Story 91: 4th of July-travaganza

            “I know I’ve said this before, but this year will be the one everyone talks about where our show had the best fireworks ever!”

            The leader tried to rally his crew as the members prepared for the town’s 4^th of July fireworks display in the local park; he knew that they needed motivation after having done practically the same show for the past 20 years.  He couldn’t let their almost-nonexistent enthusiasm result in his losing the annual contract that had taken so much work to win in the first place.  Plus, the town once again had chosen this show over regular recycling pick-up, so he needed to prove that that decision was indeed worth it.

            “Send one up!” he shouted.

            They released a single burst of color and fire to show the increasingly antsy audience that they hadn’t been forgotten.

            “There, that should hold them for about 15 minutes.”

            “Can’t we start on time this year?” his second-in-command and undercover usurper logically asked.

            “And ruin the suspense?”  One of the rules, along with making the audience flock to you year after year, was then making that audience wait for you – this heightened the thrill of the actual display because everyone realized that it had finally begun.

            Half an hour past the scheduled start, it was finally showtime.  “OK, the people are ready to revolt – let `er rip!”

            The bombardment of colored fire and the park’s temporary resemblance to a war zone was a beautiful thing.  The leader always had tears in his eyes as birds flew in panic away from the area and spent shells fell all around.  He could barely hear the “Oohs” and the “Aahs”, but they were enough.

            “This is what our forefathers fought for,” he said every year.  “The right to shoot pretty colors into the sky and make loud booming sounds.”

            “Actually,” the usurper chimed in, “the fireworks represent the battles fought in the Revolutionary War and commemorate the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  It’s the amateurs who only like to make pretty colors and things go ‘boom.’”

            The leader glared at his pipsqueak enemy.  “Don’t detract from my enjoyment.  Fire all torpedoes!”

            The crew released the obligatory Grand Finale of controlled explosions, with the crowning glory of a starburst that depicted a supernova transforming into the American flag.  The subsequent vacuum of sound was soon filled with cheers as the leader beamed with satisfaction and soot.

            “Good job, fellows.  They really loved that one.”

            “For about five minutes,” one of the crew muttered – the usurper’s influence was spreading – as they set out to clean up their equipment and debris.  It would kill time nicely so they would not be trapped in the bumper-to-bumper exodus as all the spectators left at the same time.

            The leader packed up cheerfully as he thought about the show that had just happened and began planning the one for next year.  That really would be the one with the best fireworks ever.

Story 90: The Grid

            (An office.  An employee is working at his desk when he suddenly realizes that his co-worker has been standing behind him off to the side and staring at him.  Employee 1 sees that Employee 2 is dressed in camouflage and topped off with some tree branches)

            Employee 1: What’s this?

            Employee 2: You didn’t notice me right away – good.

            Employee 1: Are you feeling all right?

            Employee 2: I’m finally doing it, man.  I’m going off The Grid.

            Employee 1: Why in the world would you want to do that?  I like The Grid – it stores all my passwords.

            Employee 2: I did an Internet search on myself yesterday.

            Employee 1: Hoo-boy.

            Employee 2: And not only did I find entries with my name, my exact age, my town of residence, and the opportunity to find out more about myself for a fee: I then found information on people who were looking for me.

            Employee 1: What?  Are you a fugitive?

            Employee 2: Not yet, but I saw the names, exact ages, towns of residence, and –

            Employee 1: I get it.

            Employee 2: – of five people were who were looking at my profile at that very moment.  Why would they do that?

            Employee 1: Maybe they were bored.

            Employee 2: One, yes.  Two, an aberration.  Five?  They’re coming to get me.

            Employee 1: Were they all from this area?

            Employee 2: Another strange factoid: they were from all over the country.  They’re closing in!

            Employee 1: You need to calm down – did you recognize any of the names?  They might’ve been old classmates looking up everybody.  Or they could be relatives – you know, we’re all related to each other if you trace humanity all the way back to the beginning.

            Employee 2: …OK, that would be uncomfortable news for a lot of couples, but going back to your suggestions: I hadn’t thought of those, but they’re still disturbing.  Why would a bunch of people I knew in the third grade or random relatives try to find me now?  Do they want me to give them money?

            Employee 1: I don’t know, why don’t you ask them?

            Employee 2: Because then I’d have to give the site money!  Forget it, it’s just easier to sever ties with the world completely.

            Employee 1: Before you do that, make sure you send your report on to Corporate.

            Employee 2: Yeah, I was hoping they’d forgotten about that.  When’s it due?

