Sodium and Tempura

A Short Story

Whoever will not receive you or listen to your words ― go outside that house or town and shake the dust from your feet.
- Matthew 10:14

At 18:16, Abe led the two men out of his apartment complex. He reached the outer door and held it open. Marc Swann exited first, followed by his portly companion Mel Proud. They both wore black suits, and both lit cigarettes as soon as the cool evening air touched their artificially tanned skin.

“So where’re you two off to?” Abe asked as they all walked down the steps towards the sidewalk.

“The Desert Plains,” Marc said. Mel stayed quiet, as usual.

“I hear the food’s good.”

“We’re not going to eat there. The Boss told us to inspect it.”

“You must be puttin’ me on.”

“No.”

“What?”

“There’ve been a lot of complaints,” Marc said.

“You mean?”

“Yeah. It’s gotta be done.”

“You’re inspecting the whole place?” Abe asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“A friend of mine works there.”

“Who?”

“His name is Oscar. He has been a great friend for years.”

“I’ll see what we can do,” Marc said. He and Mel put out their cigarettes on the sidewalk, and then got into Mel’s car.

***

The two men reached the restaurant at 19:00. They walked inside, and were greeted by a small, frail looking host.

“Hello, welcome to the Desert Plains,” the man said in a soft voice. “How many are in your party?”

“We are actually here to inspect the restaurant,” Marc replied. He showed the man a forged ID badge which stated that he was a restaurant inspector. “We would like to start in the kitchen.”

“Oh, alright,” the man replied. Marc glanced at his nametag: it read Oscar Haranson.

“Just the man we want to see,” Marc muttered, nudging Mel in the side. “You talk to him while I deal with the chef.” Mel nodded.

Oscar led the two men through the restaurant. There were loving couples gazing into each other’s eyes as they dined on chicken breast, rump roast and mounds of deep fried delights; many of these couples were illegally married through local underground ministers, since the state would never allow such atrocities. The patrons glanced uneasily as the men passed by.

Oscar pushed through the kitchen doors, sending waves of surprise throughout the cooking staff. The two men followed close behind.

“Oscar! What is the meaning of this?” asked the head chef. His voice was flamboyant and feminine. “You are not supposed to bring anybody back here.”

“These men said they are inspectors, sir,” Oscar replied.

“Ah, inspectors!” the head chef shouted sarcastically. “Are we supposed to bow down and kiss your feet?”

“We are just here to see the conditions of your restaurant,” Marc calmly stated.

“Well, all of our food has no trans fat and little sodium,” the head chef said. Mel glanced over at cans of salt stacked up in a pillar. “But I am sure you already made up your mind before you walked in the door.”

As Marc and the head cook were talking, Mel pulled Oscar aside. “Listen,” he said quietly, “things don’t look good here. You better leave now and find somewhere else to work.”

“But I need this job! I have a…” he cleared his throat “wife to support.”

“I understand. Your friend Abe Genisi asked us to help you. He’ll get in touch with you about a new job.”

“Abe?” Oscar replied excitedly.

“Yes. Now please, get out of here now.”

Oscar paused for a second to think, and then exited the kitchen unnoticed.

“You people make me sick, you know that?” the head chef continued. His face was flush with angry blood, mirroring the slabs of meat that lay on the table behind him. “Now get out of my restaurant, or I will have the police escort you off the premise!”

“Very well,” Marc replied. “Mel, I think it’s time to leave.”

The two men exited the restaurant. When they reached the car, Mel popped open the trunk, revealing two submachine guns, a few bottles filled with gasoline, and a couple of rags. Mel opened one of the bottles and began soaking the rags.

“You take the front, and I’ll take the back,” Marc said. Mel nodded as he handed his partner a freshly made Molotov cocktail and a gun. Marc headed towards the alleyway that led to the rear of the restaurant.

Almost simultaneously, the two men threw lit Molotov’s through the windows of the restaurant; the flashing flames brought smiles upon their carnal, blood-hungry faces. Moments later, patrons and workers began pouring out of the restaurant, screaming and coughing, covering their mouths and faces. As the cool evening air touched their tan skin, a storm of bullets began mowing down the fleeing sodomites. The two men responsible erupted in orgasmic delight as they squeezed their guns until every last soul was accounted for.

