Mo’ Stories

¡Ding!

A shaky man who kept patting his forehead with a damp napkin opened the door. The woman on the other side was in a dark suit & was standing still with her arms crossed downward in front o’ her.

I cannot thank you ’nough for coming, Mother. The gears, they’re just madness — they’d destroying us, you wouldn’t believe me, the shaky man stammered.

The “Mother” put a hand up to the shaky man’s face & said softly, When I say I fix a problem for 1 o’ my sons, I fix a problem. Ne’er doubt, ne’er fear.

The shaky man watched his “Mother” slowly walk up the stairs to the bedroom, but didn’t dare follow. He wasn’t o’ the strong ’nough stuff to see the kind o’ work she did to gears that didn’t want to listen.

Cap’n Emery… ’cept, no, she was no longer Cap’n Emery — that person had retired. Now she was Madame Sherry Emery, Manager o’ Cap’n Emery Cereal Co., & she was now staring @ the charts on all 8 computer moniters splayed round her with utmost concentration, hands clasped tightly under her chin.

When she saw a crooked red line start to creep its slithering belly upward on Monitor #4, she pounced for the microphone & said calmly, Shift ‘Berries’ 5% to ‘Peanut Butter’.

Her headphones beeped, which indicated that her crew had received her authorization.

Rock, rock, rock, rock goes the chair. E’en through her blurry vision, barely helped by the glasses, she could see the blood-colored syrup rise toward the top.

¿Are you sure you want to do this?, asked the middle-aged woman standing next to her, shifting where she stood with sweatdrops falling like rain from her reddening face. She kept wiping her hands on the sides o’ her pants.

It’s the only way to continue, said the grandmother.

& that was exactly what happened: the ice clogging the cogs that ran the whole world melted to supplicant water & the gears began turning ’gain; & with them, so did the rest o’ the world begin moving, including the horse & buggy on which the local clockmaster rode to get back to his lodging, which had been there for almost a year.

The middle-aged woman’s mouth hang open as if ’twere the Marxmas o’ 1976 all o’er ’gain.

The clockmaster sat with his legs crossed ‘cross from the patient patient.

“Now, I want you to remember all the bad memories–all the ugliness. Remember it all,” he said with a thick ticking o’ his tongue.

“¿& you’ll help me get past them?” asked the patient patient.

“I’ll destroy them.”

So the patient patient spoke ’bout it all: all the muddy rivers, all the moonless nights under the shadows, all the piercing howls.

& in the climax, the clockmaster stood, walked o’er to the patient, & punched his fist into the patient’s head. A second after, the clockmaster wrenched his hand out, pulling out all the demons.

“250,000₧, please,” said the clockmaster as he sat back in his chair.

“¡Ahhh! ¿Who took them?”

Jae raced round the room.

“¿What’s wrong? ¿Why aren’t you leaving yet?”

Jae stopped before Soledad & threw his arms out.

“¡I can’t till I’m ready, & I can’t get ready till I wash, & I can’t wash till I shear my o’erlong spikes!”

“O.”

So Jae continued running round the room in search for his shears for eternity, & is still there searching, in fact.

But after 1 eternity, Soledad asked, “¿Where were you last when you had them?”

“¡Obviously where it is, since it couldn’t walk by itself!”

‘Nother eternity, Soledad asked, “¿Where do you last remember having it?”

After 1 mo’ eternity, Jae will search there.

The olive toad tried blowing its grass blades @ the bronze toad, but thankfully the bronze toad had remembered to wear its shoulder blades.

The bronze toad had its own special powers: it let 1 o’ the autumn leaves fall into its pipe & broiled it into the bronze toad’s spit, allowing its spicy philosophy enter the toad’s blood stream like sweet nicotine.

From this the bronze toad’s bubbles became like iron, smashing through all o’ the olive toad’s blades like a giant fist.

The olive toad didn’t stand a chance. The bronze toad kept the swamp.

They met in the middle o’ Rainy River on their cardboard duck boats, so far ‘way from everything else that if anyone were to see them, they’d see only 2 inconspicuous black dots.

“¿You have the almond?”

“¿You have the peach?”

They both nodded in sync.

Good: no complications.

They reached their armss out just long ‘nough to reach the other’s arms & grabbed each other by opposite hands @ the same time, loosening the grasp on 1 hand while tightening the grasp on the other, while the other person did parallel.

Then they both turned & rowed their boats ‘way, also in sync.

Madame Deaton couldn’t help feeling a mixed glumness.

I expected there to be mo’ to it than this…

She kept her hands stuffed tightly in her pockets to keep them safe as she stood on the edge o’ the ship, staring off @ the waves under the sunset.

Just a few mo’ kilometers & we’ll be there…

* * *

“¡We’ve landed!”

This was what jerked her out o’ her sleep. She rose from her seat & moved quickly to her room to gather her suitcase.

& still her hands kept her pockets protected.

She stepped off the ship onto the crunchy sands o’ Banana Beach. After a few steps, she crouched down & pulled out an almond from her pocket.

“With this foreign fruit, I’ll make 5 times as much per fruit–& my new empire shall be born.”

The Ugandan panthers in the star-lit Belgium velds–like the Belgium panthers in the Ugandan mountains–struggled to hunt not warthogs, not hyenas, not carrot sticks, but tea leaves. Just ’cause ’twas a hard life didn’t mean they had to accept uncivilized living.

& then they found them, but didn’t find the pan to boil them.

& then they found 1, but didn’t find the heat to boil the water.

& then they went next door to the sun & borrowed some heat, but lost the water.

¿& where were they going to hunt a mug this late in the twilight?

Don’t doubt the danger o’ the thirst in their throats.

You had to keep the sound beams separate. ‘Twas the only way, e’en though I’m too sick to tell you the whole story.

No flute could be found on the leaf pile I gathered through, so I carved a new 1 out o’ bark. ‘Twas a burden, but sometimes I think ’twas worth it.

I had to carve 2 holes into it. Remember what I said: no beam crossing.

& it turned out all right. I could hear the top 50 charts come in & could play the Song o’ Highway Breezes, too. I tolerated & I managed.