QWERTY
By Michael A. Kechula
Harry was surprised when a highway patrol car with flashing lights moved directly behind him.
“What’s the problem, Officer?”
“Your license plate. How come it says QWERTY?”
“I’m a writer. I thought it was cool to use the first six letters of a keyboard.”
“How did you decide to use those characters? Did you meditate, or cry out to the gods for inspiration?”
“Nah. It came to me in a dream.”
“What else was in the dream?” the cop asked.
“Look, it’s bad enough you stopped me for no valid reason in the middle of the Nevada desert, but I don’t see why I have to tell you my dreams.”
The cop pulled his pistol. “I’ll ask you one more time—what else was in the dream?”
“Don’t shoot! I dreamed a beautiful woman in white appeared and said it was extremely important for me to get a license plate that said QWERTY. Then she was gone. Being a writer, I thought it was a neat idea. So, I ordered this plate.”
The cop holstered his gun, fell on his knees, and cried out, “QWERTY, QWERTY, QWERTY.” After repeating the word thirteen times, he ran to his car and spoke excitedly into his radio handset.
The cop was beaming when he returned to Harry’s car. “Oh Great Prophet, your humble servants will be here in five minutes. What can do to make you comfortable until they arrive?”
Harry was dumbfounded. Before he answered, the cop fell on his knees and with outstretched arms chanted, “QWERTY,” thirteen more times.
A Cadillac stretch limo arrived. Out jumped six gorgeous women. They surrounded Harry’s car, fell on their knees, and chanted the same word.
“Please come with us in our humble limo,” said the cop. “The people await you with great eagerness.”
“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “But I’ll go, have some lunch, and then maybe you guys can bring me back here so I can be on my way. I was hoping to be in California by tonight.”
When they got into the limo, the cop said, “QWERTY is the sacred word we’ve been waiting to see on a license plate for generations. The Holy Scroll says, ‘He will come across the vast desert in a four-wheeled chariot. It will bear a plate upon which will be inscribed the most sacred word QWERTY. Honor him, for he is a Great Prophet. Give him all, for he comes unawares, sent by the Supreme Goddess. She will appear to him in a dream. He will obey her holy words.’”
“And now you’ve come,” said a stunning blonde, who bowed while reverently touching Harry’s sleeve.
“You sure you ain’t making a mistake?” Harry asked as the limo rolled into the small town crowded with cheering, bowing people. When he saw all the flowers they were showering on the limo, he stopped asking questions and waved.
The mayor welcomed Harry with a deep bow. “Oh, Great Prophet, we are ready to immolate ourselves as the Holy Scroll directs, to gain our eternal reward and free the souls of our ancestors. Tonight, we will hold the ceremony.”
“Look,” Harry said. “I’m just passing through. I’m almost broke. I lost my job. I hear they’re hiring in Silicon Valley. If you guys want, maybe you can pass a hat around to help me pay for some gas.”
“Listen how humbly he denies his exalted stature,” said the mayor. “Just as the Holy Scrolls predicted. Chapter seven, verse ten says, ‘He will deny all and pretend to be a man of little consequence. He will be on a journey to seek employment it in the Vale of the Silicones.”
Everyone fell to their knees and chanted, “QWERTY,” thirteen times.
Harry pondered the situation and its implications. He’d tried to dissuade the mayor. But the guy wouldn’t listen. No sense trying again.
Harry realized he was dealing with a deeply ingrained belief system. Who was he to turn their world upside down, and try to dissuade them? He decided to go along with their wishes, but escape at the first opportunity.
His plan changed when informed that HE was the one appointed by the Scrolls to light the funeral pyres for the town’s entire population. As they cooked, he was to read the sacred verses that guaranteed their quick entrance to the Heavenly Gardens in the City of Platinum.
Seeing no chance of escaping, Harry figured if they wanted to burn, who was he to act against their religious beliefs? No doubt, they had cash, jewelry, SUVs, homes. After their demise, everything in the town would be intact. With everybody gone, he could become the new owner of the town’s wealth. He could retire immediately, and live like a sultan. All he had to do was light a match. One lousy match.
On the other hand, kids were involved. He wondered if it were murder to accede to the ardent wishes of religious zealots? Weren’t their beliefs protected by the Constitution? If he resisted too strongly, would they go crazy, turn on him, and torch him for not living up to their religious expectations?
He advised the mayor that he was prepared to fulfill his sacred obligations. He asked if documents could be prepared immediately to will every object in the entire town to him.
“The documents already exist,” said the mayor. “My secretary is adding your name at this very moment.”
City fathers organized a gigantic funeral procession. All 2,341 residents assembled within a gigantic gasoline soaked tent, surrounded by mountains of wood pilings.
Inserting earplugs, Harry lit the All Hallowed Match. As the fire roared, he read aloud the silly jingles somebody’d called sacred texts.
Afterward, he attached his QWERTY license plate to the late mayor’s Mercedes convertible, and took inventory.
- - -
BIO: Michael A. Kechula’s fiction has been published by 127 magazines and 35 anthologies in 6 countries. He’s authored 3 books: “A Full Deck of Zombies--61 Speculative Fiction Tales,” “The Area 51 Option and 70 More Speculative Fiction Tales,” and “I Never Kissed Judy Garland and Other Tales of Romance.” eBook versions available at www.BooksForABuck.com and www.fictionwise.com Paperbacks available at www.amazon.com.
