porky dimly wondered what lame story Red Hat was giving to the cops. He breathed in the salty air and drank his beer out of a brown paper bag.
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