Posted by admin on August 21, 2009
Pure Country
by
Kelly D. Tolman
Days like this they let us wander the courtyard. I see the clouds sometimes. I look away from my shadow, up where the sun kisses the concrete towers, and a diamond wells in my eye and wastes itself on my face. Randy said we are all diamonds in the eyes of God. The warden had all the trees cleared here and I’ve been told not to talk about them or Randy. I don’t much, but sometimes when a voice touches me out of the spring breeze, or I catch the meadow larks in the fading sky.
Hard to say if we were pushed our or pulled in. I believe we just wanted to see the mountains, like always, so we went. Spent so long up there, poaching, living like Jeremiah Johnson, off the land, the moon and the stars and cloudy nights erased electric lights and T.V. Met a bear once, just like in the stories, only Randy and me. Damn near killed Toby. Toby was the dog, a little good for nothing mutt Randy insisted we bring along. Black and yappy, ate mushrooms, could always trust him to find good mushrooms. Me and Randy took off, but that mutt stayed and yapped; one swipe and no more yapping. Good thing it was just one swipe, or it would have been permanent.
Those were good days for us, living and breathing, no commercials or loud lights jumping out after bullfrogs in the dark. No more school teachers with their x’s and y’s and square roots of Shakespeare to interfere with hunting and fishing and watching out for Sasquatch. We moved the lodge after the incident with the bear. Its pretty hard to find a good place anymore, away from tourists, even then we had trouble, but we found a cliff spot, not far from High Lake, the nicest place in the world, and nobody ever came there, a bit of Eden lost by technology. Must have passed about ten or twelve years before anyone showed up, and like I always said, society is the cause of all our problems.
We heard society panting through the pines under the August sun, forming a mosquito trail two hundred yards long. Summer time shorts and shirts, and backpacks. How they convinced that woman to carry that much, I don’t know. The funny of it is that for all she carried they still couldn’t light a fire between them. Randy smelled perfume and clean skinned civilization. Womanscent on the mountain like a drug and he said, “been a long time since I had a swim, the lake looks nice under the stars,” and a lot of other similar trash.
“You’ll kill the fish,” I said, “I got long hair, and a long beard, but there are no twigs in my memory. People is trouble, Randy. You go to that lake, and the woods will cut you off permanent.”
Clouds slipped under the stars, but I was ready when the night barked out, and Toby nuzzled his way back from the lake shaking all over. I still wonder, did Randy walk up, hair matted with pine needles, smelling like Big Foot, just say “Howdy,” and they pulled out guns. Or did they laugh and smile because they were drunk and couldn’t see if it was a man or a bear or what, and tried to kill it before it killed them. Or maybe he had a beer with them before he forgot what society was and did something dumb, like the whole thing wasn’t dumb to start. He came back, said there had been trouble, like I didn’t know, and I knocked him down and called the dog, and walked away.
Ten more years passed until I walked into a logging camp they built that I didn’t know about. I got picked up but I didn’t say nothing to nobody, ‘till now. They say I killed Randy, but I know that it was just the diamonds inside him what he couldn’t find, so he done it himself. I know he watched the blushing clouds over the lake, and heard the lake spitting him out, the mountain rolling away, and he knew then he could never find his diamonds again, because they was streaming out his face already, so he done it. Me, I don’t want no trouble, so I don’t talk to nobody, be gone soon anyway.
THE END
Copyright 2009 Kelly David Tolman
Welcome back to Darnuth Keep.
Feel free to make a Paypal Donation to support Darnuth Keep!
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on April 17, 2009
The great advantage of being a scientist is that you see the world for what it is, as it is, and you maintain no bias one way or the other about how it is. The great advantage of believing in something is that no matter what you see or hear or are told, you will find what you are looking for. Greg’s advantage laid in a unique combination of belief and science sometimes labeled insanity. A thin, elderly man with only a few strands of gray hair, thick glasses, and a penchant for polo shirts; Greg hardly presented an imposing figure.
