Short Story: "Portions"

Well, this is it, folks! My 20th completed short story and the eventual title story for the short-story collection that I plan to put together in e-book form this year. I picked the title for my story collection months ago, but never gave much thought to writing a story by the same name until today. As it turns out, it was an unexpectedly good call to try and write one. Once I had the idea, the story sort of wrote itself.


Now having finished 20 stories (which was my goal all along) and reached 25,158 words total (25,000 was my goal), I can now begin the process of self-editing before I start to put it all together in book form.


To all of you who've read me faithfully this year, thank you very much! If you have encouraged me through comments or whatever, keep it up – most writers, myself included, are extremely insecure when it comes to what they've written. They (and I) almost always think what they've written is wonderful, but seen through another's eyes, it's easier to take a critical eye at things that need more work, and to better appreciate why certain things work well or don't. I know I'm not a fantastic writer, but I try to put forth quality work whenever I write something. Any comments that you feel comfortable giving on this and any and other of my stories, believe me, I welcome it! All that being said, I hope you enjoy this short story, entitled "Portions"....

PORTIONS

Four sips of water and four sandwich quarters per day. Pimento cheese and lettuce. Never more than that, and often less. By the time I receive it, the the bread is already crusty, the pimento cheese slightly rancid, and the lettuce brown and wilted. But it's food, and it sustains me.

I haven't seen daylight in eighteen months. That is, I think it's been eighteen months. I keep losing count. After five hundred days, I stopped counting altogether. One reason was that there was no more room on the wall. Another is that I stopped caring. Well, almost.

How I wound up here is actually a funny story, if you think about it hard enough. On the surface, it might sooner be deemed a tragedy. My hubby and I had arrived here by cruise ship as part of a romantic getaway. It was supposed to be a second honeymoon for us, since our first one was protracted, as I was doing clinicals at the time and couldn't get away for a whole week.

We had the whole day on the island to do whatever we wanted, as long as we were back on the ship by 6pm. I wish we'd been paying better attention to the time, or we might not have wandered so far away from the ship. But there was so much to see and do here. Such vibrant colors everywhere – the houses, the stores, even the fire hydrants (the favorite color for those seems to be magenta). Everything back in the States is dull by comparison. Of course, I'd trade anything to see that dullness again.

Here I see nothing but three walls and metal bars. I haven't seen Stephen since they locked us up. I pray every day that he's still alive. If he is, they're keeping him somewhere else. I haven't heard his voice in so long, except in my dreams. But back to the story.

We'd been having a marvelous day trip here on the island, and we'd just finished eating lunch when a strange man approached us on the street. This wasn't altogether unexpected, as the cruise director and all the brochures warned us this was a possibility. Just be polite, they said, and respectfully decline whatever it is they're trying to sell you. Sometimes it's legitimate merchandise, sometimes it's black-market, and sometimes there is no merchandise at all – they're just out to steal your money.

It seems that constables are stationed at every street corner here, which certainly engenders a sense of security. Except when you're in the middle of the block, closer to an alleyway than a street corner, and your hubby has to stop and tie his shoe. Which is exactly where we were when the man approached.

He was dressed much like the rest of the natives we saw, in a brightly colored floral-print shirt and purple khaki shorts. Indeed, the clothes are as flashy as everything else around here. He wore a straw hat that looked like he made it himself and that had seen its better days. He offered us a brochure of some kind, written in the native language, and began pointing at the words in bold across the top. He spoke little English, but tried to convey what the brochure was all about as best he could. Something about political prisoners and modern torture methods. In retrospect, I probably should have paid better attention. It may have helped me understand why we were taken.

When the man seemed sure that he'd piqued our interest sufficiently (although he really hadn't, at least on my part), he beckoned us to follow him to a door in the alleyway. He bore a broad grin that exposed jagged (and a few missing) teeth which was more creepy than inviting, but for some reason we followed him. Stupid, I know, but we thought maybe we'd get something free out of the deal, an authentic native meal or something just for listening to the man rant in his own (and badly in our) language.

As soon as we crossed the threshold of the door, which was shabbily constructed and well-worn, we knew we had made a mistake. Two very large men filled the tiny space we'd entered, a cantina of some kind that appeared to have dried up decades earlier. To describe the two men properly would be impossible, as we only saw them for a few seconds. Immediately, one of the men grabbed me while the other manhandled Stephen and wrestled us both to the ground, faces-down. I couldn't tell you what they hit me with, I just felt the impact at the back of my head for half a second, then nothing. When I awoke, I was here in this cell, obviously somewhere below-ground. It was (and still is) dank, very dark, and cold. Ironic since it's probably swelteringly hot aboveground, as it usually is here and was the day we arrived.

I'm sure our families went out of their minds when they heard that we'd been left on the island by the cruise ship. Certainly they'd assume that we'd just catch the next flight, or boat, or whatever,  off the island and head back home as soon as we were able. What dark thoughts – all of them valid as it turns out – must have passed through their minds in the ensuing months might have already killed Stephen's parents. Jim and Dottie were much older when they had Stephen than my parents were. Jim has a bad heart, and Dottie has high blood pressure. My folks are on opposite sides of the country, but they would have likely kept in touch these many months to see if the other had heard from me.

But no one had heard from me, because I have been here. I'm sure Stephen hasn't been able to reach out to anyone back home either if he's in the same situation I'm in. I'm sure he is, if he's not dead already. My heart tells me he's alive, but I still worry. With good reason, of course.

