Showing posts with label Adam Mac. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adam Mac. Show all posts
Revolting Characters
By Adam Mac
Jan here was depicted by the author as “a thief with filthy habits and a murderer, too if only he had the backbone.” Claims that ever since he was created, he ain't been able to find work anywhere's else. Is it any wonder with a reference like that? A right just grievance, our Jan has, if you ask me. Do ye concur?
Bad as that is, what the penman done to him, he done ten times worse to some of us. Ain't that so brethren and sisterns?
It's truer than you say, old man. The master wrote me down as a gluttonous and perverted moneylender, but—now hold on, hold, let me finish—I'm none of those things, except in his fiction. But you make my point for me. YOU see me as what he created, not what I can be. “Even Shylock would be disgusted by his vile depravity,” that's my reference. So, who do you think is gonna give me a chance for another role? I'm branded, tainted, imprisoned in a plaster cast.
Aye. Maybe what he says is true, but I wouldn't borrow the time of day from im, and I sure wouldn't have im in my house with my wife and younguns, and if I ever seen im in their company I'd kill im.
Mine is ten times worse. I figured prominently in the opening pages of the writer's so-called apocryphal history. It was 18th century France, and he had me play the villain—though I didn't get to enjoy any of the villainy, only the punishment. For three brutal pages, I was drawn and quartered, and my organs were carved out of my belly and thrust in my face so I could witness the progress of my own death. It was gruesome even for those times. The author achieved notoriety and became a minor celebrity. But I was condemned to the world of Hollywood slashers. So, I'm like Sisyphus, only I get cut up and put back together again, endlessly.
Oi. Least you come off looking sort of respectable. I mean people pity you. I'd settle for that. Just look at this face. This unibrow. Who you think's gonna give me a role as some super smart scientist or even an office worker or somethin like that? Or who's gonna let me get the girl—the good looking one, not the one that looks like my sister? Nobody. Cause of the writer I got these looks and nothing I can do.
So, why are we sittin round complaining? Let's get the bastard? Thanks to him, I got dementia, and boy, wouldn't I like to give him a piece of my mind.
Thought you said you lost your mind, old man?
No, you cheeky little snot, but how'd you like to lose those last couple of teeth?
Hey. Easy. Everybody listen up. This isn't the way to settle our grievances. We gotta keep our eyes on the road—
Oi. You mean, 'ball,' don't you stupid?
If I'd meant 'ball,' I'd have said 'ball.' It's a mixed metaphor, and 'stupid' is not a word for you to use, it's a word for others to use when talking to or about you.
Who the f—?
Quiet! Hear that? He's back, and he's watching us.
Let's do it! It's now or never. Get him!
Nurse, how long was I out?
Three days, and we're very glad to have you back.
Did I say anything?
No, but a couple of times you looked like you were struggling very hard against something.
Nurse, one more thing before you go. There's a book here with a note: “Could you make it out to us?” I don't remember writing this book.
Your latest, your friends said. They stopped by and left it for you to autograph when you came to.
Friends?
- - -
The author teaches ESL and occasionally writes for his dark half.
By Adam Mac
Jan here was depicted by the author as “a thief with filthy habits and a murderer, too if only he had the backbone.” Claims that ever since he was created, he ain't been able to find work anywhere's else. Is it any wonder with a reference like that? A right just grievance, our Jan has, if you ask me. Do ye concur?
Bad as that is, what the penman done to him, he done ten times worse to some of us. Ain't that so brethren and sisterns?
It's truer than you say, old man. The master wrote me down as a gluttonous and perverted moneylender, but—now hold on, hold, let me finish—I'm none of those things, except in his fiction. But you make my point for me. YOU see me as what he created, not what I can be. “Even Shylock would be disgusted by his vile depravity,” that's my reference. So, who do you think is gonna give me a chance for another role? I'm branded, tainted, imprisoned in a plaster cast.
Aye. Maybe what he says is true, but I wouldn't borrow the time of day from im, and I sure wouldn't have im in my house with my wife and younguns, and if I ever seen im in their company I'd kill im.
Mine is ten times worse. I figured prominently in the opening pages of the writer's so-called apocryphal history. It was 18th century France, and he had me play the villain—though I didn't get to enjoy any of the villainy, only the punishment. For three brutal pages, I was drawn and quartered, and my organs were carved out of my belly and thrust in my face so I could witness the progress of my own death. It was gruesome even for those times. The author achieved notoriety and became a minor celebrity. But I was condemned to the world of Hollywood slashers. So, I'm like Sisyphus, only I get cut up and put back together again, endlessly.
Oi. Least you come off looking sort of respectable. I mean people pity you. I'd settle for that. Just look at this face. This unibrow. Who you think's gonna give me a role as some super smart scientist or even an office worker or somethin like that? Or who's gonna let me get the girl—the good looking one, not the one that looks like my sister? Nobody. Cause of the writer I got these looks and nothing I can do.
