WRITERS' STORIES | General Fiction

Web Chat

About the web, about us as humans by Srecko Zitnik Published on: 4. March 2010
Viewed (315) times by readers.

“Hey man, you can't live without internet, can't you? As a fact, your whole life is inside that box, isn't it? Ok, this was a joke. You have your life, and it's outside of the computer, am I right? You are just temporarily hooked up, with no intention to spend your life in a front of the screen, whatsoever. You just need some time to post some replies, to make some updates, close some accounts and so one. I believe you, don't worry. After all, who am I?“

“Yeah, who the hell are you and why are you telling me this? My business is internet, and my business is my life. Mind your own business man, leave me alone!“

“No, I won't leave you alone. You are alone, already. You probably like to be alone. That's why you are online, at first place.“

“Who, me? Oh, no! I'm not alone! I've got lot of friends. I've got family, friends, so many of them!“

“Really?! Didn't know that. Tell me where are your friends, when did you see them last time?“

“What do you mean?!“

“You know what I mean. When did you last time spoke with any of your friends?“

“Well, if you really want to know, I just had a nice chat with a few of my friends and they were really curious about what…“

“Hey, hey, stop for a moment, will you! Are we talking here about the online friends, that you think you have, or about your real friends that are online at the moment?“

“Oh, man, you are something! Of course they are my real friends. They exist, just like you. But, they don't bother other people. Unlike you, they are nice people, with the nice manners…“

“Oh, I know what you mean! I have some nice friends, too. I have a lot of friends at MySpace, Facebook, everywhere.“

“Here we go! What did I tell you! You see?“

“Yeah, sure. I am a happy guy having so many friends. I am so happy, especially when my friends send me some beautiful images with links all around, and I press them and they take me at different places where I can buy my friends products. Oh, Gosh how I love to help my friends to earn some money, really do! They must be a truly friends sending me these nice little images all the time.“

“That's mean, man, so mean!“

“No, it's not, really! My friends are great! And they are so polite, they don't even try to tell me that they're selling something, isn't that cool?“

“Come on…man! What's wrong with the selling? Everyone wants to sell something, so what? Doesn't mean they don't care about you? I am also trying to sell something. I've just came up with a new product! As a fact, I'm building a new landing page, and this blog I have, I just need to…“

“Ok, ok! I got you. I see where you heading. Making money online! I just love the issue. Don't say anything more about, you probably calculating keywords right now. Am I right?“

“Well…“

“Well what?! Are you on the way to get rich, or not? Come on, be a pall. Tell me about it. Let me hear your dirty little secrets, ha?“

“Well…it's not so easy, you know. There's a lot to do, and I need some more time to make everything work. You see, I was on this SEO webinar and it was so great, and there's this guy, you know, he's a really great guy…“

“Don't tell me! He's willing to share his secrets with you?“

“Yeah, how did you know?!“

“No, I was just guessing. It's fisherman.“

“Who?!“

“Fisherman, the guy.“

“What guy? No, this guy's name was Marcus or something, I don’t remember right now…“

“No, I mean it was a Fisherman, that guy, whoever he is. He is Fisherman and you are the fish!“

“What's that suppose to mean?“

“Look, just try to type a word "money" or "making money online" at Google, Yahoo or elsewhere, and what happens? You'll get millions of pages and millions of linking sites and products about your query. Seems to me that money is the number one selling product as well as the number one buying product on the planet. Ha, ha!“

“So…!?“

“So, nobody cares why they are selling you this "money making" product. You got to look this way, pall. They are selling you "selling"!? Why they are doing that, why? Can't you see? It's because they can't make really money by really selling real things. So they sell you "selling dream". And that's the best product they come up with! Yeah, surely the best product ever. And still everyone is immediately hooked up!“

“…?“

“Yeah, I know, I'm speechless, too. And if they can't make money, they sell you "selling" and you buy this "selling" and then what?! You can't sell anything, either. So, finally you end up with nothing, except lost time and money! So you start selling this "selling" thing to someone else, to gain back your losses.“

“I don't know, man, it sounds ...“

“Yeah, I know how it sounds. It sounds like "money word", "keyword", "PPC", "SEO", "affiliate", "niche", "automoney" or any other word. The most powerful of all "Fast Money" sellers are those with these featuring keywords. They are most successful fisherman in the Web Ocean. They catch easy fishes like you every single day. They do it with very sophisticated and nicely looking hook that shines like a gold, using a simple green bite (a big double striped "S" one) and keep fishing wherever and whenever they want.“

“ (LOL)! “

“You just keep on smiling. There is a plenty of fish everywhere in the Web Ocean, my friend. And there are no possibilities to endanger or extinct this population of the species (that means - you). But, they are just one link in a chain, although a very important one. Their job is to keep the ocean alive and to keep the permanent hunger by feeding the fishes with the crumbs from their plates.“

