Pointless Stories That We Can All Glean From

Written by: Silas Jones

Orange

There once was a very old woman who lived in an orange house. The house had orange walls, orange ceilings, orange floors, orange doors, orange carpets, and orange windows complete with orange drapes and orange panes. Her orange living room was complete with an orange television set, an orange sofa, an orange rocking chair, an orange piano, an orange bookshelf stocked with orange books discussing all things orange, an orange china cabinet with orange china in it: orange teapots with little orange lids, orange wineglasses coated with orange dust, and orange dolls with porcelain hands and faces wearing orange hats and little orange dresses, and oranges sitting in little orange dishes on a series of orange coffee tables. Her bedroom was decked with orange beds, and her bathroom with orange bathtubs and sinks. Her kitchen featured a variety of orange food, and she owned no fewer then 25 orange house cats. Her body was coated in countless orange tattoos, as were the bodies of her mother, father, sister and niece. Anyway, one day this very old woman was walking down the street when a strange man approached her. He informed her that he was taking a survey, and wanted to know what her favorite color was. The woman then smiled a peculiar half-smile, and gave her reply: "I simply adore red!" The moral of this story is as follows: things are not always what they seem.

The Small Package

An extremely formal man lived in an extremely formal house with an extremely formal wife. One of the things that his wife adored about him was his love of expressions: "Don't judge a book by its cover, slow and steady wins the race, and his favorite, good things come in small packages. Anyway, one day a very small package arrived at the man's doorstep. He bent down, picked it up, and turn the wrapping paper off, only to discover that it was a bomb, and to explode along with his house, his wife, and everything he had ever loved. The moral of this story: Morals and sayings don't always apply, but that includes this moral. So, basically, there are no true morals, except for it being inadvisable to eat poison, although if you wanted to commit suicide it might be advisable, so I stand by my first statement.

Ha! A little silliness goes a long way.

Letter To No One

Dear No One,
The book lies open, reading is not a crutch but a wing, flying is the crutch, imagination is neither wing nor crutch, but comes from flying which is a crutch and reading which is a wing. How can this be?

Sincerely,
You'll Never Guess Who

I have been doing this a lot: typing wierd poem-like things into the search box in google, and seeing what comes up. This one turned into a strange letter. I call it the letter to no one.

Here's another letter to no one:

Dear No One,
If I were to stare at a rather square ball, would it become round? How can a ball be square in the first place? I think not, but in my sight I see one. A misfit. A lamb in a field of llamas. My eyes glaze over from the intensity of thought. Llamas devour the grass, and the lamb weeps. The tears are like the blood of the llamas as the lamb attracts lions to the field. Yet the lamb escapes. What does tell me about myself? Am I a lamb or a llama? I think I am a lamb, but is this good? Would I want to spend the day in the feild of llamas? Will the computer notice if I spell "llama" with capitol I's, as in ice that cannot support the weight of the lamb, who drowns, and joins the horrid IIamas. Yes, it noticed. But who is the villian in this scene? Are you a llama, a lion, or a lamb? Please give your thoughts to me, and tell me if the lions are the best? I think so, as they survive, and kill because they must. The llamas and lambs don't kill, but they still spread evil in their own ways. Lions being good made me think of Aslan from the series by C. S. Lewis. The Chronicles of Narnia. How good is a writer? Can a writer even be capable of good? Yes, but only bad ones. Does this seem right? I hope not.

Sincerely,
You'll Never Guess Who

I hope you enjoyed a little nonsense.

Poetry

Welcome to my happy stars glowing in the faint breezing happily joyous peace calmness here there money is extremely happy staring at the world turning towards the sun noticing writing a noticing glaring at the dog is out of the house for good god where is my child's truck rolls down the street and hits the olden days are behind us, and thus we sing in harmony, melody looked behind the house in the hope of spotting a pound that she gained by eating doe a deer I love you,

Sincerely,

Silas Jones

I have decieded to type a post that features a lot of random words in a random order. Read this aloud: it actually has somewhat of a moving story. IF you like it, here is another.

