wr_post12:subj_fict

CLYDE THE DONKEY: LUXE AND REDUXE

once there was a donkey who lived on a farm. it wasn't a commercial farm or even a subsistence farm. more of a hobby farm. they had two cats to keep mice out of the barn. and a cow because the grandchildren liked cows and clyde. he could pull a plow if you wanted him to, but the garden wasnt big enough to merit all the machinery. instead he just sat in the barn and thought his donkey thoughts. one of the cats, morris, had lived in the house for a while and was knowledgable about words. he used to read the old woman's fashion magazines. clyde loved words. they were so pretty, he thought. except he couldnt read them. he wanted to learn so that he could write down his story. everyone could benefit from his story because donkeys live a long time and think slowly. he used to pull the pages out of the books that he could find. he would pile them in his nest. (donkeys keep nests you know). morris used to come by and write things on the walls as clyde spoke them, but they didn't make any sense to a cat. the farmer saw the markings one day and decided there must be kids sneaking into the barn. for the protection of his animals and because kids could get hurt unattended in a barn, the farmer closed up the doors at night and bought a lock. morris couldnt come to visit at night anymore. instead he had to interrupt his sleep pattern and come in the days. he was typically very clumsy and donkeys do not have very good eyesight so one night clyde accidentally stepped on morris and killed him. they buried him by the barn and whenever clyde looked at the little cross and read the letters, he said to himself, "M-O-R-R-I-S, smart. morris was a smart cat!"

it's touching. the story of a donkey and his cat. it's like "of mice and men". the donkey didnt know how strong he was. he crushed the poor cat. cry, you miserable bastards!!!!

wr_post04:subj_fict

MAYBE SOME DAY I'LL GET IT

Austin Wellingford owns three apartment buildings. I rent a room in one of them. Everytime something breaks, I'm supposed to call Steve Greyson and Steve either comes and fixes it or tells me he will and then doesn’t or just tells me it's my own damn problem. On the days when Steve tells me to fix it myself I begin to question the whole system of my calling him at all. Today, however, is the third day without power, heat or running water and rather than call Steve again, I have decided to pack up all my stuff, find Austin and crash on his couch til he can get his act together. I go through my list a couple times to make sure I'm not forgetting anything and notice that the list doesn’t contain any of the stuff I've assembled in boxes by the door, nor is any of the stuff on the list even in my apartment. I begin to wonder whether I have the right list in front of me, when someone walks in. It's Gladys. She lives next door and keeps cats, though they aren’t allowed. In exchange for not ratting her out, she gave me a key to her apartment and lets me watch cable in her place. "Why the hell do you have all my stuff in boxes?" Gladys asks, as coolly as one can ask such a question. I glance at my feet and realize the boxes are moving. I have, in my haste, boxed Gladys' apartment, including her cats. "Happy Box Day!," I mumble as I worm past her out the door. On second thought, maybe I dont need to bring my stuff to Austin's. He's loaded. I'm sure I can just borrow his clothes. Clutching a page I've torn out of the phone book, I stroll up to the 8 foot high, razor-wire-encrusted fence with the big gold initials, "AW." I call the guard over and ask him whether he's gonna open the fence or am I just gonna have to climb it. He mutters something about having to have an appointment and wanders back to his booth. Feeling defeated I cross the street and go into the Diner. I sit at the counter and order a cup of coffee, but before the waitress can pour it, I see Austin's limo pulling out the gate. I drop a handful of change on the counter and run out into the street. I get out just in time to see Austin's cigar ash out the tinted windows. This just isnt my day. I go back to my apartment where Gladys has unboxed the cats and sit down in the hallway. I pull out the list and going back over it in a darker pen I write this story. I slip it under my door and walk away. Maybe someday I'll get it.