“That's funny, you know! Keep talking, you're really amusing!“

“And you know what?“

“What?“

“These fisherman, they are just a small fishes like you, also!“

“How come?“

“'Cause they are fed with the crumbs from the Webmaster's plate.“

(LOL)
“And who are the "Webmasters"?“

“ "Webmasters" are the Masters in true meaning of the word. They invented the web at first place. People who own big web companies are the masters of the Web Universe, in a way, Gods. We all know their respectable names. They invented it, and not just that. They invented viruses and reinvented antiviruses, bugs and updates, first versions of their software and the every second one to keep you alive, so called "updated", so that you won't escape, you won't die out there. They invented, own it and exploit it all, from the first day and forever. And when they die, they'll leave it to their children's children, and so one. Have no doubts about it! Their famous motto "Web belongs to all of us" is a bed time story, and we all go sleep every night believing in that story, with the same big smile on our faces. We are happy, they are happy, fisherman is happy, everybody's happy! The whole world is happy!“

“Wow! You are crazy guy, you know! Anyway, what's wrong with being happy?“

“Nothing's wrong, if you think you're happy. Are you?“

“Well, I'm happy right now, I must tell you that!“

“Are you really? Are you really going to say to me that you like the things are going on, on this planet, in this very moment? I don’t think so. I would say, you are disappointed too, just like me. But you can't do anything about it, you can't make things changed.“

“Oh, now we are talking global, ha? And why is that so? Why can't we change the things they are?“

“Can't we?! Or, maybe we don’t want to? Maybe we like the way the things are? Maybe we like to be hooked, to be fished, and catch some crumbs along by. Maybe we need our dreams. Maybe we can't live without our dreams.“

“Now, we're talking!“

“Yes, but, what would happened, just imagine, if we could pulled out our cables from that monster, just for a day, week or even month!? Just to go offline for a while, to unplugged this misery of virtual life for a second and go outside among the real people, real us!“

“Sounds good, man!“

“Think about it, would it be great? And don't you forget, Web is not a virtual, it's a real. You could be seriously hurt over there, emotionally, financially, in any way! Think about this for a moment, will you?“

“Yeah, I'm thinking, I'm thinking …“

“So, what do you see now?“

“Let me see…hmm…I see a LOSER! You!“ (LOL)

“Ok, you disagree. You think I am a loser, it's easy to be a looser and for losers, there is no place on the web. So, you must be a winner, a natural born winner, ha?“

“Hmm, sounds good...“

“ You know every how to, every where and when, you are not like me, you have all essentials in your hand, all the facts, all and more! Yes, you are the man!“

“I'm the man!“

“Yes, I must admit, I am defeated, I am a failure. You're the boss! You are 'KNOWHOW"!“

“Knowhow?! I like that!

“Now my "boss", let me go back for a moment at the beginning of your "making money online" story. This is "stuff" you like, I bet!“

“Yes, how did you know?!“

“ Well, I’ll go right to the point. This is something deeper than a simple tale, something more real, ok. Here we go!
There is no chance for you to seriously make any money online if you are not highly qualified, highly educated in informatics, computer science, or whatever you want to call it. You have to be a computer software guru and freshly updated with the tons and tons of materials. This is something that nobody will tell you, at least no one from the other side of your game board, but it's a fact. Face it!“

“I'm faced!“

“Computer knowledge, software and computer languages, and everything that goes with it (and everything goes, believe me) is just a part of the "Easy Making Money" story. Marketing is another big part, too. Basic education and intelligence of the person, another. Time and money that goes with it, another one. Some of the mentioned are the specialties for which you have to finish a few colleges. For another you need experience, which cost you time and money. You can't do it from a scratch. "Scratch" is a big lie! There is no scratch in a life. The only one was when you were born!“

“I was born without a scratch! Really, my mom told me!“

“It's not funny, man. Face it, you are alone out there!“

“I am?“

“Yes, you are.“

“So, now what? I kill myself?!“

“Hey, but don't worry, you are not alone! Here am I! I'll help you.“

“Will you? Lucky me! How?“

“It's easy. The only thing you have to do is to take that piece of wire hanging out of your lovely PC machine and cut it! They will be cut off, and you could become someone's real friend...let's say mine, for a start!“

“Wow! Now we are talking! Your friend. Let me see...your true friend?!“

“Why not!“

“Ok, cut the crap, man!“

“No, you cut the wire!“

“No, man seriously, you really mean what you're saying? And what do you think I suppose to do right now? Leave everything, just like that?!“