I've never known who our captors are. I've never even seen their faces. They shine light in my face four times a day when they bring me water and my sandwich quarter (to make sure I'm still alive?), but my blinded eyes can't make out any facial features that I would recognize later – if there is a later.

Are we political prisoners, like the ones in the strange man's brochure? If so, why? If not, why are we here? What about Stephen and I would be important enough that the government of this island nation would use us as a bargaining chip for political purposes? And why do they think the United States gives a rip about the two of us when it won't even negotiate with terrorists?

Whatever the reason, we're here. Well, I am for sure. Daily I fantasize that Stephen has found a way to escape and is plotting to free me any way he can as soon as he can. Or maybe he has escaped and made his way back home and bringing reinforcements to come back and get me. Maybe he's lost his memory, doesn't know who he is, and doesn't even remember that I exist. Or maybe he remembers everything, and has chosen to move on with his life without me. The thought of that is ten times worse than imagining his being dead.

I wish I could offer you a better ending to my story. But it is what is is I am still here, waiting for my release or my death, the ultimate release. I have no greater hope than that, unless it is to see Stephen again. I sleep fitfully, day and night, and wake to a worse nightmare than I've endured in slumber. The door to the outside world opens four times a day, and I am given my portions. I force them down and keep on waiting. I survive.

Things I Find Fascinating: Words You Can Make Using Letters From The Words "Amendment One"

DISCLAIMER:  This is not a political rant for or against the amendment which is being voted upon today in North Carolina. If you see significance in any of the words I've chosen to form using the letters from "Amendment One," it is likely only your imagination. If you still choose to think that I picked certain words on purpose, well then, you are certainly entitled to your opinion. ~ JPH


1)  Memento:  (a) An object or item that serves to remind one of a person, past event, etc.; keepsake; souvenir.  (b) Anything serving as a reminder or warning.
 

2)  Momenta:  Force or speed of movement; impetus, as of a physical object or course of events.

3)  Dement:  To make mad or insane.

4)  Moan:  To utter something inarticulately or pitifully, as if in lamentation.

5)  Atone:  (a) To make amends or reparation, as for an offense or a crime, or for an offender.  (b) To make up, as for errors or deficiencies.  (c) To become reconciled; agree.

6)  Demote:  To reduce to a lower grade, rank, class, or position.

7)  Demon:  (a) An evil spirit; devil or fiend.  (b) An evil passion or influence.  (c) A person considered extremely wicked, evil, or cruel.

8)  Demean:  To lower in dignity, honor, or standing; debase.

9)  Mate:  noun  (a) Husband or wife; spouse.  (b) One of a pair.  (c) A counterpart.  (d) An associate; fellow worker; comrade; partner.  verb  (a) To join as a mate or as mates.  (b) To match or marry.  (c) To join, fit, or associate suitably.

10)  Amend:  (a) To alter, modify, rephrase, or add to or subtract from (a motion, bill, constitution, etc.) by formal procedure.  (b) To change for the better; improve.  (c) To remove or correct faults in; rectify.

11)  Mean:  (a) Offensive, selfish, or unaccommodating; nasty; malicious.  (b) Small-minded or ignoble.  (c) Inferior in grade, quality, or character.  (d) Low in status, rank, or dignity.

12)  Name:  (a) A word or a combination of words by which a person, place, or thing, a body or class, or any object of thought is designated, called, or known.  (b) An appellation, title, or epithet, applied descriptively, in honor, abuse, etc.  (c) A reputation of a particular kind given by common opinion.

13)  Amen:  It is so; so be it (used after a prayer, creed, or other formal statement to express solemn ratification or agreement).

14)  Damn:  (a) To declare something to be bad, unfit, invalid, or illegal.  (b) To bring condemnation upon; ruin.  (c) To doom to eternal punishment or condemn to hell.

15)  Mend:  (a) To make (something broken, worn, torn, or otherwise damaged) whole, sound, or usable by repairing.  (b) To remove or correct defects or errors in.  (c) To set right; make better; improve.

16)  Ammo:  (a) The material fired, scattered, dropped, or detonated from any weapon.  (b)  Any material, means, weapons, etc., used in any conflict.  (c)  Information, advice, or supplies to help defend or attack a viewpoint, argument, or claim.

17)  Deem:  (a) To form or have an opinion; judge; think.  (b) To hold as an opinion; think; regard.

18)  Tend:  (a) To be disposed or inclined in action, operation, or effect to do something.  (b) To be disposed toward an idea, emotion, way of thinking, etc.  (c)  To be inclined to or have a tendency toward a particular quality, state, or degree.  (d)  To lead or be directed in a particular direction.

19)  Ado:  A great deal of fuss and noise; a considerable emotional upset; to-do; commotion; stir; tumult; flurry.

20)  One:  (a) Being or amounting to a single unit or individual or entire thing, item, or object rather than two or more; a single.  (b) Being a person, thing, or individual instance or member of a number, kind, group, or category indicated.  (c) Existing, acting, or considered as a single unit, entity, or individual.  (d) In a state of agreement; of one opinion; united in thought or feeling.

Poems For Your Perusal: More Alpha Poetry

After my own heart
Stops beating
None of this will matter.
Decisions that seem
So monumental now
Will crumble
In a moment.


Bite the bullet, and
Do what you must.
Dreading it doesn't
Make it happen.
Putting it off only
Delays the inevitable.
You may hate it now
But you'll thank yourself later.


