Monday, March 13, 2017

Running Date

Hello All:
Many years ago I worked at a place where the guys were standing around and talking. Suddenly, someone came up and started bragging about how he had a "running date" with some girl. He seemed proud of this so-called "running date" and seemed to be rubbing it in our faces that he had one with this girl.
After he walked away, someone remarked, "Running date? What the hell is a running date?"
"I don't know..." remarked another.
***
So what do you, the reader, think of running dates between a man and a woman? It's harmless, right?
Well not for one of the character's in today's new story.
Running Date
Richard is a fourth degree black belt in Hapkido Karate. He has trained for many years, since junior high school. And now at 36, Richard is a power house! He's undefeatable!
Richard  could, of course, be a monster; but everybody knows that being an undefeatable monster isn't the point of martial arts, especially for someone who has reached the great level of body mind and spirit that Richard has reached as a fourth degree black belt in Hapkido Karate. He's very polite and well mannered. He's humble and very thoughtful. And as Richard has always believed, the point of training in martial arts is so that one never has to use it.
But in recent times, Richard has been faced with a conflict. Although striving to make friends and make peace with everyone in his life; Richards’s neighbor, Don, is obviously going out of his way to make enemies with Richard—perhaps even provoke a fight with him. And Richard's patience is growing thin. Don best look out! When the wreath of peace of finally broken in Richard, a tiger shall be released—a furious tiger. And there's no telling what sort of damage Richard might do.
It's Monday, midmorning, and Richard is in his basement practicing katas. He's been practicing his martial arts and lifting weights for nearly three hours this morning. This is how Richard is. He's dedicated to martial arts. Of course he does have some extra motivation which causes him to practice like this today. As you can imagine, it has much to do with the new conflict in his life; the new enemy in his life, Richard's neighbor Don.
It all started a few weeks ago when Richard was moved to the second shift of his factory where he worked. For many years he woke up early and went to work, then came home in the late afternoon hours to work out. He went about life this way. But with the sudden change at work, he would now he have to wake up early in the morning to do his workout before going for a jog through the neighborhood. And it was on one of these new mornings when Richard discovered his neighbor, Elizabeth. She's a beautiful, dark-haired woman with a body that goes well beyond the rating of ten. Richard saw her on this particular morning, jogging some distance ahead of him on the street. It wasn't such a bad thing to release a little bit of that tiger to pick up the pace and catch up with the beautiful woman.
When Richard finally caught up with her, Elizabeth seemed delighted to see him. She played along, and went along with all the introductions.
"Hi, I'm Richard."
"I'm Elizabeth."
And then Richard realized who she was. "Oh, you're my neighbor from across the street."
"Oh, yes!" Elizabeth suddenly realized who he was as well.
"Yeah, I've been moved to the second shift at my job, now." explained Richard. "This means I have to do my workouts in the morning."
"I've been doing this for a long time." informed Elizabeth.
"Well I guess this makes for a pleasant surprise." added Richard.
Elizabeth smiled.
"How long do you normally run?" asked Richard.
"I usually do about five miles."
"Wow! That's exactly what I do." said Richard. "You must be in really good shape." Then he glanced over to Elizabeth for a second and could see her perfect body with tight ass that was proudly displayed in nearly nude stretch shorts. She wore a sleeveless t-shirt which revealed her youthful, perfect arms. How Richard wanted in that moment to touch them. But good things come to those who are patient. Richard is highly skilled in martial arts which, as you can imagine, goes way beyond physical training. It also involves mental power and mind control. Richard knew that he would have to be patient and wait. He would slowly build up the momentum which could take some weeks before finally touching Elizabeth. But sure enough, he would do it. And it just might involve a kiss. She was beautiful and very alluring. She was someone who Richard definitely wanted. But at the moment, all he could do was run beside her and make small talk while getting to know her.
"So how long have you been in the neighborhood?" asked Richard.
"Eight years..." answered Elizabeth. "When we married we moved in here."
"Oh, you're married?" asked Richard with a surprise. And then he quickly corrected himself. "Oh, of course! I do remember your husband. I'm sorry, I don't get outside to see much or talk to many people. But I do see you two out in front sometimes when I leave. And you've been married for eight years."
"Yes..."
Richard struggled in that moment to use his mental powers and evaluate just what exactly Elizabeth meant in affirming she had been married for eight years. At the surface it was a simple answer. She was married for eight years. But her tone was too vague. He wasn't sure if it was a simple answer, or if she implied that she was getting tired of her husband. The more Richard thought about it, the more he recalled that Elizabeth’s husband on a number of occasions did things outside of his home that wouldn't be considered giving his beautiful wife much needed attention. He owned a hot rod in his garage—an old Chevelle from the 1960s. It' wasn't uncommon on a Saturday or Sunday for his neighbor, Don, to be under the car working on it. Shouldn't he have been with his beautiful wife and two children? And then during football season it wasn't uncommon for Don to be in the garage with his friends—about a half dozen or more, around a large screen TV, watching the football game and drinking beer. Again, this wasn't the way for a beautiful wife to be treated. Elizabeth needed plenty of love and attention. Perhaps Elizabeth really meant to communicate that she was unhappy in her marriage with the way she had said she had been married for eight years. And as the moments passed, Richard became increasingly convinced of this. He could almost bet on it.
"So you’re in really good shape, too." commented Richard.
"Oh yes..."
And how long have you been working out?" asked Richard.
"Oh I was a gymnast in high school and through college. I just kept working out through my twenties and I've always been active."
"Very good!" congratulated Richard. "And how old are you now?"
"Thirty four..."
"Well that's double congratulations to you. Not a lot of people our age do this sort of thing. Most people might have played some sports in high school and then afterwards just let their bodies fall apart, afterwards. By the time they are our age; they are fat and out of shape with body problems."
Elizabeth nodded, "Oh yeah... And what about you?"
"Oh, I've been practicing martial arts since seventh grade. I'm actually a fourth degree black belt in Hapkido Karate."
"Wow!" exclaimed Elizabeth. She was definitely impressed. "You are obviously dedicated."
"Oh yes... But it doesn't stop there. I lift weights, and as you can see I run. I do a lot of things like skiing and row boating."
