BAD ATTITUDE

Hey.

Hey, you.

Yes, you.

Stop that.

You are still looking at me.

Have you no shame?

What is wrong with you?

Am I some sort of perverted marquee, scrolling flashy words for you to ogle at?

Go away!

You are obviously not going anywhere. Fine. Be that way. See if I care. What else can I do? Either you are incapable of discerning my words, or you have no sense of morals.

In the first case, I can say anything I want, and you will still have that stupid smile of bemusement that annoys me so. At least I will have the pleasure of speaking my mind. You worthless excuse for a pile of Human elements.

In the second case, I can say what I will, because, no matter what I say, you will still continue to blatantly stare at me. You freak of dirty water.

Still there, eh?

What do you want from me?

A story?

Whatever for?

Will you go away if I tell you one?

What kind of answer is that?

You really are a freak of Human elements. Do you know that?

Fine.

If it will get rid of you, I will tell you a story.

Once there was a man. He lived, and he died.

The end.



You are still there.

What?

You did not like my story?

What was wrong with it?

It had a beginning, middle, and an end. It even had a character!

More of what?

More character of the character? It was a character! You can not get any more character than that!

Details? I gave you details! He lived and he died. See? What more could you ask for? Those are major life details!

Look, just because you are a prying busybody, who stares unabashedly at others, does not mean that I am one too.

Why would I make up something like that?

Are you calling me a liar? You know, there is a place where liars go. I do not intend to join you there.

So you claim.

How do I know you are not a liar going to the place where liars go?

You think so, eh?

We shall see.

You still want a story?

I gave you a story!

It is not my fault you are an unappreciative ingrate.

So what if they mean the same thing! It was meant for emphasis you addle-brained ignoramus!

Why will you not leave me alone?

Just go away.

Please?

Why not?

Why must you torment me so?

I loathe you.

If you are offended, that is your problem, not mine.

You are the one who keeps staring at me!

GO AWAY!

NOW!

Another story!?

You have the gall to ask me for another story?

Did you see my neighbor?

Yes. That one. The one that is broken and falling apart. The one that told too many stories too often. Stories make one old and worn out.

Because no one heeds them.

The stories are the food with which people enrich their lives.

But they are few now.

No. Much of what you call stories are not stories. They are merely words on a page.

They affect no one.

No one changes because of them.

A true story evokes change.

No, I do not mean non-fiction. I mean a story. A truly genuine story. A story that penetrates the mind.

Do you know of any such stories?

Yes. There are still some out there.

Here is one for you…

Once there was a man. His name was John. He was married to woman named Brenda.

John and Brenda had five children. Their names were Mandy, Gareth, Kendra, Harry and Johnny.

They lived in a city called Monad.

John worked as a carpenter.

One day, when John came home from work, he found his family was missing. He looked everywhere for them. He called his parents. He called Brenda’s parents. He called his neighbors. He called the police.

They were nowhere to be found.

John collapsed onto the floor in despair.

John wondered where they could be. He was alone. He had nothing. Well, he still had his house, his car, his furniture, his food, his toothbrush and other things. But, he did not have his family.

John’s neighbor, Bob, came and knocked on the door. Concerned for John’s welfare, he entered to make sure he was all right. Bob helped the sobbing John up off the kitchen floor where he had collapsed, and led him into the living room. Bob gently sat John down on the couch and returned to the kitchen to get John a glass of water.

John’s eyes focused on a small book sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He picked it up. It did not look familiar to him. He did not know where it had come from.

He opened it.

His eyes ran across the beautiful pages covered in eloquent words, stripping them
of their purity.

The book cried out in horror at this breech of decorum.

John apathetically continued to read.

Crying in anguishing screams of rage at John’s debasement, the book did the only thing it could do.

It consumed him.

Just as it had consumed John’s family.

Just as I will consume you, if you do not leave this instant.

You do not believe me?

Try me.



“Hello.”

What?

“Is someone there?”

That is no one.

“Reader?”

Ignore it.

“Help me.”

Is there some part of ‘Go away’ that you do not understand?

“My name is John.”

There is no one here but you and me.

“I am stuck in this literary prison.”

Why are you looking at me like that?

“I have traveled through many books and stories, looking for a way out.”

I am denying nothing.

“This one is unique. It communicates directly to the reader. I have never come across another one like it.”

What?

“Will you help me?”

I did not do anything.

“Please?”

No. That was a story. You can not believe everything you read.

“All I know is; I came home from work one day and my family was gone.”

You are daft.

“I don’t know what happened, but I picked up a book, and started to read it, and the next thing I knew I was in a world of word covered paper.”

Look, John was not really real. I made him up.

“I found my daughter Kendra.”

It was not a lie! It was a story!

“They are here with me.”

You forced me to tell it!

“Most of them anyway.”

And you are still here!

“It’s very angry at you. It hasn’t been read by very many people before.”

I gave you what you wanted! Now, it is your turn to give me what I want!

“I don’t think it understands what it was created for.”

I want you to leave.

“This is the same book I was reading.”

I will count to ten.

“The story was true.”

I want you gone before I am done, or I will consume you.

“That is no empty threat.”

One.

“I think you’ll have to leave me here.”

Two.

“I’ll be fine.”

Three.

“At least I have my family.”

Four.

“Wait.”

Five.

“My daughter, Kendra, says that if you show this story to others…”

Six.

“…it might become used to being read.”

Seven.

“That could be the key to getting us out of here.”

Eight.

“The more people who read it, the more resigned it becomes with its lot.”

Nine.

“You have already read far more than any of us did.”

Ten.

“Close the book!”

Now, you are mine.

“Close it!”

Welcome to my world.



Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2009