Cast the first stone of blame
At your own feet. You think
Because it hasn't happened to you
That it can't, and it never will.
Be careful what you prophesy
You could very well be next.


Decent people win by being decent.
They get ahead through perseverance
Never giving in, and standing by convictions.
What world am I talking about again?
That's alright. Who needs to win anyway?


Every time I think about you
I think about myself
And how close I came
To becoming like you.
Whew, that was close!


Faster than you've ever seen
He runs in one place
Harder and harder he pushes
And yet he hasn't moved.
Pity.


Getting what you want
Can be a blessing
Or a curse.
Getting what you need
Can make you
Complacent.
Ever wanting
Ever hungry
Ever trying
Maybe that's better?


Hope to see you again soon.
But what you really mean
Is that you don't expect
To ever see me again.
You hope not to, because
If you did, you'd have
To face the fact
That I was right
And you were wrong
And that's more than
You're willing to own.


If you walked in my shoes
For just a moment
You'd feel the pain
The cramped tightness
The worn-out soul
And you'd wonder
Why they always
Come untied.


Just like always
We gather here
To watch the two
Be joined as one.
And we rejoice
And we clap
And we cry
And we shower
Them with gifts
And we pray
That it lasts
As ours has.


Kindly take your hands
Off me. You don't have
The right to own me
Body, heart, or soul.
I will not be mastered
By you, or anyone else.
I know what is right
And I will honor it.


Let's just agree to disagree.
You see things a certain way
And I see them another.
We'll never be able to
Convince each other
That one of us is wrong.
It doesn't make it right
It just means we don't fight.


Most of the time
When I sit down to write
I have a thousand thoughts
Running through my head
At once. Today's no different.
Some days I can actually
Make sense of these thoughts.
Today's the exception.


Never too late to start again
An old dog learns new tricks
As good as anyone else does.
The lie that age dulls you
Or stupefies is just a myth.
Don't be fooled by fools.


Only those you want to keep
Deserve the care you think they need.
The ones you love is who I mean
What did you think I was
Talking about -- teeth?


Please, for the sake
Of all that is holy
Stop that infernal whistling!
You're not a dwarf
This isn't Fairyland
Work isn't supposed
To make you Happy.


Quickly realizing that
No matter what I do
No matter what I say
No matter what's the matter
Complaining doesn't help.


Rising above his circumstances
He looks down to see from whence
He rose. Things look so different
From up here. More manageable.


So sorry, but that's the way it is
If you wanted a better outcome
You should have cared enough
To do something, anything
To make it happen. Your loss.


Trailing by at least a dozen
Always playing catch-up
How did we get this far behind?
And when did we run out
Of time-outs? I cry foul!


Unless they come to a better understanding
It's likely that their ever after
Will not end happily. What a shame!
I was just getting sucked into the story.


Vanquishing foes left and right
And never stopping to take a breath
He soon loses focus, stumbles
Is caught off-guard, and loses his head.
Literally. Apparently violence is the answer.


Weak-kneed wanderer limps toward home
And finds that nothing's changed.
The past is still the present.
He swears there was something
Worth missing in the interim
But finding he was wrong
Decides that he prefers the road.


X generation kids having their own
Grunge is a thing of the past.
All that good flannel just going to waste
Should've known it wouldn't last.


Yes, it's true
I lost control
Ate too much
And I feel terrible.
Yes, I regret it.
Well, at least
I regret the way I feel.
I'll remember this
For next time.


Zip your lip!
Restrain yourself!
I know what you're thinking.
The whole world knows
What you're thinking.
But saying it will only
Make things much worse.
Just don't.

They're Just Doing Their Jobs!

1)  Fast-Food Workers:  Chances are, they're making much less money than you are, and they most likely have to deal with a lot more of the public than you do every day -- the good, the bad, and the ugly. If they're a little grumpy, there's probably a good reason for it. Maybe they just got cursed at because their burger has pickles when they specifically said "No pickles." Maybe the fries are cold -- they didn't make the fries, it's not their fault. Cut them some slack!

2)  IRS Auditors:  If you should ever be so "fortunate" as to have to undergo an IRS audit, don't take it out on the poor guy or lady conducting the audit. It is not a personal vendetta against you. They know you; they're not out to destroy your life. They're just doing what they get paid to do.

3)  Referees/Umpires/Other Sporting Officials:  A sporting official's job is to call it as they see it. Most of the time they get it right. Sometimes they get it wrong. This does not make them terrible people. It makes them human. Have a little understanding, and let them be human. You'd probably be hard-pressed to do as well yourself.

4)  Police/Law Enforcement:  Too many people either fear or hate "cops." In most cases, this is fear and hatred that's unfounded. Granted, there's a small minority of individuals in the law enforcement community who have abused their power and given good reason for people to hate them. But this is not the norm. Chances are, if you're afraid of the cops , it's because you're doing something wrong and you don't want to get caught. If you're not doing anything wrong, you don't have anything to worry about.

5)  Lawyers:  This is another case where a few bad ones give the multitude of good ones a bad name. I fully realize that, like some of the jobs on this list, lawyers are typically well-paid for their work. But that shouldn't give us the right to hate them for it. While it's often perceived to be one of the "glamor jobs", lawyers do a lot of drudge work that most of us wouldn't want to do, no matter what we were getting paid for it. It's not all Law And Order and Matlock. A lot of it is dull and solitary work. A good lawyer earns the money he or she makes. Don't take it out on a few of them who rake in the cash as a reward for their dishonesty.