Seventy-three years is not too long a time to spend conquering a planet. Nearly everything imaginable had been invented during his lifetime, and each new product both created a new niche in his plan and fueled the fire of his disappointment in humanity. A race of people willing to spend their lives in front of a little box of glass and plastic is not fit to govern the planet I live on, or so he believed. The television and personal computer, however, were wonderful devices for restraining humans and Greg had every intention of utilizing them to their fullest potential.
The major side effect of wanting to dominate a planet populated by six billion people is that you either have to delegate some of that power, or you have to limit the numbers of slaves. This particular point had bothered Greg for several decades; at times even affecting his ability to work. Killing people (or anything else), was not something he was good at; it wasn’t even something he had ever done. In then end, however, he had given way to human nature and decided on the easy way out; eliminate the excess. So, down to brass tacks, start by eliminating (without destroying the planet) approximately six billion people. Step two; convince those who remain that you are the rightful ruler of the planet. Step three, live happily ever after.
Step one, as Greg viewed it, was the most difficult, (after all who wouldn’t want to follow him after everyone else was dead). Naturally if he didn’t plan on keeping anyone alive it would be much easier. Of course it would have been even easier still if he had amassed a following of individuals to help him. Once more the problem of working alone on such projects with a limited budget remained unsolved. This time, however, it would definitely work.
Greg had great faith in human incompetence, having experienced it first hand on several occasions. There is no fool like the one who believes the system works, he had often taught his children. Despite his efforts, however, they still paid their taxes and held down regular job.
Once more Greg worked furiously at his basement computer, attempting to simultaneously monitor the working of the World Health Organization (WHO), and NASA. Launching your own satellite into Earth’s orbit can be difficult; doing so undetected and without cooperative outside help took nearly a decade. Doing it twice more was, as Greg put it, “beautiful.” Others may have dubbed it insane, but then their vote didn’t count much at this point anyway.
With a nudge hand here and there, he had managed to keep news of his biological attacks in South America and Africa sufficiently shrouded in confusion as to render the opposition incompetent. Developing the proper virus to do the job was almost as difficult as launching satellites. Information is plentiful and easy enough to gather, but acquiring the proper chemicals can get you arrested, and Greg was passionate about his criminal spotless criminal record; not so much as a parking ticket (not that he drove much these days).
Greg’s attention diverted from the WHO to the internal proceedings at the European Union, and the United Nations. Cracking the control of a single government was easy enough; he had, after all, helped to break and built several countries over the years, but simultaneously eradicating government heads around the globe was a true challenge. The first key is unrest, always unrest. Start with the people and then slowly let the level of discomfort rise until those at the top could feel it; then remove the top. Full-scale cyber-attacks on the European and Asian economy would begin tomorrow. He had tested his methods in the past, gradually fluctuating the worldwide economy; a lifetime of preparation for this moment.
He smiled to himself, scratched his scraggly beard and balding head, and pressed the enter key.
To continue to divert attention away from events in the third world, Greg unleashed a pair of new electronic viruses that would distribute themselves throughout developed countries, keeping businessmen and employees equally busy for a few days. He transmitted an email to a doctor in the Congo (who by now was certainly carrying the biological virus), recalling him to his home in northern Europe. A similar message found a doctor in Nicaragua, and the doctor returned to Australia. Greg reached for his coffee mug, empty. All right, get some coffee and then tackle North America.
Greg got up from his swivel chair, his thin frame leaving a shallow impression, and stretched his arms and back. Books lay stacked all around him, notepads, pencils, files containing all imaginable information; and over all of it sat the strong odor of coffee and meticulous malice. Greg whistled quietly to himself as he skipped up the stairs. Eighty-six and still more fit than any television raised punk. At the top of the stair he met his daughter. “Going on a coffee run, you want anything,” he asked.