“Yes…but first you have to try to look at the big picture! “

“The BIG PICTURE?!“

“That's right. In this case, it means that EVERYTHING YOU SEE, HEAR OR YOU'RE INVOLVED IN, AT THE WEB, IS JUST INSIDE OF THAT PICTURE, that box, hard disc or this temporary connection you have, and that’s it. There is nothing more to it. The World is outside, not inside, can’t you see?! Your wife, son or daughter, your mother, father or your friend is waiting for your look, for turning your eyes away from that window, for a moment, for a day, forever maybe?“

“Wow, I don't know about that!“

“You see, I told you, you can't! You became a machine! A machine connected with a thousands of tweets, feeds, comments and updates, logins and logouts, sources and shares, classifieds and emails, blogs and posts, url's and ftp's, groups and supports, patches and crawlers, links and filters…and no one can stop you.“

“ (LOL)“

“Nobody has right to stop you, either. One could become an anti-social element, trying to stop you. The whole world is gone upside down, whole world! I just wonder about a poor skinny child from some deserted part of the planet - does he know what even television set is, a computer? Does he need any of that stuff to feed the hunger, to heal the pain in those big blurry eyes? I don’t know. Maybe we deserve such a self destructive end of the humanity?!“

“We do, I know!“

“Yeah, we probably do. To poison our own future…well, that’s us! Nothing new about it.“

“Nothing new.“

“You know, someone once said; the better I get to know men, the more I find myself loving dogs!“

“I know the guy. He's name is Fischer, Martin H.!“

“Yeah, that's the guy! What a true!“

“Yeah, maybe he's fisherman, too?! You know, Fischer…Fisherman, who can trust the guy with such a name?!“

“Get the hell out of here! You are really something, you know! You make me sick, sometimes. You are acting destructive right now, don't you know that?“

“It's true, I am destructive. I like to be destructive. I'm a true-born anarchist!“

“I bet you are. You are making a fun of me, and you know I'm right!“

“No, I mean it! I am!“

“Well, we are all destructive, not just you, and not just for ourselves. We are hurting our mother Earth, hurting badly. And she is going to fight back some day, maybe soon.“

“She is?!“

“Yeah, she is going to shake us from her back like a bunch of fleas...just like that!“

“And then what?“

“Then, we are going to cry...yes, cry like a babies, wondering what happened, why, whom to blame, who's going to help us?“

“And who is going to be so stupid to help us, what do you think?“

“Well, Martians maybe! Or, maybe God, in whom we trust so much!“

“Yes, that’s it! God! He's the only one who doesn’t care if we sin, he forgives. He's the only one we can count on.“

“ Maybe. Although I doubt that we will wait for that moment, that we will not prevail, change, change things and prevail.“

“Aha, what did I tell you! I knew you are a true believer in a human race!“

“I am! After all I'm just a man, full of optimism and hope for humanity. I wish that same lies in each of us, and I just wish that every bad turns out good.“

“Now, I really don't need mother Earth, you make me cry already!“

“I hear your cynicism, all right. So, if you don’t want to turn back from your "links", don’t worry, I will survive!“

“Web will survive, man. Web!“

“Yeah…I know…sad!“

“Oh, come on, don't you die on me now! You are a great thinker, you know! You almost got me! I was nearly ready to give up on everything!“

“Did you really?“

“Yes, man. I almost cut the wire in one moment. If you weren't there…who knows!“

“You're kid'n me, right?“

“No, man, seriously! I believe in you. I believe in everything you've just said. And I'm going to reconsider the whole matter, really! If you are right, it means that whole world is wrong, and it's a hell of the fact! Shocking! Amazing thing! You should start thinking to write a book about the stuff, you know!“

“Think so?! Oh, I don't know, I didn't have any thoughts about a book.“

“Yeah, sure! A book! Maybe an article…for a start!“

“You know, I have to be honest, I was thinking about article or two, maybe just a few short ones, for a beginning, just to feel the market, you know!“

“Wow, now we talking! You know what? I got some great ideas that I picked up from this guy I was told you about…“

“Really, can't wait to hear, what…can you send me some text or something?“

“Are you kid'n me! I've got tons of scripts, pdf's, whole bunch of stuff! We can make money of it, piece of cake!“

“Great, I was hoping you'd say something like that…“

“Something?! Wait 'till you see this stuff I'm sanding you! You'll be online tonight, will you?“

“Oh, sure! Don't worry about that. I'm online, sure I'm online. I was born online. I'll fuck’n die online, man!“

“That's a speech! See you pall, over and out!“

“I hardly wait! Roger, over and out!“

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General Fiction

Tori

(Cert:U) The story is about the relationship between a mother and daughter and how the fateful events in their lives are interconnected. by Mark Patrick Published on: 22. December 2009
Viewed (801) times by readers.