"Oh, so you must be in pretty good shape." cited Elizabeth.
"Indeed I am!"
Richard stayed with Elizabeth the entire run that morning until making it back to their block. At that time Richard asked, "How often do you run each week?"
"Usually three to four days."
"Well if you don't mind; I really enjoyed myself this morning." began Richard. "Maybe we can be running partners—you know, make running dates?"
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment. She's a married woman, and wondered if this might be considered being unfaithful to her husband—making dates with another man. She finally agreed, "Sure..." After all, she wasn't making luncheon dates or evenings out with Richard. She was only running with him. And he seemed like a nice guy.
***
These running dates between Richard and Elizabeth went on for about three weeks. But then came a late Saturday afternoon, one of Richard's days off, when he was grilling up some chicken and vegetables out on the patio and thinking how lovely it would be if Elizabeth could join him.
Richard started to fantasize about spending more alone time with Elizabeth, have her come over to his house. There could be a time when Elizabeth’s husband was maybe out with friends (he probably didn't care too much about her) and she could come over for dinner. Oh, but she did have a couple of young kids. Perhaps Elizabeth could find a baby sitter for them, maybe drop them off at Mom's house for the evening so she could come over for dinner with Richard—just the two of them.
While fantasizing about this possibility, there was a sudden knock at the front door. Was it Elizabeth? Could it be that Richard's wishful thinking came true?
Richard walked over to the front door to open it with a smile on his face.
But what was this? Standing on Richard's front porch was his neighbor Don, Elizabeth's husband. He wore a somewhat hostile expression on his face and looked angry.
"Hi, can I help you?" asked Richard.
"You sure can!" boldly answered Don. Then he asked, "What's this I hear that you've been going on running dates with my wife, Elizabeth?"
Richard was taken aback. First of all he didn't think there was a problem in doing such a thing. Even more, how did Don find out? Did Elizabeth confess this to him? Richard hesitated before answering, "Ummm... I have been running with her. I see her jogging on the road..."
Don interrupted, "Yeah, from what I understand, you make a point to meet her out here every morning to go run with her. Now what's going on?"
Suddenly, Richard turned angry. His wreath of peace that was learned through all those years of martial arts had been slightly ruptured by Don's inappropriate accusations. "Hey, look! I didn't think it was a problem! And I didn't think I needed anyone's permission to go run with your wife."
"Yeah???" challenged Don. "She's my wife. And I don't want you meeting her anymore."
"And what does Elizabeth have to say about this?" counter-challenged Richard. You see, Richard wasn't frightened. He studied Don and realized it would be easy to take him. He was just a little outraged with the way Don was treating him and the way he was overreacting to what he had discovered. It further irritated him to hear an attempted order from Don that he could no longer run with Elizabeth.
"Oh you don't have to worry about what my wife has to say about this." corrected Don. "Just understand that I'm telling you to stay away from her. You will not be running with her anymore. I know people throughout the neighborhood and they see what you have been doing. And no one thinks it's right. So consider this your warning..."
Richard quickly interrupted, "A warning??? Excuse me??? Did you say warning? You're warning me?"
"Yes, I'm warning you." affirmed Richard. "There will be no more running dates with my wife, understood?" With that, Don turned and walked away.
Richard could feel that the wreath of peace had seriously been ruptured because of his neighbor, Don. It was so bad that he somewhat trembled while closing the front door, not because of fear, but because of overwhelming outrage for having been disrespected and mistreated so badly by his neighbor. Don had no business talking to Richard that way, much less making a demand that he could no longer run with Elizabeth. Richard was really enjoying the running dates with her. And he realized that these running dates were good for her. It was good for her to spend time with a nice guy like Richard.
It almost sounded like Don was a terribly jealous and possessive husband, probably insecure. He was the perfect candidate to receive a good lesson from Richard. He needed to learn that he couldn't just warn people while telling people what they can and can't do. Elizabeth, after all, was a grown woman and perfectly capable of making her own decisions. She could think for herself; and if she wanted to leave the house for the morning to go for a running date with Richard, she should be able to do so.
And so this is why, on the following Monday morning, Richard was downstairs in the basement, intensely practicing his katas. Every kick and every punch he imagined it was Don's face. He fantasized going across the street to knock on Elizabeth's door.
But it was Don who answered. "What the hell do you want?"
"I'm here for your wife." answered Richard.
"I thought I told you to stay away from my wife." reminded Don.
"Well you have no right doing that!" declared Richard. "Who the hell do you think you are?" And with that, Richard unleashed the tiger—powerful kicks and punches that cracked open Don's face, and breaking bones throughout his body. You see, Richard is one of those guys who can deliver twelve strikes in one second. He’s that fast! And it was all done to help the woman that Richard was learning to like more and more. She needed Richard to save her, save her from the horrible marriage of being neglected by a husband who only cared for his hobby and obsession with sports. Richard needed to save her from a horrible husband who is jealous and possessive while not allowing her to think for herself. Richard learned to hate these types of men in life. And it looked like he had one living across the street. He was just going to have to teach him a really good lesson.
While fantasizing, Richard continued with his explosive jump-fly kicks. And towards the end of the workout that morning, he beat the hell out of his punching bag. Now, finally, he was ready for a Monday morning running date with Elizabeth.
At some point in their short-lived relationship, Elizabeth gave Richard her phone number. Richard dialed the number that Monday morning and waited.
"Hello?" It was the voice of Elizabeth cautiously answering.
"Hi Elizabeth! It's Richard! Are you ready for our Monday morning running date?"
Elizabeth sighed, "You know, Richard, I can't anymore."
"You can't? Why?"
Elizabeth explained, "The neighbors told my husband about our running dates, and he was not happy about it."
Richard sighed, "Oh, yeah, he came to the door on Saturday and pretty much ordered me not to meet you anymore."
"Yeah, and we should probably obey his wishes." reinforced Elizabeth.
"But Elizabeth?" challenged Richard. "What about us?"
"I don't know what to say." answered Elizabeth. "I mean it was nice running with you, but it wasn't that important." With that, Elizabeth ended the call.
Richard was going to have to find a way to reach Elizabeth and finally rescue her from the horrible life she lived.

