dawn

by emily de villaincourt

a group of seven prisoners was scheduled to be shot at dawn. lieutenant g———————, the commander of the firing squad , decided to have a little fun with them. he visited each of the seven prisoners the night before the execution and gave them each a pencil and some paper and told them to write a poem. in the morning, he told them, he would read the poems, and decide which was the worst poem and which was the best. he would then free the author of the best poem and the author of the worst poem. the remaining five would then be shot on schedule. five of the prisoners, faced with this prospect, arrived at the same happy thought. the lieutenant had not specifically stated that the poem had to be original - therefore they could write some famous and well-regarded poem from memory, such as one they had learned in school. even if they could not remember it exactly, how bad could it be? one prisoner transcribed a poem from li po, another from sappho, another a few verses from the rubaiyat of omar khayyam. a fourth wrote down a psalm, and the fifth put down shelley’s ozymandias as best he could. the remaining two prisoners penned original verses. count d———— had been convicted of sedition and treason against the empire. his poem read as follows: the world spins around like a kitten chasing a ball snow falls in the winter leaves fall in the fall the sun shines in summer flowers bloom in spring i wish i could live forever but you can’t have everything madame b———— had incurred the displeasure of the lord chamberlain. she wrote: a single rose bloomed in an endless desert the rose asked the desert why do you allow me to bloom? the desert answered because i once was a poet a poor, starving poet in love with a beautiful maiden who sang and danced with every man in the capital except myself or so it seemed to me i grew sad and found a magic lamp in a heap of trash outside a low tavern being conversant with the classics and the lore of all nations i had the sense to make one wish only and forego the other two and i wished to become this desert and i did and how you came along and what i might do for you having surrendered my last two wishes i will never know this ended madame b——’s poem. in the morning lieutenant g————— arrived, but before he had a chance to read the seven poems, his orderly brought him a neatly folded note. it was from the empress. it read: lieutenant g————, my pretty fellow. i am lonely this morning. please visit me. the lieutenant hastened to the empress’s side, leaving the firing squad in the charge of sergeant e————. the seven prisoners attempted to give their poems to sergeant e————, but the worthy sergeant had no patience for the lieutenant’s nonsense, and had all seven taken outside and shot.