6)  Car Salesmen:  Confession -- I am among the legion of folks who dislike car salesmen. And yet, I know several of them personally. Buying or selling a car is a very important decision. One that I would prefer to make for myself. But a car salesman's job is to steer you in the direction that he or she would like you to go. To sell you that car that's been languishing on the lot for far too long. The newer, more expensive one that just arrived -- that will get him or her a bigger commission. In truth, car salesmen are no different than any other kind of salesmen, whether it be the computer salesman at Best Buy, the furniture saleslady at Badcock's, or what have you. The guy wants to sell you a car, not to make you second-guess your (or his or her) decision for the next four or five years, but because he or she wants to get paid this week. They are trying to put food on the table just like anyone else. And with all that has gone down in the automotive industry in the past few years, it's getting harder and harder for them to do their jobs, which is selling. I'm preaching to myself here as much as anybody, but here goes: Give them a break. And I'll try to, too.

7)  Auto Mechanics:  Like other jobs on this list, auto mechanics' reputations in general have been sullied by the ones (admittedly, more than just a small minority of them) who are dishonest, unethical, and downright cheats! I, like you probably have been at some point, have been burned on more than one occasion by dastardly auto mechanics who told me I needed something that I probably didn't need, paid them an exorbitant amount of money to fix the problem, only to find that it was actually another problem all along, one "amazingly" not related at all to the one I've already paid for. While there are a lot of dishonest auto mechanics out there, and I may continue to naturally distrust them in general, I do realize that there are many, many honest auto mechanics out there who work hard, do a good job (much better than I could ever do!), and can and should be trusted. I have a guy who does my car repairs now that I trust is among that latter group.

8)  Busboys (or Busgirls):  I held this job throughout my college years at a local seafood restaurant, not because I wanted to, but because it was a steady job and the hours were always at night (and all my classes were during the day). The pay was lousy, the work was thankless (except for the occasional "thank you" from the nicer waitresses who appreciated that we were doing all we could to get their tables ready for another group of guests), and no, we did not get tips. After hours, we effectively became the janitors of the place (another thankless job!), having to sweep, mop, and wipe down everything in the dining room areas.

9)  Truck Drivers:  Being away from home and family for long stretches of time. Being on the job 24/7 but only getting paid by the number of miles that you drive. Being cursed at, given the finger, or conversely, begged upon by minivans full of kids to honk the horn when you're just trying to do your job. Sound like fun to you? Not to me, either. But without these guys and ladies, the shelves of our favorite stores would be empty; our restaurants would close down for lack of food to serve; that birthday gift you ordered for your brother online would never arrive. Without truck drivers, we wouldn't have most of the things we enjoy everyday. Think about that next time you grumble because that 18-wheeler won't get out of your way so you can get to the nearest Starbucks for your morning cup of Joe (which was probably delivered by a truck driver not that long ago).

10)  Call Center Reps/Customer Service Reps/Telemarketers:  Many people don't choose to do these jobs. Often, desperation forces them to take them because no one else will. These jobs often don't pay very well, especially as compared to the stress level that's involved in performing them well. But somebody's got to do it, right? Call center and customer service reps and telemarketers probably take more crap than anybody else, especially since the anonymity of being heard and not seen emboldens many people. Folks will say many things over the phone that they would never say to another person's face. And yet, for the person on the other end of the line, getting paid very little to do so much, they still reap the "benefits" of the customer's fury. And that's not fair. I am as guilty of this as anyone, but it's still not right. Speak into their ears the same way as you would if you could look into their eyes. They're just doing their jobs...

My Favorite Four-Letter Words

It's late. We've been busy. I'm keeping it simple tonight. These are ten of my favorite four-letter words. And they're not necessarily the ones you would expect. Enjoy!



 

Love

Food

Book

Word

Hugs

Cats

Fire

Tree

 

 

Path

Naps

Weird Quotes By Guys Named Tom

  "I've had just about everything punched. 

I've had things grabbed that just shouldn't be grabbed."

~ Tom Brady, NFL Quarterback

"If fishing is a religion,

fly fishing is high church."

~ Tom Brokaw, Television Journalist

"You don't know the history of psychiatry. I DO!"

~ Tom Cruise, Movie Star

 "Nothing's worse than a woman know-it-all."

~ Tom DeLay, Former Politician

"I like to drink to suit my location."

~ Tom Jones, Welsh Crooner

"The big print giveth, and the small print taketh away."

~ Tom Waits, Singer/Songwriter

"I'm Tom and I'm here to help you. 

Send me a message if you're confused by anything."

~ Tom Anderson, MySpace Co-Founder

"A nice pop star would do you nice

on one of those deserted islands."

~ Tom Felton, Film Actor

"It's better to be quotable than to be honest."

~ Tom Stoppard, Playwright

Thinking En Español At Midnight

It's been awhile since we've gone now, but for several years in a row, our church took a group of people on missions trips to Reynosa, Mexico at Easter time. My wife and I (she was my fiancee the first year) went on five such trips with the church, each year from 2003 to 2007. While visiting the various churches in Reynosa (and one year in Monterrey), we were able to make lots of friends among the Mexican believers. Among them was the pastor of one of the local churches, Victor Cruz.