The End!

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

A Fatal Ritual

Hello All:
Do peculiar thoughts and phrases suddenly pop up in your head which compel you to act them out? Perhaps you hear a strange phrase or collection of words in your head and you wish to say them out loud, maybe even chant them. Maybe you even daydream unusual acts that lead you to wonder what it would be like to follow through with them.
Do you do them?
Today’s new story has a lesson to be learned. Be careful of what your mind might suggest for you to do.
A Fatal Ritual
"Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!"
That was the little chant that he kept repeating to himself when performing the fatal ritual. The little chant just popped into his head one day. While hanging up his coat upon coming home, he suddenly said to himself, "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!" It had a nice beat to it; somewhat addicting to say.
The chant was soon elevated in intensity. While walking over to the chair to sit down after a long, hard day he began clapping while repeating, "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!" He would clap with each syllable, and he learned that the words were almost uplifting and energizing. The exercise nearly electrified him. It was nearly impossible not to continue clapping and clapping while repeating, “Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!
At one point he became curious as to how it looked when repeating this phrase and clapping his hands. And so, he stood up from his seat and walked over to the bathroom mirror and watched himself. "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!" He was sure to make wild, intent eyes while doing this. "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!"
After twenty minutes or so, he ended the peculiar exercise because it was time to finally make dinner for the evening.
***
It was a couple of days later, a Saturday afternoon. The phrase vaguely echoed in his mind. You see, he nearly forgot it. "How did that go again…? Bazoo... Kazoo... Alacazam... No, no! Kazoom ba ba... Oh, that's right! Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong! It has the G in there! You have to say Kazoonga, not Kazoomba. Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!"
Immediately he rushed over to the bathroom mirror and clapped while chanting, "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!" Once again it was an electrifying experience. It was then that he received a crazy idea that caused him to rush over to the kitchen cabinet to where a box of individual packs of matches were kept. There were a couple dozen individually wrapped packs of matches, each one containing a couple dozen matches. You do the math. That's a lot of matches!
And what did he do with these?
He removed handfuls of matches and lined them up as such so that the heads were on a metal cookie tray. He then scurried over to the utility room cabinet where the toolbox was kept. From there he removed a hammer. The hammer was ultimately used to smash the match heads—over five hundred of them—into a large pile of powdered phosphorous. The entire task took about an hour to do. And as you can imagine, while doing this, he was sure to chant the phrase, “Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!"
There’s an outdoor cement patio located off the kitchen. This was the ideal place to perform what was being developed into an afternoon magick ritual that he called, the Kazoonga ritual. By now you might suspect what this ritual involved with a collection of phosphorous powder. It was five o'clock in the afternoon as he poured it onto the cement to form a large circle, perhaps about five feet in diameter. The phosphorous was evenly distributed along the circumference.
“There! We have our Kazoonga fire circle!” This, he imagined, would make the chant all the more energizing and invigorating. And just to see how it looked, he placed his cell phone with video camera in his direction to record every moment as he stepped inside the center of the circle with glass of wine in hand. The wine was occasionally reached for between repeated phrases. The video camera recorded as his wild eyes lit up and hands continued to clap with every syllable, “Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong! Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!" He would reach over to the nearby table outside of the circle for a couple of gulps from the glass of wine. Then he would set it down to continue chanting, "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!"
This went on for a couple of minutes in the video recording as he finished off the glass of wine. The recording revealed that he was, perhaps, getting a buzz. And it's difficult to determine whether or not the wine was causing his eyes to lighten up, or if the repeated phrase was responsible. "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!" Whatever it was, he appeared to be in a highly-energized state.
In the last moments of the ritual, he grew all the more crazy with the repeated chant, "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!" It was then that he reached in the pocket for a match; struck it (yes he had a few remaining) against the match book. "Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga-ga Kazoonga Kazoonga Kazoong!" He nearly looked possessed while dropping the lit match on the circumference of phosphorous.
Immediately there was an explosive burst of flames that lasted maybe ten seconds as all the phosphorous burned. Nothing could be seen from inside the circle of fire.
And what was this?
There was no longer any Kazoonga chanting. Instead there was an overwhelming amount of coughing and gagging along with occasional whispers, "Oh my God! Help me!" You see, the phosphorous produced an incredible amount of smoke. And if you've ever inhaled phosphorous smoke, you'll agree that it's highly irritant. It must have burned his eyes and closed up his breathing. By the time the fire settled down, the camera revealed him staggering while choking and gagging and falling out of the burned circle in the cement.
The camera then recorded some two hours before paramedics and police arrived to investigate the body lying there. A sheet had been placed over, and the body lifted onto a stretcher. At some point someone discovered the phone and pressed the button to stop recording.
Lesson learned: Don't always repeat funny chants and follow through with strange rituals that you might think are a good idea.

