Tagged: tune in next time

Fleur’s Kissy-Fingers Routine

  • by jenso odd and alarming
  • and tell them to be punctual
  • on their faces and chests
  • The pet shop owner’s brother was lying
  • Even if you have a razor-sharp ax

Tune in next time part 101                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s kissy-fingers routine was so odd and alarming that at first I did not respond. She glared at me and kept up the smoochy noises until I finally pursed my own lips and kissed her thumb.

She nodded once in approval, then popped a gummy baby in her own mouth and sat behind me on the marble steps while I caught my breath.

“So you’re really pregnant?” I asked.

“Yes,” my wife replied. “I’ve known for a few days. I think it’s going to be twins, since they run in your family.” She grabbed my collar and hauled me onto my knees, then shoved my face up next to her stomach. “Say hello to your children, the future rulers of Contraria, and tell them to be punctual.”

She held me in place until I mumbled platitudes into her abdomen. Once she released me, I said, “You’ve known for days? That means we could have gotten a lot more sleep!”

Fleur laughed at me. “Get used to being tired. When our babies are born it will fall to you to make sure they have smiles on their faces and chests full of joy.”

“Don’t you use nannies?”

“Of course not, silly man. That’s what husbands are for.”

I thought back to my wedding to Fleur. At the rehearsal dinner the pet shop owner and his brother regaled me with tales of their sister’s work as a nanny for the Contrarian royals (it is considered good luck in Contraria to have a pet shop owner at your wedding). The pet shop owner’s brother was lying then, along with his brother, or my own wife was lying now. I hoped the liar was my wife, because I really had no desire to spend the next several years of my life in Contraria caring for children, even my own.

The warlord strode up, beaming with pride. “This child you two have created will bind Contraria and the US forever!” he boomed. “There will be no severing of the ties between our countries. Even if you have a razor-sharp ax.”

“It’s twins, Daddy.”

“Twins!” The warlord’s eyes grew wide. “If that’s true then that fulfills the prophecy!”

 

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Fleur’s Father Babbled

  • by Kentsent the soldiers out
  • biggest of the three asses
  • there is no way that I can stay up until 1 am anymore
  • not a matter of you versus me
  • certainly discombobulates people

Tune in next time part 102                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s father babbled, lapsing in and out of English and not seeming to complete any of his sentences. His excitement at his daughter’s news overwhelmed his powers of speech. One thing about the idea of becoming a prophetic personage, it certainly discombobulates people, even warlords.

“Is it smart to get him so worked up?” I hissed at my impulsive wife. “You said you think it’s twins, but that means you haven’t confirmed anything.”

“Everything is under control,” she assured me. “It is the kind of thing one knows. You might dispute my claim, but it’s not a matter of you versus me. Your opinion isn’t relevant.”

“What is this prophecy, anyway?”

Fleur laughed, a nasty, savage sort of glee ringing in her voice and gleaming in her eyes. “It takes too long to explain, and there is no way that I can stay up until 1 am anymore, so you’ll have to look it up for yourself.”

As soon as I was cleaned up from the pregnancy-test ritual, I found my way to the palace library to read up on prophecies about royal twins. There were three hefty books describing such things, and in typical Contrarian fashion they all disagreed. The biggest of the three assessments of the legend gave some hints about the source of Fleur’s sinister mirth at my expense.

The 43rd stanza read,

“When they were twelve the royal sisters sent the soldiers out.
To avenge the martyred father they had heard so much about.”

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Reading Further of Contrarian Prophecies

  • by jenwe went to Pittsburgh
  • Uh uh honey
  • the prospect of a marriage proposal
  • what he did, and where, and when
  • pulled his tail

Tune in next time part 103                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Reading further of Contrarian prophecies did nothing to dispel my unease. I was still reeling from the import of that 43rd stanza when Fleur found me. “It’s time for the feast,” she announced.

The feast lasted three months. When it and all the attendant rituals were finally done, Fleur rounded up her entire retinue of bodyguards and we went to Pittsburghistan, a city several hours form Funkistan by zeppelin, but one with much better sanitation. That’s where the royal hospital was.

The ultrasound technician adjusted her turban and then confirmed, in verse, that Fleur was carrying twins. A cold finger of dread ran down my back. I turned to my wife. “Uh uh honey. No way. I don’t want to be a martyr.”

Fleur’s smile was impish. “Maybe they’ll be boys.” She turned to the technician and said, “I forbid you to tell us the sex of the babies. It will be so delicious to see my husband squirm and worry for the next six months!”

Just then Fleur’s sister Isolde rushed into the room. Ever since the announcement of Fleur’s gravid state, Isolde had been atwitter at the prospect of a marriage proposal from the toad-like Harry. They were unable to make anything official until after Fleur delivered the heirs, but in the meantime we were regaled daily with updates about Harry, what he did, and where, and when, and with whom. Isolde nattered on about Harry and how he pulled his tailcoat out of the car door thereby avoiding an international incident, since the tailcoat was borrowed from the ruler of a rival clan. It was tedious.

