Bouffon Stories 2011 Page 3

  Now I em on this deks. Desk. I writ this to let peopl know tht zombies are peopple to.

  I am almosst out of inkk now so I end writting here. And I hope somone wil find this l

  the document ends with scratches in the paper, apparently made with a quill devoid of ink

  Is that me?

  A woman sat down at her dressing table, looking in the mirror. Her life was in perfect order. She'd married a wealthy man, she was pretty, and her bank account would allow her to remain good-looking well into her fifties. Now she was only twenty-nine, but she wouldn't let that stop her looking beautiful. She carefully applied lipstick, mascara, eye shadow. But those were just a few finishing touches. Twelve kinds of foundation, rouge, day and night creams, hair extensions, all adorned the table, and all were used on a daily basis.

  How ironic, she thought, I want to have more hair on my head, but at the same time I'm trying my best to remove any trace of the existence of hair in my face.

  "Yes, how ironic."

  The woman jumped in her seat. What was that voice? It was her voice, but she was certain she hadn't spoken.

  "Over here, genius."

  She took a good look at the mirror. That was where the voice came from, wasn't it? But how could that be?

  "Never you mind about that. Just look at yourself."

  She took another good look, but now it wasn't a throwaway glance. She regarded herself. Every little wrinkle, every spot, each discoloration. She looked and looked and looked, studying her face until it seemed to melt. She roused herself. What was she doing? Some imaginary voice in her head told her to look at herself, and she did? This was nonsense.

  "This isn't nonsense, baby, and you know it as well as I do. For the first time in a long time, you actually looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked past that mask that you put on every day, and you saw what you've become. You're not yourself anymore. You're just another part of the system. Along with millions of other men and women, you have evolved into something you're not. A new, beautiful species. Beautiful outside, rotten to the core inside. Is that what you want? Keeping up appearances?"

  She shook her head, ashamed of herself. The voice was right, whoever it belonged to. She washed off her makeup, ripped out her hair extensions and got dressed. She went downstairs, where her husband was waiting for her.

  "I'm ready."

  "Darling," he said, looking at her, visibly surprised. "You look wonderful."

  A Question of Loyalty

  "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust?"

  While the priest was rattling off the prayer that he had said over a thousand times already, never failing to touch all hearts present but his own, two attendants at the funeral were looking at each other.

  He, a handsome, middle-aged man with just the right amount of grey among his medium-length black hair to look good, with a look of desire and passion.

  "?through our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile body?"

  She, the widow, her blue eyes particularly striking even through the black veil she was wearing, with a cold and distant, but at the same time inquisitive, look.

  "?whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself."

  After the funeral, when everyone had gone home, the two sat down on a churchyard bench. He put his arm around her, she did not react.

  "Dolly, let's talk. Now that Frank is dead? I'm sorry if I put it too bluntly, but let's not lie to each other any longer? you and I? well? we? you know?"

  She turned to him, her look as distant as before, but he saw in it a spark. Now if only he could turn that spark into something more and kindle in her a fire?

  "You know I have always loved you. We were meant to be together. You and I, Dolly, you and I! Oh, what would I not give to live with you the rest of my life, to have you as the captain on the sailing boat of my life!"

  She smiled. There, I've almost got her, he thought. He grabbed her hand in his. It was clammy and full of sweat, which took him aback somewhat.

  "Darling? are you all right?"

  She spoke, her lower lip quivering. "I? have never felt better. Yes, yes, I have never felt better! I should have said this long ago. I don't love you."

  His eyes widened in utter disbelief. "What do you mean? I really don't understand."

  "You understand!" she shouted, scaring herself and looking around to ensure she hadn't drawn anyone else's attention. "You understand all too well. Those nights together, they were perhaps the best I ever had in my life, but we don't belong together, John."

  "But? but we can still see each other, can't we? I mean? if only just once a week."

  She lowered her head.

  "Once a month?"