The End!

Monday, March 6, 2017

Released from Captivity

Hello All:
There’s a rural road near my house with railroad tracks that cut through. While passing over these tracks I have sometimes noticed a rolled-up blue tarp laying some distance away from the tracks. The tarp almost looks like it might contain a body. It looks like, perhaps, someone had carelessly discarded a body off the side of a rural road near railroad tracks. What if this were true? What if countless people passed this tarp throughout the weeks, never realizing that a decomposing body lay rolled up inside?
Many times I pass old, abandoned homes and barns located off rural highways. I sometimes wonder what is inside.  I sometimes get the horrible thought that someone could be held in captivity in one of these old buildings. This, after all, has happened.
Released from Captivity
Amy's life abruptly changed on the night she had been abducted by a malicious sex offender. On that night she was walking alone in the parking lot at work—another late night at the office. It all happened so fast, like something out of a movie; something that was so unbelievable. A white van slowly drove up to her. Around this time she started to feel nervous. Amy actually thought about retreating back to inside the office building. How she later wish she had done this on that fateful night. Instead, she disregarded her instincts and continued walking to her car.
Just as the van had passed a few feet, the red brake lights illuminated. Amy stopped dead in her tracks and had a terribly sick, adrenalized feeling. There was clearly something about to happen. But before Amy could turn to run away, the back door of the van opened up and a stranger grabbed her as Amy screamed for help. With brutal force he dragged Amy into the van, and then closed the back door. From what Amy remembered of that fateful night, the stranger had some sort of makeshift caged doorway that led from the back to the front. He ran through this doorway; locked it shut and then sat down in the driver's seat.
As the van raced through the streets and highways that night, Amy struggled in vain to escape. She initially tried opening the back the door—even kicked. But you see, the van had been rigged in such a way that none of the doors could be opened from the inside. It was exactly like a police van. Amy looked around for windows to possibly bust through. Of course the van didn't have any. It was the perfect sort of van for abducting somebody as no one on the outside could see the captor struggling to escape. All Amy could hope for was the possibility that security cameras in the parking lot having filmed the abduction taking place. Maybe it would have recorded the license number of van.
But, of course this never happened! The company where she worked didn't have security cameras in the parking lot!—so cheap!
And where was Amy taken?
The abductor drove to an old abandoned farm out in the country where he parked at a nearby horse barn. At one time the barn had equine residents occupying the several stalls. But it was now the place where Amy would spend countless days… weeks… months, enduring repeated rape and torture. Many of these acts would be completely vile, enough to damage one's spirit. But through all of it, Amy would do her best to remain strong.
***
It was on a bright, early morning when Amy's captor entered the barn and walked up to the stall where she was confined. "Something's happened to me." he announced.
Not knowing what to expect, Amy only started at him from the ground behind the wooden gate.
"I just don't understand what has happened to me." he continued.
Amy never knew his name; just knew his face and hated his guts. She hated everything about him, and would take great pleasure in killing him.
"I feel guilty." explained the captor. "I feel guilty for what I have done to you, and for all these many months of raping you—many times torturing you. You must really hate me. I realize this."
Amy remained speechless. She wasn't going to say a word because knowing her captor; this could go in any direction. Was he about to break the news that he would finally kill her to rid the feelings of guilt? Sick people are like this. They do horrible things and then suddenly feel guilty for what they have done, and then see murdering the victim as the way to fix all the problems. But, much to Amy's surprise, that wasn't his plan.
"I need to set you free." he said. "I need to call the police; have them come here and show them to you; confess to what I have done, and then let them take you home to your family. They must be worried sick about you."
The mention of her family brought tears to Amy's eyes.
The captor could see this. "Yes, I know. In my selfishness and malicious deeds, I neglected to realize that you have loved ones who are worried sick about you. And you probably have children, don't you?"
Amy nodded her head. Thirty four years old, she was married with three children. A day didn't go by that she didn’t think about her family.
"Well... I think that's enough talk." concluded the captor. "I think we should just get the police here." he reached for the cell phone in his pocket, pressed some buttons and then waited.
"Yes, I've done a horrible thing... I am the one responsible for abducting the missing woman, Amy Leeson... Yes, I'm her captor... she is still alive... I have her here... I've decided that I need to turn myself in and serve my time in jail... You can take her home to her family... Please come quickly before I change my mind.... I'm at the old abandoned farmhouse that can be seen off highway 31... Up that gravel road... You can see the silo from the highway as you approach... It's in the barn... I have her locked up in one of the stalls, and she's waiting..."
By now, tears were streaming down Amy's eyes. She could not believe what she was hearing. In all the time of her captivity, she truly believed that she would die. But now, through an unheard-of act of an abductor, he was setting her free.
And then the captor walked out of the barn. Amy could see his shadow as he stood outside and waited. Amy worried that perhaps this might turn into a race against time. He might suddenly change his mind; kill Amy and flee before the police arrived. Again, the captor was a very sick man as evidenced by the horrible things he had done to Amy.
Some time passed as Amy heard the sound of a vehicle traveling up the gravel road which led to the barn. It was so close that she could hear the engine before it was turned off. The door opened and then Amy's captor spoke.
"Hi, yes, I'm the one who called."
The voice of the police officer answered, "We received a 911 call; something about the abduction of Amy Leeson. She's alive in there?"
"Yes sir... And I'm her captor. I've done horrible things to her for a number of months. Now it's time to let her go. And it's time for me to go to jail.”
Not long after he said this, a police officer entered the barn and saw Amy lying in the stall. You see, the captor always kept Amy tied up in restraints against a pole. When he was done with her he just retied her; just let her sleep sitting up and tied against a pole. She remained there, now, staring up at the officer.
"Everything is okay now, Ma'am." reassured the officer. "Are you Amy Leeson?"
"Yes..." answered Amy while breaking down in tears.
"Like I said, it's all over." Then the officer looked over to the captor. "Can I have the keys to get in the gate?"
"Yes sir..." agreed the captor while handing the keys over.
The officer unlocked the padlock and slid the bolt over to open the gate. And then entered, but then closed the gate behind him while suddenly smiling mischievously. The officer turned back to the captor and cited, "She thinks this is real, doesn't she? She actually thinks she's going home today."
Amy was flabbergasted. Was this just a trick?
The captor called out while exiting the barn, "Well I hope you get your money's worth! Enjoy!"
Too good to be true; this was just another cruel moment of torture; this time mental torture of raising Amy's hopes of possibly going home, only to be smashed back down. The police officer wasn't a police officer at all. He apparently paid money to rape a woman in captivity. He merely wore a police costume to add to the sick moment of mental torture.
And it was a brutal hour for poor Amy!

