Sometime in my youth, most likely in grade school formally, but also in my own free time, I read a book called The Chocolate Touch. I think most people end up reading this book at some point in their childhood. Basically, it's like King Midas, only instead of everything the protagonist touches turning to gold, it turns to chocolate. Well, the scene where he kisses his mother and she turns to chocolate has remained very vivid in my mind ever since. For me at the time, it was the scariest image I'd ever encountered.
There was some Goosebumps-like book where two kids go to the morgue and a presumably dead body under a white sheet sits up suddenly. That hair-raising moment has also remained with me ever since. Funny, as I'm writing this, I am suddenly remembering the long-lost name of this book. It was called Scared Stiff.
There was also a story in Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, called "Bloody Fingers," that gave me nightmares. Despite this fact, I continually read that story (and the others in the series) throughout my childhood.
While I'm sure all of these stories are actually quite tame for me now, I know that they succeeded in scaring me at the time. How they did that, I don't think I'll ever know. That's the magic of storytelling, I suppose. They got me at the right time and in the right frame of mind.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Touch'.
Showing posts with label Blue Beta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blue Beta. Show all posts
Monday, April 06, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Snowflakes
Boris Pasternak wrote a remarkably beautiful account of falling snow in his short novella, "The Childhood of Zhenya Luvers" (Детство Люверс):
For me, there has always been something magical about snowflakes. Their very nature makes one reflect on life and look towards heaven. Even after understanding how they are formed, and the science behind it, there remains a captivating feeling associated with them. They provoke a child-like response that urges one to catch, play, and twirl. The snow that sticks to the ground does not have the magic, and increases its association with cold. As the snow remains and gets dirty and slushy, it loses all connection to the snowflakes that it came from. But at that moment, as it falls in the form of individual, inconceivable snowflakes, there remains an indescribable connection to a magical, unknown realm somewhere far beyond our understanding.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Snowflakes'.
The heavens quivered, and down from them tumbled whole white kingdoms and countries. They were countless, and they were mysterious and dreadful. It was clear that these lands falling from goodness knows where had never heard of life and earth: coming blind from the northern darkness, they covered them over without ever seeing or knowing them.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Snowflakes'.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Trends
FRED: Trends!! I see trends!! JOE: What's the big deal, Fred? It's just Trends. FRED: I hate trends. All I ever see all day are trends. JOE: Well, I'd say you're pretty lucky. Last time I saw Trends in the daytime was about a month ago. FRED: I'm not talking about Trends the person. I'm talking about trends in general. You know, like trendy people and such. JOE: You don't think Trends is trendy? I'd say he's very trendy. He even has that new sweater that all the girls are talking about. FRED: I don't know what you're talking about. I don't like trends. JOE: You're not making any sense. TRENDS: Hey guys! JOE: Hey Trends. How's it going? TRENDS: Great! How do you like my sweater? JOE: It's fabulous! I'd say you're very trendy, wouldn't you? TRENDS: Well, I sure hope so. I am Trends, after all. JOE: You have a good point, Trends. TRENDS: Well, gotta run. Bye guys! JOE: Bye, Trends! FRED: I hate Trends.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Trends'.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Trends'.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Sentiments
EXT. STREET - DAY MAN1 is walking down the street, wearing a business suit. He is stopped by MAN2, who looks to be homeless. MAN2: Excuse me, sir, but I would like to give you something important. MAN1: Oh, no thank you, I'm really in quite a hurry. Perhaps some other time. MAN2: I don't think you realize what I have to give to you. I'm a collector of rare sentiments. MAN1: What sort of sentiments? MAN2: Very rare ones, sir. Sentiments you've never seen the likes of, I'm sure. MAN1: How do you go about collecting them? You haven't got any money, do you? MAN2: Ah, you can't buy sentiments like these, sir. No, no. Sentiments like these need to be found and nurtured and cared for. Sentiments don't just fall into your lap, either. You really need to be on the look out for them, spend every waking minute searching for them in order to spot them. That's why I gave up my day job. MAN1: You had a day job? MAN2: Of course. Just like you, sir. I used to work at Carlyle Electronics, down in the Quido Valley. Of course, back then they were just a small startup company, just about to make their name in the marketplace. I was one of their top-tier employees, brought on to help them make the transition to multiple market sectors. Of course, nothing could take me away from the draw of sentiments, not even the prospect of a six-figure salary. No, sir. MAN1: Well, I feel sorry for you, but I really must be going. MAN2: Sorry? Don't feel sorry for me, sir. I'm the one with sentiments. I have so many rare sentiments that I'm prepared to give them out to whomever I feel needs them. You strike me as a rare individual yourself, and so I'm offering you not only one of my sentiments, but also a chance to take part in the allocation of the other sentiments. What do you say? MAN1: I'm afraid you haven't convinced me of the need or the draw of these sentiments, so I really must decline your proposition. MAN2: That's too bad, sir. You could have been somebody. We would have made a great team. I hate to horde the sentiments, you know, but unfortunately, those who respect their power are rarely those who need them. I like to find people like you, people who could change their entire life in the search for the perfect sentiment. I really wish you'd reconsider. MAN1: I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, enjoy your sentiments and try not to lose them all. If I ever have the urge to assist in this sentimental endeavor, I will contact without delay. MAN2: Alright, I'll mark you down as a future prospect. Enjoy the rest of your day, sir! MAN2 makes a mark in a dirty, torn notepad that he pulls out from his coat pocket. MAN1 continues on his walk to work, stepping with urgency to make it to his meeting on time. MAN2 puts his notepad back into his pocket and looks out into the distant crowd of people on an even busier street. Looking out for traffic he makes his way across the street to join the crowds.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Sentiments'.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Sentiments'.