  She looked up at him again, and tears were starting to well up in her eyes. "No, John. No. Because you see? not only was it not real love we had, but? I deceived my husband." She struggled to continue. "I deceived Frank? and no matter how bad a lover he was, no matter how badly we got on together, he did not deserve that."

  "I understand," he said. "But we can start afresh, can't we?"

  "No! You don't understand at all! In life I have been unfaithful, now please do not make me throw away the chance I now have for a sliver of redemption. I will not be disloyal to my husband any longer! Even if he's? dead?"

  She thought back to those nights she had spent with John. They were marvellous. He was marvellous. But she also knew that Frank was already struggling with the onset of the cancer that would eventually kill him. She found the thought utterly repulsive, and could not believe she had been so cold-hearted.

  John got up. "If that's how it is?"

  He stooped down to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned away her head.

  "Call me if you ever change your mind."

  He handed her his card. She looked at it as the paper became wet with her tears. Then she watched John drive off in his car, a grin on his face as he looked at himself in the mirror. She looked at the card again, and tore it in two.

  When she looked up, she saw a rainbow fill the sky, colouring her tears sweet rather than bitter. Her heart warmed as she came to the realization that she had made the right decision. She looked at the rainbow.

  "Forgive me, Frank."

  The rainbow brightened, flaunting its colours at her before fading. She got up and walked home, ready for a new life as a widow, forever loyal to her husband.

  Confession

  Dear Ada,

  As I am writing this, you are looking at me from your cradle with your lovely big brown eyes. You won't be reading this until you're old enough to understand, but I feel if I don't force myself to write this letter now, I shall never do so.

  Ten years ago, this country was in crisis. War, unemployment, divisions. What was needed was strong leadership. Heaven knows I was the perfect candidate for the job, but as you will undoubtedly (or should I say hopefully?) learn in your history classes, I could not run for any sort of office. Ours was a patriarchal society in the truest sense of the phrase. No women allowed. I truly hope you will never, ever be in a position similar to mine.

  But I digress. Perhaps you will also learn about how I "tricked" the system by posing as a man. Once I got elected as Prime Minister, I could have revealed myself. But I did not. In a way, I enjoyed it all. Dressing up, putting on that fake moustache, wearing my hair cropped? ordering other men around! Oh God, I loved it all so much. But that's not the reason I'm writing this to you.

  After all, a year into my term I did reveal my secret, and people didn't seem to mind. They saw how I had noticeably improved the country, and they saw that, yes, women too can do great things for society. But as I was saying? It's hard for me to write this, and I find I keep dawdling, so I'll just say it outright: I cheated on your father, with another woman.

  Oh, dear Ada, you wouldn't know the relief I feel now that I've finally shared that with someone. I actually had to take a break from writing this letter, just to cry. Not tears of sadness, but tears of relief. I haven't told your fat
her about this, and I'm not sure if I ever can. But when I look into your big brown eyes, I know that at least you will understand. And I pray that you will never be in my current position.

  But I know I needn't be afraid. You will be strong. Stronger than I have been.

  Love,

  Mother

  The School Lunch

  Jimmy sat down at a table in the canteen. He was pretty happy with himself, having just received his report card, which was full of A's, and only two B's. His mom would be so proud. Actually, he was proud of himself too.

  "Oh, hey, Jimmy, what's up?"

  Across the table, Mike sat down.

  "Oh, not, much, Mikey. Gonna open up my lunch box, let's see what I've got. Ah. Cheese, again. What about you?"

  With a theatrical gesture, Mike opened up his box, to reveal a stacked sandwich containing lettuce, tomatoes, and an assortment of his favourite hearty ingredients. It even had a little olive on top.

  Well, blow me down, Jimmy thought. Why can't I ever have a nice sandwich like that one? Stupid Mikey, he thought, slamming his fist on the table.

  "What's wrong?" asked Mike.

  "Oh, er, nothing?"

  No, Jimmy thought, just let the whole thing pass. Forget about the sandwich, think about your report card. Yes, the report card, which has two B's on it? really? Two B's? You couldn't do any better? Jimmy thought. And now I'm going to just let Mike eat his sandwich, this wonderful, juicy sandwich that should be mine?