The End!

Friday, March 3, 2017

To Beat a Negro Slave

Hello All:
I have to admit that it’s quite a bold step for a white man to write a short story with the title, To Beat a Negro Slave. For those who know me; it might even be considered baffling, being that I firmly believe in equal rights and am horrified to know that black slavery was a part of American history. That being said, you can be assured that today’s new story does not aim to entertain the reader with beating African American slaves. And rest assured, not one person is beaten (in reality) in this story. I suppose the ending serves as a good lesson and questions whether or not slave owners considered what they were doing.
In researching the history of black slavery in America, I was amazed with the amount of apparent anger and rage that slave owners held back in the old days. Accounts of severely beating and torturing black slaves are enough to make one shudder. It truly demonstrates lack of compassion and a spirit of pure evil. Only those with the cruelest of hearts could do the unspeakable things that were once common practice.
***
Have a great weekend! And thank God we no longer live in a time like this in America.
To Beat a Negro Slave
10 year old William lived in a family home just on the outskirts of the country with his mother, father; older sister, Ashley; younger sister, Ruth and baby brother, Vincent.
Father was the town's druggist. He took the horse and carriage into town each day—excluding Sunday—where he made up his special concoctions to sell to people throughout the area. Usually Father would come home in the late afternoon to take care of those manly household duties that are expected of a husband. But in recent times, Father's concoctions had gotten quiet popular in town which meant he needed to stay at his pharmacy and work longer hours to keep up with demand. He would work sometimes into the late evening. This, of course, made it difficult to get his duties at home completed.
Ten year old William helped out as much as he could. He had his list of chores and was sure to do them or face the consequence. This was usually a good whipping behind the barn with a switch. Of course by now in his mature age, William was certainly a young man and old enough to understand the meaning of responsibility. Still, he wasn't quite a man and certainly couldn’t do all the duties that were expected of Father. That's why in recent times there had been talk at home of purchasing a Negro slave; maybe two of them to take care of those duties that Father couldn't get to.
There was a trainload of Negro slaves being shipped across the country to be sold. They would arrive any day into town. Father had enough money to purchase one. There were farmers in the area that already used slaves to plant crops, take care of livestock, etc. One of those farmers was a customer of Father's who reassured him that when the time came to bring a Negro slave home, he would show Father how to deal with it—where to keep it and see to it that it does the job that is expected.
And so it was on a fair summer evening as William sat around the kitchen table, eating dinner with the family. Out of the clear blue when conversation had settled down, William called out, "Paw...?"
"Yes Son."
"Do Negro slaves ever get beat?"
"Oh, most certainly they get beat, Son. Sometimes they don't like to do the job they are given, or maybe they don't do it right. This often results in a good beating so that they learn their lesson." After explaining this, Father resumed eating his dinner.
But William continued to be all the more intrigued with the idea of having a Negro slave at home; particularly in beating it. He then asked, "Paw, do Negro slaves sometimes get beat for no reason?"
Father set his fork and knife down and asked, "Now why all the questions about beating Negro slaves? Are you concerned, Son?"
"No, I was just wondering." answered William. "I was just wondering if people sometimes beat their Negro slaves just because they feel like beating them."
"Oh, I'm sure it happens." speculated Father. "I'm sure sometimes people just beat their slaves to let them know they mean business."
William then asked his third question, "Paw, when this Negro slave comes, can I beat it?—you know, just to try it out?"
Father hesitated for a moment, "Well, I don't see any reason why not. I suppose it would be good for all of us to give that Negro a good beating, just to make it understand who's in charge of this place. If you want to beat the Negro, I'll let you. In fact, after dinner, come out to the barn. I want to show you something."
William couldn't wait until after dinner to see whatever surprise Father had in the barn.
And what was the surprise?
It was a whip; a brand new one. Father had purchased it in town.
"See this whip, son?" began Father. "These are usually used on horses and cattle; used to control animals. But as Farmer Bowen up the road, yonder, explained to me; a whip like this is perfect for beating a Negro. If it becomes disobedient, won’t work as hard, or simply gets out of hand; you crack the whip at it—whip the back. It might break open the skin and cause bleeding. But it's all for the good. As Farmer Bowen explained to me, you often need to find ways to tame them rascals. And that's what this whip is for. Do you want to try it out?"
"Sure!" excitedly agreed William.
"Try it out on that big log over there in the corner." directed Father while handing over the whip.
William eagerly took the whip and took a good swing at the log. But it didn't quite snap as well as it should have.
"No, no!" corrected Father. "You're doing it wrong. It's all in the wrist. Here, let me show you." Father took the handle of the whip. "You whip, and then pull back."
There was a loud, “CRACK!”
"You hear that, Son?—that loud snap? That's what you want. It means you did it right."