We became very close to Victor, his wife Mary (pronounced MAH-ree), and their five kids over the years that we went to Reynosa. My wife Mary helped his wife Mary and some of the other ladies at the seminary where we stayed in preparing the meals for the seminary students and the people in our group. Mary learned how to make tamales (though she couldn't really reproduce them at home -- cooking is such a process there) and mole chicken and other great foods native to Mexico. I was part of a group of guys, led by Victor, who worked on various construction projects both at the seminary and at Victor's church across town. Not being a particularly handy guy, I can't say that I actually learned very much about construction, or that I even helped all that much. My biggest contribution was probably an intangible one.

Having taken four years of high school Spanish and placing into the fourth (and highest) level of Spanish I needed to take in college to fulfill my foreign-language requirements, I was fairly fluent in Spanish at the time. Of course, knowing how to conjugate common verbs and speak conversationally doesn't help you a whole lot if you don't know any construction terms in Spanish. But still, I was probably more fluent than most of the people in our group, especially among the guys. So I basically became our de facto translator. Victor didn't speak a whole lot of English -- most of the people we met there didn't. But he could speak a few words here and there to get his point across. What he couldn't say in English he would say in Spanish and I would do my best to translate it for the other guys.

It's now been more than five years since the last time we were in Mexico. Outside of some scattered communication in Spanish with our contractor guy over the past few weeks (he speaks very good English, so we don't have to revert to Spanish too much), we haven't had many occasions to speak Spanish with any regularity. Mary (my wife, not Victor's) was pretty good at Spanish, too, and did her share of translating when she was working with the Mexican ladies in the kitchen. But again, it's been five years, and we haven't practiced, so our Spanish skills have declined greatly, to say the least.

I say all that to say this: Last night, I had a good long chat with Victor on Facebook -- we have sporadically kept in contact through the social networking site, but hadn't chatted in a while. The good thing about reading Spanish as opposed to speaking it is that if you get stuck, you can just pull up Google Translate and either translate what you don't understand that the other person has said, or translate into Spanish what you want to say to them.

So, when at the end of our chat, Victor asked for my phone number so we could talk on the phone, we were both elated and a bit scared. Would we be able to carry on a conversation primarily in a language we hadn't spoken regularly in several years? Would Victor feel pressured to speak only in English, with which he is not all that comfortable, either? We honestly didn't know how it would go. But I messaged Victor with our home telephone number anyway, figuring that he'd call in a few days and we'd have time to brush up on our Spanish in the interim. I signed off the Internet and we were about to head up to bed. After all, it was 11:30 at night. Then the phone rang. Of course, it was Victor.

We ended up speaking with him for over an hour, and I think it went pretty well, considering. Between the two of us, Mary and I both succeeded (somewhat) in communicating what we wanted to say in Spanish, and understood (for the most part) everything Victor had to say (mostly in Spanish also). We caught up on each others' lives over the past five years. He asked how certain people from our church group were doing. We inquired how his family and the other families we befriended in Mexico were doing. Victor told us that he and his wife Mary plan to visit the United States early next year, and if at all possible, they may try to head this way and visit us here in Greenville. (Awesome!) It was great hearing his voice again, and catching up and reminiscing about old times. There may have been some miscommunication to him on our part, or to us on his part from time to time. But ultimately, it didn't matter as much as I'd thought before he called. Thinking in Spanish and English simultaneously and trying to translate both at midnight after a long day of work and years of non-practice is quite difficult, and both our brains (and probably Victor's too, trying to work some English into his part of the conversation) were fairly taxed afterwards, but it was worth every minute of it. We are looking forward to the next time we get to speak to him on the phone again. Even more so, we look forward to possibly seeing Victor and Mary again in person next year.

Until then, we better start brushing up on our Spanish-speaking skills...

Stuff That Happened Today In Years Past

For no particular reason other than to fulfill my self-imposed obligation to blog daily for a year, here's a list of things that happened on this day in history. Some of them are pretty interesting. For the ones that weren't that interesting, I made some junk up to "spice it up" a little bit. I'll leave it to you to figure out what's real and what's fiction. Enjoy!

1230 –  William de Braose, Marcher Lord, is hanged by Llywelyn the Great, Prince of Wales, near Llywelyn's palace at Abergwyngregyn. Turns out Llywelyn wasn't so "great" after all. Apparently, their feud started over a game of cards which de Braose won by playing six aces in one hand.

1335 – Otto the Merry, Duke of Austria, becomes Duke of Carinthia. He ruled jointly with his brother, Frederick the Handsome. Okay, so Otto was ugly, but at least he had a good personality.

1519 – Leonardo da Vinci, Italian painter, sculptor, architect, musician, scientist, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist, and writer, dies in Amboise, France, at 67 years old. The cause of his death is unknown, though exhaustion probably played a huge factor, based on all he accomplished in such a relatively short time.

1536 – Anne Boleyn, Queen of England, is arrested and imprisoned on charges of adultery, incest, treason, and witchcraft. She was also charged with jaywalking and vehicular homicide, but those charges were dropped due to lack of evidence.

1568 – Mary, Queen of Scots, escapes from Loch Leven Castle. She flees to Iceland, where she immediately assumes the throne and is re-dubbed the "Ice Queen." After 19 relatively uneventful years in power, Mary is killed when her chief adviser "accidentally" throws her into the mouth of an active volcano.

1601 –  German Jesuit scholar Athanasius Kircher is born in Geisa, Buchonia, near Fulda (currently Hesse, Germany). Kircher would spend the next 15 years of his life learning how to accurately spell and pronounce his own first name.

1611 – The King James Bible is published for the first time in London, England, by printer Robert Barker. Four hundred and one years later, it is still the only version of the Bible that anyone should ever read, and anyone who reads any other version is a blasphemer who deserves to be burned at the stake like they did in the good ol' days. Yeah, that was sarcasm.