So, why are we sittin round complaining? Let's get the bastard? Thanks to him, I got dementia, and boy, wouldn't I like to give him a piece of my mind.
Thought you said you lost your mind, old man?
No, you cheeky little snot, but how'd you like to lose those last couple of teeth?
Hey. Easy. Everybody listen up. This isn't the way to settle our grievances. We gotta keep our eyes on the road—
Oi. You mean, 'ball,' don't you stupid?
If I'd meant 'ball,' I'd have said 'ball.' It's a mixed metaphor, and 'stupid' is not a word for you to use, it's a word for others to use when talking to or about you.
Who the f—?
Quiet! Hear that? He's back, and he's watching us.
Let's do it! It's now or never. Get him!
#
Nurse, how long was I out?
Three days, and we're very glad to have you back.
Did I say anything?
No, but a couple of times you looked like you were struggling very hard against something.
Nurse, one more thing before you go. There's a book here with a note: “Could you make it out to us?” I don't remember writing this book.
Your latest, your friends said. They stopped by and left it for you to autograph when you came to.
Friends?
- - -
The author teaches ESL and occasionally writes for his dark half.
Invitation to a Beheading
By Adam Mac
In the late 21st century, beheading is an extreme hazing ritual of interstellar business. Earth has been transformed into a production facility for an enormous commercial enterprise in a distant galaxy. On Earth, there is no unemployment. Everyone has work, but all Earth jobs are mean, mundane, or miserable.
The ritual has been popularized and exported widely as entertainment. Once a month, in an intergalactic-televised event, a competition is staged to promote one of Earth's more promising epsilons. The winner is appointed to the Earth Council, headquartered on a cloaked space station in high orbit.
The event takes place on the Earth's moon in a virtual room created for the series. There are three contestants. This week, they are: epsilon zeta (EZ), an IT consultant; epsilon delta (ED), an accountant; and epsilon tau (ET), a marine sergeant.
EZ, ED, and ET face one another in an empty room with a chair, a blindfold, and a poleaxe. Each gets one of the three articles.
The instructions are simple. The successful contestant must behead the other two. But the poleaxe can only be used by someone who is wearing the blindfold while standing on the chair. No communication is allowed. Beheading is the only acceptable means of killing. Violation of the rules is severely punished.
As soon as we're back from commercials, ET hoists the poleaxe, EZ stands behind the back of the chair, and ED thoughtlessly attaches the blindfold straightaway. The division of articles is now prearranged. One of the early episodes ended prematurely when all three contestants went for the poleaxe and ended up in a bloody pileup.
At the start signal, ET kicks the chair in ED's direction then hooks ED's blindfold with the poleaxe. Jumping on the chair, ET hauls ED in stumbling, head down, and arms waving uselessly by his side. EZ runs off into the farthest corner of the room. ET raises the poleaxe high overhead to bring down on ED's bare neck, but before he can deliver the blow, an intense electric charge surges through his body sending him into a collapsed heap.
EZ seizes the opportunity and rushes over to remove ED's blindfold and stun him by punching him in the face. With ED and ET on the floor, EZ picks up the poleaxe, steps onto the chair, puts on the blindfold, and then swings the poleaxe in the direction of ET's neck. He connects but not with ET's neck. ET has moved just in time to avoid the fatal blow, but he does get it in the leg, which starts bleeding heavily. EZ, realizing he only has one more swing, pulls the blade out and swings it in a roundhouse, this time catching ED, who has just regained his feet, in the chest with the point of the blade. ED tries to remove the blade but slices both hands in the process and only manages to create a larger wound. ED falls face down in the pool of his own rapidly discharging blood.
Meanwhile, ET crawls over to where EZ is still standing on the chair with his blindfold on, tugging at the poleaxe to free it from under ED's inert body. ET grabs both of EZ's legs and pulls them out from under him. EZ comes down hard, hitting his head on the edge of the chair. Seeing that the fallen EZ still has a pulse, ET rips off the blindfold with his left hand and opens it to conceal the quick strangling motion of his right hand. But camera 14 catches this and immediately a second and much stronger current rocks ET and instantly vaporizes all nerve activity from his brain to his fingers and toes.
All three epsilons lay still on the floor as the cameras pan across room. The cutaway to commercial is slow—deliberately slow. Back from commercials, the room is clean and empty. Next month's feature is announced—a building contractor, a Cardinal, and an English teacher—and a musical tribute to the Earth Council follows.
The end.
So, Mr. epsilon beta, you say this is a recurring dream you have?
Yeah, doc. What do you think?
These dreams you're having—they sound remarkably like—
Invitation to a Beheading, the TV show. Yeah, I know.