Everything in Contraria was tedious, which was surprising for a place ruled by a warlord. There were just so many damn rituals and traditions. Every day I spent here was a day in which Tessa got further away. Sometimes I even had trouble remembering what all the fuss over the treasure was about, or why it was so important.

Fleur snapped her fingers under my nose, bringing me out of my reverie.

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Uneasy As It Made Me

  • by Kentlifting me up like a garage door
  • bringing oxygen to your brain
  • various exhalations
  • SMOKING CAUSES EARLY DEATH
  • calling me “potentially homosexual”

Tune in next time part 104                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Uneasy as it made me, I had little trouble putting aside the claim of Contrarian prophecy. That was, after all, just a type of con. With enough weird shit predicted to happen, those books were bound to be right sometimes.

The treasure, on the other hand, that I knew was serious. But, it wasn’t too late, obviously, a realization that brought a swell of optimism lifting me up like a garage door. Plus, John’s unbidden appearance aboard the nuptial dirigible had to mean that I was, by dumb luck, on the right track. I flashed on one of the zany prophecies, something about an “ally in suit of the hare,” which had to mean even the Contrarian mystics saw our paths converging.

I followed these new ideas greedily, burning through them like a chain smoker, feeling the rush of the myriad inhalations bringing oxygen to your brain, and the various exhalations filling the room with blue-gray haze. The room spun, and I discovered a hookah beside me, that I had in fact been smoking while I envisioned it. Like all Contrarian hookahs, it was filled with poppy blossoms and dubious mushrooms and bore the legend SMOKING CAUSES EARLY DEATH etched into the glass.

Crawling, I sought fresh air outside the small room. My head began to clear but I couldn’t remember how the smoking apparatus arrived. Had Fleur called for it as a treat for me? Did her father insist I smoke it as a sort of bonding thing? Was John somehow involved?

“No,” drawled a bored female voice. “None of them had anything to do with it. By the way, you’re asking all these questions out loud.”

I rolled onto my back and looked up at her. My prom date, set up for me by my mother. I hadn’t seen her since. Our post-prom goodbye consisted of her calling me “potentially homosexual” and slapping my cheek.

“Hello, Myxolemia,” I said.

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I Threw a Glance at the Closed Door

  • by jengood-natured patience and gentle eye-rolling
  • embedded into the skin
  • it sounds insane
  • he never intended to record it himself
  • so predictably ritualistic

Tune in next time part 105                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I threw a glance at the closed door to the ultrasound room where my wife and her sister presumably still were, getting high as fuck on those funky smoked mushrooms. That couldn’t be good for the babies, could it?

I kept my hand over my mouth to make sure I didn’t ask that question out loud.

When I looked back at my one-time prom date I found her full of good-natured patience and gentle eye-rolling, which was disconcerting since she had metal spikes embedded into the skin of her eyelids that stuck out like armored eyelashes. I know it sounds insane, but Myxolemia always had a flair for the dramatic.

“The president sent me,” Myxolemia said in response to my questioning look. “I’m the ambassador to Contraria these days. Thor wanted me to deliver a message, but he never intended to record it himself.” She handed me a thumb drive in the shape of an actual human thumb. “Freya did it for him.”

I wondered which of my siblings had truly sent this mysterious message, and why any of them would be taking an interest in my fate at this late date.

Myxolemia held out her hand. I fished in my pocket and gave her a §12 coin. She rolled her eyes less gently and I remembered that in Contraria it is customary to tip an ambassador with a song. Everything in this damn country is so predictably ritualistic! Right down to how many verses I was to sing, based on the social importance of the message’s sender, and which foot I was to stand on while I sang.

I did the calculations, took a deep breath, lifted my right foot, and began.

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Although the First Line

  • by Kentleft to sink or swim
  • I abhor the dull routine of existence
  • and other oligarchs
  • prying and adjusting and arranging
  • But my best friend tried to kill me

Tune in next time part 106                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Although the first line sounded a little tentative, and my voice wasn’t properly warmed up, I felt proud of the song I improvised for Myxolemia.

“Seems I’m always left to sink or swim,
by some despotic ruler’s whim.
If sometimes I put up too much resistance,
it’s just because I abhor the dull routine of existence.
My marriage is like swimming with sharks,
making me related to a lunatic and other oligarchs.
The traditional underwear of this place is deranging,
requires too much prying and adjusting and arranging.
I try to be optimistic about what my fate will be.
But my best friend tried to kill me.”

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Myxolemia Listened Politely

  • by jengrammar is for old people
  • between Singapore and various jungle ports in Borneo
  • the denim around his crotch was soaked
  • bending out into the hallway
  • bred to fight and endure

Tune in next time part 107                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Myxolemia listened politely through her song and then said, “Your mother always says that you and Jason are hard to tell apart, but I don’t agree. Jason has flow. The flow of angels. You… do not.”

I affected wounded pride, but in reality I cared not at all what anyone thought of my musical skills, or lack thereof. Perhaps Jason was created to rap while I was bred to fight and endure and make a difference in the world.