Monday, February 23, 2009
A Heavy Box
The room was almost cleared out. After nine days of non-stop lifting and carrying, John had just about finished moving all of his stuff to his new apartment a few floors down. There was just one item left in the far corner: a heavy box.
John couldn't even remember where he had acquired this box, nor could he remember what the contents were. He had made a point not to look into any of his boxes during the moving process, so as not to slow himself down with memories and reminiscences. However, in this case, he would have to make an exception. He had tried to move the box earlier, to no avail. The box wouldn't budge from its spot no matter how much effort John put into it, and John was no weakling - after all, he had managed to carry his couch on his back all the way to the elevator and down to his new apartment with no help from anyone else. "What could possibly be in this box," he wondered, "to make it so damn heavy?"
John carefully cut into the tape holding the box shut. When he was able to view the contents of the box up close, he was startled by his discovery: the box was completely empty. John gave another try at lifting the box off the ground, only to find that he was entirely unable to make the box budge in the slightest. Tired from the long moving process he had already completed, John decided to leave the box here for the next owner to deal with. He had moved most of his stuff out, and that would have to be sufficient.
***
A few days later, John was getting himself situated in his new apartment. He had finally arranged his furniture the way he liked it, and was about to sit down to watch a football game, when he heard a light knock on his door. John looked out the peephole. Not seeing anyone there, he assumed the newspaper delivery must have come late that day, and he opened the door to retrieve his paper. However, rather than finding the expected newspaper, John saw the same heavy box from his previous apartment. It was now standing directly in front of his door, and as much as he tried, he could not move it one inch.
"No, no, no," he said to himself.
He was upset at the reappearance of this inexplicably heavy and annoyingly immovable box. He opened a note that was lying on the top of the box. It stated:
Dear Tenant,
This box has been found in your previous apartment. Please remember to vacate completely when moving from one apartment to another.
Thank you,
The Management
P.S. You have been charged five dollars for your negligence.
John hated the management, and was already kicking himself for not moving out of the building when he had the chance. He couldn't think of a good way to explain that he, a capable and strong man in the prime years of his life, could have difficulty moving an old box from the confines of his apartment. Nor could he imagine asking anyone for help in lifting an empty box away from his doorway. This predicament wasn't going away, no matter how much thought John put into it. He decided to go pay the five-dollar fine immediately, to at least clear his conscience.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'A Heavy Box'.
John couldn't even remember where he had acquired this box, nor could he remember what the contents were. He had made a point not to look into any of his boxes during the moving process, so as not to slow himself down with memories and reminiscences. However, in this case, he would have to make an exception. He had tried to move the box earlier, to no avail. The box wouldn't budge from its spot no matter how much effort John put into it, and John was no weakling - after all, he had managed to carry his couch on his back all the way to the elevator and down to his new apartment with no help from anyone else. "What could possibly be in this box," he wondered, "to make it so damn heavy?"
John carefully cut into the tape holding the box shut. When he was able to view the contents of the box up close, he was startled by his discovery: the box was completely empty. John gave another try at lifting the box off the ground, only to find that he was entirely unable to make the box budge in the slightest. Tired from the long moving process he had already completed, John decided to leave the box here for the next owner to deal with. He had moved most of his stuff out, and that would have to be sufficient.