            Employee 1: This afternoon.

            Employee 2: I didn’t even start it yet, so I do believe that now is the perfect time to drop off The Grid.

Story 89: Divine Comedy of Errors

Part 1: Infernal Road Trip

            So there I was at a crossroads in my life, pretty bummed out about how my beloved city of Florence had ruined itself with politics – I had a feeling my neighbors had it in for me next – and I was “lost in the woods”, so to speak.  And then, three “animals” – let us say they were a lion, a she-wolf, and a panther, because symbolism – came after me and I was then “trapped” against a “mountain” (use your imagination).  What to do, what to do – suddenly, he appeared!

            “Greetings, Dante – I am Virgil.”

            “The Virgil?!  The idol of poets’ idols?!  This is awesome; I wish cameras had been invented so I could take a picture for the folks at home if they let me come back!  Not to sound ungrateful, but why did you travel all the way from the afterlife to help me, currently an almost-nobody in the world of literature?”

            “Your dead girlfriend Beatrice pulled a few strings in Heaven and strongly suggested that I come and guide you.”

            “Ah, my one, my only, Beatrice!  Please don't let my wife find out that I still have a thing for her.”

            “Then maybe you shouldn’t write about her in literally everything you publish.  Right now, in order to escape these metaphorical animals, you must follow me as I take you through Hell.”

            “Wait, what?  As in, actual Hell?”

            “That's the one.  With nine circles.”

            “You do realize this whole thing is an allegory, right?  You’re not going to take me through the bona fide, abandon-all-hope Hell, are you?!”

            “This epic is not going to write itself, so less talking and more walking.”

            “But I don’t wanna goooooo!”

            Seeing as it was the Virgil, though, I really couldn't say “No” to him – after all, as a poet, I was planning to be the next him, so I had better put my florins where my mouth was.  So he led me straight into Hell, which was no picnic, let me tell you.  Virgil himself actually resided in the “best” level of it, if you could consider any part of it not so bad: just because he had been born during a time and in a place where people believed in gods different from the one ruling my world now, he has to spend eternity wistfully sighing with his fellows.  Could be worse, I suppose.

            In fact, there was worse – much, much worse, and if you want details, buy my book (I hear that  some editions cost as low as five units of your currency, plus whatever needs to be rendered unto Caesar).  I guess for my education, Virgil made me get the life story of tormented souls in each and every circle, sub-level, etc. – the areas got bigger as we descended lower, and Circles 7 and 8 had so many categories of sinner that they took forever to get through.  I don't know what sadistic mind thought up the punishments for the people down there: as if their sins in life weren't bad enough, the eternal torment with flames, and whippings, and muck, plus there was that one incident with the snakes swapping bodies with those guys – really sick – made me question my own sanity and whether there was any goodness left in the world.  I had to keep telling the employees there that I was still alive just so they wouldn't take me for one of their charges – which would be most undeserved, I must add.

            Virgil, who by then was my best bud and we even called each other “Father” and “Son” just so we had someone sane to keep track of, finally got us out of there by – no lie – climbing down Satan’s back.  Apparently, the big guy’s three heads were so preoccupied munching on history’s favorite traitors that he didn't notice our spelunking off of him to the other side of the Earth.  If he did notice, he probably was too shocked at the whole thing to do anything about it.

            I actually am kind of thankful for this days-long experience.  If I had been considering a life of sin before, I definitely was forever cured of that notion.

           

Part 2: Purgatory Is Quieter

Not much to say on this one: the journey was parallel to the one we just took in Hell, only we were going up instead of down and the inhabitants mostly were biding their time to rise through each level, and I still kept having to explain to everybody that I was a living person just passing through.  One event of note was that Virgil up and disappeared on me (I think he reached his maximum altitude and had to go back to the hole), and suddenly, there she was!  Beatrice, the epitome of my vita nuova, my tragic lost love, the purest soul that ever existed who descended from Heaven just to guide my unworthy self onward!  My wife is never going to read this, right?

Part 3: Heavens Above

I got to be the first astronaut!  I travelled through space, and planets, and stars, and the Sun, and the moon, and got to see all the holy people who are now in Heaven, and my lovely Beatrice grew lovelier and lovelier, and I just know that this self-referential epic poem will convert the world to goodness and make my name greater than that of even my mentor Virgil (no slight on him, but the son always must overthrow the father).  Small comfort while I'm in exile from Florence, but I'm certain that one day they'll forget all about it and let me come home again.  Meanwhile, I acclimate to life back on Earth as I look up to where I so recently had left the stars.