“Sweetheart, it’s 7:10 already, you gotta get up.”  After she turned on the light, Sharon left the door open and went back to her bathroom.  She woke up late too and was rushing for the 7:47 bus.  She looked in the mirror undecided if she should laugh or scream that her hair never flowed right when she was in a hurry.  Instead she gave up and went in the kitchen to make a bag lunch for her daughter.   More...

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Early Checkout

Cert:(PG) General Fiction by Nat Johnson Published on: 20. November 2009
Viewed (492) times by readers.

Todd Thompson was a nice guy, but a chronic dreamer; his naiveté and increasingly odd behavior at home and at work bothered everyone – his parents, his friends and lately, his otherwise tolerant boss. At twenty-four, Todd still lived with his parents, disinclined to survive alone in the outside world. Todd had one supporter: Ellen, his sympathetic, optimistic girl friend. “Todd’s very smart with a good heart,” she’d say. “One day, he’ll do something that will astound all of us.”
Todd Thompson, a tall, handsome man with thick dark hair and large brown eyes, worked part-time at a brokerage in Boston, but the job bored him; his blazing ambition was to be a screenwriter – a prosperous and powerful independent filmmaker – an auteur. More...

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A Toast to Skink

(Cert:PG) by Tom Sheehan Published on: 30. October 2009
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Four stout memories continue with me today of the year 1938, when I was ten years old, blond, looking for the next size boots, positive in my thinking. The summer was warm and soft and languid most of the time¾a riverbank laziness, bare hook in water, mouth of a breeze at my ear, grass like a spread comforter. More...

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Magic Bags and Forgotten Princesses

story of a teacher who chooses to track down an ex-student of his whose tragic end raises questions for him. by Ken Goldman Published on: 16. September 2009
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The article in the morning paper about Denise Duncan covered little more than two inches of column space.   There was no photo,  no mention of her accomplishments, and nothing about what had led her to do what she had done. More...

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Fantasy | General Fiction

Fighting Joe Johnston

(Cert:PG) by Randall W. Pretzer Published on: 16. September 2009
Viewed (254) times by readers.
"Down Goes Johnson!" "Down Goes Johnson" The crowd went wild on both sides as fans of Johnson were outraged and fans of Weatherman were cheering wildly. Johnson had never lost a fight, much less even been knocked down but Weatherman was unlike any fighter Johnson had faced. His trainers had led him on into thinking this fighter was a joke. He struggled to get back up. The count was at 4.…5.…6...and Johnson was on his feet at 8. It was Weatherman's turn to be surprised.
He couldn't understand how anyone, even Johnson, could have taken that kind of punishment but Johnson was standing realizing his first mistake, underestimating your opponent. However, Johnson had one serious problem. He used everything that had worked on previous fighters before and it didn't work on weatherman. Johnson sensed he was losing the fight and had about 4 rounds to go. He needed a knockout he felt but how? He had little time as the referee studied his eyes and checked him and Johnson said "Okay…..I'm okay…ready."
The fight was on again, Johnson kept backing away and away from Weatherman. He hit like a tank but moved like a snail. Johnson was quick on his feet and could hit hard but so far not hard enough to have any effect on Weatherman. What to do thought Johnson. The bell rang and luckily the last hit Weatherman scored on Johnson was the one that knocked Johnson down.
"You got him……all you have to do is keep hitting him….he's all ours.." Marky said, trainer for Weatherman.

"Make sure he can't breath…..then shut his mouth…..with an uppercut…it sent him down that last time…it will send him down again.." Ronny said, promotor for Weatherman.
"What the hell are you doing out there….?" Marcian said, trainer for Johnson.
"I am not sure yet….." Johnson said bitterly looking right at Marcian feeling betrayed.
"You better think of something quick….this guy's gonna kill you.." Marcian said.
Johnson had only one trainer and no promoter. Marcian was manager and trainer in one.
"You got any suggestions?" Johnson yelled at Marcian.
"You think this is my fault? Where do you get off….fuck you." Marcian said.
"I will fight my own fight then…..you just stay out of my way…" Johnson said.
"You're finished…." Marcian stepped down from the corner and pushed his away through the crowd. Johnson was alone and knew it. It was about the time for the 12th round. There were three more rounds to go.

