Here we go again, another outlet for the creative minds of the English Club... try to keep it sane. If it's good I'm going to enter it in the Florence B. Allen Competition, and everyone will get a dollar of the prize money.
"A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head. The green earflaps, full of large ears and uncut hair and the fine bristles that grew in the ears themselves, stuck out on either side like turn signals indicating two directions at once. Full, pursed lips protruded beneath the bushy black moustache and, at their corners, sank into little folds filled with disapproval and potato chip crumbs. In the shadow under the green visor of the cap Ignatius J. Reilly's supercilious blue and yellow eyes looked down upon the other people waiting under the clock at the D.H. Holmes department store, studying the crowd of people for signs of bad taste in dress. Several outfits, Ignatius noticed, were new enough and expensive enough to be properly considered offenses against taste and decency. Possession of anything new or expensive only reflected a person's lack of theology and geometry; it could even cast doubts upon one's soul."
--J.K. Toole, "A Confederacy Of Dunces"
Ignatius often took to reflecting on that part his personal history; a time he has identified as his postmodern period. That was before his epiphany which came while he sniggered, coughed, and bolted down handfuls of triple-buttered popcorn at the half dollar movies. Hearing Gordon Gecko utter the mantra "Greed is good,"
Ignatius was at first flabbergasted by this poisonous rhetoric. However, his pyloric valve did not threaten to shut itself as he supposed it would in the face of such appaling capitalistic dogma. It was the recogniton of this physical absurdity that caused a stirring in him, which he had, at the onset, assumed was just a rogue pocket of gas meandering through his gargantuan form.
All supositions about gas aside, Iggy, as he preferred to be called, could not help but feel moraly superior to the other shoppers. The self righteous indignation Iggy experienced as he watched them teeter about in their over-priced child labor finery was not only a result of his realistic understanding of capitalism, but also because he was chosen by god...
Posted by: sarah at April 5, 2006 10:58 AM...His calling had come at the young age, only twelve when his spirt was lifted, and he gave his life to his Lord and Savior.
His Aunt Carlene had taken him (well more or less dragged) to St. Mary's Church of the Immaculate Conception off of Henderson Street. It was his first time in a church, and he felt dirty and bored. Being a child of twelve he just wanted to do what all the other kids in the niegborhood were doing. He didnt know what that was, but he knew what it wasn't---going to church. He had to go, he couldn't disobey his Aunt, she was now his 'mother'.
Posted by: Jesi--forgive mispellings it is i fear a genetic disfuntion.... at April 5, 2006 08:42 PMIggy was rudely pulled back from his childhood memories as his body hit the cold concrete of Shattner street. ‘Oh God’ he thought, it was Billy Snyder. He hadn’t seen Billy since high school, since the beatings. All he could think of was that name, that childish awful name that those dullards called him.
“Hey Piggy, Been a long time since I seen my Piggy.” The bully spewed as he gave Iggy a playful but painful kick. “Come on runt,” the big man extended his hand as if to help Iggy from the ground. “Too slow.” He laughed as he retracted his hand watching Iggy fall back crying.
The cop’s whistle was enough to send Billy on his way. The police officer helped Iggy to his feet, “Awe Iggy, buck up would you. he’s an asshole, you know that.” Sergeant Bailing took his handkerchief and gently wiped a tear away from Iggy’s face, “Still living in the shelter?” Iggy nodded but never made eye contact with is old friend. Bailing slipped a twenty into his former classmates pocket, “Here, now don’t argue…I want you to go get yourself something to eat, you look like death warmed over. Unless, well Iggy, would you come home with me, maybe we can even find you some work somewhere. Lana would love to have you sty for awhile.”
Iggy shuffled his feet slightly and looked past Bailing, “No, you know…well I cant…maybe of you didn’t live with..”
“A woman?”
“Yes, you know how I feel, and…well…Lana’s great but…” In fact Iggy knew Lana was great, he fantasized about her often when they were young, before the accident. Before the long isolation in the “hospital”, before they came to him and enlightened him. No, he would just have to o on with this ruse of being a homeless man released from the mental hospital because of budget cuts. Iggy thanked Bailing and made his way, as he always did at this time of day, to the dumpsters, looking, no searching for “it.” And though he had never seen “it” and didn’t even know what “it” really was, he was sure he would know “it” when he saw it.
Iggy looked around to make sure the Others weren’t watching, and quickly climbed into the dumpster as he picked through the trash from the Chinese dinner he thought of all of the unenlightened people, going to work and raising families, and all the while not knowing what was coming.
600 miles away in Chicago, Lisa looked around nervously, when she was sure no one was watching the hallway, she jimmied the lock on room 267. The door creaked open and Lisa ducked under the police tape. She took one of the guest chairs and propped it against the filthy door. Satisfied with her stealth she sat o the edge of the lone bed and stared at the chalk outline that used to be her brother.
Lisa pulled the kit from her purse and removed a small vile and a blackened spoon. She poured some of the orange gel onto the spoon and heated it until it was a brown liquid. Quickly taking the syringe she pulled the brown liquid into the body of the plastic hypodermic, she pulled the rubber strap tightly around her arm and poked at her flesh until a vein popped.
As the liquid eased her worldly pains, Lisa drifted off into a hypnotic world where she hopped to find her brother, to find out who had killed him and why. Her dream began to form and the alternate reality was kicking in full force. An image of Terry, her brother formed in the swirling fog, he looked angry.
“How did you find me?”
Lisa tried to speak but soon figured out she simply had to think her sentences, “Dr, Paul gave me some of his stash, the stuff he’s been working on.”
“Don’t you know how dangerous this is? What of they find you?”
“Who, if who finds me?”
“Them, they, the ones that killed me. They won’t put up with people meddling in their world. If you become enlightened, they will kill you or worse. Wait…go, go now, they’re coming.”
With that, Terry disappeared in a flash of light; Lisa could feel herself being thrown back down to the Earth. As she hit the ground, she felt herself slip back into her body and suddenly she was awake, coughing and gasping for air. A single line of blood trickled out her nose and down her left cheek.