***
A few days later, John was getting himself situated in his new apartment. He had finally arranged his furniture the way he liked it, and was about to sit down to watch a football game, when he heard a light knock on his door. John looked out the peephole. Not seeing anyone there, he assumed the newspaper delivery must have come late that day, and he opened the door to retrieve his paper. However, rather than finding the expected newspaper, John saw the same heavy box from his previous apartment. It was now standing directly in front of his door, and as much as he tried, he could not move it one inch.
"No, no, no," he said to himself.
He was upset at the reappearance of this inexplicably heavy and annoyingly immovable box. He opened a note that was lying on the top of the box. It stated:
Dear Tenant,
This box has been found in your previous apartment. Please remember to vacate completely when moving from one apartment to another.
Thank you,
The Management
P.S. You have been charged five dollars for your negligence.
John hated the management, and was already kicking himself for not moving out of the building when he had the chance. He couldn't think of a good way to explain that he, a capable and strong man in the prime years of his life, could have difficulty moving an old box from the confines of his apartment. Nor could he imagine asking anyone for help in lifting an empty box away from his doorway. This predicament wasn't going away, no matter how much thought John put into it. He decided to go pay the five-dollar fine immediately, to at least clear his conscience.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'A Heavy Box'.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Imagination
Marthur's imagination was very complex and intricate, or so said his closest friends, Bartholomew and Rex. Marthur first met Bartholomew when he was only six years old, but they didn't see each other until he was almost ten. Up until then, he was lovingly referred to as his 'imaginary friend,' because of his active imagination. Marthur's mother, Marjorie, allowed the friendship to continue, even after Bartholomew materialized, since he had proven himself to be a good influence on her son's upbringing. Bartholomew taught Marthur how to eat beans with his fork, and soup with his spoon, something that Marjorie had been trying in vain to teach him for years. Marthur's father, Arthur, liked Bartholomew because he was so much more interesting than his own son.
Rex was a different story entirely. Rex was Bartholomew's imaginary enemy, and he taught Marthur to hate him with every passion of his being. However, Marthur was a rebellious child, and decided to befriend Rex without Bartholomew's knowledge. Over the years, Rex and Marthur formed a very close bond, and soon after, Rex also materialized. Since Bartholomew only knew Rex as an imaginary enemy of his own, and not as the imaginary friend of Marthur, this materialization did not have any similarity to Bartholomew's own conception of Rex, and so went unnoticed by him as his most hated enemy.
Marjorie and Arthur loved their son, but by his fifteenth birthday they began to fear him terribly. Marthur had taken on qualities of both of his once-imaginary friends, and their bitter hatred between one another had altered Marthur's personality for the worse. He now tried to kill his friend Bartholomew by throwing knives at his wrists, now tried to squeeze Rex in a mighty bear hug that would cause his eyes to bulge out of their sockets. Marjorie and Arthur never noticed this strange behavior, but they noticed instead something they termed 'the evil eye.' Marjorie's mother had acquired the evil eye fairly late in life, and Marjorie had had to deal with this strange enigmatic quality while caring for her mother in her later years. Arthur hated this task of caring for his mother-in-law, and so any remembrance of those terrible years was enough to send him over the edge. He sought solace in drinking.
Arthur soon became a raging alcoholic, who ranted and raved about his son's evil tendencies, and his fiendish friends. Marjorie became depressed at the thought of caretaking for her son in the same manner that she had for her mother, and was so heartily saddened that she fell into a state of absolute depression. She drowned herself in a bowl of water while trying to wash away her tears. Her father found her the next morning and swore to never drink again. He was back at the liquor store three hours later.
Marthur hadn't noticed any of these strange goings-on in his household. He was so taken with an inner struggle of love for his friends while hating each one for purely personal reasons that he hadn't had previously. They had built up within him to the point of bursting. He soon realized that it was not the fault of his friends at all, but rather his name. He hated that his parents had combined their names to form a terrible corruption of each. Marthur was both uncommon and abhorrent. He decided that all of his problems would be solved with a name change, and asked his friends which name he should choose. Rex said Rex. Bartholomew said anything but Rex. Marthur went with the latter, simply because it gave him more options.