Pointlessness of it, endless, the voice of a nymph in the airily staying in the perfection of this new year's day, yet the wind sweeps and staring in the wind is a man of sole intensions, his shoes black with soot, his face a blur on the evening wind, the world at his fingertips, my life in his hands, for death is he! Death is upon us all, but for now it is upon me, and he swindles out the candle, and the world in black with woe and misery, for alas, he is here.

Does this sound poetic to you? Note to self: maybe you should start writing poetry. It sounds old-timey to me, like something ouot of the mouth of an writer for the 18th Century. Please comment - yes, I know it's wierd.

Chater One Of The Select Four

This is chapter one of The Select Four, that book I was showing you sneak peeks of earlier. 

One:

Gloria Hellborn

       The sun was just beginning to rise. It shone through a broken window of the Hellborn manor, revealing a dismal scene within. Gloria Eleanor Hellborn was lying asleep upon it, her hand outstretched so that it hovered a few inches over the dusty floor. The room looked as though no one had been in it for several hundred years. The only sign that it was currently occupied, besides the sleeping girl, was a path, to the bed, that was dustless from the many times Gloria had trudged there after a day of hard work.

For work was hard at the Hellborn household. What else would it be, with 64 children eating their parents out of house and home? That’s 66 mouths to feed. 66 bedrooms to clean, not including the rest of the rooms in the house. Although most of Eloise and Edwin Hellborn’s children were old enough to have a job and move out, none of them did. Why work for your money and pay for your food when you could lounge around and be waited on? While Eloise Hellborn worked like mad to pay for the many necessities of raising a family of 66, everyone else in the family did nothing. Well, almost everyone. One out of the 64 children had to help serve, clean, cook, and help the rest of the family. The youngest. Gloria Hellborn.

Gloria had silky, brown hair that might have been beautiful had it not been so matted and dirty. She was rather thin, the resolute of being under-fed and over-worked. Gloria was now wrapped in an extremely filthy bed sheet shivering quietly in the autumn wind, which was blowing through the shattered windowpane. Suddenly, the alarm clock rang and eyelids flickered open to reveal sea-green eyes.

The clock did not quite ring. It actually shouted at Gloria in a nasty-tempered short of voice.

“WAKE UP, YOU PESKY BIT OF FILTH!” cried the clock. “WAKE UP AND GET TO WORK! IS THAT THE ONLY THING SCUM LIKE YOU IS GOOD FOR? GET UP! GET UP! IF YOU DON’T GET UP RIGHT NOW I WILL KILL YOU! GET UP RIGHT NOW! NOW I SAY! YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE BIT OF DIRT BETTER—OR I’LL—ARRRRRRRRRRGH!”

Gloria had smacked a limp hand against a button on the alarm clock causing, which belonged to Edwin Albert Hellborn. He had recorded his voice onto a disk and put it into the player so that instead of beeping, it shouted at Gloria every morning.

Now, as you may know, there is no worse way to wake up in the morning than being shouted at. And Gloria didn’t like it, either. She grumbled and trudged out of bed and I to the hall, which was long and seemed endless. Gloria passed all 66 bedrooms and arrived at the end. There, there was a plain, wooden, door.

Gloria walked through it and passed the sitting room, the dining room, and a second hall that led to the bathroom, attic, basement, and living room, and entered the kitchen. Although no one else was yet up, cooking breakfast took several hours in the Hellborn household. It was time to get to work.

Gloria’s day went normally until 1:34 P.M. After making breakfast, she cleaned the bathroom, attic, basement, sitting room, living room, kitchen and hall. Then the rest of the family woke up and Gloria served them breakfast. It was then time for Gloria to pack 15 lunches for the siblings that still went to school to eat at school and her mother to eat at work.

