Expedition of a Small Town: A Documentary – Day 47

I have successfully obtained employment at one of the local convenience stores here in town. The natives seem to be accepting me into their tribe quite enthusiastically.

I’ve discovered a strange new ritual, involving the purchase of slips of paper, called lottery tickets.

Also, I am making strides in deciphering the meaning of the colorful symbols of the Cigarette Display wall. This shrine to their god, Nicotine, is visited daily by many of the natives, and they pay homage with small colorful plastic “cards”. The presentation of two plastic “cards”  (one that is slid through a  strange Oracle Box which they call a “Card Reader”, and the other which displays a small hyrogliph of the individual, and their date of birth, which proves that the tribal member has been recognised as an adult in the tribe) entitles the natives to recieve a small box filled with sticks representing the blessing of Nicotine. The different colors of the boxes, I believe, may indicate the social standing of each tribe member, though I cannot distinguish the purpose of this heirarchy.

The rich culture of this tribe of natives is fascinating to study. I hope to update again soon with more findings as I continue my expedition.

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Flash Fiction: “Philosophic Intercourse”

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“But to give of yourself in any way: monetarily, emotionally, or spiritually only provides an opportunity for the giver to be hurt. It all depends on the intent and moral character of the receiver. It’s roulette.” The student worried it’s bottom lip with anxious teeth, the youthful face contorted with confusion.

“Child, it also offers opportunity for both the receiver and the giver to benefit. Every gift has great potential, and one ought not deny potential for the triviality of fear.” Teacher gave a patient smile before continuing, “personify the change you wish to introduce into the world.”

Student reflected for a few moments. “Selflessness, to teach a selfish world to give? Love, to teach a hateful world to care? And smile, to teach the sad world of joy?”

Not what I once was…

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But much better, I feel. So it’s been longer than anticipated since my last post. Things have been a bit on the busy side, for me. I’ve picked up two (2) jobs, and recently went on a long weekend with some friends. All of this has done wonders for my ego. I’ve also been working on art again. Drawing particularly. My right brain is ecstatic; the left, slightly put out.

Oh well, Lefty will get over it, I’m sure.

The above portrait is from memory. She is the first person I spoke to in my freshman year of high school. I have not seen her since that first semester, but remembered her just the other day in one of those strange Twilight Zone sort of dreams, which I am about to relate to you now.

She was sitting in the corner of a robust-smelling tavern, playing a game of cards with a particularly motley looking group of people, and had a small, sharply dressed monkey hanging off of her left arm.

I saw her look up as I entered to the sound of pounding rain. She rose from the table while the bartender muttered about my dripping on the carpet. The floor was hardwood.

I took her extended hand, and we introduced each other in the manner of 1920’s gangsters. The monkey, presumably hers, screached at me, baring it’s teeth. It vaulted off of her head and landed on the bar. We drank for a while, and talked about her booming business of slave trade and underground root beer operations.

Suddenly, the room shook; tables and chairs crumbled, and wall decorations slammed to the floor. The world seemed to split apart, and out of the chasm crawled what could only be minions of the underworld. We ran, hiding out under the remnants of an overpass until dawn.