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The following story is copyrighted material and all rights belong solely to the author. Any reproduction or republication of any or all of this publication without the explicit and expressed written consent from the author is strictly forbidden.
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Precious Cargo - Preface
The smell of coffee filled the air of the small room. Several metal folding chairs were arranged in a semi circle facing one point in the room. On the far wall, a long table held cookies and various other snacks along with two coffee makers, paper plates, and napkins. The synthetic tile floor caused the incoming guests’ personal discussions to echo. As a man dressed in corduroy pants and Birkenstocks asked for everyone to be seated, he motioned to a figure standing alone in a corner of the room. The figure slowly shuffled into the area in front of the group.
“Hi. My name is jokerman and I am a closet story writer.”
“Hello jokerman”, the group said in unison.
“I’ve been a closet story writer since… well for as long as I can remember.”
The group murmured amongst themselves. Several members looked at one another as they gestured and shook their heads. A large woman sat in the front eagerly listening and munching on a chocolate chip cookie. She wore a white dress that came down to just above her knees. The dress had several red camellias with green leaves and stalks printed on it. Each flower measured nearly a foot in diameter. On her head was a matching hat over her dark wavy hair with white netting that looked like something that a fisherman might use to catch baitfish. The seams of the dress strained slightly as she sat straight up to listen. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, just under her chair and to the side. Nylon stockings covered her legs and she attempted to hide the nail polish repair she had made on the run of her right calf. Her white shoes had thick heels to support her large frame and were scuffed slightly on the backs and right toe. Although more than once she had been seen from behind only from waist up and mistaken for a former linebacker from the Green Bay Packers, she liked to refer to herself as, ‘Big Boned’. She quickly finished her last cookie and touched the corners of her mouth with the tip of her napkin as the lone figure continued.
“I’ve written several stories but always kept them to myself”, the figure continued.
“Several!” the woman in the front row said to no one in particular, beginning to fan herself with her empty plate, scattering crumbs to the bare floor.
“I wrote one recently and actually shared it with a select group of people.”
“Oh my!” the woman said and fanned herself faster.
“And I’m here because… well… I wrote another.”
The woman gasped loudly and the murmurs of the group followed her direction. Nearly beating the paper plate to pieces, the woman vehemently increased her fanning.
“The first story seemed to take on a life of its own. It spawned ideas of several more.”
“Several more!” the woman exclaimed as the paper plate tore and bent.
“The second one is even longer than the first. More than twice the size.”
“Oh my dear Lord!” the woman yelled as parts of the plate flew off and hit the person sitting next to her.
“And… I don’t think I can stop…”, the lone figure said as his head fell and he looked straight to the floor.
At this, the woman let out a scream and her arms flew straight up in the air as her head flung back. Then her arms flopped to her sides as she slumped down into her seat and her head fell forward. Several people came to her aid. Chaos ensued. People rushing for water, trying to stop her from falling to the floor, the man in Birkenstocks asked if anyone had any medical background.
The lone figure stood with his head hung low. He said in a hushed tone, almost embarrassed to admit, “I actually brought the second story with me.”
The group froze and collectively looked at the lone figure. The woman, still slumped in her chair, strained to open her left eye without being seen. The figure stood ashamed and alone in front of the hushed crowd.
The woman looked around with her one opened eye and then slowly straightened up and cleared her throat. The crowd ignored her movements and continued to stare at the figure. Adjusting her hat, the woman said, “Well, since you actually brought the story, I think it’s our duty to confiscate it for your own good.”
The others turned to look at the woman but said nothing. “And we should make sure that there is nothing in it that is vile or unsuitable in this… ‘story’ of yours.” The others began to murmur in agreement. “And the only way we can do that… is to… read it.”
The group looked at the woman quietly. A half full paper cup of coffee fell to the floor from someone’s hands but no one noticed. They were all too busy mulling the woman’s words over in their heads. They began to look to one another for some direction, some advice on how to react.
The woman sat upright, hands in her lap and moved her eyes left and right. With her eyebrows raised she turned her head slightly. She then looked at the lone figure whose chin was still against his chest reached out her hand and said, “…Well?”
