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Both sides adopted mass murder as an instrument of policy.
By CT
In the history of clowns hides a sad, seldom-told story… the war of the clowns.
You see, two clown factions – the Happy Hooplas and the Suffering Sads – fought for supremacy. The Hooplas declared that if they could cause the Sads to laugh they would win the prize. The Sads just knew they could make the Hooplas cry, and they would win.
The prize itself was nothing special – a silver-plated trophy that proclaimed the holders to be the Superior Clown of All Ages.
The battle raged for three months with no end in sight… no guffaws, nor tears. Tempers flared, and both sides adopted mass murder as an instrument of policy.
Simon the Suffering Sad stood alone in the smoking battlefield, amid the bodies from both sides.
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There is something I never quite had a chance to say about the Avars.
By CC
I’ve been a professional cyclist for 15 years, and even my best friends now tell me it’s finally time to move on. Sadly, I know they’re right. My joints hurt and my top speed is painfully slow compared to the last few years I’ve raced. So I’ve decided to design a new line of bike wear; I’m calling my company Harle Cyclist. The design is a bit French for most of the guys but I’m hoping the ladies will flock to it. I’ve included the option of a bat and a black mask just in case there are fashionable activists among the group, though some people laughed at me for that. But I’ve always sensed the trends well in advance. I’ve also started making the lecture circuit on ancient athletic games. I covered the ancient Olympics and the Highlander games. But there is something I never quite had a chance to say about the Avars, since a crowd of black masked, bat wielding Harle Cyclists descended on the podium and chased me away. What a success! And it was all on camera, too. I raced back to my office to get ready for the orders that would pour in soon.
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They are renamed often, but they do not disappear
By RC
I believe in them, I honestly do! I’ve believed as long as I can remember. Something about going out at night on the windswept plains and gazing skyward at all the stars in the universe—and thinking that all of them must have congregated to my section, there were so many, and even stardust spread around from the Milky Way. Yes, I’m a believer. I was also weaned on “Star Trek” and “Star Wars,” and all the other movies. And later I watched “E.T.” with my kids, just as enthralled as they were.
So, it wasn’t surprising to me, as I rode my horse across the range one day, to see the structure sitting there, in the middle of nowhere. Now, to the uninitiated it might have appeared to be a house, put there by one of these modernist types—you know, all windows and frame and no frills, with round beams sunk down into the sod to hold it in place. Oh, yes, it had what appeared to be a wood stove inside, with the pipe coming through the roof on top, but no other furnishings. However, it didn’t fool me. First of all, there were no roads in and none out, no cars sitting around, no signs of humans at all. And secondly, I know that they are clever. The landing legs were designed to look like foundation beams and the antenna was disguised as the stove pipe. But, the windows gave it away. After all, in space one needs a good view.
UFO’s have been coming here for a long, long time and I’ve seen many dotting the landscape, even in cities. They are renamed often, but they do not disappear. Why they keep coming here I do not know; maybe it’s the land. Well, I dismounted and instantly my horse bolted. That seemed to confirm my suspicions. She could sense the extraterrestrial presence somewhere. The doors were open, so I went in and sat next to the “wood stove,” which I figured was the control hub. Sooner or later, I was sure, the “house” would get ready for departure.
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By MD
It was a surprise ambush, but fortunately there were not many people out on the street. When the shots rang out from the sniper in the tower, the men all turned and ran. All except one man – “The man in the navy T-shirt.” Armed with a machine gun, he stood his ground and aimed toward the tower. “In the distance, a bridge leads over water and to a castle,” he called over his shoulder to the retreating pedestrians. “Go to the castle and wait there for me.”
At that moment, a shot rang out from the tower, and the brave “man in the navy T-shirt” flew back and collapsed in the street. But it wasn’t a sniper’s bullet which had taken him out – it was a stray soda can blowing down the littered plaza, which had rolled underfoot and tripped him up. He sprang up immediately, raised his gun to his shoulder and fired toward the tower. No more bullets rained down on the street – either “the man in the navy t-shirt” had hit his mark, or the sniper thought the trip-up he’d observed when the man fell meant the sniper’s bullet had hit its mark.
We who were waiting in the castle never found out what really happened. We only knew that – in our minds, at least – his title changed from “the man in the navy t-shirt” to “our hero.” We threw him a big party that night when he strode through the castle gate. We never learned his real name – “hero” was what he was, and “hero” was what we called him.
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By November, shop shelves were empty and black market prices had soared.
By BG
Ravi had spent his whole life as a snake charmer. He was exceedingly good at his profession. Most people attributed it to his musical ability, which was of course excellent. He played day after day at the mall in front of a music shop and a pet shop located side by side. Each year business got better and better for them because of Ravi. By November shop shelves were empty and black market prices had soared. Little did the shop owners know that Ravi and his snake, after patiently charming away out front would then go into action from November through the Christmas season accommodating all of their clientele at black market prices while the shops were out of stock. Ravi was indeed a great snake charmer but it was his business sense that kept him at the top of his game, not his natural musical ability.
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They are blamed for living on bad land, as though they had other choices.
By RMAF
The black birds came back to the spooky black castle on the mountain every year after year, every decade after decade, every century after century, and nobody knew why the mysterious dark cloud of black birds made their strange flighty invasion every spring just like clockwork.
The black birds were blamed for living in the spooky black castle on bad land, as if they had other choices. They, the birds, like us the humans, are a part of some big mysterious plan of nature.