The bell rang and Weatherman and Johnson both went at it in the middle of the ring. Johnson did his best to stay clear of weatherman in hopes of finding a weak spot but not getting knocked down again. Johnson did his trademark dance, moving around and around Weatherman and trying to catch Weatherman with a left Jab or a right, but it was to no avail. Johnson couldn't get close enough without risking getting knocked down. Weatherman only needed to hit Johnson once or twice in the face or stomach and he would be down. Weatherman moved in as close he could but Johnson was too quick for him. He stay clear and circled the ring throwing jabs left and right when he could get close and missing. Johnson noticed started to notice something. In the first few rounds Weatherman had thrown several punches that Johnson was able to avoid easily but Weatherman wasn't throwing as many punches and infact it looked as if he was managing to throw less than half of what he did before. Johnson had three more rounds to go and so far was losing the fight. He noticed now that Weatherman was getting tired and unable to hold up his fists as he use to earlier in the round. This made him vulnerable to a faster fighter's punches. Johnson gambled and came in close to Weatherman and started throwing left and right jabs to Weatherman's body.
Johnson found himself landing almost all of them and Weatherman faught back by trying to land a few punches on the back of Johnson. It didn't work, Johnson then quickly backed away and Weatherman moved in closer and threw as many punches as he could muster but they all missed. Johnson knew what he had to do. His gamble had worked, Weatherman was not the same as in the previous rounds. The onslaught he gave to Johnson was too much. Weatherman didn't count on Johnson being able to get back up and now he had used up his energy. Johnson appeared to be in pristine condition even after the beating he had taken up to now. He moved into Weatherman again and punched him in the stomach as much as he could before he felt Weatherman would start his onslaught and Johnson repeated this until the end of the 12th round. He didn't knock down Weatherman but he didn't intend to…not this round. Johnson did know that he had to knock out Weatherman or he would lose by decision. He was far behind in points. Weatherman had landed most of the punches he had thrown. Johnson had 3 more rounds to do it. Weatherman was big but Johnson felt he had enough strength to knock the guy down.
Johnson used the right jab, his best jab and continued to go for the body. Weatherman still refused to go down but was unable to return any punches. Johnson was sure now that maybe he had Weatherman. However, Weatherman did something in the last minuted unexpectedly. He backed away against the ropes, started dancing like Ali and skillfully avoided Johnson's punches. Johnson couldn't understand where Weatherman got this energy for he looked fatigued in the middle of the round but now he was moving and Johnson couldn't hit him. The bell rang.
It was the end of the 12th round. Fighters went in the ring alone but had cut men, trainers and managers by their side in the corner. Johnson this time had nobody. He had thought he knew what to do during the 12th round going it alone but at the end of it he was lost and feeling a bit fatigued. What to do now? Where to go? He didn't know this fighter, his trainer didn't know him and the audience didn't either and it looked as though Johnson was going down in the next round. Weatherman seemed a little more vulnerable but then switched tactics. Johnson watched him in the corner and it looked as though Weatherman was gaining strength and most of his energy back. A minute left before the 13th round. Johnson wasn't going to be ready for the next round. He had no ideas. He was a fighter, not Ali and his corner led him. The bell rang.
Weatherman came out swinging as he did the first round, landing punches to Johnson's body this time but not his face. Johnson couldn't understand that. Johnson was a small guy, short guy and not a big heavy weight, you didn't weaken a guy like him with shots to the body but a good hook or an upper cut to the head. Johnson didn't return any punches but just felt the guy out as he tried to in the 12th round but couldn't find a weak point. He was a mystery. The body shots were starting to take their toll on him anyway, the guy hit hard and one time Johnson briefly lost his breath and was up against the ropes. The referee paused the fight to check Johnson and Johnson nodded he was fine as he held his gut. Johnson had to stay away. He thought his body could take it but that last shot was too much. Johnson attempted to mimic Weatherman from the 12th round but Weatherman kept up with him and got the shots to the body. Johnson felt his legs slowly giving away and he couldn't move away quick enough. One minute left and it was obvious to everyone that Johnson was hurt as he was holding his gut but still moving away.
Weatherman suddenly switched tactics on Johnson and attempted a combination of a right hook and a left jab. He scored a hit on Johnson's temple with the hook but missed with the jab. Johnson's legs gave away and he fell forward down on the campus flat on his stomach.
"And down goes Johnson…down goes Johnson." The announcer screamed.
He tried to get up first with his hands and then his legs but his legs were too weak. He heard the 10 count. "It is over…..Weatherman is the new champion of the world with a KO of Joe Johnson." The announcer screamed. Johnson slowly got up and then staggered to his corner…..alone.

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General Fiction

Under the Texaco Star

(Cert:PG) My grandfather owned a Texaco gas station for thirty years and finally realized that full service gas stations were a thing of the past. by Earl Tuengel Published on: 16. September 2009
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Mac was sitting in the cool shade of his old filling station. On hot dusty day's like

this, it was his favorite spot. The car's that used to stop by for gas were now just

speeding on past, raising cloud's of dust that would swirl in the wind and then

eventually settle on everything, including Mac. The hot sun had now climbed it's

way high into the sky, and the breeze had chased the morning cloud's away and

left only the clear blue sky above. Must be around noon, he thought.

