People didn’t know what they’d be losing when this placed closed, Nostalgia sighed. It wasn’t a video store, it was a video library. You didn’t come here to buy, you came to borrow, to learn. Movies belong on shelves, not only can you browse at your leisure, you are literally forced to browse, there’s no other way to find what you want, what you don’t want or what you don’t know you do want.
He had started the place way back when, split the store between VHS and Betamax, Beta faded but VHS survived, laserdiscs came and went and now the place was full of DVDs. But it wasn’t the form the movies took that he loved. Buying a movie for ten bucks at the gas station? Streaming them at home? You don’t know what movies you’re missing anymore! Until you’ve desperately stalked those isles on a Saturday night, turning to someone to exasperatedly hiss “Well have you seen this?!” you wont know the thrill of discovery, of finding a film you never knew you didn’t know about.
He would miss it.
They would miss it.
You never really know until you know, he mused, and then it’s too late.
Instalment Thirty Five
“Always have to be right? Always have to be right?” Persnickety exclaimed, rising from her chair and smoothing out the wrinkles from her skirt as she did so. “I don’t always have to be right. You are making it sound as if me being right is a requirement. That I deliberately bend the facts, that I distort the truth to become right out of necessity. That being right is something I have to have, a need, an addiction, a truth tablet I must pop once a day. That is just not true. I don’t have to be right, I don’t happen to be right. Simply put – I am right. There were facts involved and I knew them. You did not know them and now you offhandedly imply that I am at fault, that I have a character flaw because I know what I say, when I say it. It isn’t even so much that I am always right, it is that I am never wrong. It is called being smart. Next time please just say, There goes Persnickety, she is constantly correct, she doesn’t have to be correct, she just is.”
And with that Persnickety triumphantly exited the job interview.
And with that Persnickety triumphantly exited the job interview.
Instalment Thirty Four
We called all her boyfriends 'Rings' because she wrapped each one of them around her little finger, just to prove she could. But this new guy she was seeing, he was cut from a different cloth, we could tell from her reports of their very first dinner.
“It was a date which will live in infamy,” she exploded at brunch the next day, “He made me split the bill and after that he didn’t even try to sleep with me!”
Of course she went back for more.
She tried the old ‘three-calls-from-him' to 'one-call-from-her' power grab but he paid it no mind.
Then, when in place of an engagement ring presented on bended knee, he pretended to punch her with a custom set of brass knuckles in her size, we all thought it was curtains for him. Not only did she accept his proposal, she proudly sported the unorthodox sign of betrothal everyday saying, “He calls me his li’l slugger.”
“But you wont really be taking his name will you?” we asked, “You always said you would be Ms Andry forever.”
“Forget boring Ms Andry,” she said, “From now on we will be as one, I will be Ms Ogyny.”
“It was a date which will live in infamy,” she exploded at brunch the next day, “He made me split the bill and after that he didn’t even try to sleep with me!”
Of course she went back for more.
She tried the old ‘three-calls-from-him' to 'one-call-from-her' power grab but he paid it no mind.
Then, when in place of an engagement ring presented on bended knee, he pretended to punch her with a custom set of brass knuckles in her size, we all thought it was curtains for him. Not only did she accept his proposal, she proudly sported the unorthodox sign of betrothal everyday saying, “He calls me his li’l slugger.”
“But you wont really be taking his name will you?” we asked, “You always said you would be Ms Andry forever.”
“Forget boring Ms Andry,” she said, “From now on we will be as one, I will be Ms Ogyny.”
Instalment Thirty Three
In 2011 the Variola Vera virus, better know as smallpox, responsible for the death of 300 million people in the 20th century alone, was declared eradicated by the World Health Organisation (WHO).
WHO had initiated a global smallpox eradication campaign in 1967. Routine smallpox vaccination in the United States concluded in 1972 and the final round of vaccinations across the world were undertaken in 1977.
There were still two known repositories of the virus were left, at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia and the State Research Center of Virology and Biotechnology (VECTOR) in Koltsovo, Russia.
It was never made public if they were the source of the mutated strain of smallpox that swept the world like wildfire, or if it was a terrorist act, either way the result was the same.
Global lethal pandemic that killed indiscriminately, except for those individuals inoculated in the 70s.
For a brief while a smallpox scar on the shoulder was a thing of pride, something that marked you as special, a survivor.
Then reality set in.
The year was 2026 and the youngest person on the planet was 49, though in years to come they became known only as The Parents.
WHO had initiated a global smallpox eradication campaign in 1967. Routine smallpox vaccination in the United States concluded in 1972 and the final round of vaccinations across the world were undertaken in 1977.
