Monday, March 21, 2011

The Cost of Sweetness

It had been weeks since the plantation became my home, since I was stolen in the dead of night by strange men with strange speech intent on forcing me from my bed. I fought and cursed until the smaller one, in heavily accented English, told me he would split my tongue down the middle if I kept squalling.

Before I could respond, the larger one turned and poked out a neatly bifurcated tongue at me with a smile. I kept silent the rest of the trip, even through the travail in the filthy ship's hold, rain and urine and dark liquids pattering on me from above.

To read the rest, go to this page.

8 comments:

  1. Ok. I have read this 6x today. I have decided... I like it. Damn you James- sucker of my time.

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  2. Interesting...I'm not sure where this goes though. If you have a good idea of where this is going, I would be interested in reading it.

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  3. Either you are working on a new backstory for a roleplaying game, or you had a fight with Pete and wrote a passive-aggressive short story to mock his addiction to processed foods...I like both options! Good read!

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  4. Or maybe the writer (James) was feeling the overwhelming horror in Japan; the fear of being poisoned by an unseen, untastable and virtually undetectable man-made corrupt enemy while it creeps its way into the water, the food and lives of the people trapped on the tiny island. Or he feels weighted down, by the French’s relentless efforts to single handedly fuck up Libya with their selfish need to control weaker people than themselves. Or maybe he is commenting on our own government who is stealing the livelihood from all the middleclass people in America but forcing it to materialize and spend way beyond their means; keeping them trapped in the consternation of debt of that they can never be free. Or how the feminists are punishing us all for daring to live in a society with compatible resources, knowledge and gender roles. Or he could have just wrote this diatribe as a joke hoping somebody would take too much time and thought and try to make a philosophical meaning behind a story he made up while trying to push out a turd in his roommates bathroom…

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  5. @Jessica - that's ridiculous...everyone knows that James only uses the toilet upstairs for onesies.

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  6. No, Lee the cat uses the toliet up stairs for onesies; the downstairs for count dookus.

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  7. it appears James David is either dead, hiding from bears, or some third thing

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  8. I would love to hear more stories! Maybe something like this! Or something completely different!

    Good writing!

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