  As the car's sped by, sometime's the occupant's would wave or honk when they

recognized Mac sitting in the shade. As the sun moved higher, Mac adjusted his

hat to keep the sun out of his eye's. He began to think about all those new gas

station's down the hill in town. They all looked like they were brand spanking new.

Just like they were built yesterday. They were clean, bright and surrounded by neon

light's that would light up the night and make the gas station's look almost like some

kind of oasis. They were alway's white and  you had to have key's just to get into the

bathroom's. They sold stuff like beer, candy, chip's and every kind of soda pop that

a person could imagine.

  Mac's old filling station was dirty, grimy, dusty and surrounded by empty oil drum's

and worn out tire's. The old Texaco sign on the front of the building did not even light

up anymore. Mac only sold one brand of soda pop, but it came in three different

flavor's. Root beer, Orange, and some new kind of strawberry flavor. In the summer

time, Mac would move his old soda pop cooler inside the station so that it would be

out of the hot sun. He looked over at the old Mail Pouch thermometer. He now had to

squint a little and saw that it was already 92 degree's.

  Those new gas station's don't even smell like gas station's, he thought. Mac's gas

station smelled like oil and gas and exhaust and worn out old tire's. It was musty and

would get so hot on the inside during the summer, that the oil that had built up over

the year's on the floor would get slick and begin to stick to the bottom's of all of the

customer's shoe's. Layer's of dust were piled on the windowsill's and in every corner

of the building. Big dusty cobweb's were clinging to the rafter's and had long since

been abandoned by the spider's who had carefully spun them.

  Every month, the tall skinny candy salesman, whose hair was somehow magnetic and

stood straight up and alway's leaned a little to the north, would come pulling into the

station, making sure to run over the long black hose that stretched between the pump's.

The bell would ring, making Mac think he had a customer. But it was just the candy guy

stopping by to extol the virtue's of selling candy, gum and now even baseball card's. He

had even offered to put in a vending machine and split the profit's with Mac. But, Mac

did not want to sell candy. If he did, he would have to install an air conditioner just to try

and keep the candy from melting. Mac could not afford something like that.

  Mac sold gas. He repaired car's. He fixed tire's. He changed oil. He even had his own

sticker's to put in the corner of people's windshield's to remind them of their next oil

change. He paid good money for those sticker's, and now they were covered with dust,

just like everything else.

  Mac was a big guy. Six-two or six-three. Dark skinned and alway's with a couple day's

of grey stubble on his face. He'd worn the same Texaco hat for several year's. Everytime

the Texaco salesman came by, he would offer Mac a brand new hat, but Mac liked the hat

he had just fine. He alway's wore grey striped overall's and steel toed boot's that he would

use to kick the tire's on the customer's car's. He was still checking people's oil, washing

their window's, checking their water and also their transmission fluid.

  But nowaday's, most people did not want Mac checking their fluid's or washing their

window's. They were alway's in a great big hurry. They did not seem to care if they were a

quart low on oil. Or a little low on water. Or if their tire's needed a little bit of air. They would

speed in and speed out. No time for small talk. No time to sit in the shade and pass the time

of day with Mac. Ask him how he was doing. Or how the wife was. Or what the kid's were

doing now. No time to enjoy a cold bottle of pop and a little small talk. No time to insult the

Arab's or the Governor.  No time to bad mouth the Federal government, he thought. As Mac

sat there in the shade of his filling station, he began to think the world was somehow passing

him by.

  He thought about that one gas station in town that would sometime's have a big dancing

Bear standing out beside the road, holding up a sign. Mac had never bothered to read the

sign. He was too busy wondering what the hell a dancing Bear had to do with selling gas.

Or changing oil. Or fixing tire's. He thought about the picture hanging in the hallway of him

and the kid's standing with Smokey the Bear at the County fair. That was a Bear with a little

bit of pride, he thought to himself. The kind of Bear that would never be caught dancing

around out on the sidewalk in front of a gas station.

  The afternoon sun had moved now and Mac was only partially in the shade. He got up and

moved his chair to a spot where he knew that he would be shaded for at least a couple of

more hour's. He leaned forward and pulled a greasy rag out of the back pocket of his

overall's and wiped the sweat off of his forehead, leaving a small streak of grease just over

the top of his eye's.

  At one time Mac repaired more car's than almost anyone in the whole county. Real car's

with real name's. Comet's, Zephyr's,Galaxie's,Roadmaster's, Belvedere's and Falcon's.

Car's that were built good and built to last. Built in Detroit with American steel. Built like

army tank's. Family heirloom's that would be handed down from one generation to the next.

Car's that most people would include in their will's, along with their house's or their farm's.