William tried again, this time making a slight cracking noise upon pulling back.
"There you go!" congratulated Father. "Now you just have to keep practicing and get really good at it. You want to hear a loud snap. And when we finally get this Negro slave in this barn, I'll let you try the whip on it."
"Okay!" agreed William with a smile on his face.
***
William woke up early the following morning to rush through his chores. It was summer which meant that school was out until autumn. This gave William plenty of time after doing his chores to go back into the barn and practice that whip. After about a half hour or so of snapping the whip against the log, William was able to master the technique so that it was just like how Father did it. The whip was actually cutting large indentations into the old log.
Satisfied with his progress, William celebrated by pretending there was a Negro slave tied to the log. "Take that you Negro!" He whipped the log. He imagined it was one of those big, muscular Negroes that he saw in drawings of his history books at school. They were shackled up against the bowels of the ship; looked very mean and savage. They looked like uncivilized animals.
"That's right, Negro. Take your beating." William continued to crack the whip against the log. He had received plenty his share of whippings from Father whenever doing something wrong, or not completing a chore. It was done with a switch, and often broke skin which caused bleeding. Momma would to come out, afterwards, and rub mustard on the wounds to bring down the swelling. The mustard burned. But now, finally, William had someone that he could whip. In fact, William could order the slave to do his chores. If Father asked him to paint the barn and he didn't feel like doing it; he would just ask the Negro slave to do it. If the Negro didn't like it, William would take the whip and give it a few good lashes to the back.
William continued whipping the log while thinking of this. "Take that you bad Negro! When I tell you to do something, you do it!" The whip cracked and cracked against the log. "You better obey everything I say! And after you paint the barn doors, you can go into the stall and clean the horse shit. What's that? You don't like shoveling shit? Well here's a couple good whips for you!"
"CRACK! CRACK!"
After some time William began to wonder what sort of Negro slave would arrive. Maybe it wouldn't be a man. Maybe it would be a woman. He recalled the images seen in the history textbook of female slaves. Since they were savage and uncivilized, they weren't fully clothed. This revealed their big, juicy buttocks. William really wondered what those were like. Some of the female Negroes had their breasts exposed and they were large. And if it were a female slave that would arrive, it would have to do everything that William told it to do. If he wanted to touch its buttocks and see what it felt like, the female Negro would have to let him; otherwise get beat with the whip for punishment. If William wanted to fondle the female Negro’s big breasts, it would be obligated to let him. As William speculated, a black woman's breasts are probably just as nice as a white woman's—not that William knew anything about breasts. Mother and his older sister certainly wouldn't let him touch their breasts. Neither would Grandma. Then again, maybe William wouldn't want to touch Grandma's breasts. They were probably saggy and wrinkly, not full and nice like a black Negro female slave's.
Later that afternoon, after eating lunch and doing a couple of additional chores for mother, William returned to the barn to continue his fantasy game of whipping an imaginary Negro slave. This fantasy involved an escaped Negro slave—something very dangerous for a Negro to do because the punishment could be severe if caught. William imagined his Negro slave running through the adjacent farm fields in its bare feet—toes that looked like Brazilian nuts. That's why they are often referred to as "nigger toes"; the nuts look like the toes of a Negro.
On and on the Negro slave ran. William could almost hear the wild and untamed music from its native tribe in Africa while running through the fields. But William finally caught up with it; captured it and brought it back to the barn. "You bad Negro! Prepare to get beat really bad!" William whipped and whipped the log with a fury. He couldn't wait for the day when Father finally brought home a Negro slave. He would experience, once and for all, beating a real, live Negro.
***
Two weeks passed. Father came home one late afternoon while William was out in the country and playing. By then, he had grown tired of his fantasy game of beating a Negro slave. In the distance, he could hear Father calling out, "William! William! Come home!"
It was unusual for Father to be home so early. Immediately William speculated that perhaps the Negro slave had finally arrived. So he ran as fast as he could. This was a very, exciting day for William.
By the time William reached the house, Mother stood outside, and pointed towards the barn. "Father brought home a Negro slave. He's setting it up in the barn right now. Why don't you go help him?"
Excitedly William ran towards the barn and called out, "Paw! Paw! Can I beat the Negro! I want to beat the Negro slave!" By the time he entered the barn, there stood the type of Negro slave that William never imagined. It was a boy—maybe a few years older than William—very muscular and strong, but still a boy.
It looked at William with very sad, pouty Negro lips and a disappointed face. You see, before being taken away from his mother, she suggested that maybe he would go to a family where a nice white boy lived who would want to be his friend and play. Unfortunately, this one only wanted to beat him.