Eloise Hellborn was a thin, vulture-like woman with charcoal black hair. She was a secretary for a company that made gelatin. She knew the owner, Mr. MacNead, and was paid much more than other secretaries. How else could she earn enough to feed all of the kids?

After Eloise and the 14 other children left the house, all of the children still remaining in the house sulked of to their rooms, leaving Gloria and her father, Edwin, alone in the dining room.

Edwin Hellborn was a rather beefy man. He was fat, red-faced, and had a violent temper. Some might call him lazy to, as he didn’t work, watched television, and bossed around Gloria all day while his wife earned 3nough to raise the family. Gloria just called him father. That was all she had the right to call him.

The day proceeded as usual. Edwin forced Gloria to clean the cat boxes, prepare him and her siblings who were still in the house a gourmet lunch, clean the many bedrooms, except, of course, for her own, and do a great many of other of household chores. Then, at 1:00, her siblings and her mother returned home.

“I did wonderfully at work today, darling.” exclaimed Mrs. Hellborn to Mr. Hellborn while hurriedly shuffling into the musty manor. “You won’t believe this, but MacNead tripled my salary! You know how much I was getting paid! Can you imagine! For the first time, this family will have extra money!”

In celebration of Mrs. Hellborn’s new salary, the entire family went shopping. Winter was on its way, so they all were all wrapped in so many coats, scarves, and hats that they were barely recognizable as themselves. Soon, the family arrived at Main Street. Here, at line of little shops, a bunch of pedestrians were doing tier Christmas shopping. And here, as the children crowded around a candy shop window, something unusual happened to Gloria. She found a five- dollar bill.

Gloria was the youngest in her family. By the time she was born, her parents had had enough of children to last them a lifetime. So Gloria had always been abused and mistreated.

Never, in her life had she been given pocket money. She had never been given a toy or a book. All Gloria had ever known was chores, chores, chores. A world of possibilities opened up to Gloria. What would she buy, now that she had money?

“MOM! LOOK AT WHAT GLORIA HAS!”

Gloria was interrupted from her thoughts by a shout. It was her brother, Markus Hellborn. He was 13 and the second youngest, after Gloria. And so Gloria was forced to watch, with pleading eyes, as her mother pulled the bill from her grip. She would never spend it now.

Later that night, Markus cornered Gloria in the hallway.

“Ha!” he cackled rudely, “I bet you wanted to spend that money. Well, you’ll never spend it now. Hey, look!”

He held up a five-dollar bill for inspection. “Mom let me keep it because I noticed you with it. You know if you want something take, this.” He said thoughtfully, jamming a hardcover, leather-bond book into her chest. “My teacher gave it to me, but it’s blank. Don’t ask me what you would do with such a thing—write!” He obviously thought it was useless, because he smiled carelessly and, stroking his bill, strolled away.

Edwin became rather giddy over the next few weeks. He left often to visit various pubs and bars. He drank a glass of wine at every meal. He was known to laugh and giggle at inappropriate times. Edwin became harsh to everyone in the family, not just Gloria. And one day…

“I’m going to Peru!”

“WHAT?”

The Hellborn family was having supper. Edwin had been on his fifth serving of wine when he had suddenly exclaimed that he was going to Peru.

“What?” repeated Eloise Hellborn, “What?”

“I’m going to Peru.” Edwin said again.

“There’s no way we can afford for you to go to Peru. I’m sorry, but it’s never going to happen.”

“BUT, I WANT TO GO TO PERU! NOW!”

“What would you even do in Peru? Drink more wine or champagne? Beer or brandy? Come on, we can’t afford it! We’re barely making enough to support this family as it is! Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know. Do you know who has to work for it? That’s right. I DO!”

But, in the end, Eloise agreed and the entire family, with the obvious exception of Gloria, was planned to go to Peru the following week.

