Wednesday, October 7, 2009

tales from the edge

Still no Quest update. I've been writing a lot lately. It's mostly not stuff I'm going to be posting on Blogspot anytime soon. But I'm still writing, and I want you to know, I'm NOT letting my creative dreams die. No matter what. Times are tough, but they'll get better and until they do, I can't be just giving up on everything in the mean-time.

Well, okay I'll post something. Just to prove I can. Dig it! (



***



"block party"

There once was a man whose name was Stan.

Stan lived in a little brown townhouse in Kalamazoo.

Every morning Stan's garage door would open and a little green sedan would roll out -- but nobody was inside. The car would drive away down the street, and then the garage door would shut.

Hours later, like clockwork, the little sedan would reappear on the street, drive back up into the garage, and the door would shut again -- all without a single soul in sight.

Eventually the people of the neighborhood decided to confront Stan about this. They waited until the next morning, when the garage door opened once more and the ghostly car rolled out -- and after it had gone, they stormed the place. Some came through the front. Others went around the back. Doors were kicked in. People were climbing through windows, trampling flowerbeds, breaking glass. Somebody even stepped on Stan's cat.

They ransacked the entire house, but Stan was nowhere to be found.

Instead of leaving, the mob decided to wait for the car to come back. They raided the kitchen for snacks and beer. Someone turned on dance music. Before long a fairly large-sized party had broken out. Folks were showing up at Stan's house from all around the neighborhood, greeting friends, bringing more booze. The downstairs quickly became overrun with revelers. The upstairs bedrooms were occupied almost as fast.

At one point somebody in Stan's living room thought he heard a garage door open. Everyone around him was busy browsing through Stan's personal DVD collection, weighing and debating Stan's taste in quality movies. Nobody else had heard anything. The matter was dropped.

Weeks later the little green sedan was found gutted and hollowed out at the bottom of the Michigan River. There was no body inside.

The police went to Stan's little brown townhouse in Kalamazoo to inform him that his vehicle had been destroyed. They knocked on the door. A topless woman opened the door. She said she didn't know who Stan was, or anything about him. She ran out into the street and disappeared.

The police came into the house, only to discover a massive four-alarm block party raging at full force. They unplugged the music, flushed all the illicit substances, and cleared everybody out -- then searched the house top-to-bottom for Stan. But he wasn't there.

Meanwhile, the mad party continued out on the street.