“Dad, its midnight, I was just headed to bed. Don’t wake the kids when you come in, ok.”
“Sorry, Mandy, I’ll be quiet when I come in.” Grandkids were great, if only their parents weren’t so annoying.
Thirty years ago a doctor twenty years his junior told him to give up the coffee, alcohol and late nights (he never did smoke). Greg sent flowers to the doctor’s widow, but secretly he didn’t feel much remorse. Destiny decides how long you live, and you decide how much you enjoy it. Greg was destined for greatness, and immortality. The garage was full of the keys to immortality. Experiment upon experiment latched together in a careful chain, all to produce panacea. The rats, dogs, and neighborhood bums who were now cured (one way or the other) of their ill health were all greatly appreciated. A super immune system combined with genetic anti-aging created an agent that cured just about everything, including the common cold and cancer.
The Go-mart, or whatever they called the place these days had the best coffee available at midnight (or any other time), and Greg found the crust on the nacho cheese particularly appetizing. The hired help, as usual, reminded him of the reasons behind his never-tiring quest, but then so did pretty much everyone else he met. He used his credit card to pay for the order, after all the transaction would simply ‘disappear’ by morning anyway. Greg sipped his coffee smugly on the way home.
Back at the lab he checked his resources and progress. He didn’t have enough money to manage a full-scale release of the virus in North America, or Europe, and a partial release would only give the Americans time to find a cure, so an alternative must be found. Fortunately, a lifetime of planning allows one to consider these possibilities beforehand. Greg rummaged around in his desk until he found the correct set of cables, and connected a small device to his computer. He quickly loaded a new program, and giggled slightly as the green light on his gadget sprang to life. Radiation emissions on computer and television screens around the world, but most heavily concentrated in the United States, would now reach toxic levels. By the end of the week video game geeks would be dropping like flies.
Enough damage for the moment, he decided. Time for a drink and some light reading. He found a bottle of beer in the mini-refrigerator, and opened a thick file labeled space exploration. The improbability of humans discovering extra-terrestrial life always amused Greg. If only they really tried. Of course, if they really tried I could stand them. Greg continued to peruse his various files for over an hour, lost in the possibilities of what could be. The world was finally becoming a unit bound by more than just gravity. The potential for world cultures to merge, language and customs to join, and new leadership to be defined was being fulfilled. All too slowly. With the right people, living forever, all of the waste and laziness and destruction would be eliminated. Six billion to find a few thousand; at least he had good odds of finding decent help.
Time for more nachos. Compulsively, he swiveled the chair around to check the progress. His chair bumped against the transponder, and the device fell to the floor. “Damn!” he exclaimed. Greg picked up the box, noting that the case had cracked. He shook it a couple of times. The rattling told him soldering was in order, and Greg let out a soft sigh. “I’ll fix it when I get back.” He left the broken equipment on the desk and stopped at the bathroom on the way out the door. The convenience store was only a few blocks away, and the night was warm, Greg walked, as usual. For a change, there was another customer, obviously in a hurry. The engine of their beat-up Toyota was still humming, and the lights were on. Some punk kid, as it turned out, harassing the clerk. Why don’t people just let people do their jobs, he thought. Greg opened the door and headed to the coffee.
“Hey old man, where you goin’” the punk accosted him. Greg gave him a stern look, failed to see the gun, and proceeded to the coffee. The clerk screamed, the punk fired, and Greg’s panacea failed to stop the bullet.
In other news, a doctor in the Congo discovered a cure for a mysterious virus believed to have been transported through insects in third world countries, saving the lives of thousands. He had received a message recalling him earlier, but stayed to finish the job anyway. NASA discovered yet another mysterious satellite, believed to have been launched by a terrorist group, and destroyed it. The department of defense announced a new cyber-security system. The European Union managed to quell fears of instability, and the United Nations reported that political unrest was at an all-time low.
Prospects for the world in general looked good, although crime in some suburban areas appeared to be on the rise.