Gloria met her babysitter the following day. He was a rather old, rabbit-like man with lopsided, wire-rimmed spectacles.

“P-pleasure to m-m-meet y-you, madam.” He stammered clutching Mrs. Hellborn’s hand firmly. “Ahh, and t-this is the l-l-lovely……”

“Gloria.” said Gloria “My name is Gloria.”

“Ahh, G-goria.”

“It’s Gloria. Just like glory only with an “ah” at the end.”

“G-gloria. I’ll c-chew on it.”

The next Sunday, the babysitter, whose name was Mr. MacBeth, showed up early. Edwin and Eloise left Gloria as soon as he arrived. Surprisingly, Gloria was not that upset. You see, she was usually forced to do work ceaselessly all day. This week, she could finally have free time to whatever she wanted.

Gloria started to her room and thought. What would she do with free time now that she had it?

Gloria thought. And thought. She wasn’t used to having time to spare. She gazed around at her pitiful room. There was nothing around her to entertain her. Well, almost nothing.

And then, Gloria’s eyes fell upon something sticking out from beneath her bed. Gloria picked it up. It was the book Markus had given her a few weeks before. Markus’ words rang in her ears. ‘Don’t ask me what you would do with such a thing—write!’ Write. She would write.

‘Dear Diary, My life is simply horrible. Markus and my parents seem to work to gether to make my life miserable. Fortunately ,today is my lucky day! My father, like so many before he, has given himself up to drink. Through I surely should be worried about this, I see no reason to fret like my mother. In his drunken state, my father has gone quite mad. Only a week ago, during dinner, he had a sudden urge to go to Peru. My mother made plans for the entire family, with the exception of me, of course, to visit Peru this week. So, I’m here alone, except for my rather nervous, rabbit-like babysitter, Mr. MacBeth. Since I don’t have a single toy, book, or any other enjoyable way to pass one’s tme, I’m writing in this book this weekend. I…’

The book went on this way for quite a while. The only thing that finally caused Gloria to stop writing was when Mr. MacBeth yelled the stairs, “L-lights out in t-t-ten minutes!” 

The following week was the most enjoyable time Gloria had had in a very long while. She got up early each morning and stayed up as long as the babysitter allowed, leaving her room only for the bathroom and for meals. But she knew it couldn’t last.

‘Dear Diary, I am enjoying my freedom.’

‘Dear Diary, Only four days free of my parents left.’

‘Dear Diary, I fear my freedom is drawing to an end.’

‘Diary, Tomorrow will be the last day I will write!

‘Goodbye, Diary, this is my last entry!’

And then, as soon as those words were on the paper, as soon as she told the book it was her last entry, something incredible happened. Something impossible. Yet…

As though a magical hand was flying across the page, words were appearing across the parchment.

‘You know, it doesn’t have to go back to being that way.’

Gloria stared at the words.

‘Books do not write on their own!’ she told herself.

Gloria closed her eyes. ‘I was imagining things. When I look again those words will be gone.’

Gloria opened her eyes again and stared. She had been right. There was nothing there.

Gloria took a deep breath. She had to be sure. Glancing down at the parchment, she wrote, right where the words had just appeared.

‘Who are you?’

Gloria eyed the patch of parchment directly below her own words. And then…

‘I am a figment of your imagination.’

‘See.’ Gloria told herself. ‘Even the book agrees with me. Oh my God! Even the book agrees with me! I must be insane!’

Gloria watched as the book’s latest message faded into the pages of the journal, this time replaced with a fresh note.

‘Come with me and you will never have to encounter your good-for-nothing father and nasty vulture of a mother again.’

Taking a deep breath, Gloria jotted a response, hoping against hope that no answer who come.

‘Do you have any thing to tell you me?’

‘Do I have anything to tell you? Of course I do. But not here. Not now.’

‘What do you have to tell me?