***

Early the next morning, Abe drove by the pile of rubble and bones where the restaurant had been.

“Don’t worry, Oscar,” he said to his passenger, rubbing his shoulder sensually, “I’ll find you a new job.” They drove off together to breakfast. Abe felt extremely happy that the two men had respected his wishes.

March Madness Time Change Spring Forward

Being that it is now Sunday, my Spring Break is nearly finished. I spent much of my break reading Proust, and fiction based on heroin: notably Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting and Denis Johnson’s short story collection Jesus’ Son, which was recommended to me because I wrote a short story originally entitled “Feel Like Jesus’ Son” about ― you guessed it! ― a heroin addict. I have since revised the story, altering its title to “Always Late,” another classic Lou Reed reference; and I’ve also altered the style, based heavily upon Joycean knock-off stream of consciousness. On a related note, I am working on a research paper about Joyce’s use of stream of consciousness: my thinking being that if I am going to use the style, I should know the history and development of it.

Along with heavy reading this break ― and the consumption of large amounts of rum, whiskey and beer — I did work on a few short stories, my potential novel The Village, and even a couple poems. Somehow that seemed a lot cooler in my head then typed up… but maybe someone will find it cool.

Tonight I bought Beautiful Children by Charles Boch. It was published just a couple months ago, and the New York Times Book Review gave it a nice review and it sounded interesting to me. Maybe I will read it soon and review it myself. I would like to publish reviews on this blog… once I start reading faster. For now, a couple of reviews: if you want to read about Scottish heroin addicts and other crazy Scottish people written in English and Scots, read Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh; and if you want to read the genius of Marcel Proust, read Proust. Hopefully these reviews will become more sophisticated as time goes on.

I feel like I had more to write, but a lot of it got lost along the way. Anyways, more will come sometime I am sure, and maybe even a short story or a poem will float along and find itself here. But it is almost 4 AM, due to the time change, and thus I should try and get some sleep, for I only had four hours of sleep last night, seeing as I was up ‘til 4:30 AM reading, and then I had to wake up at 8:30 AM in order to go to defensive driving, which was required so that I can get my license back and drive once again.

3 AM Thoughts

Catchy title, huh? I didn't realize that the story I posted didn't indent for paragraphs. I probably should have spaced out the paragraphs, but oh well. B'oh well. It appears that possibly 2 people read that story... though the "profile views" calculator counts every time I re-view the blog, so maybe it was just me. Either way, a possible 2 people is cool. I have been working on several short stories, as well as reviewing and being reviewed by fellow writer and classmate Jason Crawford. I hope to get a few stories together that I really like, and submit them to some online literary magazines in hopes of being published. I will also try and post more stories on here, in hopes of building up a fan base. I have been experimenting with a variety of writing techniques, as well as expanding my horizons on reading. Reading modern stories which have been published gives on an idea of what is circulating in the literary world. Today I read a short story by my current writing professor Peter Fontaine, as well as previous professor Josh Russell; read "Yellow Jack" several months ago which was a very well written book, so I would recommend it to any people reading this who have not read it. Slowly but surely I work on "The Village" which I hope will be my first novel. I have worked on it on and off for the past year. Other novel ideas have been put on the shelf for now, but we'll see what happens with those. For now, I must sleep. - Liam

Fifty Two

A short story

My Dad is the best lawyer in the whole world. I tell all my friends at school about how good he is at his job. I did not know what it meant to be a lawyer, but Dad told me he helps people fix problems. He said he helps moms and dads who are having problems and arguing a lot. I think that is really nice of him.

Yesterday, I came home after school and Mom was not there yet. She is usually there when I get home, but sometimes she runs late doing errands. Mom usually takes me with her to do errands on the weekends. Dad never comes with us. We have to go to the cleaners and the grocery store and the mall. I am always bored the whole time. Sometimes she meets friends for lunch, but whenever she does she tells me not to tell Dad that we met one of her friends. They are always nice men, so I do not see why Mom does not want Dad to know. But I never tell Dad. Usually after meeting one of her friends, she takes me to the toy store and buys me a new Lego set, which is nice. After buying it, she hands it to me and reminds me not to tell Dad about meeting her friend. I always nod and say yes Mom. Then I go home and play with my new Lego. But I still do not like doing errands.

