Virst Ferses

Virst Ferses

aka Whiskey Wagon Woman

             A wagon load of women wet and wild

             Met a wagon load of whiskey, strong, not mild

             They rolled up to the mountains to a meadow in the sky

             To my little homey cabin, they came to get me high

             We danced around my parlor, we partied on my bed

             When I tried to love one she said ‘let’s drink!’ instead

             With a bottle for a boyfriend and whiskey on her mind

             My whiskey wagon woman was doing me unkind

Pun ishment

Sleazy pick-up line from a eugenecist:
I really love how you fill out those genes...

Choe and Salyanna III

by James B. Mielke 

boneyardhound@hotmail.com

It was nearly dark when Marcus came in, Synoveh was waiting. “We should brew up some tea,” he said. “I think there’s gonna be a few guests—we’ll have to entertain out on the lawn.”

"Where’s Luvin?”

“Naomi agreed to keep all the kids at the Hospice tonight. She knew we would be busy. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

She rose and followed him outside, across the circle of cabins. The largest held the community kitchen and a stove still halfway hot from dinner.

They built up a fresh fire and started a huge kettle of water. While they worked Marcus reported on Leon’s hearing.

Synoveh responded: “Arrolon knew we wouldn’t get satisfaction. We should have killed Leon when we had him in our hands.”

“He’s gonna die—we’ll see to that. It’s what we’re gathering for. I think Jody has an idea for a plan. This will likely be an all-night meeting; let’s fix some snacks too. I’ll throw some sweetroot in the oven and get some crackers baking. We should go ‘round the pond and raise the neighbors—they ought to be here… ”

     
A bucket of warm tea, a heap of roasted sweetroot and a huge bowl of hot salty crackers waited on the picnic table. Peter sat on one side and Patricia on the other and they played guitars softly; Taralisa stood behind Peter with her hand on his shoulder and they sang.

The people assembled: the Village, down from the Hearth and Hall still desecrated by Leon’s crimes; Homesteaders in from their cabins and camps; a smattering of Firstown faces; even a few semi-sober drunks up from the Den. They filtered in, took snacks, milled and muttered until Jody decided they were ready. He stepped up on a tall stump used as lectern and yelled for attention.

Eyes and ears panned his way, people made themselves comfortable. Jody began: “Thanks for being here, you show me that this is still a strong community. I think we are all in agreement on one point. But, let me double-check: Is there anybody here who believes that it’s okay for Leon to keep living?”

There was a rumble of “No!” voices.

“Well, I suppose you all know by now that the Court—the Townie Court—says he gets to live with us for ‘the remainder of his natural life’. I think we need to help nature finish out that remainder. I expect you do too.”

This time the “Yes!”s rumbled.

Jody nodded and waved. “Good. We don’t have to waste time on arguments. Getting the details right will be time consuming enough. With your indulgence, I think I have a plan… ”

Goldfish

Kids learn about death from goldfish
One day it is just floating there in its bowl.

I felt guilty about mine, but I had done nothing.
Brought my little friend home from the school carnival
I had won something, the goldfish was the prize.

It lived maybe two weeks
I felt worse than if I had won nothing at all

Oh dear, we don't want no visitors

 by Michael Long

Oh dear, we don't want no visitors
Let not your windows shed light
No Lord we don't need no business
From Things that Go Bump in the Night

No dear, we don't want inquisitors
Or Things that fill us with fright
No Lord we don't need no visits
From Things that Go Bump in the Night

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE--First Draft

by James (Ben) Mielke

His hands got tired eventually, after two hours of practicing, and Edzelian stopped. He lolled on the big pillows surrounded by the ever expanding Mucetti drum collection-skin and wood, beads, rattles, brass gongs and bells, feathers, the elements of his comfort; meditation aids. He wasn't hungry enough to go to the larder, nor uncomfortable enough to head for the toilet shed, not yet. He enjoyed the ironic polarity of the bodily functions; but for the bad smells, the toilet would be a fine place to eat.

Footsteps on the porch preceded the front door opening and Borphon entered accompanied by Mabutu. This was Keeper's Cottage-nobody ever knocked.

Borphon went up the ladder to the classroom loft, Luenda and the senior students were already there waiting for him.

Mabutu crossed to the drum heap and greeted the young musician. "Hello, Edzy, it's been a long time. I hope we can be friends."

"Sure. I never hated you-that was Luvin."

"I remember. We used to get along at Branch House."

"Yeah, before..."

"That was a good time, right? Taralisa was teaching us to read."

Edzelian smiled at Mabutu, recalling the good old days. "We laughed so hard the first time you and Sal came into class and sat with us-she was bigger than the teacher!"

Mabutu chuckled. "I thought we looked funny or something-like my underwear was out."

"No-we thought you must be dumb. All grown up and you can't read. Guess you're not dumb; they're making you a teacher."

"Thanks. So, this is your cabin now?"

"I'm not supposed to leave without Mom or some grown-up taking me."

"I was a prisoner, kind of. It's not bad."

"I don't mind it too much and I get to be in the big kid's class."