THE END
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on December 19, 2008
The great advantage of being a scientist is that you see the world for what it is, as it is, and you maintain no bias one way or the other about how it is. The great advantage of believing in something is that no matter what you see or hear or are told, you will find what you are looking for. Greg’s advantage laid in a unique combination of belief and science sometimes labeled insanity. A thin, elderly man with only a few strands of gray hair, thick glasses, and a penchant for polo shirts; Greg hardly presented an imposing figure.
Seventy-three years is not too long a time to spend conquering a planet. Nearly everything imaginable had been invented during his lifetime, and each new product both created a new niche in his plan and fueled the fire of his disappointment in humanity. A race of people willing to spend their lives in front of a little box of glass and plastic is not fit to govern the planet I live on, or so he believed. The television and personal computer, however, were wonderful devices for restraining humans and Greg had every intention of utilizing them to their fullest potential.
The major side effect of wanting to dominate a planet populated by six billion people is that you either have to delegate some of that power, or you have to limit the numbers of slaves. This particular point had bothered Greg for several decades; at times even affecting his ability to work. Killing people (or anything else), was not something he was good at; it wasn’t even something he had ever done. In then end, however, he had given way to human nature and decided on the easy way out; eliminate the excess. So, down to brass tacks, start by eliminating (without destroying the planet) approximately six billion people. Step two; convince those who remain that you are the rightful ruler of the planet. Step three, live happily ever after.
Step one, as Greg viewed it, was the most difficult, (after all who wouldn’t want to follow him after everyone else was dead). Naturally if he didn’t plan on keeping anyone alive it would be much easier. Of course it would have been even easier still if he had amassed a following of individuals to help him. Once more the problem of working alone on such projects with a limited budget remained unsolved. This time, however, it would definitely work.
Greg had great faith in human incompetence, having experienced it first hand on several occasions. There is no fool like the one who believes the system works, he had often taught his children. Despite his efforts, however, they still paid their taxes and held down regular job.
Once more Greg worked furiously at his basement computer, attempting to simultaneously monitor the working of the World Health Organization (WHO), and NASA. Launching your own satellite into Earth’s orbit can be difficult; doing so undetected and without cooperative outside help took nearly a decade. Doing it twice more was, as Greg put it, “beautiful.” Others may have dubbed it insane, but then their vote didn’t count much at this point anyway.
With a nudge hand here and there, he had managed to keep news of his biological attacks in South America and Africa sufficiently shrouded in confusion as to render the opposition incompetent. Developing the proper virus to do the job was almost as difficult as launching satellites. Information is plentiful and easy enough to gather, but acquiring the proper chemicals can get you arrested, and Greg was passionate about his criminal spotless criminal record; not so much as a parking ticket (not that he drove much these days).
Greg’s attention diverted from the WHO to the internal proceedings at the European Union, and the United Nations. Cracking the control of a single government was easy enough; he had, after all, helped to break and built several countries over the years, but simultaneously eradicating government heads around the globe was a true challenge. The first key is unrest, always unrest. Start with the people and then slowly let the level of discomfort rise until those at the top could feel it; then remove the top. Full-scale cyber-attacks on the European and Asian economy would begin tomorrow. He had tested his methods in the past, gradually fluctuating the worldwide economy; a lifetime of preparation for this moment.
He smiled to himself, scratched his scraggly beard and balding head, and pressed the enter key.
To continue to divert attention away from events in the third world, Greg unleashed a pair of new electronic viruses that would distribute themselves throughout developed countries, keeping businessmen and employees equally busy for a few days. He transmitted an email to a doctor in the Congo (who by now was certainly carrying the biological virus), recalling him to his home in northern Europe. A similar message found a doctor in Nicaragua, and the doctor returned to Australia. Greg reached for his coffee mug, empty. All right, get some coffee and then tackle North America.