  At that moment, Lucy walked by. Jimmy didn't actually see her, but she recognized her by the scent she wore. Oh, Lucy, how he longed for her to kiss him? one day, one day he would ask her out. But not now. Now, the sandwich was more important. He longed for it, almost lusting after it. Yes, yes, he must have that sandwich! Why shouldn't he have it? He had to have it!

  And after quickly finishing his own boring cheese sandwich, he snatched the one belonging to Mike away. He stuffed his face with it until he almost choked on the bread, while Mike just sat there staring at him with wide eyes.

  When Jimmy was done eating, he looked around the canteen, and only then he noticed that everyone had been looking at him, including Lucy, who was laughing at him like crazy.

  Baking

  "Mmmm, this cake is going to be delicious," Sarah said, licking her finger after tasting some of the batter.

  "Sarah! Stop that," said her sister Becka. "You'll ruin it."

  "Oh, come now, baking a cake is a piece of cake for you!"

  "Oh, that reminds me. Sarah, do be a dear and check if the birds have enough food left."

  "But I replaced the cake yesterday!"

  "Yes, and maybe they've eaten it already! You do know how much they enjoy those peanut things."

  "Bah, let them eat cake!"

  "They won't be able to if you don't give it to them, Marie Antoinette."

  "Oh, very well?"

  Just as Sarah went out, she passed a boy coming in, carrying a box.

  "Oh, hello, little brother."

  "Hi! Look what I've got!"

  "Look, Jim, I'm a bit busy right now. I have to give the birds a new peanut cake. But you can show it to Becka if you like."

  The boy eagerly ran inside. He couldn't wait to show his sister.

  "Hey Jimmy, what've you got there?"

  "A cake."

  "But I'm baking a cake!"

  "No, no, not that kind of cake? look?"

  The boy opened the box, revealing a cake firework. Becka's eyes widened.

  "Take that out of here immediately!"

  "Why?" asked Sarah, who had just returned from feeding the birds.

  "Because it's dangerous, that's why! Look! Little boys like Jimmy shouldn't be playing with fireworks, especially this kind!"

  "Oh, come now," said Sarah, who never saw the true danger in anything, "it's not like it's yellow cake!"

  "What?"

  "You know, that uranium thing? Anyway, Jim? maybe Becka is right. Better bring it back to the shop."

  "Oh, okay?" Jim said.

  "And when you come back, you can give me hand with decorating the cake."

  "Yippee!" said Jimmy, who ran off to the store to return the cake firework.

  "You know," said Becka, "this may just be the best cake I've ever made.

  "You think? I think you may be right in that."

  "Okay, let's put it in the oven and wait."

  "Oh, I have an idea! Let's try that puzzle again. You know, from the puzzle book I got the other day."

  "Puzzle? What puzzle?"

  "The one with the cake number!"

  "Oh! Yes, that seems strangely appropriate. Although our cake is not a cube."

  "Oh, well, that doesn't really matter."

  "No, you're right. And maybe the cake number is a lie anyway!"

  The two girls laughed at their little in-joke and sat down, trying to figure out how many parts they could get out of a cube with 7 cuts. They didn't really expect to find out this cake number before their own cake would be ready, but at least it gave them something to do.

  They were suddenly interrupted by a sound. They had anticipated it to be the oven, or maybe the doorbell to signal Jimmy's return. But it was a song. Frank Sinatra by Cake-Becka's ringtone.

  "Hello? Who is this? Police? Oh, God. Ill? illegal fireworks? Yes, but I told him to take it back to the store. He did? Good. What? What?! You? you can't be? I? God, NO!"

  She dropped the phone from her hands.

  "What is it?" Sarah asked, anxious to hear the news.

  "Jimmy? Jimmy? he? won't be here to decorate our cake?" was all Becka could utter before she lost consciousness.

  Reunion

  Grandpapa walked to his old record player, and put on Morning Mood from the Peer Gynt Suite, his late wife's favourite piece. It had been 3 years now to the day since she died, and as was the custom in his family, that day marked an annual family reunion to commemorate Grandmama. Any minute now, the guests could arrive.

