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- From: wetmore@titan.ucc.umass.edu (Patrick J. Wetmore)
- Subject: minor tragedies
- Message-ID: <BxuHD6.LD7@nic.umass.edu>
- Sender: usenet@nic.umass.edu (USENET News System)
- Organization: University of Massachusetts, Amherst
- Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1992 05:17:30 GMT
- Lines: 48
-
- A stranger pushed the door open, and slid onto a bar stool. That's always
- the way it starts - there is no need for change. Or is there?
-
- Strangers... a deluded dream-fancy of activity... a smile passes
- briefly over a virtual face. He is breathing slowly, savoring each
- breath as it passes through his lungs, grinning, smiling, his cells
- afire with sensation... A transition: he sees things NOW, he is
- firmly rooted in the PRESENT: the words he utters struggle to
- escape smiling lips: "<gasp> A drink, <gasp>, barkeep..." He giggles
- uncontrollably, and falls onto the floor, rolling around.
-
- Mike is not fazed by this sort of behavior from the stranger: he lowers
- a beer down next to the quivering, hysterical man. Keep him calm,
- give him what he wants, and he'll just be happy for a few hours...
- no need to disturb the other patrons with the stranger's paranoid
- delusions.
-
- *CRASH* The door falls inward - the street lamps outside show the
- silhouettes of three tall, lanky men in fedoras. Each carries a
- smart-looking leather briefcase. One leans over the stranger, and
- whispers, "Bill? You gonna be all right?"
-
- Bill grins feebly. "The bartender... his face... its MELTING!!! HA HA HA
- HA HA HA!" Then, Bill's face takes a sour look as the patrons begin
- to notice him. "STOP THEM ALL FROM LOOKING AT ME! MAKE THEM STOP!
- DAMN YOU, YOU WORK FOR ME, MAKE THEM STOP!!!"
-
- The three men with the briefcases step back uncertainly; but their
- uncertainty gives way to decision, as they realize that this man will soon
- be their commander, and have their lives in his hands. The briefcases
- fall open without a sound, and each of the three has an Uzi in his hand.
- They fire indiscriminately: Doug Quarnstrom, Mike the Bartender, two
- Arabs, others: they fall to the ground, spouting blood from severed
- arteries, lying still, still, so still...
-
- The man called Bill rolls himself into a fetal position, gripping
- his ears. "so loud," he whimpers, "so loud..." The first of the
- three men to enter escorts Bill out of the bar, flanked by the
- other two. A whisper of conversation is heard over startled sobs:
- "Yes, Mr. President... Gore has some weed to help you calm down...
- no, I don't think that it's wrong for the president-elect to enjoy
- a tab of acid every now and then..."
-
- Silence.
-
-
-
- pat.
-