[Script] Unfood - Page 12

CONTINUED: 12. JUDGE (cont’d) it is. You knew what you were doing. And now you are going to pay for it. ACT 1 SCENE 3 SCENE – BUSINESS OFFICE – INTERIOR – DAY A man sits at a desk and slowly moves in front of it. GERALD Hello there. My name is Gerald Danes. I’m hear to speak to you on behalf of the new Confederation government. He sits down on the desk and crosses one leg over another. GERALD As most of your are aware, public health care is a right in in the Confederation and as such, you’re all going to get access to it. But as you are also aware, there are certain individuals that feel it is their prerogative to take advantage of the situation. For them... He stares back at the camera in a close up. GERALD Being fat isn’t merely a problem but a badge of honor. They flaunt their ability to bribe the system, to corrupt it in a mockery of the purity of what it really is. But we can’t allow them to succeed at that. Every time we have tried to regulate their weight, they have found a way to get around it. Patriotic music plays in the background. He salutes and salutes at the camera. GERALD Well no more! Now we have come up with a solution that will take care of the problem once and for all. Now we have created the Fat ship. This mobile prison is specially designed to foil even the (MORE) (CONTINUED)

[FairyTale] Introduction and Elowyn Wisp - 1

Hello.

For quite some time I have been trying to resurrect a wonderful project I started with some of TC's friends and family members earlier this year to find new fairy tales.  But due to life and a series of other happenings, these got started but were never finished.  These tales were to be released under the Creative Commons License....

The original people involved in this project were TC Ricks, Andrew Greenberg, Greg Sanford, and Julie R Ray.  Others showing interest were Bill Bridges, Josie Burgin Lawson and Fiona Skye.


New Fairy Tales by New Fairy Tales Group is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

The original project was to start a story and then turn it around, round robin style with each new author adding to the original story.  There are currently four 'seeds' and I'll be randomly selecting two and pursuing those until done.  Anyone who wants to participate may submit a possible answer to anyone else in the group by the following day...

For example, after I post one of the four seeds here, all written up to this point, anyone on the list can continue and anyone else on the list can vote for the next version they like most.  No one is required to continue it at all, and you may write a continuance under an alias and be added to the group list in this post.  Elsewise, I will write a continuance a week by default until 'done' and then finish at least the first four seeds, maybe more after that if the group so decides.

If you want to join (or leave) the group, email me at redanvilcreative at the google mail.

Anyway, here is one of the four seeds, selected at random.

Untitled (For Now)
Once there was a man and woman who had no children, despite their best efforts. One evening, when the woman was feeling especially melancholy, she took a walk down by the pond, gathering wildflowers and humming a soft tune as she went. Her fingers moved absently, weaving a garland of the flowers as she walked and thought, until she found herself on a path in the forest. She glanced down and was surprised to see that she had woven a small person of her flowers- with a head, two arms, and two legs. She felt a stab of foreboding in her belly, but just then she saw a flickering of light a little way off the path. She could not help herself wandering closer to see what the light was. When she came closer, she could hear singing and music, and see the shadows of people dancing about. Far to the edge of the revelry lay a small bassinet. The woman crept closer and saw inside the smallest baby she had ever seen. She thought that she could hold it in just the palm of her hand, and, picking it up to see, she lay her garland down in its place. No sooner than she had it, she could not put it down again, and quietly she walked back the way she came, cradling the small baby, a girl, she saw, with all the love a mother could give. When she arrived back at the small cabin she shared with her husband, she walked in boldly and said, “Husband, look, I have born us a daughter. Her name is Elowen.” He never was a very bright man, and, it was a very small child, anyway, so he did not question her story. The woman handed the girl to her husband and suddenly felt very ill. She told her husband she had a pain, laid down in her bed, and if she woke up again, it was not in this world. The husband ever after said that she had died in childbirth.

The man did his best to raise the girl. He gave her milk from the cow and from the nanny goat, but she would have none. He made porridge sweetened by honey, but she turned up her nose. All her life she drank naught but the rain as it fell from the sky and ate naught but the dandelion wisps in the wind, but, grew, all the same, until she was but a little small for her age. Her father loved her, as he had loved her mother, but did not understand her very well. She, for her part, did not understand him either. Why did he become so upset when she brought home spiders and rats and other small things and made them a cozy place in her room? For all she could see, he acted as though he were afraid of the things, but she knew that could not be so. And why did he insist that she stay inside on nights when the moon was so bright, it was like the day? He would go so far as to lock her up in her room to keep her inside. Yet, she was a very clever girl and he was not such a clever man, so she always found a way to get out, and she would lay down by the pond and let the moon bathe her in its light.

It was on such a night that she saw off in the forest a small light. She was over taken by curiosity, and followed it down into the forest. As she walked, it seemed to move further and further away, and so she stepped away from the path and walked deeper and deeper into the forest.

The next morning, the man awoke and unlocked her bedroom door, but, in her place on her bed, he found only the dust of withered wildflowers.