a summer evening

by emily de villaincourt

“have you met ernestine’s new friend?” lady mary asked captain cole. “no, i have not, “ the captain drawled. i did not know that ernestine had a friend. is she as dreadful a bluestocking as ernestine?” “there she is, over at the piano, talking to lord marberry and sir harold. would you like me to introduce you?” “good god, what a drab little worm. and what would a young girl, even one so unprepossessing as that, possibly be discussing with two old lawn ornaments like lord marberry and sir harold?” lady mary laughed. “i am pretty sure i can tell you exactly what they are discussing.” “and what might that be?” the captain replied dutifully. “temperance.” “temperance? you mean as in the temperate zones of the earth? i can assure that the best hunting is to be found in the tropical zone. that is, of any beast worth hunting.” “no, you goose. temperance, as in relating to the consumption of liquor. miss zane has strong opinions about the evils of drink.” “you do not say so! you mean she is one of those harpies who runs about smashing saloons with axes and depriving the lower orders of their only pleasure? i hope, at least.she confines her attentions to such, and would not presume to lecture gentlemen as to how they take their pleasure. “ lady mary had indeed touched captain cole to the quick, as the gallant captain, in his spare time when he was not engaged in raising horses, hunting big game, or dispersing unruly natives, had authored several books with such titles as “the deep draught of empire” and “ale and the anglo-saxon” in which he argued for strong drink as one of the foundations of empire. lady mary laughed. “i do not know that she actually engages in such behavior herself, but i am sure that she approves of it. but, come, let me introduce you to her, and you can ask her yourself. her name, by the way, is zane - miss zephyr zane.” “what an appalling name. her parents must have been freethinkers, or herders of sheep.” “ha ha. in any case, it is the name she must waft her way through the world with.” lady mary and the captain crossed the few yards to the little group miss zane was holding forth to, and when miss zane paused for breath, lady mary made the introductions. “i was just explaining to the captain, miss zane, that you are a passionate advocate of the temperance movement, “ lady mary concluded her introduction with the hint of a mischievous smile. “he also takes an interest in the subject, and i am sure you will have much to talk about.” miss zane stared at the captain with a bit more directness than might be considered entirely proper, and replied. “yes, i am indeed a passionate advocate of the so-called temperance movement, which i think might more properly be called the sanity movement, and if you are interested, sir, i am giving a series of lectures at town hall next week on the subject, if you would care to attend.” “i may have other engagements,” the captain replied politely. “of course. one always has engagements in this busy modern world, does one not? “ “indeed,” the captain answered, “one longs for the good old days, when people high and low minded their own business, and lord and churl alike could enjoy their simple pleasures.” “simple pleasures?” miss zane raised her eyebrows just enough too indicate that she had caught the thrust of the captain’s modest sally. “i refer, of course, to the simple pleasures of the hunt for the gentry, and of darts and bowls for the peasantry.” “quite. i was just about t recite a little ballad i have penned, and ernestine has been kind enough to agree to accompany me on the piano. would you like to hear it?” “i should like nothing better.” miss zane began to recite. i dreamed i saw carrie nation last night alive as you or me i brought flowers for your grave, said i i never died , said she the curse of drink still roils the earth a river of despair carrying the wreckage of christian lives as cries of children fill the air this carnage of souls has yet to reach its sum and lo! on the horizon worse is yet to come! a thousand new addictions a vice for every taste boil up from satan’s vat and lay the world waste let us seize the moment and grasp the serpent in his nest the sound of battle fills the air o shall we pass the test?!? miss zane indicated that she was finished, and all the guests clapped politely. “that was delightful,” the captain announced with a smirk. “ i, too , have a little ballad i would like to recite.” “oh, yes, please do!” the guests all cried. captain cole commenced: when bandits rode the oceans and viikings ruled the waves and fell upon defenseless lands with fire and sword and stave o what upheld an island race except the might of arms raised in rude defiance in front of castle, dale, and farm and when the fight was truly won and called for celebration what could reward the spirit of a victorious nation? what but a hoisted tankard of good ale or mead washing down the lusty throats of a people newly freed o shall a warrior nation be condemned to die of thirst? or shall we raise our glasses to victory’s endless burst? the captain concluded, with a defiant glare at miss zane, who raised her chin and returned it with interest. “hear,”hear,” sir harold cried feebly. “that was splendid, too. splendid, splendid. i think we can all agree, can we not, that whatever little differences we have, the empire … yes, the empire… and the queen… our beloved queen…” suddenly a shot rang out. “good heavens, what was that?” lady mary exclaimed. “i wonder if sometime has been murdered. see to it, will you, parker?” “yes, madam,” the butler replied, and hastened away. lady mary clapped her hands. “well, this has all been quite jolly, but cook has prepared a wonderful dinner for us, and we would not want it to go to waste. so i move we all repair to the dining room.” “very well,” said ernestine , rising from the piano. “i just hope the wonderful dinner does not contain mushrooms. i detest mushrooms, and think they might well be the next object of some enterprising crusade.”