Car's big enough to conceive a child in. Car's with trunk's big enough to hold at least two or

three people comfortably, if you were going to the Drive-Inn movie theatre. Car's with no

plastic. No fiberglass. No computer's. No idiot light's and no air bag's.

  Mac looked up at the old Texaco sign hanging above the bay door's. A bird had built a pretty

good sized nest on top of the sign, and one side of the sign was covered with quite a bit of

bird shit. Several time's he had thought about grabbing the water hose and trying to wash the

bird shit off of the sign. But that would only cause friction between him and the mother bird.

The bird's were the only steady customer's he had anymore, he thought. The nest was now

in the shade and the baby bird's were peering over the side's of the nest, chirping and trying

to flap their wing's. Soon they would be flying away, he thought.

  He looked out at the road and began to think about his own kid's. All eleven of them. Three

of the boy's in the Navy. His beautiful daughter's all married and gone now. He thought about

how quiet the filling station had become without all those kid's of his to liven up the place.

  The school bus used to stop right there in front of the filling station. Half of the kid's on the

bus were his. The kid's would run off of the bus and then the driver would smile and wave at

Mac, and then the big yellow bus would head on up the hill. The kid's would talk to their dad

for a few minute's and then run up the hill to the house. After changing their clothes, they

would run just as fast as they could back down the hill and spend a couple of hour's playing

around the station and helping their dad with whatever he was doing. They would sweep the

floor's and wash window's for the customer's. They would fetch a quart of oil when someone

needed a quart of oil. Those daughter's of his would bring flower's down from the house and

put them in empty pop bottle's and sit them on the counter to try and brighten up the place for

their dad.

  In the summertime they would wash people's car's to make a little bit of spending money.

They would spend hour's and hour's working on their bicycle's. Sometime's there would be

so many bicycle's sitting around that a person could hardly walk around the place.

  He looked over at his old tow truck, which was parked on the side of the station, covered

with dust and with one low tire. The kid's used to spend hour's in that old truck pretending

that they were driving and towing car's into the station for their dad to fix. The old tow truck

did nothing now except to provide shade for Mac's dog, Chico. The dog used to spend all

day down at the station with Mac. But nowaday's, the dog seemed to prefer the shade of the

house instead of the shade of the filling station. But he would still manage to saunter down

everyday and spend a little time with Mac. Mac would alway's prop the bathroom door open

so that Chico could get himself a drink whenever he wanted one.

  Just then Mac heard a familiar sound. A sound he had heard almost everyday for thirty

year's. The sound of his wife's car coming down the gravel road from their house on the hill,

and pulling around back of the station. He heard those familiar footstep's.

"Hey, whatcha doin?" she said.

"Sulking. I guess that's what you would call it" Mac said, standing up and stretching.

  Mac's wife, Helen, was still a very good looking woman. Most people could not believe that

she had given birth to all those kid's. She was kind of short, thin and had beautiful long black

hair, without a hint of grey. She alway's wore her blue jean's during the day and her bright red

Texaco shirt's.

"Cheer up" she said. "I got some Salami when I went into town the other day. I even remem-

bered to put some horseradish on it".

"Great. You did'nt put any pickles in there did ya?" said Mac, his thin bony finger's opening

up the brown paper bag and peering inside.

"Nope. Sure did'nt" she said, smiling. "I saw that small pile of dried up pickle's over by the

tow truck".

"Well" he said, "Chico used to eat pickle's".

  Mac reached into the brown paper bag and pulled out his sandwich. The noise aroused

the dog from his nap, and the dog wandered over and began staring at every move that

sandwich made. Helen had only put horseradish on half of the sandwich, knowing that Mac

would only eat half of the sandwich and then share the other half with Chico.

"I put some cookie's in there" said Helen, leaning against the tire machine.

"Good. We like cookie's don't we boy" said Mac looking over at the dog and nodding.

"You really should'nt feed cookie's to the dog, ya know" said Helen.

Mac winked at Chico and Chico smiled back. "We'll take that under advisement" he said,

returning the smile to the dog.

  Just then a car pulled in to the gas pump's, running over the long black hose and causing

the bell to ring inside the office. The sound of the bell reminded Helen of back when the kid's

would ride their bike's back and forth over the hose and causing the bell to ring endlessly

until Mac would yell at the kid's and tell them to knock it off. Helen had alway's hoped that

one of the boy's would take over the station. But, like Mac, she was beginning to realize that

old filling station's like their's were quickly becoming a thing of the past. Nowaday's when

someone needed a tire fixed, they went to a tire store. If they needed their oil changed, they

went to one of those quicky lube place's.

"I'm going over to Becky's house for a little bit. I'll be back in a while" Helen said, walking off

toward's her car.