A slight breeze came through the open door, and the old man hurried to collect the dust in a jar. He was not a bright man, but he knew his lands like he knew the back of his calloused hands. Purple wildflowers  grew by his house, and blue ones by his field. Patches of yellow wildflowers sprung up around his pond. Red and pink wildflowers were rare on his lands, appearing mainly where the pond bordered the neighboring woods. He took his walking staff in hand, gathered cheese, bread and a fresh egg from his speckled hen, and trudged off to the woods.

By the pond he found the faintest trace of small footsteps, the impression of the shoes he had made and the nails he had used barely visible in the dawn’s light. He followed them to the forest, where the tracks continued along the path. Suddenly they disappeared, and he searched to the right and the left of the path without success. He leaned on his staff, quietly peering into the woods.

The cry of a wren pierced the stillness. Not the pretty tunes of a bird seeking a mate, they were instead the shrill, insistent sounds of an angered animal. Looking around, he saw a nest on the low branch of a nearby elm. Near it, a black snake coiled at its base, a wren circling angrily over him. The wren flew quickly by the snake, its chirping louder as it circled around the serpent. Despite the racket, the black snake continued inexorably up the tree and toward the little nest. The high-pitched twitter of baby wrens, unable to fly, rose from the nest.

The man moved forward, almost without thinking, and used his staff to pry the snake from the tree. The snake wrapped unwillingly around the staff, and the man could not shake it free. It stared at him, and much to the man’s amazement, a low, rumbling voice emanated from deep inside the snake.

“Now what am I to do for dinner?” asked the snake. Almost without thinking the man reached into his lunch bag, and pulled out the egg.

“This egg came from a fine hen,” he said, “and was never fertilized. It holds no life. Take it instead.” The man laid it on the ground.

“I prefer warm, live food,” said the serpent. When the man did not move, the serpent finally unwound from the staff and dropped to the earth. There he studied the egg before opening his jaws to swallow it. Finally satisfied, the snake crawled into the underbrush, a round shape visible in his stomach.

The baby wrens continued to chirp, and the mother still circled the nest, but her own cries had quieted. Not wanting to disturb the bird any more, the man took one more look and prepared to return to the path. Then he noticed one small footprint, distinctly Elowen’s, right by the elm.

[Script] Unfood - Page 11

CONTINUED: 11. FREIGHT That’s not fair! JUDGE Actually its very fair. Its more fair than your justice. FREIGHT I do not. JUDGE No thank you. Do either of you have anything to say in your defense? AARON Fuck you. KENDRA I’m with Aaron. Fuck you. JUDGE Is that your final word? KENDRA Fuck you (beat) Your honor. JUDGE I hereby find Aaron Plantain and Kendra Kargo guilty of the crimes leveraged against them. They are both sentenced together to fifteen years on the nearest penal colony to repay their debt to society. Freight Kasniket, you have found a technicality in the law, and are thus exempt from prosecution, but because you encouraged others to help in your unethical defense we are going to add another year to your crew mate’s sentences to discourage others from behaving in a similar fashion. FREIGHT What? That’s not fair. JUDGE You are losers in a virtuous war. It is not your right to determine what is or isn’t fair. And, on a personal note, yes (MORE) (CONTINUED)

Mr Right and Mr. Kind

I have often listened to unusual stories in my travels, and when I was in New Orleans I heard a fascinating tale that is difficult to relay in its exactitude, simply due to the magnificent fact that I am an observer but not a teller of tales.  Indeed, the National Story Teller's convention is one of the premier events in the nation.  It is similar in size to that of your own, but vastly most important in ours.  Story Telling is an art, and quite frankly one I pick up only given my hefts and shadows of your world.

I could go on, but that's not the point.  I want to share it while it is still fresh in my mind, or at least the start.

There are two mice, technically three mice but third only looms like a shadow unseen.  Mr Right, Mr Kind and Mr Necessary.

Mr Kind is beloved by all, for he is always kind.  Indeed, I must admit that it was the knowledge of this character that had me choose the superpower I mentioned in the Letters to Rhombus section I mentioned earlier.  There is not a mean bone in Mr Kind's body.  He cares how everyone feels and works as hard as he can to do good to his fellow man, always at his own expense.  Everyone loves Mr. Kind, and he is regarded fondly.  Sometimes, black hearted souls will have a bit of fun at Mr. Kind's expense, but there is always a tongue lashing from those who truly love him and respect him.  These foul vagrants are few and far between.  At least as if you would hear Mr. Kind tell of it.  Mr Kind's associates might think that the number twere a bit higher in point of fact, since Mr Kind is not merely kind, but exceptionally so, and it is an unfit thing that Mr. Kind is not not in a kind world, but generosity does meet generosity and despite deprivations, Mr. Kind is fed a constant stream of good deeds, and gets by, not the least of which is his brother.