Greg got up from his swivel chair, his thin frame leaving a shallow impression, and stretched his arms and back. Books lay stacked all around him, notepads, pencils, files containing all imaginable information; and over all of it sat the strong odor of coffee and meticulous malice. Greg whistled quietly to himself as he skipped up the stairs. Eighty-six and still more fit than any television raised punk. At the top of the stair he met his daughter. “Going on a coffee run, you want anything,” he asked.
“Dad, its midnight, I was just headed to bed. Don’t wake the kids when you come in, ok.”
“Sorry, Mandy, I’ll be quiet when I come in.” Grandkids were great, if only their parents weren’t so annoying.
Thirty years ago a doctor twenty years his junior told him to give up the coffee, alcohol and late nights (he never did smoke). Greg sent flowers to the doctor’s widow, but secretly he didn’t feel much remorse. Destiny decides how long you live, and you decide how much you enjoy it. Greg was destined for greatness, and immortality. The garage was full of the keys to immortality. Experiment upon experiment latched together in a careful chain, all to produce panacea. The rats, dogs, and neighborhood bums who were now cured (one way or the other) of their ill health were all greatly appreciated. A super immune system combined with genetic anti-aging created an agent that cured just about everything, including the common cold and cancer.
The Go-mart, or whatever they called the place these days had the best coffee available at midnight (or any other time), and Greg found the crust on the nacho cheese particularly appetizing. The hired help, as usual, reminded him of the reasons behind his never-tiring quest, but then so did pretty much everyone else he met. He used his credit card to pay for the order, after all the transaction would simply ‘disappear’ by morning anyway. Greg sipped his coffee smugly on the way home.
Back at the lab he checked his resources and progress. He didn’t have enough money to manage a full-scale release of the virus in North America, or Europe, and a partial release would only give the Americans time to find a cure, so an alternative must be found. Fortunately, a lifetime of planning allows one to consider these possibilities beforehand. Greg rummaged around in his desk until he found the correct set of cables, and connected a small device to his computer. He quickly loaded a new program, and giggled slightly as the green light on his gadget sprang to life. Radiation emissions on computer and television screens around the world, but most heavily concentrated in the United States, would now reach toxic levels. By the end of the week video game geeks would be dropping like flies.
Enough damage for the moment, he decided. Time for a drink and some light reading. He found a bottle of beer in the mini-refrigerator, and opened a thick file labeled space exploration. The improbability of humans discovering extra-terrestrial life always amused Greg. If only they really tried. Of course, if they really tried I could stand them. Greg continued to peruse his various files for over an hour, lost in the possibilities of what could be. The world was finally becoming a unit bound by more than just gravity. The potential for world cultures to merge, language and customs to join, and new leadership to be defined was being fulfilled. All too slowly. With the right people, living forever, all of the waste and laziness and destruction would be eliminated. Six billion to find a few thousand; at least he had good odds of finding decent help.
Time for more nachos. Compulsively, he swiveled the chair around to check the progress. His chair bumped against the transponder, and the device fell to the floor. “Damn!” he exclaimed. Greg picked up the box, noting that the case had cracked. He shook it a couple of times. The rattling told him soldering was in order, and Greg let out a soft sigh. “I’ll fix it when I get back.” He left the broken equipment on the desk and stopped at the bathroom on the way out the door. The convenience store was only a few blocks away, and the night was warm, Greg walked, as usual. For a change, there was another customer, obviously in a hurry. The engine of their beat-up Toyota was still humming, and the lights were on. Some punk kid, as it turned out, harassing the clerk. Why don’t people just let people do their jobs, he thought. Greg opened the door and headed to the coffee.
“Hey old man, where you goin’” the punk accosted him. Greg gave him a stern look, failed to see the gun, and proceeded to the coffee. The clerk screamed, the punk fired, and Greg’s panacea failed to stop the bullet.