Rex felt both angered and slighted. He vowed to never appear to Marthur again, and took on his imaginary form once more. Bartholomew instantly recognized Rex as his most hated enemy, and realized why he had been so apprehensive about his friendship with Marthur over the years. He hated Marthur for going behind his back and befriending his enemy, and he too vowed to never see him again. It was then that Marthur went in to his parents room to tell them the news about the name change. This moment caused him to rethink his decision, and he forever lost his very complex and intricate imagination. He no longer saw any imaginary friends, for he realized that in life, there are no friends. He said a final goodbye to both Bartholomew and Rex, realizing that they could no longer hear his voice, or see his face.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Imagination'.
Rex was a different story entirely. Rex was Bartholomew's imaginary enemy, and he taught Marthur to hate him with every passion of his being. However, Marthur was a rebellious child, and decided to befriend Rex without Bartholomew's knowledge. Over the years, Rex and Marthur formed a very close bond, and soon after, Rex also materialized. Since Bartholomew only knew Rex as an imaginary enemy of his own, and not as the imaginary friend of Marthur, this materialization did not have any similarity to Bartholomew's own conception of Rex, and so went unnoticed by him as his most hated enemy.
Marjorie and Arthur loved their son, but by his fifteenth birthday they began to fear him terribly. Marthur had taken on qualities of both of his once-imaginary friends, and their bitter hatred between one another had altered Marthur's personality for the worse. He now tried to kill his friend Bartholomew by throwing knives at his wrists, now tried to squeeze Rex in a mighty bear hug that would cause his eyes to bulge out of their sockets. Marjorie and Arthur never noticed this strange behavior, but they noticed instead something they termed 'the evil eye.' Marjorie's mother had acquired the evil eye fairly late in life, and Marjorie had had to deal with this strange enigmatic quality while caring for her mother in her later years. Arthur hated this task of caring for his mother-in-law, and so any remembrance of those terrible years was enough to send him over the edge. He sought solace in drinking.
Arthur soon became a raging alcoholic, who ranted and raved about his son's evil tendencies, and his fiendish friends. Marjorie became depressed at the thought of caretaking for her son in the same manner that she had for her mother, and was so heartily saddened that she fell into a state of absolute depression. She drowned herself in a bowl of water while trying to wash away her tears. Her father found her the next morning and swore to never drink again. He was back at the liquor store three hours later.
Marthur hadn't noticed any of these strange goings-on in his household. He was so taken with an inner struggle of love for his friends while hating each one for purely personal reasons that he hadn't had previously. They had built up within him to the point of bursting. He soon realized that it was not the fault of his friends at all, but rather his name. He hated that his parents had combined their names to form a terrible corruption of each. Marthur was both uncommon and abhorrent. He decided that all of his problems would be solved with a name change, and asked his friends which name he should choose. Rex said Rex. Bartholomew said anything but Rex. Marthur went with the latter, simply because it gave him more options.
Rex felt both angered and slighted. He vowed to never appear to Marthur again, and took on his imaginary form once more. Bartholomew instantly recognized Rex as his most hated enemy, and realized why he had been so apprehensive about his friendship with Marthur over the years. He hated Marthur for going behind his back and befriending his enemy, and he too vowed to never see him again. It was then that Marthur went in to his parents room to tell them the news about the name change. This moment caused him to rethink his decision, and he forever lost his very complex and intricate imagination. He no longer saw any imaginary friends, for he realized that in life, there are no friends. He said a final goodbye to both Bartholomew and Rex, realizing that they could no longer hear his voice, or see his face.
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Imagination'.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Victory
INT. JACK'S LIVING ROOM - DAY
ROBERT, JACK, LILY, and BILL are playing monopoly.
ROBERT: Park place, huh. I don't think I'll buy that.
JACK: Are you sure, Robert? If you buy it, you'll have a monopoly.
ROBERT: Yes, I'm sure. Don't try to second guess my own decision. I know it'll get me a monopoly. The same monopoly I got last game, and the same one that you skipped every time around the board.
LILY (giggling): And I stayed in jail just to avoid you over there.
ROBERT: Exactly. The Boardwalk-Park Place combo is the worst monopoly in the game. I never have enough money to build on them, and no one but I ever land on them.
JACK: You sure land on them a lot, though. So, if you don't buy it, I will, and you'll be paying me for the rest of the game.
ROBERT: I won't be paying you much, though. I've got the other property.
JACK: You'll really let that property go to waste in your hands? You know you'll trade it to me eventually, when you get into hot water with Bill over there at Indiana and Kentucky.
BILL (excitedly): Yeah, I've already got houses on them.
LILY: You're always so lucky, Bill.