a trip to chicago

by horace p sternwall

i decided to take a trip to chicago. actually, i had no place to go, but i had to go somewhere, so i decided to look up my old friend harry in chicago. harry had let me sleep on his couch or on his floor on many occasions in the past. i found harry’s apartment - number 68. the door to the apartment 68 was very narrow and heavy looking. the whole apartment building had a heavy, old-fashioned look about it. i knocked on the door. nobody answered right away, and i knocked a little louder. finally a man opened the door. i didn’t recognize him. for a second i thought it might be harry, so changed since i last saw him that i did not recognize him, but then i saw that it was not. is harry jones here? i asked. yes, come on in, the man said, he did not seem surprised by my appearance, or interested in me. i followed him down a very narrow hallway. the hallway opened into a surprisingly wide room. the room was cluttered with chairs and couches, mostly cheap looking old-fashioned leather couches, and the chairs and couches were about two thirds filled with people. not people who looked like members of the ruling class. but not out-and-out bums either. and they weren’t talking much, just staring into space like they were waiting for somebody. the man who had let me in disappeared into a little side room. i could hear voices. harry? what was harry up to here, i wondered. i remembered that harry had passed the bar, but never actually practiced law. maybe he was practicing law now? the place did not look exactly like a law office. i sat down in a little red leather armchair. before i put my bag down, i checked it to make sure everything i owned was still in it. everything was there - some socks and underwear, toothbrush and toothpaste and such, and the two books i always carried with me - think and grow rich, by napoleon hill, and the collected poems of edgar guest. i looked up and saw a very old woman seated across from me on one of the couches. she was leaning forward on a cane and seemed to be looking at me through impenetrably thick glasses. do you know harry? i asked her. of course, she answered, don’t you? i’ve known him for a long time, i said. harry is a wonderful person, the old woman said. yes, he is, i agreed. he does so much for the community. i am sure he does, i said. it sounds like harry has a good thing going here, i thought. he must be practicing law, or maybe he is a - what do you call it - community organizer or something. surely he can put me up for a while, at least let me sleep on one of these couches. an old black man sat down on the couch beside the old woman. i tried to think of something to say to him. the only thing i knew about chicago was that the cubs were on the north side and the white sox were on the south side. or was it the other way around? and were the “north side” and the “south side” actually the two halves of the whole city or were they just the names of neighborhoods, like “south philly” or “south boston”? how about those cubs?, i asked the old man. how about them? he replied. what does the ticket to a game cost these days? i asked him. the cheapest seat? you can get in for thirty dollars. wow, i said, that is cheap. i noticed that the room was filling up all around me - most of the chairs and couches now looked filled. the man who had let me in came out of the little room. harry will see you now, he said to somebody. and he will see me, too, i thought. it will be like old times. everything is going to be all right. i woke up. i had fallen asleep on a bench in the park. it took me a few seconds to remember who i was, and where i was. harry had been dead for years. and i had not spoken to him or looked him up for thirty years before that.

everybody means everybody

by corinne delmonico

it was the emperor’s birthday. again. the emperor had been emperor longer than anybody could remember. but his birthdays were always celebrated with suitable pomp, and a holiday proclaimed throughout the empire. the emperor was known to enjoy some of his birthdays more than others. the emperor’s favorite throne was brought out and placed on a high platform in the main square of the imperial capital and he ascended the steps to it, with the help of the lord chamberlains and his most faithful servants, and he sat down on it. a crowd of several millions - the entire population of the capital as well as hordes brought into from the countryside - thronged the streets around the platform and throne. the imperial band played the good old times the emperor himself preferred, as well as some modernistic fare attuned to the taste of the younger generations of citizens. the lord high chamberlain offered a few heartfelt words. as did the crown prince, and another couple of dozen of the emperor’s male and female children. the bishops and hierophants and gurus of the empire’s more prominent religions spoke at greater length, some of them at much greater length. generals and admirals of the imperial armies and navies spoke glowing words about the emperor’s leadership, and about the great peace that had lasted so long under his wise reign, and pledged to do everything in their power to maintain it. all expressed gratitude for the emperor’s existence, and sincere hope that it would last indefinitely. at length the speeches ended, and preparations were made for the grand finale of the celebration, an elaborate dance to be performed by a hundred of the most beautiful maidens of the empire. but before the dance could begin, a small child suddenly broke away from the ranks of the crowd closest to the front of the platform, and ran across the thirty yards of empty space toward the imperial guards surrounding the platform. i don’t like the emperor! the child cried. not one little bit! he is just a a smelly old dumbhead! the child was quickly seized by the imperial guard and taken away and summarily executed. the emperor became hysterical and collapsed, and was hurriedly taken away by the imperial chamberlains and physicians. the hundred beautiful maidens gamely attempted to go on with their dance, but the celebration had been destroyed, and the crowd began to melt away, assisted in doing so by the imperial city police. on being brought back to the imperial chambers, the emperor could not be consoled. will you never understand, he kept repeating, will you never understand, that true peace and harmony will never prevail in the universe until i am loved by everybody! everybody1 what part of everybody do you not understand? everybody means everybody! the imperial physicians finally got enough sedatives into the emperor to calm him down, and after hours of weeping and mumbling, he finally fell asleep. an investigation into the child’s background and associates had already been begun by the imperial security service. the night passed, the next day arrived, the emperor enjoyed his breakfast, and life in the empire went on as before.