After I checked the living room, the kitchen, and my parent’s bedroom for Mom, I put my school stuff away in my room. Then I went back into the kitchen and tried to find where the candy was hidden. I am only allowed one piece after dinner if I am a good boy, but I thought maybe I could sneak a few pieces since no one was home. I started looking through the pantry when I heard the front door open. I ran out of the kitchen and towards the door, expecting to see Mom, but it was Dad instead. He never comes home that early. I thought maybe he had a half day at work, just like teacher work days at school.

As he closed the door, he set down his briefcase. Dad had once told me it was very expensive and that inside there were very important things. His briefcase is black and shiny and smooth to the touch. On the outside is a small gold circle with an eagle and some weird words. Dad once told me they were written “in Lat”, but I do not know what that means. He said maybe I will find out when I am older.

I said hi to Dad and he said hi back but he did not sound that happy to see me. I asked him why he was home so early and he said some stuff happened while he was at work. I asked him if everything was ok and he told me to just watch some TV. He never lets me watch TV, so I was surprised that he told me to. But, I happily did as he said and found some cartoons to watch.
As I watched TV, Dad sat at the kitchen counter and drank some of his red juice. It was juice that only adults could drink. Once I asked him if it tasted like apple juice, because apple juice is my favorite. He had said no, it was made from grapes, and it only tastes good to adults like him and Mom and their friends. He normally does not drink any until dinner, but I figured that he was just thirsty after work. He must have been really thirsty because he had three glasses while I watched two episodes of Sponge Bob Square Pants.

My stomach rumbled, and so I turned off the TV and went into the kitchen. Dad was rubbing his head and he looked upset. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I did not want to upset him more. So, I just asked him when Mom would be home and dinner would be ready. He sighed loudly, then said Mom isn’t coming home tonight.

I hope that Mom comes home soon, because I miss her. Dad didn’t say where she is. I also hope that Dad is happier when he comes home from work tonight. For now, I think I will go watch some TV and wait. But first, I might eat a few more pieces of candy. I found a big bag in the pantry behind some cooking supplies Mom uses. I will have to be sneaky though, because I do not know what would happen if I got caught.

Three Months Gone

So I have not posted anything since my initial post in November. I didn't feel the want to blog (?) but I feel now, as a writer, that maybe blogging is a good idea. Maybe someone will find this blog and who knows where that will lead. Probably not. This is not a journal, though I have begun to write in a journal again on a more regular basis recently. I have been writing numerous short stories which I intend to publish soon enough. I may possibly post some on here, in hopes of building up a fan base, and also building up credibility. Then again, I don't think any body has even read this blog. Hehehe! I should think that streams of thought will flow into this moreso. My earliest Xanga entries, from years ago, looked like utter chaos. Yet I feel that there was some possible substance there. The walls of what I was writing were not there... which makes no sense, yet it did in my mind. I didn't worry about spelling and punctuation and all that grammatical nonsense. Sure, I know grammar. And I know when to use it. But the mind does not restrict itself to grammar. Then again the mind does not restrict itself to words either. One can think in pictures and music and smells of all kinds. But I'm not trying to go off on some psychological analysis, seeing as I know nothing of psychology (or believe that I do not). Onwards.

I have read some research is being done about Type 2 diabetes. While I think this is great, it also gets my hopes up and then burns them to the ground, seeing as I am a diabetic of the first order. That is the second time I have used "seeing" which doesn't seem normal for me. maybe it will become a new fad. There we go... good old nonsense. Spelling and typing don't always add up. I feel like maybe a whiskey and coke or just some whiskey sounds good now, but then again maybe it's better if I wait until I am not so exhausted. I need to sleep more.

That is all for now. hopefully this pics up and something comes from it. If not... then that is that, eh? - Liam

The First Post

Well, I have never done something like this before... though I used to have a Xanga journal for some years. However, I would like to use this blog for different purposes than a personal journal. I am an aspiring writer, and would like to use this for a potential literary outlet. Experiments in prose and poems (though I am not a very good poet) will hopefully be conducted. I dig modernism, stream of consciousness, and the writing of drugs and their effects. This could also maybe be an artistic thing in general? I dig music and visual arts and whatnot. But who says dig anyways? I am not in a jazz band. Though that would be cool, eh? Anyways, that is it for now. Adios - Liam