"Okay" said Mac, hurrying over to help the customer. The customer was a young lady that

Mac had never seen before. After pumping the gas and washing the young lady's window's,

Mac asked her if she would like him to check her water and oil.

"Sure" said the young lady, somewhat surprised.

  She reached down and found the hood latch and gave it a pull. Mac opened the hood and

peered down at the motor, which looked to Mac like it had come out of a spaceship. It was

nothing but a jumble of hose's and wire's, plus they had accidently put the motor in sideway's,

or at least it seemed that way to Mac. He lifted his hat and scratched his head. He checked

the water and then began looking for the dipstick, which he could not see anywhere. Mac

finally asked the young lady if she might happen to know where the dipstick was.

"No, I'm sorry I don't" she said. "To tell you the truth I've never even looked under the hood

before".

  Before long Mac finally found the dipstick and checked the oil, which was fine. He asked the

young lady if there was anything else he could do for her.

"No" she said. "But thank's for the good service. Thank's alot". Then the young lady drove off

down the hill toward's town.

  Mac walked over and grabbed a cold soda out of the big red cooler, and then he went back

and sat down in the shade again. The sun had climbed a little bit higher into the sky, and the

mercury in the old thermometer had creeped up close to 100 degree's.

  A pretty good sized tumbleweed had blown across the road and lodged itself between two

of the bright red gas pump's. Mac began to think back to the day's when he was nothing

more than a bouncing, drifting tumbleweed.

Bouncing around and going anywhere the wind would happen to blow him. He thought back

to that one summer after he got out of the Navy. He had hitch hiked clear across the country.

Across the Mississippi river. Across the Great plain's. Through the Rocky mountain's. And

all the way across the desert and back home. He looked jealously over at that tumbleweed

that was trying to squeeze it's way through the two gas pump's, and began to wonder how

far that tumbleweed had traveled. Mac thought about how much he used to have in common

with that tumbleweed.

  On one side of the station, there was a big pile of old tumbleweed's that had blown into the

station from time to time. Some would blow in right through the front door. Some had blown

into one of the open bay door's. Some, like the tumbleweed Mac was looking at, would blow

in and get lodged up against the pump's. And then some of them would hit the front of the

building so hard that they would literally explode into a thousand piece's.

  Mac would pick up the one's that survived the trip intact, and take them out back and throw

them onto the pile. Sometime's, when a big wind would come up, the wind would scoop up

the tumbleweed's and carry them off down the hill toward's town and they would slowly

disappear over the horizon.  Sitting there in the shade of his old filling station, drinking his

cold soda pop, Mac began to hope that maybe, just maybe, when his time came, he would

go out the same way as those old tumbleweed's. Just disappear over the horizon.

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General Fiction

The Tank

(Cert:PG) About the relationship between a young man and a beautiful Latina girl who grow up on a ranch along the Central California Coast. by Terry Sanville Published on: 16. September 2009
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On the first Sunday home from Iraq, Toby hauls his damaged body up the back hill to the old water tank standing guard over their ranch. Resting in its shade, he sucks in lungfuls of sage-scented air and counts Black Angus scattered across the grassy slopes above the Pacific. The house squats below, shaded by Monterey pines that he and Angelita helped plant years before. Digging into a shirt pocket, he palms two white caplets and downs them with a swig from his canteen.
Smoke curls up from the barbeque pit. A bell rings. His mother hollers, “Toby, come on down.”
“Yeah, Mom. I’ll be right there.”
They’ve come to welcome him back: neighbors, his teachers, former high school buddies with their new wives, guys from the track team, all scattered under the trees. The first keg is history and the second half gone. But after years of living with crowds, Toby savors this solitude. He searches the side of the rusting water tank and finds Toby ♥ Angie, scratched into its dull green paint when they were twelve.More...

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Nothings in Granite

Vista is a ten year old girl who thinks that her family is perfect. She feels that nothing bad can happen to her family since they are protected by the things they own. Fortunately, she learns that bad things do happen to good people. by Shiela Hayes Published on: 1. September 2009
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           Vista remembered looking around the dinner table at her family. Even though she was only ten years old, she could feel the love at this table. She felt they were a close-knit family and nothing could break them apart. That was before the tragedy happened to her.
     Her family took vacations together every summer for one month to the family’s waterfront home in Florida.More...

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Peanut Butter

by Linda Lyons Published on: 9. July 2009
Viewed (1595) times by readers.

I’m not quite The Man in the Iron Mask, but from behind my veil I watch Tom put the mail where he always does and pick up my NetFlix to return.  He’s a good neighbor. Flora will be over later to put away my groceries. She’s a big help. I know she’d like nothing better than to sit and have a coffee and chat, but she understands I can’t do that comfortably, so she chirps away and tries not to stare and then leaves and locks up.More...

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