When the mentally aggravated tell bedtime stories
More snow. This is almost as much fun as living in Montreal Montreal New Jersey Canada Quebec
So, instead of writing a convoluted blog using my incompetent take on the daily news I shall leave you with a section from one of my earlier books. This chapter, called ‘A Little Plagiarism n the Night’, contains a bedtime story that a rather stressed, anxiety ridden father is providing to his three children, hoping that it will help them get to sleep. Lord knows, in his condition, he isn’t going to embrace that realm of consciousness for a long, long time.
A little plagiarism in the night.
Emma stood quietly in front of her father, softly probing his face with her large, round, beautiful brown eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed slightly hunched over, almost at eye level with her. He was in no hurry to move on. He had his three children all to himself, right where he wanted them. His wife was out for the evening and they were all worn out from a very busy day. His oldest stood in front of him, trying to maintain eye contact while keeping her disheveled hair off her face. Paul, the middle child, was sprawled on top of the bed, drawing animal images in the air with his forefinger and Sarah, the youngest, was hiding somewhere nearby.
“Dad?”
“Yes sweetie-pie wonder girl, and love of my life?”
Emma rolled her eyes upward in response to the string of superlatives as she made the first request of the evening, “tonight, no gross stuff, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.” How could he say otherwise to his daughter when she asked so sweetly, or at least while she stood so close?
Having obtained the general ground rules she desired, Emma switched to specifics. “And tonight you have to add some magic characters and make it funny and no mushy, big-time, gross-out stuff like worms coming out of anyone’s mouth, and…, and lots of animals.” After dictating those terms, she thought for a moment. “And make it your own story tonight.”
“You mean no plagiarizing?”
“Right no plager... whatever you…”
Before Emma could finish the sentence, her brother chimed in. “Can you put a dragon in the story tonight? Not a mean dragon, just a nice one who flies all over the world helping children?”
“Yes, of course I can my love.”
“But dad, dragons are animals and magical,” Emma interrupted, turning to her brother. “And Paul, you should know that!” To her father, she continued, “and since I already asked for animals and magic characters, that covers dragons, right?”
From deep under the comforter another voice was heard. “And a princess. Don’t forget a princess.” The request came with a series of under-the-cover kicks to her father’s rear.
“Yes, of course special angel girlfriend,” her father lovingly replied. He scrunched up his face into what he hoped would be a stern visage before continuing. “Now, any more instructions or can I begin? Don’t forget we have to save some of the story for me to tell.” At that the children stopped chattering, and waited for their father to begin.
Francesco sat quietly for a few moments, to assimilate the various requests before he dove in.
“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far, away…”
“Dad!” Emma interrupted with a disapproving voice.
“What?” Came her father’s innocent reply.
“Original, remember?”
“What are you getting at, girlfriend?”
“Dad, you know that’s ‘Star Wars’.”
“No it isn’t. It just sounds that way…, honest.”
Emma eyed her father suspiciously, having been here before, and glanced at her brother and sister in silent consultation. After getting go-ahead nods, she prompted him to continue.
“So, where was I? Oh, yes, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far, away, on a planet that looked, smelled and tasted a lot like our earth, there was an old English manor in the country at least two hours away from the town of London
“A Dragon?” Paul asked.
“Well maybe, buddy boy, but only if the house was made of stone. I think this house is made of stone and wood.”
“A princess?” A squeaky voice from under the covers suggested.
“No I’m afraid not, angel child. If I had said a castle, then yes, there would definitely be a princess. But this is only a manor house. Emma, do you have a guess?”
Emma looked at her father, rolled her eyes heavenward again and replied, “Duh, maybe a wardrobe?”
“Yes indeed, a wardrobe! Was that a lucky guess on your part or have you heard this one before?” Without waiting for his daughter to answer, he continued, “An old manor house, on the hill with plenty of lawn, a wardrobe and a limousine turning into its driveway. And do you know who’s in that car? There’s a driver and four children, Peter, Edmund, Lucy and Princess Leah.”
“Daaaad!” Emma again.
“What now, honey? That’s not Star Wars. I spelled her name different. In Star Wars its Princess Leia, L. E. I. A. In my story the princess spells her name L.E.A.H. Isn’t that different?”
“Dad, I’m not talking about Star Wars. Your story is sounding a lot like ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe’ with Edmund, Peter and Lucy.”
“But there’s no Princess Leah in that story is there?”
“When do we get to the dragon part?” Paul yawned deeply.
“Soon, I promise.”
“And can you change the name of the princess to mine?” Francesco’s youngest asked.
“Hmm, perhaps,” Francesco stroked his chin. “Yes, Princess Sarah has a nice ring to it.” He returned to his mock-stern voice. “Now, that’s enough interruptions, I can’t think with ya’ll badgering me. You two get under the covers with your heads on the pillow where I can keep an eye on you. And Emma, you sit on the end of the bed and listen quietly.”
“Now, the train pulled into the station and came to a complete stop. Out stepped the four children, Edmund, Peter, Lucy and Sarah.”
Emma looked at Paul behind her father’s back, shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing. Paul raised his hand, but his father took no notice. Sarah wiggled from under the blankets and rested her head on a pillow.
“On the platform, a rather large man wearing an extra large, heavily insulated, all-weather overcoat, which hung to his shins, greeted them politely, then ushered them along a narrow path through trees and tall shrubs until they emerged at the shores of a small lake. They walked onto a floating dock where two small boats were awaiting them. The large man helped them aboard and before they could thank him, he was gone, leaving behind only a large wet footprint and eerie silence.
“The boats glided across the smooth lake and the children sat upright daring not to breathe or break the silence until they pulled alongside a dock under a tall cliff. ‘I guess this is where we get off,’ Edmund offered. They disembarked.
“They saw a handwritten sign pointing to a set of stairs, and path leading upward. Looking back across the water, the children were unnerved to see a dark fog obscuring the far shore.
“‘It looks like the fog’s coming this way,’ Lucy blurted out what they were all thinking. ‘We better get out of here.’
“But, there was only one way to go and when they reached the top of the stairs they were out of breath and frightened. The thick mist behind them had swallowed their boats and began to follow them up the stairs. It was just then that they realized that a car was supposed to have met them at the station.”
“ ‘Wasn’t there supposed…’ The question hung in the air, Then Lucy added, ‘Something’s missing.’
“ ‘What, Lucy? What’s missing?’ asked Sarah.
“ ‘I’m not sure, but I feel that something isn’t right here,’ she answered.
“ ‘Luce, I’m with you on this one, something’s definitely wrong.’ Peter intoned as he slowly turned in all directions. ‘I think I know what it is!’ He nearly shouted, ‘our luggage! We do not have our luggage!’
… let me know if you want to hear the ‘rest of the story’.
“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”
Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'. Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion. You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.