1729 –  Catherine the Great, Empress of Russia, is born in Stetten, Pomerania. At the time, she wasn't yet called "the Great" – her nickname was "Figchen", which means "Little Frederica" in German. When no one was around, her dad was known to call her "Little Bald and Wrinkly," just for kicks.

1816 – Prince Leopold I (who fifteen years later would become the first king of the Belgians when Belgium gained its independence from The Netherlands) marries Princess Charlotte of Wales (who was second-in-line to the British throne). A year and a half later, Charlotte would die shortly after giving birth to a stillborn son. Twelve years later, Leopold had an affair with an actress who looked just like Charlotte, but he never married her (probably because she was "just an actress"). Creepy, but true.

1859 – English writer Jerome Klapka Jerome was born in Caldmore, Walsall, England, to parents who hated him so much they gave him his last name as his first name. Primarily a humor writer (you'd have to be with folks like that), Jerome is best-known for his books Three Men In A Boat (To Say Nothing Of The Dog), Idle Thoughts Of An Idle Fellow, and Diary Of A Pilgrimage.

1863 – Confederate General Stonewall Jackson is wounded by friendly fire while returning to camp during the Battle of Chancellorsville. While being transported away from the battlefield, he is dropped from his stretcher, compounding his injuries. Eight days later, Jackson dies of pneumonia; ironically, the symptoms that presented themselves are mistakenly attributed to his rough treatment while leaving the battlefield and not to pneumonia.

1876 – The April Uprising breaks out in Bulgaria. Apparently, they call May "April" in Bulgaria. To each his own. The result of the Uprising was that, two years later, Bulgaria reestablished itself as an autonomous nation, no longer a part of the Ottoman Empire.

1885 – Good Housekeeping magazine goes on sale for the first time. A hundred and twenty-seven  years later, and the magazine still boasts a total circulation of 4,336,711 (as of 2011). Interesting fact: Good Housekeeping prohibited the advertising of cigarettes in 1952, 12 years before the Surgeon General's warning labels were required on cigarette packs.

1885 –  Noted gossip columnist Hedda Hopper was born in Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania. Believe it or not, she actually changed her name to Hedda Hopper. Her name at birth was Elda Furry...so, yeah, that totally makes sense now.

1908 –  Indonesian National Education Day, or abbreviated as HARDIKNAS (Hari Pendidikan Nasional), is celebrated for the first time. HARDIKNAS was initiated by the Indoneisan education hero Ki Hajar Dewantara, the founder of the Taman Siswa education system. Dewantara's educational philosophy, "Tut Wuri Handayani", means "We can help others learn by coaching and mentoring."

1918 – General Motors acquires the Chevrolet Motor Company. Nearly a hundred years later, GM is still the world's largest automaker, by vehicle unit sales.

1920 –  The first game of the Negro National League Baseball is played in Indianapolis, Indiana. Another twenty-seven years would pass before a "Negro" (African-American) would be allowed to play in Major League Baseball. The man to break the "color barrier" was Jackie Robinson in 1947.

1921 –  Satyajit Ray, India's greatest filmmaker ever, is born in Kolkata, India. Ray directed thirty-seven films during his forty-plus years in show business, including Pater Panchali, Apur Sansar, Mahapurush, Kanchenjungha, Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne, and Seemabaddha.

1932 – Comedian Jack Benny's radio show airs for the first time. The show ran for 17 years on NBC Radio and another 7 years on CBS Radio. A pioneer in television as well, Benny's TV program ran for fifteen years, until it was killed in the ratings by Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C. and finally cancelled in 1965. (I'm not making that last part up, either.)

1945 –  Ludwig Stumpfegger, a German SS doctor and Hitler's personal surgeon, dies in Berlin, Germany at age 35. It is believed that Stumpfegger committed suicide by cyanide capsule to evade capture by the Soviets. He has been portrayed by numerous actors in film and television productions, but the only actor whose name nearly equaled Stumpfegger's in its stupidity was Erwin Felgenhauer from the 1971 film Liberation: The Final Assault.

1946 – The "Battle of Alcatraz" (a failed escape attempt by several prisoners) takes place, killing two guards and three inmates. The "battle" was inaccurately portrayed in two popular movies, Brute Force and Birdman of Alcatraz, both starring Burt Lancaster.

1955 – Tennessee Williams wins the Pulitzer Prize for Drama for Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. Williams had previously been given the same award in 1948 for his play, A Streetcar Named Desire, making him one of only seven playwrights to receive the award more than once.

1972 – J. Edgar Hoover, long-time Director of the FBI, dies at age 77 in Washington, D.C., of a heart attack. Contrary to popular belief, Hoover was not buried in a yellow sun dress. It was pink.

1985 – Major League Baseball catcher Jarrod Saltalamacchia (currently with the Boston Red Sox) is born in West Palm Beach, Florida. Jarrod holds the distinction of having the longest last name in the history of baseball. The name "Saltalamacchia" in Italian means to "jump over the thicket." Jarrod is widely hated among those poor, unfortunate souls whose responsibility it is to sew the letters of his last name onto the backs of his uniforms.

2000 – President Bill Clinton announces that accurate GPS access would no longer be restricted to the United States military. So why is it that 12 years later, I still can't get "accurate" GPS directions? "Recalculating..."

2011 – Osama bin Laden, mastermind behind the September 11 attacks, is killed by U.S. special forces in Abbottabad, Pakistan. He will not be missed by many.