ROBERT: I'm sure the money from free parking will help me out when I need it. No deal, I ain't buyin'.
JACK: Okay, your loss. I'm buying it, though, and you're going to be sorry.
CUT TO: TWENTY MINUTES LATER
They are still sitting around the board playing monopoly. Robert rolls the dice and moves his playpiece.
JACK: Oh, that's Bill's property! You owe him two hundred dollars more than you've got!
BILL (excitedly): And it doesn't look like you had any luck with free parking all day!
Robert holds up his boardwalk deed, already mortgaged.
ROBERT: Will you take this instead?
BILL: An old mortgaged piece of junk, this late in the game? (pause) Throw in a railroad and you've got a deal.
CUT TO: TWENTY MINUTES LATER
Lily is sitting on the sofa, eating popcorn. The rest of the players are still at the game.
LILY: Aren't you guys finished yet?
JACK: Just about, Lily. Robert's going to land on his beloved Park Place this turn, on which I now own a hotel, and he'll be out.
ROBERT: I am not! I haven't landed on it since you told me I would.
JACK: All the more reason for you to do so now.
ROBERT: That's absurd. I'd have to roll a three. What are the odds of that?
BILL: Three out of, um, twelve, I'd say.
ROBERT: What? Really?
BILL: Sure, there's twelve numbers possible, and so take the three divided by the twelve, oh, right, so, um, one in four.
ROBERT: One in four? That's not right.
LILY: Are you really trying to do math right now? Isn't this supposed to be a game? Fun? You know, relaxation?
JACK: Not relaxation for anyone playing against me. It's a struggle not to lose to my supreme skill, as you well know.
LILY: Yeah, well, at least I get to eat popcorn. Maybe I lost on purpose.
JACK: Just roll the dice, Robert. Let's get this over with.
ROBERT: Okay, no three, here we go.
Robert rolls the dice. Three.
ROBERT: Crap!
LILY: As if you didn't see that one coming.
JACK (enthusiastically): Ha ha! Victory!
LILY: What about Bill? You haven't one till he goes out.
BILL: I think I've lost.
LILY: You can't give up! You have to play till the game is over.
ROBERT: I thought you just said that playing was more stupid than winning.
LILY: I may have meant that, but I didn't say that.
Robert walks over and grabs a handful of popcorn.
ROBERT: It sucks to lose. Well, go ahead and roll, Jack.
JACK: It's Bill's turn.
ROBERT: Okay, then, Bill. What do you need to roll to get this game over with? I need to go home soon.
BILL: Um, I need a seven to survive. Anything else, and I'm going to be dead in the water.
LILY: Roll Bill, you have a seven in twelve chance of survival, by your calculation.
BILL: I haven't calculated a thing.
Jack hands the dice over to Bill.
JACK: Just roll, Bill. I want to see all that money of yours come my way finally.
Bill rolls. Seven.
BILL: Hooray, a seven!
Robert and Lily groan. Bill moves his piece, carefully counting seven spaces. He lands on Park Place.
JACK: Ho ho! Give me all your money! Victory!!
ROBERT: What? It's over?
LILY: Finally.
ROBERT: I thought you said a seven would be a good thing for you?
BILL: I just said that so not to jinx it.
LILY: That worked well, didn't it.
ROBERT: I should've tried that. Good thinking, Bill.
Jack continues to count his money and be in very high spirits.
ROBERT: Well, I've got to get going. It's been fun.
LILY: You know, I should go to. Thanks for having us over, Jack.
Jack is too busy counting his victory money to listen. Bill gets up from the floor.
BILL: I don't really have to go, but I'm going to. See you later, Jack. Good game.
Jack doesn't look up from his money.
JACK: Victory is mine! I've defeated you all. Come again soon for another speedy defeat, if you dare.
Robert, Lily, and Bill all say their final goodbyes at the door before they leave. As soon as they are gone, Jack stands up abruptly.
JACK: Victory feels so good.
THE END
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Victory'.
ROBERT, JACK, LILY, and BILL are playing monopoly.
ROBERT: Park place, huh. I don't think I'll buy that.
JACK: Are you sure, Robert? If you buy it, you'll have a monopoly.
ROBERT: Yes, I'm sure. Don't try to second guess my own decision. I know it'll get me a monopoly. The same monopoly I got last game, and the same one that you skipped every time around the board.
LILY (giggling): And I stayed in jail just to avoid you over there.
ROBERT: Exactly. The Boardwalk-Park Place combo is the worst monopoly in the game. I never have enough money to build on them, and no one but I ever land on them.