  The doorbell played a happy rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", and Grandpapa slowly walked over to the front door, a happy smile on his face. He opened the door to reveal Lily, his eighteen-year-old granddaughter, and her boyfriend Kyle. He never really liked Kyle, and there had always been some animosity between the two, but that was about to change.

  Grandpapa ran a local charity that helped puppies with Tourette's Syndrome, and Kyle had been so kind to adopt one of those puppies. Eager to finally reconcile with Grandpapa, he set loose the puppy. The little dog promptly ran into the hall, and just as it was getting ready to jump into Grandpapa's arms, it had a Tourette's attack, knocking over the frail old man, who unfortunately fell with his head against the wall and was instantly killed.

  Kyle and Lily panicked.

  "What do we do now?" Kyle screamed.

  "I don't know! Oh God, it's Mom and Dad!"

  And indeed, Ma and Papa were already walking up the garden path with Lily's two younger brothers, Petey and Ben.

  "Hello," Papa began, when the sight of the old man lying there in a puddle of blood stopped him in his tracks. "What the hell happened here?"

  Lily tried to explain. "It was an accident? Kyle-"

  "Kyle, eh? I should have thought so, after last year's incident with the chocolate pudding. You didn't succeed in killing Grandpapa then, so you thought you'd try again, eh? Well, I've had enough now!"

  Papa ran into the kitchen and came out, brandishing a meat cleaver.

  "NOOO!" Lily shouted as Papa came rushing at Kyle, waving the sharp instrument about menacingly.

  Just at the last moment, Lily jumped in front of the astonished Kyle. She had saved her boyfriend, but Papa couldn't prevent the meat cleaver from entering her skull. This proved too much for Papa, who got a heart attack.

  He was rushed to the hospital, and Ma with the two remaining kids went along with him, hoping and praying he would survive.

  Kyle was still utterly perplexed. He remained behind, in a daze. Then he came to his senses wh
en he saw Lily lying on the floor, dead. He started crying, shouting, kicking, screaming. And he wanted only one thing: to kill himself. He couldn't live on without the love of his life.

  Francisco, the pool boy, who had been regarding this whole spectacle from the garden where he was operating the barbecue, noticed Kyle's immense distress. When Francisco saw the young man tying a noose to the garage ceiling, he felt compelled to do something. He rushed over to Kyle, trying to stop him, but Kyle, being the top football player in his college, was just too strong. He pushed Francisco back, throwing him into the swimming pool, and proceeded to hang himself. Francisco splashed about in the pool.

  "Help! I can't swim!"

  Those were his last words.

  Meanwhile in the hospital, Papa was fighting for his life, but soon it became apparent that it was a lost battle. The two children, Petey and Ben, who were both a few sandwiches short of a picnic, started running around the hospital in a mixture of manic depression and a twisted sort of euphoria.

  Ma couldn't quite catch up with them, and she soon lost sight of the children.

  Petey, the youngest of the two, finally passed out from sheer exhaustion. His brother Ben, clever as he was, knew exactly what had to be done now, having watched quite a few medical programmes on TV in his lifetime. He reached for the defibrillator in order to revive his younger brother, but of course he had no idea how to use it and electrocuted himself instead.

  Ma had finally found the children, just in time to see Ben kill himself. Completely beside herself, she grabbed Petey and stormed out of the hospital.

  "I'm not staying in this accursed town any longer!" she screamed as she made for the car.

  She drove off with Petey, hoping to put this terrible ordeal behind her. She couldn't completely focus on driving however, after all that had happened, so she saw the puppy, who had been the cause of this extraordinary chain reaction of deaths, too late. She swerved to avoid the pup, ramming the car into a tree by the roadside. Both Petey and his mother were killed instantly.

  Well, thought the puppy, maybe they will have a reunion up there now. The little dog looked up at the blue sky, forgetting he was still sitting in the middle of the road, and not noticing the truck that was rapidly approaching.