The End

Friday, February 10, 2017

Lunch Money

Hello All:
Today’s new story has an important lesson to be learned: Don’t leave money lying about at home.
Have a great weekend!
Lunch Money
Jonny's parents were prepared to make a purchase on a used car later on Tuesday morning. See, Mother had gotten into a car accident and she needed a car to drive to work. Both Mother and Father worked; and with the loss of one car it was becoming a bit of a hassle for both husband and wife to drive to work, together, each day. The accident took place a couple of weeks ago. They were in no position to purchase a car right away while waiting for the insurance companies to settle the claim.
Jonny's parents aren't exactly wealth. They live paycheck to paycheck and needed put aside some money for a couple of weeks for the new car. Again, they weren't in the best condition as far as finances were concerned. Their credit history was shot which meant they certainly couldn't qualify for a car loan. They would just have to purchase a used car the old fashioned way; finding a used vehicle in the classified ads, scheduling an appointment with the owner to view and possibly test—drive, then pay cash in full when finally deciding.
And so, on a Tuesday morning, there lay a stack of folded bills on the kitchen counter which totaled two thousand dollars; some hundreds, twenties, tens a five and some ones—remember, they really had to dig for that two thousand dollars. It lay on the kitchen counter, folded up; waiting to be handed over to the owner of the vehicle they were about to purchase.
Rather than have the hundred showing on the outside of the folded bills, the money was folded as such so that the one dollar bill showed on the outside. It was all weighted down underneath a large Morton Salt container. As mentioned before, Jonny's parents had planned on driving to the owner's house later that afternoon to give him the money for the title of the car, the keys, and ultimate possession. Finally, Mother would have her car and both husband and wife could get to work independently.
Jonny entered the kitchen that Tuesday morning. Tuesday's were always bland and boring for him. He rummaged through the kitchen for something for breakfast and decided on Quaker Dinosaur Egg Instant Oatmeal. While pouring the water into the bowl, Jonny looked over and saw the stack of money folded up and weighted down by the Morton Salt container. He assumed that this was his lunch money for the day. Mother hadn't made lunch or given him money the previous night. What else could it be? So Jonny simply picked up the stack of money and put it in his wallet. Jonny never bothered to look how much money it was. He was short on time and simply stuffed the stack in his wallet. He ate breakfast and head off to the bus stop.
Around the time when Jonny sat in the seat of the bus he began to feel that his wallet was considerably fatter than normal. It put pressure near the area of his rear pocket while sitting. "Man... My wallet is fat today." complained Jonny out loud.
Jonny's best friend, Tony, sat next to him. "What, do you have a lot of money or something?"
"My mom put my lunch money on the counter for me, and I just put it in my wallet. Let's see how much she gave me." Jonny pulled out his wallet, opened it up, and pulled out the bills. Immediately both boys exclaimed, "Whoa...!"
"How much money is this?" continued Jonny.
Some of the kids nearby rushed over to Jonny's seat to see what was happening. There were so many hundred dollar bills in there. The kids had never seen so much money before.
"Awe! This is great!" exclaimed Jonny.
"Can I have some?" asked one of the nearby kids.
"No way!" answered Jonny. "But I tell you, this is going to be a great lunch today."
"I'm definitely sitting with you." declared Tony.
"What do you say we just totally buy up all the pizza that they have their and have a pizza party for lunch?" suggested Jonny.
"Yeah, let's do that!" agreed Tony.
"Can I sit at your table?" asked one of the nearby kids.
"Sure, why not?" answered Jonny.
By the end of the bus ride, all the kids were excited about the pizza party that would take place during lunch; all the cakes and goodies—a huge feast for Tuesday. And this would just be the beginning. Plans would soon be made to seriously party with the unbelievable amount of money that Jonny had in his possession. All the while, Jonny never once questioned why Mother had given him so much. He never considered that perhaps it was an error and that he best return it to Mother and Father as soon as possible.
Back at home, Mother and Father woke up and entered the kitchen for morning coffee.
"Susan...?"
"What, Jon?"
"Where is our money?"
Susan gasped, "Oh no! Oh, I bet Jonny thought that was his lunch money and took it."
"You've got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Jon. "So our kid is going to walk around school all day with two thousand dollars in his wallet?"
"I'm so sorry Jon!" apologized Susan. Do you want me to stop at the school really quick to get it back from him?"
"Well what are we going to do?" snapped Jon. "Are we going to walk into the school and try to tell the principal that we accidentally gave our kid a couple thousand dollars and need it back? You better hope he doesn't lose that money today. That's the money for your car."
Needless to say, it was a very tense car ride to work that morning. They fought and argued the entire ride to work. At one point, Susan was so close to calling the school and asking to speak to her son. She wanted to beg him not to lose the money. But she waited, and simply trusted that he would bring the money home upon realizing a mistake had been made.
But by third hour gym class, rumor had spread throughout the school that Jonny had a couple thousand dollars on him. And Jonny wasn't the biggest kid, either. He couldn't defend himself so easily. The school thugs decided that they would collect their much deserved money. There was a big group of them in gym class who walked up to Jonny in the locker room as he changed into his gym uniform.
"Hey Jonny?" called out the leader of the thugs. "Where's your money?"
"What?" nervously answered Jonny.
"Your lunch money." reminded the leader of the thugs.
"We're here to beat you up for your lunch money." said one of the other thugs.
"I'm not going to give you that." argued Jonny.
With that, the leader of the thugs grabbed Jonny by the shirt and pushed him into the locker. "I'm not going to say it again. Where's your lunch money? Give it to me, or you'll be sorry!"
But it was no use continuing to argue. By then one of the thugs went into Jonny's locker and removed the wallet from his pants pocket.
"Well, well, well; what do we have here?" exclaimed the thug.
"Holy crap!" exclaimed another.
The leader slapped Jonny in the head before asking, "Now was that so difficult?" He released Jonny and grabbed the money to count it. "There must be a couple thousand dollars in here. What do you say we ditch school for today and live it up?"
The thugs left the school for the day and partied it up with two thousand dollars in cash that had been stolen from Jonny. And as you know, the money was taken by mistake. Mother and Father had struggled for a couple of weeks to save the money and use it for purchasing Mother’s new car.
So let that be a lesson to you: Don't leave money sitting on the kitchen counter at home.
The End!