JACK: You sure land on them a lot, though. So, if you don't buy it, I will, and you'll be paying me for the rest of the game.
ROBERT: I won't be paying you much, though. I've got the other property.
JACK: You'll really let that property go to waste in your hands? You know you'll trade it to me eventually, when you get into hot water with Bill over there at Indiana and Kentucky.
BILL (excitedly): Yeah, I've already got houses on them.
LILY: You're always so lucky, Bill.
ROBERT: I'm sure the money from free parking will help me out when I need it. No deal, I ain't buyin'.
JACK: Okay, your loss. I'm buying it, though, and you're going to be sorry.
CUT TO: TWENTY MINUTES LATER
They are still sitting around the board playing monopoly. Robert rolls the dice and moves his playpiece.
JACK: Oh, that's Bill's property! You owe him two hundred dollars more than you've got!
BILL (excitedly): And it doesn't look like you had any luck with free parking all day!
Robert holds up his boardwalk deed, already mortgaged.
ROBERT: Will you take this instead?
BILL: An old mortgaged piece of junk, this late in the game? (pause) Throw in a railroad and you've got a deal.
CUT TO: TWENTY MINUTES LATER
Lily is sitting on the sofa, eating popcorn. The rest of the players are still at the game.
LILY: Aren't you guys finished yet?
JACK: Just about, Lily. Robert's going to land on his beloved Park Place this turn, on which I now own a hotel, and he'll be out.
ROBERT: I am not! I haven't landed on it since you told me I would.
JACK: All the more reason for you to do so now.
ROBERT: That's absurd. I'd have to roll a three. What are the odds of that?
BILL: Three out of, um, twelve, I'd say.
ROBERT: What? Really?
BILL: Sure, there's twelve numbers possible, and so take the three divided by the twelve, oh, right, so, um, one in four.
ROBERT: One in four? That's not right.
LILY: Are you really trying to do math right now? Isn't this supposed to be a game? Fun? You know, relaxation?
JACK: Not relaxation for anyone playing against me. It's a struggle not to lose to my supreme skill, as you well know.
LILY: Yeah, well, at least I get to eat popcorn. Maybe I lost on purpose.
JACK: Just roll the dice, Robert. Let's get this over with.
ROBERT: Okay, no three, here we go.
Robert rolls the dice. Three.
ROBERT: Crap!
LILY: As if you didn't see that one coming.
JACK (enthusiastically): Ha ha! Victory!
LILY: What about Bill? You haven't one till he goes out.
BILL: I think I've lost.
LILY: You can't give up! You have to play till the game is over.
ROBERT: I thought you just said that playing was more stupid than winning.
LILY: I may have meant that, but I didn't say that.
Robert walks over and grabs a handful of popcorn.
ROBERT: It sucks to lose. Well, go ahead and roll, Jack.
JACK: It's Bill's turn.
ROBERT: Okay, then, Bill. What do you need to roll to get this game over with? I need to go home soon.
BILL: Um, I need a seven to survive. Anything else, and I'm going to be dead in the water.
LILY: Roll Bill, you have a seven in twelve chance of survival, by your calculation.
BILL: I haven't calculated a thing.
Jack hands the dice over to Bill.
JACK: Just roll, Bill. I want to see all that money of yours come my way finally.
Bill rolls. Seven.
BILL: Hooray, a seven!
Robert and Lily groan. Bill moves his piece, carefully counting seven spaces. He lands on Park Place.
JACK: Ho ho! Give me all your money! Victory!!
ROBERT: What? It's over?
LILY: Finally.
ROBERT: I thought you said a seven would be a good thing for you?
BILL: I just said that so not to jinx it.
LILY: That worked well, didn't it.
ROBERT: I should've tried that. Good thinking, Bill.
Jack continues to count his money and be in very high spirits.
ROBERT: Well, I've got to get going. It's been fun.
LILY: You know, I should go to. Thanks for having us over, Jack.
Jack is too busy counting his victory money to listen. Bill gets up from the floor.
BILL: I don't really have to go, but I'm going to. See you later, Jack. Good game.
Jack doesn't look up from his money.
JACK: Victory is mine! I've defeated you all. Come again soon for another speedy defeat, if you dare.
Robert, Lily, and Bill all say their final goodbyes at the door before they leave. As soon as they are gone, Jack stands up abruptly.
JACK: Victory feels so good.
THE END
This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Victory'.
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