"Strange Crap in Short Story Form Week" kicks you in the face with number seven, marking a full week of stories.
"I have no choice in the matter," was the inmates final statement. A brave man all his life, he would not let himself be defeated by something as trivial as execution. In fact, so impressed by his own stoicism was he that he silently declared those to be his final words. None other would pass his lips, he decided.
This became problematic when, just as the noose had been tightened and seconds before he was to be dropped from the tree, the governor pardoned him. It turns out the governor had only just then decided it would be bad for his career if he let himself be hung.
So, the inmate was now free but no longer governor. What did that make him, though? He was too important to be a peasant. He was too well known as a governor to be a lawyer or a racecar driver. He was also too alive to be dead. There was no going back to Mr. Sanguini, either, as his family had changed his name for him. One day, he would have to find out what they changed it to. Today was eventful enough, so such an endeaver would have to wait.
The now-something-he-had-no-name-for only wanted to go home, curl up in front of the fire with a good prostitute, and think up a good excuse just in case his wife caught him shagging a strange woman in the same armchair her father had died in. He always did like that armchair, but for reasons unrelated to his father-in-law's death. His mother-in-law's death, though...
A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he thought of his wife. He did love her, honest he did. But he also loved pastrami. He wondered what was the difference between the two loves and decided that pastrami-love is totally dependent on his deli, while wife-love is totally dependent on her menstrual cycle and/or sweater tightness.
The thought of tight sweaters reminded him of a movie he wanted to see. It starred a young starlet as a baseball pitcher who fights Nazis. "Baseball, breasts, and blood." He strained to think of another B word to add, hoping to trademark the saying as a "four food groups" parody he could put on a poster.
He should start a company and make the posters himself. But what would he call the company? He didn't even have a name himself, so he rightly couldn't name a whole company. Unless the company already had a name and he just needed to remember it. Names know no concept of time. Something always will be and has always been what it is. And of course it has to be NAMED something. And since the object always was, the name, too, always was. So maybe the company was named Foreboding Corp. or Galileo and Sons, Inc. Or Happy Birthday, Timmy Enterprises. Or Any Word Plus Another Random, Unrelated Word Company. That last one sounded right to him. So, once he found out his own name, he would start Any Word Plus Another Random, Unrelated Word Company. But when would he find out his name?
Depending on your alliance to optimism or pessimism, that day would fortunately or unfortunately arrive the following morning. While, yes, he was governor and, yes, he did pardon himself, his vow of silence had kept him from telling the hangman that he was free. So he was hung to death.
"I have no choice in the matter," was the inmates final statement. A brave man all his life, he would not let himself be defeated by something as trivial as execution. In fact, so impressed by his own stoicism was he that he silently declared those to be his final words. None other would pass his lips, he decided.
This became problematic when, just as the noose had been tightened and seconds before he was to be dropped from the tree, the governor pardoned him. It turns out the governor had only just then decided it would be bad for his career if he let himself be hung.
So, the inmate was now free but no longer governor. What did that make him, though? He was too important to be a peasant. He was too well known as a governor to be a lawyer or a racecar driver. He was also too alive to be dead. There was no going back to Mr. Sanguini, either, as his family had changed his name for him. One day, he would have to find out what they changed it to. Today was eventful enough, so such an endeaver would have to wait.
The now-something-he-had-no-name-for only wanted to go home, curl up in front of the fire with a good prostitute, and think up a good excuse just in case his wife caught him shagging a strange woman in the same armchair her father had died in. He always did like that armchair, but for reasons unrelated to his father-in-law's death. His mother-in-law's death, though...
A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he thought of his wife. He did love her, honest he did. But he also loved pastrami. He wondered what was the difference between the two loves and decided that pastrami-love is totally dependent on his deli, while wife-love is totally dependent on her menstrual cycle and/or sweater tightness.
The thought of tight sweaters reminded him of a movie he wanted to see. It starred a young starlet as a baseball pitcher who fights Nazis. "Baseball, breasts, and blood." He strained to think of another B word to add, hoping to trademark the saying as a "four food groups" parody he could put on a poster.
He should start a company and make the posters himself. But what would he call the company? He didn't even have a name himself, so he rightly couldn't name a whole company. Unless the company already had a name and he just needed to remember it. Names know no concept of time. Something always will be and has always been what it is. And of course it has to be NAMED something. And since the object always was, the name, too, always was. So maybe the company was named Foreboding Corp. or Galileo and Sons, Inc. Or Happy Birthday, Timmy Enterprises. Or Any Word Plus Another Random, Unrelated Word Company. That last one sounded right to him. So, once he found out his own name, he would start Any Word Plus Another Random, Unrelated Word Company. But when would he find out his name?
Depending on your alliance to optimism or pessimism, that day would fortunately or unfortunately arrive the following morning. While, yes, he was governor and, yes, he did pardon himself, his vow of silence had kept him from telling the hangman that he was free. So he was hung to death.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
The moral of the story..."Inflexibility and/or unwilligness to adapt shall eventually lead to one's ultimate demise"...or "Politicians are ALL criminals and should be imprisoned and executed" The latter sounds more fitting .
Your stories are always choc-full of great little moments like that one.