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Can’t You See I’ve Had Enough?

Hello All:
It’s the middle of the week, and great time to release a new short story. This one is a bit disturbing. I’m not sure how I dreamed this one up.
Can’t You See I’ve Had Enough?
Steve wasn't sure how he had gotten there. All he remembered was going to bed the previous night and waking up sometime later, chained to a wall in a place that appeared to be a dark dungeon. There were men who surrounded him who he never knew before; had no idea who they were or what their purpose was. They didn’t look to be foreigners. They didn't seem to be military type. They just looked like average, ordinary men with an evil agenda.
From the moment Steve woke up, he had been repeatedly beaten. Anything you could think of, it was done to poor Steve. He was punched in the face, the stomach, and the ribs; smacked across the face. The wind had been knocked out of him numerous times. And surely he had several broken ribs. Steve was coughing up blood. And while we are on the subject of blood, his entire body was just a beaten, bloody mess. There wasn't an area on his body that wasn't blackened or blue, didn't have some sort of cut or abrasion.
Both of Steve's eyes were blackened. Blood ran down his nose and onto his torn shirt which was saturated with blood. Then there were his broken limbs. At one point, the people doing the beatings thought it would be a good idea to take a lead pipe to Steve's arms and legs. This busted bone--surely compound fractures in certain places. Oh, and his skull felt like it had been cracked open as well--at least Steve imagined this.
Teeth had been punched out of his mouth, and he remembered swallowing a few of his teeth at some point. Then again, Steve didn't remember much of anything. And he had no idea how long the onslaught of senseless, repeated beatings lasted. All along, no one explained to him why he was beaten or what he had done to deserve all of this. Anytime poor Steve tried to speak up, someone would smack him across the face with, "Shut up!"
By now, Steve was very close to death and struggled maintaining consciousness. He choked and gagged on blood.  And somehow he had a chance to cry out one last plea that was more of a lifeless whisper, "please...can't you see I've had enough...?"
The several men standing around paused for a moment. One of them was apparently the leader or boss of the group. He looked at the others and said, "Alright.... I think we’ve all had enough for today. But I want to do just one more good round--all of us. Punch him in the face and kick him in the stomach a few times; anything you can think of. Think of it as the grand finale for the evening before lights out. Then we will resume in the morning.
Steve could hardly believe what he was hearing. How long had they been beating him and why? They were beating Steve so much that they had gotten tired themselves. And the boss ordered that one more round should be done before retiring for the evening??? And there was more for tomorrow???
Steve remembered receiving one good strike to the head which resulted in a flash of light. And that's the last thing he remembered.

The End!

Friday, February 3, 2017

TITS!

Hello All:
Friday is here and the weekend is upon us. Friday is a perfect day to release one of those strange works of flash fiction. I thought of this story while sitting at a red light and briefly dozing off.
***
Have a great weekend!
Tits!
Sally woke up on an early Thursday morning, about the time before the sun started to peak over the horizon. This was her life. She had to wake up extra early so that she could start her job at 7:00. Sally was a nurse at the hospital. And actually she needed to be to the hospital before he shift began, usually around 6:30 to receive the updates from the previous evening’s staff.
And so Sally staggered out of bed. How nice it would have been to hit the snooze button and doze off some more. She couldn't wait until her day off so she could sleep in a little—some much needed rebellion against that annoying alarm clock.
Not fully awake, Sally went into the bathroom to do some quick morning potty business. And then she turned on the shower to let the water warm up while removing her nightshirt before getting in. Sally almost didn't see it. She might have actually washed it off in the shower had she not briefly glanced out of the corner of her eye at the mirror. Initially it was believed to be a mark or bruise on her breast. But then Sally turned and faced the mirror for a better look, and was shocked at she saw. Could it really be? Was Sally seeing things? She came closer to the mirror to study her naked breasts. At some point during the night the word, “TITS!” was written with black magic marker across both breasts.
"Oh my gosh!" exclaimed Sally. "How the heck did this happen?" Sally lives alone in an apartment, and currently doesn’t have a boyfriend. She broke up with Steve a couple of months ago; so blaming it on someone who lived with her—slept with her—was not an option.
Maybe when Sally went to the Laundromat earlier that week a stranger had removed her bra from the dryer when she wasn’t looking, and wrote with marker the word, “TITS!”, so that the ultimate result was for it to be temporarily tattooed to Sally's breasts while wearing it. If this were the case, the sweat from throughout the day would have worn through and caused the word in marker to bleed onto her breasts. It would have been likened to those tattoos that one gets out of a bubblegum machine—you lick the paper, and put it on the area where you want to tattoo to be; rub it in for a few seconds and peel back. The end result is a temporary tattoo until washing it off.
Now alarmed and concerned, Sally turned the shower water off and dashed into the bedroom where yesterday's clothes lay on a heap on the floor. She picked up her bra and examined the inside cup. But there was no evidence of marker ever being there. The word, "TITS!", was not written anywhere. "This is very strange..." remarked Sally out loud in a spooked voice. "Did someone break into the apartment, overnight, and do this while I slept?"
Sally scurried about her apartment suite, checking doors and windows. It was still winter so there was no need in opening any windows or sliding glass door to the balcony. And just as made sure before going to bed, everything remained locked and secured. There was no evidence of anyone breaking and entering overnight.
Who could have possibly done this to Sally, and why?

Weird...