something in between

by nick nelson

don had no qualifications or skills, but he needed a job. he was at wendy’s and he saw harry, a guy he had known from somewhere. they said hello, and harry, who had just purchased a cup of coffee, sat down across from don. harry asked don what he was doing lately, and don said he was looking for a job but had not had any luck. harry said, you should try the want ads in the newspapers, you might be surprised at what you see. don just nodded. he never read newspapers, had never bought one in his life.. harry continued, sometimes you see weird stuff, weirder than anything you would see online, like on craigslist. the papers probably have high school kids taking the ads, working after school, so weird stuff gets in. how much does a newspaper cost? don asked harry. i don’t know. last time i bought one i think it was two dollars. it might be more now. two dollars! just to look at a want ad? i don’t think so, don laughed. you don’t have to buy one, people throw them away, leave them in places like this. or you can go to the library. they have the paper in the library, but you might have to wait if somebody else is reading it. harry looked around the wendy’s. look there, on that seat over there, he told don, that looks like a paper there that somebody left. don nodded. thanks, bro, i will check it out. harry finished his cup of coffee and left. don went over and took the newspaper that harry had pointed out off the seat. he took the paper back to his own seat. don was unfamiliar with newspapers and there was no index on the front page, even if he had known enough to look for one. there were about thirty pages in the paper and he flipped through them and was about to give up when he came across the want ads which took up about one third of one page. the shortest ad read - “helper wanted. call satan. ” and gave a local number. don had heard the word satan but was not sure what t meant. he knew it was something bad, like devil or hitler or vampire but was not sure exactly what. he took out his phone and dialed the number. what sounded like a live voice - a man’s voice - answered immediately . this is satan. um - i saw your ad in the paper - for a helper. what are you willing to do? satan asked. uh - just about anything. just about anything? just just about anything? anything, don heard himself saying. then you sound like the guy for me. come on over. satan proceeded to give don directions to a building on the west side. don knew the area, and found it with no problem. the area had been mostly torn down since don had seen it last. satan’s little office was on the seventh floor of a building still standing between two demolished ones. satan looked about fifty years old, with a bald head and five o’clock shadow. it looked like he was wearing a dress, but don could not be sure because satan remained seated behind a desk. don could not see satan’s feet, but was not curious as to whether he had cloven hooves because he dd not know about such things. if he was wearing a dress, did that make him a “trans women”? or a “trans man”? don could not keep things like that straight. i got one thing i want you to do, said satan. do you think you can do it? i’ll give it my best shot, don answered. your best shot, huh? its really pretty simple. i’ll give it my best shot, don repeated. satan took a polaroid photo out of a desk drawer and pushed it across to don. see this guy? the picture showed an ordinary looking white man in a somewhat old fashioned suit. go to the corner of washington and third street at four o’clock on next thursday and this guy will come by. you got that? don nodded. if he is wearing a tie, satan continued, say to him, sir, that tie doesn’t go with that suit. and if he is not wearing a tie, say, sir, that shirt does not go with that suit? you got that? do i have to use those exact words? no, just get the message across . will he know me? don asked. will he know who i am? no, you will know him. what if his tie really does go with the suit. or the shirt really does go with the suit? what are you, a smart guy? i didn’t ask for a smart guy, did i? i asked if you would do anything. this is the anything. all right, said don, and then what happens? i don’t know. that’s what we will find out. nothing at all might happen, he might just walk on by, or the universe might disappear, or something in between. how much do i get paid? don asked. if the world doesn’t come to an end, and you can make it back here, i will pay you thirty dollars. sound familiar? not really, said don, but i will do it. * don stood in front of a walgreen’s on the corner of washington and third street at four o’clock on thursday afternoon. the man from the photo approached. he was wearing a light blue suit, with a white shirt and a red tie. don stepped in front of the man. sir, he said, that tie doesn’t go with that suit.