Well, in my opinion—remember, in our first session, I advised that if you really must read Stephen King you shouldn't skip your meds? Well, it's the same kind of thing here, I think. You should avoid this TV program. It's poisoning your dreams. You're still taking your medication regularly, aren't you, Mr. epsilon beta?
Yeah, I am. But I can't help it. I'm drawn to this show. It's like I can see my fate, and I have to watch.
And these dreams have been going on how long did you say?
About four months. It started not long after I last saw you. Around the same time, I got a registered letter from the show's producers congratulating me on having been 'selected' for next season's contestant lottery.
- - -
The author teaches ESL and occasionally writes for his dark half.
By Adam Mac
In the late 21st century, beheading is an extreme hazing ritual of interstellar business. Earth has been transformed into a production facility for an enormous commercial enterprise in a distant galaxy. On Earth, there is no unemployment. Everyone has work, but all Earth jobs are mean, mundane, or miserable.
The ritual has been popularized and exported widely as entertainment. Once a month, in an intergalactic-televised event, a competition is staged to promote one of Earth's more promising epsilons. The winner is appointed to the Earth Council, headquartered on a cloaked space station in high orbit.
The event takes place on the Earth's moon in a virtual room created for the series. There are three contestants. This week, they are: epsilon zeta (EZ), an IT consultant; epsilon delta (ED), an accountant; and epsilon tau (ET), a marine sergeant.
EZ, ED, and ET face one another in an empty room with a chair, a blindfold, and a poleaxe. Each gets one of the three articles.
The instructions are simple. The successful contestant must behead the other two. But the poleaxe can only be used by someone who is wearing the blindfold while standing on the chair. No communication is allowed. Beheading is the only acceptable means of killing. Violation of the rules is severely punished.
As soon as we're back from commercials, ET hoists the poleaxe, EZ stands behind the back of the chair, and ED thoughtlessly attaches the blindfold straightaway. The division of articles is now prearranged. One of the early episodes ended prematurely when all three contestants went for the poleaxe and ended up in a bloody pileup.
At the start signal, ET kicks the chair in ED's direction then hooks ED's blindfold with the poleaxe. Jumping on the chair, ET hauls ED in stumbling, head down, and arms waving uselessly by his side. EZ runs off into the farthest corner of the room. ET raises the poleaxe high overhead to bring down on ED's bare neck, but before he can deliver the blow, an intense electric charge surges through his body sending him into a collapsed heap.
EZ seizes the opportunity and rushes over to remove ED's blindfold and stun him by punching him in the face. With ED and ET on the floor, EZ picks up the poleaxe, steps onto the chair, puts on the blindfold, and then swings the poleaxe in the direction of ET's neck. He connects but not with ET's neck. ET has moved just in time to avoid the fatal blow, but he does get it in the leg, which starts bleeding heavily. EZ, realizing he only has one more swing, pulls the blade out and swings it in a roundhouse, this time catching ED, who has just regained his feet, in the chest with the point of the blade. ED tries to remove the blade but slices both hands in the process and only manages to create a larger wound. ED falls face down in the pool of his own rapidly discharging blood.
Meanwhile, ET crawls over to where EZ is still standing on the chair with his blindfold on, tugging at the poleaxe to free it from under ED's inert body. ET grabs both of EZ's legs and pulls them out from under him. EZ comes down hard, hitting his head on the edge of the chair. Seeing that the fallen EZ still has a pulse, ET rips off the blindfold with his left hand and opens it to conceal the quick strangling motion of his right hand. But camera 14 catches this and immediately a second and much stronger current rocks ET and instantly vaporizes all nerve activity from his brain to his fingers and toes.
All three epsilons lay still on the floor as the cameras pan across room. The cutaway to commercial is slow—deliberately slow. Back from commercials, the room is clean and empty. Next month's feature is announced—a building contractor, a Cardinal, and an English teacher—and a musical tribute to the Earth Council follows.
The end.
* * *
So, Mr. epsilon beta, you say this is a recurring dream you have?
Yeah, doc. What do you think?
These dreams you're having—they sound remarkably like—
Invitation to a Beheading, the TV show. Yeah, I know.
Well, in my opinion—remember, in our first session, I advised that if you really must read Stephen King you shouldn't skip your meds? Well, it's the same kind of thing here, I think. You should avoid this TV program. It's poisoning your dreams. You're still taking your medication regularly, aren't you, Mr. epsilon beta?
Yeah, I am. But I can't help it. I'm drawn to this show. It's like I can see my fate, and I have to watch.
And these dreams have been going on how long did you say?
About four months. It started not long after I last saw you. Around the same time, I got a registered letter from the show's producers congratulating me on having been 'selected' for next season's contestant lottery.
- - -
The author teaches ESL and occasionally writes for his dark half.
