Three for the Stack

Babble

So in this new best of all worlds there need be no further arguing. We will say, and say simply, what occurs to say, and no more, and no less.

Thus the gray walls of the old castles stand still, their ghostly generations spectral in the rose sky. And that same sun which shown on all their days shines today. Not as bright perhaps, not as clear, but alone and sovereign o’er the earth.


Foundation Slope

One feller, Joe, I think they called him, sat on a stump and looked at the way the end gable of Mrs. Butler’s yellow house sat straight across and up and down on the cement foundation, even though the foundation got higher where the yard sloped down towards the alley.

Yes, I think his name was Joe. Yeah, Joe’s the one. He just stared at that one end of her house for a long time and must have thought about how they could get it on so straight that way. Foundations are level. ‘Course Joe wasn’t; he kinda leaned to one side most days, and anybody coming by could see he was leaning to one side while he looked at the house. I mean, he had his head over onto his left shoulder almost. I’m surprised he didn’t fall off the stump or starve the blood supply to his brain that way and keel over, you know. Some people are just that way.

Well, I don’t know, he stared at that end of Mrs. Butler’s house for it must have been the better part of a half-hour, but he must have got whatever it was he was thinking about all worked out in his mind, because he finally straightened up and shook his head, then got up and went about the rest of his business.


Commercial

“Hey there wup wup!” Snerd clicked on the remote’s mute button with his fat thumb just as the commercial began: “Friends, have you . . . ?”

“Damn, almost.” Snerd took a breath. He glanced at the screen while the commercial played through, deliberately trying not to get enough of its content to be able to describe it to anyone else, determined not to let the sponsor’s visual appeals penetrate his consciousness and still manipulate his thoughts despite having blocked the sound. Snerd was well aware of the sophisticated trickery employed in the making of commercials: the market tests, the sample viewings, the meetings and measurements. You had to get it shut down right at the beginning. If any part of the commercial sneaked through, that part succeeded for the sponsor. One point for their side. Snerd was just as determined not to let that happen to him.

He resumed the regular program as it returned--a skill nearly as difficult to master as muting the commercial and requiring just as split-second a mastery of the mute button again, to toggle the sound back on without missing a word of dialog of the new scene.

After settling into the new scene, however, Snerd’s mind began to drift to other things, and he laid the remote on the table at the far end of the couch, with his iced tea. Only a few moments later, or so it seemed, the next fade to black sent Snerd sprawling across the couch and fumbling for the mute button just as another smiling face appeared and parted her lips to speak--mute!


“Aha. Gotcha!” Snerd sneered triumphantly.