By Michael A. Kechula
Harry was surprised when a highway patrol car with flashing lights moved directly behind him.
“What’s the problem, Officer?”
“Your license plate. How come it says QWERTY?”
“I’m a writer. I thought it was cool to use the first six letters of a keyboard.”
“How did you decide to use those characters? Did you meditate, or cry out to the gods for inspiration?”
“Nah. It came to me in a dream.”
“What else was in the dream?” the cop asked.
“Look, it’s bad enough you stopped me for no valid reason in the middle of the Nevada desert, but I don’t see why I have to tell you my dreams.”
The cop pulled his pistol. “I’ll ask you one more time—what else was in the dream?”
“Don’t shoot! I dreamed a beautiful woman in white appeared and said it was extremely important for me to get a license plate that said QWERTY. Then she was gone. Being a writer, I thought it was a neat idea. So, I ordered this plate.”
The cop holstered his gun, fell on his knees, and cried out, “QWERTY, QWERTY, QWERTY.” After repeating the word thirteen times, he ran to his car and spoke excitedly into his radio handset.
The cop was beaming when he returned to Harry’s car. “Oh Great Prophet, your humble servants will be here in five minutes. What can do to make you comfortable until they arrive?”
Harry was dumbfounded. Before he answered, the cop fell on his knees and with outstretched arms chanted, “QWERTY,” thirteen more times.
A Cadillac stretch limo arrived. Out jumped six gorgeous women. They surrounded Harry’s car, fell on their knees, and chanted the same word.
“Please come with us in our humble limo,” said the cop. “The people await you with great eagerness.”
“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “But I’ll go, have some lunch, and then maybe you guys can bring me back here so I can be on my way. I was hoping to be in California by tonight.”
When they got into the limo, the cop said, “QWERTY is the sacred word we’ve been waiting to see on a license plate for generations. The Holy Scroll says, ‘He will come across the vast desert in a four-wheeled chariot. It will bear a plate upon which will be inscribed the most sacred word QWERTY. Honor him, for he is a Great Prophet. Give him all, for he comes unawares, sent by the Supreme Goddess. She will appear to him in a dream. He will obey her holy words.’”
“And now you’ve come,” said a stunning blonde, who bowed while reverently touching Harry’s sleeve.
“You sure you ain’t making a mistake?” Harry asked as the limo rolled into the small town crowded with cheering, bowing people. When he saw all the flowers they were showering on the limo, he stopped asking questions and waved.
The mayor welcomed Harry with a deep bow. “Oh, Great Prophet, we are ready to immolate ourselves as the Holy Scroll directs, to gain our eternal reward and free the souls of our ancestors. Tonight, we will hold the ceremony.”
“Look,” Harry said. “I’m just passing through. I’m almost broke. I lost my job. I hear they’re hiring in Silicon Valley. If you guys want, maybe you can pass a hat around to help me pay for some gas.”
“Listen how humbly he denies his exalted stature,” said the mayor. “Just as the Holy Scrolls predicted. Chapter seven, verse ten says, ‘He will deny all and pretend to be a man of little consequence. He will be on a journey to seek employment it in the Vale of the Silicones.”
Everyone fell to their knees and chanted, “QWERTY,” thirteen times.
Harry pondered the situation and its implications. He’d tried to dissuade the mayor. But the guy wouldn’t listen. No sense trying again.
Harry realized he was dealing with a deeply ingrained belief system. Who was he to turn their world upside down, and try to dissuade them? He decided to go along with their wishes, but escape at the first opportunity.
His plan changed when informed that HE was the one appointed by the Scrolls to light the funeral pyres for the town’s entire population. As they cooked, he was to read the sacred verses that guaranteed their quick entrance to the Heavenly Gardens in the City of Platinum.
Seeing no chance of escaping, Harry figured if they wanted to burn, who was he to act against their religious beliefs? No doubt, they had cash, jewelry, SUVs, homes. After their demise, everything in the town would be intact. With everybody gone, he could become the new owner of the town’s wealth. He could retire immediately, and live like a sultan. All he had to do was light a match. One lousy match.
On the other hand, kids were involved. He wondered if it were murder to accede to the ardent wishes of religious zealots? Weren’t their beliefs protected by the Constitution? If he resisted too strongly, would they go crazy, turn on him, and torch him for not living up to their religious expectations?
He advised the mayor that he was prepared to fulfill his sacred obligations. He asked if documents could be prepared immediately to will every object in the entire town to him.
“The documents already exist,” said the mayor. “My secretary is adding your name at this very moment.”
City fathers organized a gigantic funeral procession. All 2,341 residents assembled within a gigantic gasoline soaked tent, surrounded by mountains of wood pilings.
Inserting earplugs, Harry lit the All Hallowed Match. As the fire roared, he read aloud the silly jingles somebody’d called sacred texts.
Afterward, he attached his QWERTY license plate to the late mayor’s Mercedes convertible, and took inventory.
- - -
BIO: Michael A. Kechula’s fiction has been published by 127 magazines and 35 anthologies in 6 countries. He’s authored 3 books: “A Full Deck of Zombies--61 Speculative Fiction Tales,” “The Area 51 Option and 70 More Speculative Fiction Tales,” and “I Never Kissed Judy Garland and Other Tales of Romance.” eBook versions available at www.BooksForABuck.com and www.fictionwise.com Paperbacks available at www.amazon.com.
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