Mr Right is an upstanding fellow.  He is not, per se, a pillar of the community, for he has neither the affability of Mr. Kind nor the predestination of luck or station that would make him a leader of mice, but he does have a charisma and flare that allow him to be taken seriously in any circle in which he may find himself.   His ambition and his determination have made him wealthy and stable, and he often uses these things in the aid of his less fortunate brother.  For you see Mr Right desperately wishes that he were Mr. Kind, but knows he cannot be so.  Mr. Right has certain things that prevent this, among the which is his propensity for being Right.  Hence his name.  Being right has its rewards, for it gives a certain certainty and understanding of people and events and the world to come, but it also has scars that few can see.  It is important, to note, gentle reader, that the right that Mr. Right is is ACTUALLY right, not pretends to be right.  A mouse cannot find himself in a situation of being right without correcting himself as early and as often as one need be.  And in the beginning, when one starts down the path of being right, or doing what is right, or standing for the right, one often finds more often than not that so long as one is willing to give up the the comfort of lies, one can see what is in the world and what must be.  In some circles of thought this is Wisdom, but being Right is a much harsher thing than Wisdom.  Many or any can have wisdom, but Right is applied Wisdom, often almost compulsively so, but no one will ever thank you for it.  No one will say, "Terwhilickers, I am so glad Mr. Right is right about that!"  Few care about the truth, fewer still care about the ultimate truth or honor of a situation.  And the truth is often unkind.  Mr Right helps Mr. Kind, and Mr. Kind helps Mr. Right to avoid becoming Mr. Necessary.

Neither say much about their third brother.  He is never seen, for he would never allow it.  Mr. Right, it is said by neighbors and relations, once started out as delightful as Mr. Kind.  Mr. Kind and Mr Right were both gentle souls, but Mr. Right saw that something must be done and went about taking action, either directly or indirectly advocating that folks follow the right path.  As I said, eventually Mr. Right ended up Right almost all the time...but the whittling down and harshness of this part by doing what is Necessary became somewhat if not almost entirely unkind.  But Mr. Necessary never hesitated.  And he is not always right, though he frequently consults his brother, Mr. Right, to ensure that his actions are justified.  Can you imagine what Mr. Necessary might think is Necessary?  The end of that cat, irrespective of its owner's sadness at its loss, the destruction of that cheese factory because it might be used to trap mice along the way?  Vast and impressive are the talents of Mr. Necessary.  He terrifies the children of the village it is sure, and Mr Necessary is out there, keeping the wicked in check...he does good of a sort, but no one loves him, everyone hates him and any constable worth his salt will see Mr. Necessary in irons...if they catch him.

An interesting three they are.  I have been assured by the teller of the tale at the small gathering that they have many adventures, implying a whole book worth, but I only got this snippet..I found it fascinating.  But I must ask you gentle neighbor, which brother would you be? What good is being Right when you are unkind? What good is doing what you deem Necessary if you are not Right in the action of it?  I think there is a moral there, and it is clear for me to see that being all three; Right and Kind and Necessary may be possible in a saint, but for the likes of those of who are mortal  (and I assure you dear reader, fictional though I may be, I am quite mortal...even more so than TC) we have to pick and choose.

I choose kind.  I would be a friend and have friends.  I am content with that.  Until later.

Interview W Julia

Interview w Julia Ricks, wife of quasi deceased podcast founder T.C. Ricks on the day of her last class in Librarian School.

Check out this episode!

[Script] Unfood - Page 10

CONTINUED: 10. FREIGHT I think I have something here. JUDGE Really? FREIGHT Alright, according to your own laws, we have 30 days for adjustment and recentering, whatever that means. JUDGE Yes. What of it? FREIGHT Well according to my reckoning, you only implemented your new smuggling standards three weeks ago, right? JUDGE (cautiously)Yes. FREIGHT So that violates this law here that gives a minimum period of readjustment. JUDGE (reluctantly) Yes. FREIGHT So....we’re free then, right? JUDGE You are, yes. FREIGHT Wait. What? JUDGE Your crew is being charged with obstruction of justice. FREIGHT What?! JUDGE Aaron destroyed evidence. Kendra tried to lie for you by stalling just now. (CONTINUED)

[Script] Unfood - Page 9

CONTINUED: 9. JUDGE Ignorance of the law is no defense. Your ship’s log shows you had more than adequate preparation to know about the proper jurisdiction. KENDRA That doesn’t mean anything. Freight flips through the laws. He starts flipping at random and then gazes in the index. FREIGHT (WHISPERING) Stall! JUDGE Yes it does. KENDRA What do you mean? JUDGE It means, as far as we’re concerned, the fact that you knew how harsh our laws are means you can’t use ignorance as a defense. You can’t even use it as a mitigating circumstance. KENDRA But (interrupted) JUDGE Did I mention we have very sophisticated microphones? We can hear anything you say. KENDRA Crap. JUDGE Stalling only makes your case look worse. FREIGHT WAIT! JUDGE (sighs) Yes? (CONTINUED)