"Makes you special."

"Yeah. I like that!"


It was an original cabin of the Hospice-the Keeper's Cottage-designed and built by Mellisa, with a little help from her friends, many long years ago, with easy access, a shaded wrap-around porch and a terraced garden in the rear hedged by grapevines. The interior was mostly one room with a huge sleeping loft over the fireplace, large enough to entertain a small party and looking out a dormer window. During her residence Naomi sectioned off a small space by a garden window for an office, connecting to the colony's network.

Now the cabin was Luenda's to share with Edzelian. They made a bed in the office nook and used the loft as a classroom for the eldest children to follow more advanced studies; the main room was mostly a place for music, as always. Borphon mentored the class and Mabutu was his associate.

The eunuch was shooting up in height but remained slender, a walking skeleton; his skull wore a halo of silky black hair to the shoulders, typically adorned with fragrant pink tea roses. He grew out of his clown outfit before he finished sewing it and he designed a new one easy to adjust. He was learning to act and relate independently of Salyanna; he still held a resentment over the pilgrimage and now she was a deputy, busy many days and nights, far from him; it felt like they were sliding apart. Working with the kids, playing jester, staying up nights studying ahead to teach back, reading and learning and helping wherever he could; diversions all, growing to passions as he immersed.

Nubieber

 by James (Ben) Mielke

Jason was the forward gunner, with a seat in front of the motor compartment. The chamfered armored sides of the tractor gave no headroom over the catwalk and he crawled to take the position. Chattagong was supposed to ride at the turret gun but when Nubieber got tired of standing and fighting the lurches he commandeered the seat. Chattagong stood behind his commander's shoulder with his head rising from the open top hatch. Ricardo operated the machine.

The tractor rolled in a halo of artificial brilliance from lights mounted around the exterior. Over the flat terrain of the farm the glow broadcast for miles in every direction. Ruts and dips formed wavering pools of shadow as the light source bounced across the landscape. There was five miles of perimeter fence they patrolled. The view never changed, monotony was the worst hazard of midnight rounds.

Two miles out and they approached the northwest corner, the site of the old equipment yard and locus of the hostile forces. The tractor crew edged up to a sharper alertness. But the long wet winter was quiet; the farm was virtually an island for three months. There was no Actionist movement the entire time and vigilance dulled.

One of the shadows directly ahead of the tractor concealed a foxhole. Three figures emerged and stood in front of the machine.

Nubieber was nodding sleepily before he saw them, jolting awake when Ricardo applied the brakes. The commander recognized Bobol and Hildy; the third man was a colonist and unknown. But runaways were designated targets. Nubieber's hands went to the gun and swiveled it to cover the trio, then he squeezed the trigger. The gun fired a two-second long burst before Chattagong put his hands around Nubieber's neck and started to throttle the manager.

Seized from behind and restrained by the safety belt, Nubieber was helpless. Chattagong bore down on his collar and clutched his throat tighter and tighter. There was no choice but to die.

Ricardo twisted around and looked up at the strangler. "What'd you do that for?"

"You wanted him to shoot Bobol and Hildy?"

"No. But now we can't go back."

"Now we're free."

Ricardo went silent and Jason crawled out of the passage to the front. "What's going on?" When he stood up behind Ricardo his eyes were level with Chattagong's belt.

"I killed Nubieber. We're going to use this machine and break out everybody."

Mellisa RIP

by James (Ben) Mielke

A moonlit rendezvous in the middle of the sandstone hills:

"Are you Sikar?"

"That's me. This is my brother Grube, that's Christina and Chilperic."

"I'm Rosicot. These guys are Hildy, Bobol, and Leon."

"Corman tell you the plan?"

"We go to the mountains and kill somebody, right? Some crazy woman!"

"Basically. She's a notorious criminal; been a fugitive for years. Attacked your employer here-right in these hills."

"The Company has no patience for opposition," Rosicot said with a smile. "My boys are experts at this kind of thing."

"I appreciate professionalism. People who know how to get the job finished with no mess."

"We're the clean-up team," Leon chuckled.

"She thinks she's hiding from us, but I figured out her location-we found a trail in the foothills when we were looking for your runaways. It leads to a pass-she's on the other side in a little alpine basin. It's an easy trap, we have enough people to encircle her."

"Good deal. Lead the way."


Sikar took them northeast from the road, following the crest of the sandstone hills then on toward the lowest ridge of foothills. The further side overlooked the reservoir; they climbed a stairstep of cliffs rimming the water. Approaching the upper end of the lake their path intersected the trail to Mellisa's camp.

Sikar was bothered:

"There has been a lot of traffic here. I went this way just a few weeks ago and the trail was hard to find, now look at it." He gestured at a rutted track of dusty gravel.

"Looks busy, all right," Leon agreed. "What's going on?"

"Something sneaky. We'd better move cautiously-stay off of the trail. Keep close-let's spy on it, we want to know. Go slow and quiet."

Rosicot said, "We can't stay out on the trail too long. Security at the farm is thin. Corman only gave us three weeks."