‘Come with me. Come… Come…’

Gloria felt herself going in to some sort of trance. It was a dream. There was no other explanation. It was a dream. She was asleep. But, Gloria had only a second to think. Because the next thing she knew, her head lolled onto her shoulder, her vision bleared, and the room began to spin. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. Then, Gloria closed her eyes, fell to the floor, and remembered no more.

Sneak Peek #1

As you know, I love to write. What follows is the prologue of my current story, The Select Four. It is

scheduled to have sixteen chapters, an epilogue, and a prologue. Here is the table of contents.

Prologue

The Contest . 4

One

Gloria Hellborn . 7

Two

Message from the Hummerbugs . 15

Three

Willow and Elijah . ?

Four

The Disastrous Dinner Party . ?

Five

A Little Angel Down on Earth . ?

Six

The Promise . ?

Seven

The Wedding . ?

Eight

Gloria and Benjamin

Nine

On the Metal Beam . ?

Ten

Gloria in a Pool . ?

Eleven

Lessons . ?

Twelve

The Pointless Spell . ?

Thirteen

The Wrath of Mort Mal . ?

Fourteen

The After Supper Program . ?

Fifteen

The Hair-Clip of Life . ?

Sixteen

Back on the Air . ?

Epilogue

Whatever Happened To… . ?

Anyway, here is the sneak peek.

Epilogue:

The Contest

The day was January the first. Four people, all wrapped in cloaks, were positioned around a black, metal box. Many anxious parents were in a long line, stretching at least a mile away from the box. They were all clutching an infant in one hand and a writing utensil in the other. Every eye in that line was fixed on a sign that read:

Drawing!

A trillion Dollars will Be Given to Five lucky families! One lucky family will also receive a extra special Prize As Long as your family has had a new child added to it in the last Year, Simply line up and fill out the designated form! Put the form in the small, Black box! Bring your own writing utensil, as they will not be provided!

These parents were all anxiously awaiting their chance to arrive at the front of the line and earn a change at the prize. A trillion dollars did sound nice, but what about the special prize that only one family would get? After the first add for this contest in Le Mot Quotidien, the local newspaper, the entire city was asking themselves a question. What was the special prize? Families that had had new children born to them in the past year all crowded in the endless line, awaiting the time when they would fill out the form.

The day wore on. The sound of babies crying filled the air, ringing in the ears of those parents who had already entered the contest. An odd assortment of parents appeared, each hoping for a wonderful reward. A horribly fat man who was red in the face and had a curly moustache muttered something about this being “the only good thing that came from the damn little brat!” An extremely pretty woman with silvery-blonde hair danced gracefully over to the box skillfully holding two identical twins and dropping two forms into the box.

Around dusk, although the line had not seemed to shorten, a short, plump, merry-faced man who was wearing a tweed jacket and green, plaid trousers lowered his turquoise cloak from over his head and withdrew a bull-horn from some in it’s depths.

“I’m so sorry, good friends!” he announced to the crowd in a giddy voice, “We have enough entrants for the contest. I ask you all to go home!”

There was a great deal of protest at his words.

“We’ve been waiting hear all day!” shouted a lady who was next in line.

“I’m sorry, but we’re done!” said another of the four hooded figures. This time a girl was talking from beneath a blood-red hood. Her voice was high, cold, and crackly. The woman attempted to strangle her.

When, finally, the last of the angry parents were driven away, conversation began among the four hooded figures.

“Well, we’ve finally done it,” said a strict voice from under a bright blue cloak. “All we have to do is wait for eleven years.”

The fourth figure in a black cloak out- stretched a pale hand, which clutched a gold key. The figure turned the key in a keyhole in the metal box. Names for each of the rewards were chosen. The “extra-special” reward (which turned out to be a lifetime supply of potato chips), as well as the trillion dollars, were given to the winners. Soon, all of the parents who hadn’t won a prize forgot about the contest. For who would suspect that, eleven years later, it would change four children’s lives forever.