*Credits to Wikipedia.org for all the information I gathered here. Any inaccuracies, untruths, or exaggerations are credited solely to myself, the author of this blog.

Short Story: "Dumpster Diver" – Finally Finished!

I started this story in a post way back on February 3rd of this year. I liked the story, and had even planned to use it in my short-story collection, but I couldn't figure out how to end it. So I just let it sit there for a while. Almost two months, in fact. I didn't want to just leave the main character's fate hanging there indefinitely. So I decided to start writing and figure out what happens to him. And I found my ending! As usual, the outcome of the story surprised me. I didn't see it heading in that direction at all. But there it went, and here it is. I've significantly rewritten parts of what I wrote originally, and added about 1200 more words to it. Hope you will enjoy it!

DUMPSTER DIVER

Garry was looking for a bite to eat. It never ceased to amaze him how much good food people will throw away. What a waste! But it would not go to waste.

He was sure there was some validity to the common thinking, or science or what have you, that it was unhealthy or unsanitary to eat food that had been tossed away. That flies or other creatures would get to the food first and sully it, leave behind germs or even disease. It didn't matter to Garry. Eating food that could make him sick was much better than eating no food at all and eventually dying.

Thirst wasn't a problem. There were plenty of public restrooms and even the occasional water fountain (though those seemed to be harder to find these days) where he could get a free drink of water. As long as no one saw him doing it, he could even wash his face and arms in the restroom sinks. The rest of his body was not so fortunate as his face and arms, but that was the way it was.

Garry knew if he could maintain a modicum of cleanliness, at least the appearance of it, that he would be less likely to be thrown out of public establishments, unlike some brazen bums who walked in like they owned the place.

He could get away with walking around some places just as he was without looking over his shoulder every five seconds. Like Walmart, for instance. They'd let anybody in, and would only throw you out if they saw you stealing something. Even then, you might get lucky, as some of the employees understood what it was like to have nothing, and would look the other way if they pitied you enough.

But Garry never stole. He didn't have to. There were always things that people left behind, whether it was the remnants of a lunch or a ballpoint pen. He could find a use for it all, and he did.

He never begged for money, though every now and then a sympathetic soul would offer him a coin or two, or maybe even a dollar. He'd use it to buy himself an actual meal, if he ever scraped together enough to do so. Not that he needed to. There was always something to eat.

Dumpsters were an abundant source of edibles, especially the ones behind restaurants or grocery stores. Produce that had gone just beyond its out-date was an everyday delicacy for Garry. He actually ate a more balanced diet than most of the people who could afford to eat what they chose.

Garry's favorite place to check for food was the Burger King just off the main drag. Customers often left their food half-eaten, and simply tossed it away. Burger King employees regularly took out the "garbage", but only haphazardly disposed of it. Often a bag would be peeking over the top of the Dumpster, and Garry needed only to reach up to grab it and abscond with it behind the Dumpster to see what treasures he could find.

Today was Thursday. He knew this because he had just passed the bank on Main with its digital scrolling message, which welcomed you to the bank and informed you of the day, time, and temperature (it was currently 87° F). Burger King had already weathered the lunch rush, and was languishing in the mid-afternoon drag before the after-work crowd arrived.

Garry stepped into the bushes just beyond the Dumpster as a young black man approached, carrying three bags of garbage which he tossed over the side of the trash receptacle. Garry had once bumped into the young fellow when he’d gone inside the Burger King to use the restroom, and had glimpsed the name “MARVIN” on the man’s name badge. Marvin had done a better-than-usual job of getting the bags all the way inside the Dumpster this time, which would make Garry's job considerably more difficult, but not impossible.

He waited for Marvin to return to the restaurant, then for two cars in the drive-thru lane to circle around to the other side of the building. Lifting himself up by his calloused hands, Garry peered inside the Dumpster and spotted the recently added bags, but they were just out of reach.

He leaned in just a bit farther, trying to maintain his balance. Suddenly, a car horn honked nearby, startling Garry and causing him to lose his equilibrium and fall forward, too fast to stop himself. Even as he tumbled into the Dumpster, Garry braced himself for what would surely be a hard fall. Numerous bags of garbage notwithstanding, Garry knew he far outweighed them and that their cushioning power would be greatly diminished by his weight.

He was not mistaken. With a deafening thud, his head smashed into the side of the Dumpster even as his body careened downward. Garry hit the bottom with one leg bent beneath him, and an arm bent backward in the wrong direction.

A series of sickening snaps confirmed what the simultaneous wave of pain was already telling him. His left leg and his right arm were badly fractured.

Garry could only cry out in pain, helpless to form words he knew would be of no use anyway. But his cries were short-lived. Gradually but definitively, the blackness engulfed him, and he lost consciousness.

###

“Hey!” A somewhat slurred voice from above roused Garry from his slumber. He looked up at the opening of the Dumpster, wincing as the sudden realization of great pain overtook him again.

The face that stared back at Garry was not one he recognized. The man was about Garry’s age, forty to forty-five by the looks of him. The other man’s graying hair was closely cropped, his eyes were wide and a bit wild, and his lower lip hung open like a trap door.

“Please, can you help me?” pleaded Garry through anguished tears. He extended his one good arm briefly, unable to brace himself with the broken arm for long.