twelve feet tall

by corinne delmonico

it was a nice day. cassie and candy met for lunch at mcdonald’s, as they did every wednesday. “look at this.” cassie handed her phone to candy. there was a news story on the screen. history gets a rewrite, read the headline. “local resident amy marker has had a book published in the fall by the university of a———— press,” candy read aloud. the story was illustrated of a photo of a tall, thin young woman with an uncertain smile. the book is entitled the other side of the shadow and describes all of human history entirely from the point of view of women. i decided to write this book, amy told our correspondent, blah, blah, blah…” candy handed the phone back to cassie with a shrug. “why are you showing me this?” “don’t you recognize her? amy marker! from high school!” “high school - that was a long time ago.” candy shook up her strawberry smoothie and took a sip of it through a straw, “you must remember her! the one who was about eight feet tall but wouldn’t go out for the basketball team. don’t you remember now?” “maybe.” “she was a total geek. we were real mean to her.” “we were real mean to everybody.” “so you do remember her. “ “no, i don’t remember her. i don’t remember the geeks. actually i don’t remember any girls, i only remember the cute guys, ha ha.” cassie would not give up. “it just isn’t right. she is going to be rich and famous and make a zillion dollars and go on jimmy kimmel and here we are sitting here sipping smoothies in mcdonalds. it’s not fair.” “i didn’t see anything about making a zillion dollars.” “she wrote a book, didn’t she? it will get made into a movie and win an oscar and she will be rich and famous forever. like harry potter.” “everybody who writes a book doesn’t get famous.” “i bet most of them do.” “my cousin wrote a book and put it on amazon. she’s not famous. go on amazon sometime, there’s more books in the world than people. they don’t all become famous.“ “i bet amy marker does. i can just feel it. and she wouldn’t go out for the basketball team even though she was ten feet tall. we would have won the state championship.” “let me see that again.” candy picked cassie’s phone up off the table. she brought the story about amy markham back up, and scrolled through it. “according to this, she is still working at a bookstore over on fifth street. so i guess she hasn’t made her million dollars yet. “ “she will,” cassie insisted. “we should go over and see her,” said candy. “talk about old times.” “yeah, right. we don’t have time, i have to get back to work.” “we can go next wednesday. or maybe friday or monday. why not? it will be something to do, break the monotony.” “you knew what we should do? we should kidnap her, hold her for ransom, make her give us some of the money she makes.” candy laughed. “that sounds like a great idea, very practical.” “why not? i bet the book is about us.” “no, it said the book is about the history of women.” “we’re women, aren’t we? i bet the book is about us. she owes us. and she owes us because she wouldn’t go out for the basketball team even though she was twelve feet tall and cost us the state championship.” “let’s go see her then. you can have a nice conversation with her about not winning the state championship.” * amy marker was the tallest girl in the world, and ever since she was eleven years old, people had been telling her two things - that she should play basketball and that she should be a porn star. but she had chosen to avoid both these activities, had gone to state college, and despite getting no encouragement from her teachers, who had advised addressing a less grandiose theme - like her own life - had written her history of the human race from the point of view of women, and to her own amazement had had it accepted and published by the university of a—————— press. now she was trying to get a job as an instructor at a college, so that she could quit the bookstore. although she actually enjoyed working at the bookstore well enough. amy had been a little disappointed at how few people coming into the bookstore had seemed to have seen the little piece in the local paper about her and the book. and how few had bought the book, especially at the reading and signing that sandy, the manager of the store, had been nice enough to arrange. musing on these things as she sat at the cash register, amy was suddenly presented with the shocking sight of candy zimmer and cassie robbins, two of her tormentors from middle school and high school. cassie looked around the store uncertainly, but candy gave amy a big smile. “hello, amy,” candy said. “remember us?” “oh, yes, of course.” “we read about your book in the paper,” candy said. i thought that was just great. congratulations. you must be so proud,” “uh - thank you.” “i bet your mom and dad are proud too.” “yes, they are.” “it’s great to see you again”, candy continued. “it’s nice to see you guys too.” cassie had still not spoken. finally she stopped looking around the store, and looked at amy. “did you go to college?” cassie asked amy. “yes, i did.” “did you play basketball?” amy smiled. “no, i did not.” “we would have won the state championship if you played.”