There were still two known repositories of the virus were left, at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia and the State Research Center of Virology and Biotechnology (VECTOR) in Koltsovo, Russia.
It was never made public if they were the source of the mutated strain of smallpox that swept the world like wildfire, or if it was a terrorist act, either way the result was the same.
Global lethal pandemic that killed indiscriminately, except for those individuals inoculated in the 70s.
For a brief while a smallpox scar on the shoulder was a thing of pride, something that marked you as special, a survivor.
Then reality set in.
The year was 2026 and the youngest person on the planet was 49, though in years to come they became known only as The Parents.
Instalment Thirty Two
Don’t look under the bed, the child shivered. Never look under the bed.
Why? I asked, it’s only a bed.
Under there, the child stammered, that’s were they live.
Who lives?
The Dust Bunnies!
I bent down to look, chuckling, dust bunnies!
Don’t move anything, he said, it disturbs them.
Funny kid, just doesn’t want to clean his room so invented this story.
But still, those scratches on his arms…
Under the bed was the mess I expected, shoes, boxes, clothes and comics, all covered in a film of dust.
Don’t disturb them, he whispered.
I puffed my cheeks and blew, sending a cloud of dust into the darkness.
There’s nothing under here but mess, I said.
Then it happened.
Movement.
From of the corner of my eye I caught it.
They’re here, squeeked the child
Darting back by the bedhead.
One, two, three, ten!
Multiplying, breeding like… rabbits?
They surged, not so much fur but matted hair and grime, clawing, biting.
I fell, covered in dust bunnies. Flailing, my hand grasped the vacuum I had present the boy earlier that day. I switched it on.
Vanquished.
That’s why we keep our room clean, I said daubing blood from my forehead.
Why? I asked, it’s only a bed.
Under there, the child stammered, that’s were they live.
Who lives?
The Dust Bunnies!
I bent down to look, chuckling, dust bunnies!
Don’t move anything, he said, it disturbs them.
Funny kid, just doesn’t want to clean his room so invented this story.
But still, those scratches on his arms…
Under the bed was the mess I expected, shoes, boxes, clothes and comics, all covered in a film of dust.
Don’t disturb them, he whispered.
I puffed my cheeks and blew, sending a cloud of dust into the darkness.
There’s nothing under here but mess, I said.
Then it happened.
Movement.
From of the corner of my eye I caught it.
They’re here, squeeked the child
Darting back by the bedhead.
One, two, three, ten!
Multiplying, breeding like… rabbits?
They surged, not so much fur but matted hair and grime, clawing, biting.
I fell, covered in dust bunnies. Flailing, my hand grasped the vacuum I had present the boy earlier that day. I switched it on.
Vanquished.
That’s why we keep our room clean, I said daubing blood from my forehead.
Instalment Thirty One
The two old men began their second lap of the park, as was their daily routine. While their first lap of the park always contained a few lively moments, it was that second lap around that they lived for. Gnarled and bent, they took time with each step, resting on their canes to comment on the surroundings.
“There’s that dirty wop again,” Epithet shouted to the hard of hearing Pejorative.
“That little so-and-so is still eyeing us off,” came the even louder reply.
The ever so slightly dark-haired, anglo-saxon gentleman reading the paper on a park bench looked up, as he had done an hour before, and said “Oh do fuck off!”
“That damn dago just mouthed off at us!” Epithet screamed pointing his cane.
“Stinkin’ eyetie!” howled Pejorative.
“Look, I understand you were raised in different times,” the set upon man began, “but this simply isn’t on, please refrain.”
“I most certainly am not from the Ukraine you greasy bastard, come over here and I’ll whip your hide,” Epithet spat.
By now a crowd had gathered at the spectacle, a feat the old men managed almost daily, providing them with future fodder once they had finished with the spiv.
“There’s that dirty wop again,” Epithet shouted to the hard of hearing Pejorative.
“That little so-and-so is still eyeing us off,” came the even louder reply.
The ever so slightly dark-haired, anglo-saxon gentleman reading the paper on a park bench looked up, as he had done an hour before, and said “Oh do fuck off!”
“That damn dago just mouthed off at us!” Epithet screamed pointing his cane.
“Stinkin’ eyetie!” howled Pejorative.
“Look, I understand you were raised in different times,” the set upon man began, “but this simply isn’t on, please refrain.”
“I most certainly am not from the Ukraine you greasy bastard, come over here and I’ll whip your hide,” Epithet spat.
By now a crowd had gathered at the spectacle, a feat the old men managed almost daily, providing them with future fodder once they had finished with the spiv.
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