In other news, a doctor in the Congo discovered a cure for a mysterious virus believed to have been transported through insects in third world countries, saving the lives of thousands. He had received a message recalling him earlier, but stayed to finish the job anyway. NASA discovered yet another mysterious satellite, believed to have been launched by a terrorist group, and destroyed it. The department of defense announced a new cyber-security system. The European Union managed to quell fears of instability, and the United Nations reported that political unrest was at an all-time low.
Prospects for the world in general looked good, although crime in some suburban areas appeared to be on the rise.
THE END
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on November 12, 2008
Waiting for Spring is a long time since chrome flew and landed in the blue on the other side of purple. The light on the wump cousins differed from the needle-sticker lamps more than Los Angeles differs from Chicago. Since the pills, though, the wumps do not come and the wump-leader does not laugh with Charlie. Only sitting and rebuilding, within the needle-sticker softness, mean, and move time to time, or wear hats. Perhaps Charlie can visit in the Spring and drink the pill free air while the wumps play in the sun.
The needle-stickers say Charlie passed away when the Rolls jumped. The car fell sixteen stories, or about that from a building in Los Angeles. After that the needle-stickers seem to have lost the license plate in the fog until even the building has blown away. How the wumps will manage to get a car through the door before visiting in the Spring is rather confusing.
The wumps are pondering now, with their dark hats pulled low covering their glowing faces from the prying fingers of the moon. Four of them pull, and scrape the paint from the Rolls Royce, chewing the silver siding while the last laughs and tinkles the starlight. Charlie goes into the garage, wearing his driving gloves and hat, smiling and breathing the fumes of Sherry. Some of the purple wears off on the silver. The wumps get involved personally.
The purple bodies will press the silver clanger into the street, and eventually up the elevator. They will be strong and fast, and well timed, so that although Charlie will believe he has finally tamed the silver beast he will really only be entering the mystified trance the needle-stickers will call passing away. The wumps will guide the flashing metal to the high up place where sixteen different stories will be told by the wumps to pacify the needle-stickers into forgetting the pains caused by the pills. The car will scream and fall; Spring will arrive, and the needle-stickers will go.
But Charlie was mad, wine-mad or red-mad before the passing-mad or awa-mad that holds him now. The wumps were also mad; red-mad or fight-mad, and when he flew over the edge into the emptiness of the dead city an odd smile crossed his bent nose. The Rolls shot in crystalline glory from the window where the wumps laughed, and Charlie’s teeth glittered in the night. The wump cousins, dressed in blue and wrapped in red and yellow light found Charlie cased in silver. Confused, they waited and the wump leader mixed purple and silver until the needle-stickers came and washed their white on Charlie. A sheet or a blanket or paint washed them and the wumps went away until Spring.
Until now, the after now of the needle-stickers, the wump leader sits, wrapped in purple perfection, repeating the chant that leads the drive, waiting for Spring. Her golden tresses have rubbed into purple, where remembering mixed with pills creates Chicago crossed with wumps in Los Angeles. The silver streak in her hair is no the same silver in Charlie’s hair before the wumps took him. It is the silver of chrome touched with dark purple.
The needle-stickers smile and frown, and are altogether unpredictable. They enter and exit, and say that the wumps have also passed, and that Spring is and has been, and that wumps will is have never known them. And the wumps do not visit. The needle-stickers say this though they do not like the wumps. They do not fly or eat silver, and they have not tasted the pills of the wump leader’s memory.
In a corner where the needle-stickers have not come, she has waited for the wumps. In a voice which the needle-stickers have not wanted to hear she has called for Charlie and pulled at the silver in her hair. With a nightmare which has not forgotten itself the car hurtles again and again, and the seering purple hat she once wore has become tatters in her hands. A silence which burns soft and heavy has not stopped shouting as the needle-stickers and Charlie to stay and touch the green with her in the Spring.
Spring will pass, passes, has passed, merrily, until the hat has tattered the hands as well, and the silver is flecked with gold, dimly where the wumps came.
THE END
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