Myxolemia patted me consolingly on the shoulder and then made her exit. I was alone in the hospital corridor. Alone for the first time since coming to Contraria months ago. Perhaps I could seize this moment and make my escape. Fleur wouldn’t miss me, and I urgently needed to find Tessa and the treasure.

Just then I noticed something bending out into the hallway from a nearby intersection. Someone was lurking just around the corner, eavesdropping, but he wasn’t as inconspicuous as he imagined. His pelvis jutted and protruded out of his hiding place, and the denim around his crotch was soaked, with what I could only imagine.

Wanting to avoid a confrontation with such an inept and soggy assassin or spy, I crept backwards, remembering my time as a stowaway on a tramp steamer that made its rounds between Singapore and various jungle ports in Borneo. That stint taught me everything I know about stealth. If I’d been caught, they would have tossed me overboard into the shark-infested waters. Or worse.

As I backed past the ultrasound room, the door crashed open and Fleur and Isolde tumbled out in a cloud of pungent smoke. Her bodyguards followed, wearing gas masks. My escape was foiled.

Fleur looked me straight in the eye, giggled, and proclaimed, “Proper grammar is for old people only!”

I knew that her father had promised to allow her to pass a new law, and hoped that this wasn’t it.

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“I Bet You’re Allowed to Use Proper Grammar”

  • by Kent“You’re going to have to prove it then, aren’t you?”
  • in clumsy sentences
  • third and last round of single combat
  • the murder charges were dropped
  • It’s just a cave.

Tune in next time part 108                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I bet you’re allowed to use proper grammar,” Isolde chided me.

“I’m not so old,” I said, pouting.

Fleur leered. “You’re going to have to prove it then, aren’t you?”

Escape had seemed so close just a minute before, but this giddy nonsense was what I got instead. And they wanted me to demonstrate my youth in clumsy sentences. I’d have rather been facing the third and last round of single combat, rather have been pacing in a cell waiting to find out if the murder charges were dropped.

“Wet someone, corner. Listening.” I watched the women’s faces, and their bodyguards’, for glimmers. Jerking my head toward the eavesdropper, whose damp jeans were still plainly visible, jutting past the wall.

Isolde tilted her head, then looked in the right direction. She tittered. “Oh, him. Don’t worry about where he’s going. It’s just a cave.”

This remark doubled Fleur with laughter, and the bodyguards’ gas masks puffed out in time to the hollow, muted chortles they produced. Soon all four people from the ultrasound room were leaning on the walls and one another in helpless merriment.

Down the corridor, the lurker’s wet jeans withdrew from sight, replaced by a hand. The index finger curled in a universal sign of beckoning.

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I Stared at the Beckoning Finger

  • by jenConsidering the circumstances?
  • “Such devotion to duty!”
  • to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of mangling
  • dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows
  • with all imaginable courtesy

Tune in next time part 109                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stared at the beckoning finger, trying to decide if its owner could possibly have my best interests at heart. Considering the circumstances? Unlikely.

Fleur’s bodyguards continued chortling, but I noticed that their mirth did not reach their eyes. Despite outward appearances, they were alert and dangerous. “Such devotion to duty!” I thought. From their physiques it was evident that they devoted a lot of their time to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of mangling their sparring partners. The one on the left had a lupine brutishness, while the one on the right I could easily imagine as a jungle cat, dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows and doing unspeakable things to it.

It was comforting to know that my wife was so well protected, but on the other hand the presence of these guards complicated my life immensely.

The finger appeared again, curling and uncurling. Fleur and Isolde were still laughing, doubled over with their merriment, so with all imaginable courtesy I took a few steps toward the corner. Something about that finger looked familiar.

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My Wife and Her Gas-Masked Entourage

  • by Kentnot unlike very large white mallows
  • taped students masturbating
  • didn’t give a damn who knew
  • “We could end up homeless because of this.”
  • all the shaving cream was gone

Tune in next time part 110                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My wife and her gas-masked entourage didn’t seem to care that I was slinking away. It made my escape very simple, but it kind of hurt my feelings. I reached the corner and peered around it at the spy or would-be assassin who had summoned me. It was my younger brother, Thor.

“What happened to your pants?” I asked. “And, aren’t you supposed to be running the United States government?”

“It’s wine,” Thor replied. “Contrarian flight attendants are horrible, clumsy oafs, with hideous feet not unlike very large white mallows, or rubbery hooves. Even in first class. And Mom’s got things under control back at the capital, don’t worry. She’s duct-taped students masturbating all around the walls of the Oval Office, to help her concentrate on foreign policy.”

Of course our mother was the one really in charge, and Thor didn’t give a damn who knew. He did that finger gesture again and started leading me down the branch passageway. It sloped slightly downhill, and grew darker as we went.

“But can you really be away? Were you recognized?” Legally speaking, Mother had no authority anymore. “We could end up homeless because of this.”

Thor assured me that Freya had things covered. “She’s a perfect decoy. And she’s got dirt on the whole Supreme Court. Pro tip: never believe her if she told you all the shaving cream was gone.”

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