“Hey!” the man repeated, and this time Garry caught the vacant look in his eyes, and the insensible tone in his voice. The man was clearly not in possession of his full mental faculties. As if to confirm what Garry had just realized, the other man’s face transformed into a wide grin, obviously uncomprehending the dire situation upon which he had stumbled.

“Please,” said Garry, “I need your help. I’m hurt real bad.” To emphasize the point, Garry pointed to his own arm and leg and winced with each touch to demonstrate his pain.

“Hurt?” the other man asked, his grin evening out to almost a frown – a look Garry could only hope was one of concern.

“Yes, my arm and my leg are hurt,” replied Garry. “Help me. Please.”

“Help!” the man blurted, grinning broadly again.

Garry extended his good arm again, reaching as far as he could toward the other man, whose face was all he could see of him.

The man looked down at something Garry couldn’t see which made a crinkling sound, a plastic grocery bag perhaps. Suddenly, the man’s face reappeared and he reached his arm down inside the Dumpster, extending a hand toward Garry. But his hand wasn’t empty; apparently, the other man was offering Garry a shiny red apple. Unsure what to do, Garry took the proffered fruit and slipped it into his pocket.

“Thank you,” Garry said, looking directly in the man’s eyes. “Now, can you please help me out of here?”

“Out?” the man inquired, screwing up his face in confusion.

“Yes. Out. Help.” Garry figured that keeping his words simple might help the other man understand him better.

“No apple?” The man had finally strung together more than one word at a time, which Garry saw as a positive sign.

“Yes, apple good. Help out,” Garry replied, and again lifted his hand toward the other man, groaning as he was forced to put part of his weight on the fractured arm.

The man’s confusion relaxed to a frown, then back to the broad grin he’d borne before. The man reached his hand out to Garry, but the gap between them was too great. Garry lowered his hand and braced himself against the wall of the Dumpster in an attempt to raise himself up on his uninjured leg. The pain in his arm and his other leg was overwhelming, but Garry was able to stand long enough to reach the other man’s hand.

“Pull?” the man asked.

“Please pull!” cried Garry, gritting his teeth to withstand the shooting pains emanating from his wrecked limbs.

Remarkably, the man did pull, and with greater strength than Garry had imagined was possible. But Garry was still a good foot away from the opening.

“Keep pulling!” Garry pleaded, trying not to shout and startle the man, who was clearly functioning as best he could.

The other man yanked his good arm one more time, and Garry was just able to pull himself up over the edge. Both his arms quivered as Garry teetered at the lip of the Dumpster, the pain too great to remain there for long.

“Catch me!” Garry exclaimed, and the man reacted – again – more quickly than expected, dropping what appeared to be a tote bag full of  grocery bags and reaching his arms out just in time as Garry fell from the Dumpster.

It wasn’t a clean catch, but neither Garry nor the other man were hurt any more in the ensuing fall to the pavement. Relieved but still in excruciating pain, Garry patted the man on the shoulder and smiled gratefully.

“Get help,” said Garry, calmly pointing toward the Burger King. The man turned toward the building, then quickly looked back at Garry, who nodded approvingly. “Help.”

The other man nodded back, then broke out into a wide grin as he stood. Garry was left alone on the pavement as the man ran excitedly toward the Burger King. He was alive, thank God – broken, but alive. His tears came suddenly and in multitudes.

A minute later, Marvin and the restaurant manager exited the building and rushed over to where Garry lay.

“Are you hurt, Mister?” inquired Marvin.

“My arm and my leg. I think they’re broken,” Garry replied softly, sobbing helplessly.

“Call 911!” said the manager. Marvin lingered, unsure what to do. “Go! Now!” The young man sprang into action and sprinted back toward the building.

“Thank you,” whispered Garry.

“What were you doing back here anyway?” asked the manager.

“L-l-lunch,” Garry managed to mumble through the pain.

“Out the Dumpster?” the manager asked. Garry nodded. “Well, next time, you just come in and ask for something. As long as I’m working here, you don’t need to worry about no Dumpster diving. That’s just crazy. And apparently, it’s dangerous too.”

“Thank you,” repeated Garry.

“How’d you get yourself out of there anyway?” said the manager.

Garry was confused. The manager knew how he’d gotten out, of course. The man with the grocery bags had rescued him, then he had run inside for help.

“The man,” mumbled Garry. “The man…who came in…and told you I was…here.”

“What man?” cried the store manager, incredulously. “Nobody didn’t come in and tell us you was here. Marvin seen you out the window. Said you just appeared over the top of the Dumpster, fell out, and landed on the ground right here. There wasn’t nobody else around as far as Marvin could tell.”

“Are you…are you sure?” Garry whispered. The manager nodded. “But I…saw him. He helped me out…of the Dumpster. He gave me…an apple.”

Ambulance sirens blared in the distance, approaching the restaurant at top speed from the main drag.

Garry reached into his pocket with his good arm to produce the apple, but came up empty. He looked around for the bag full of bags that the other man had dropped when he caught Garry. It was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you sure…there was no one?” Garry repeated.

“You can ask Marvin, but he said there wasn’t,” replied the manager, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t understand,” Gary breathed.

“Maybe you aren’t supposed to. Seems somebody was looking out for you.” The manager stood and smiled, as the ambulance pulled into the Burger King parking lot. “Take care of yourself, you hear?”

Garry nodded weakly, and reached to shake the manager’s hand.

“And I mean it about the food,” said the manager. “Anytime you want, just come on by. And stay away from them Dumpsters!”

Gary nodded again. His stomach growled in response. But that could wait. He had much more on his mind than food at the moment.