by Karlin
and went to my bedroom to retrieve the weapons canister.
I sat at the table, the weapons canister to my left, and studied the model, memorizing the location of the critical points. I had a small knapsack packed with essentials waiting by the door. Once it started, all of us would be on the road until complete victory was achieved.
The crucial moment was only a few seconds away. I was sweating profusely, beads of sweat trickling down my forehead and dripping off the tip my nose. I heard the announcer: ‘From London, this is the BBC,’ and then the beeps.
“Beep, Beep, Beep.”
It was time to start, to strike a blow against irrationality, and build a new world!
As instructed, I grabbed my target with my right hand, and using my left hand, carefully inserted the first pin straight through the doll’s chest.
••Hair
He loved her. He loved everything about her, especially her long hair. They agreed to get married. But she had one condition. He had to quit smoking. The day that he smoked a cigarette, she would cut off her hair. So he didn't smoke a single cigarette, until finally, after fifty years of marriage…
The story isn't mine. A friend told me the story, so it is first of all his, and then yours. It is only mine for a few moments, as I type this out.
A short story, almost Biblical in its briefness. Jacob loved Rachel, but when he woke up in the morning - he found Leah in his bed. There is so much to tell, but you have to tell it to yourself.
So he loved her. He loved her long hair. But how did they meet?
They lived in the same neighborhood, and saw each other grow up only from a distance, until one day he got up enough nerve, and just walked up to her and held her hand.
She was friends with his sister, and hung around their house a lot, until they finally noticed each other.
They were both getting older. All of their friends were already married with children, and then, finally, somebody introduced them, and they realized just why they had been waiting so long.
I don't even know where they met. Did they live in the US? Philadelphia, maybe, or Cleveland. Probably not out west. But maybe the whole saga took place in Europe.
In a small village in White Russia, two children, a boy and a girl, grew up together. Everybody said that they were meant for each other. When they were teenagers, the whole village delighted in her golden hair, which fell straight to her waist. He was a striking fellow himself, especially when he started sporting that impressive moustache.
White Russia? Maybe it was France, or Poland. Not that it makes much difference. But her hair makes a difference. After all, the story is about her long golden hair. Her long black hair that reached to her waist, or only to her shoulders. Just a little story about her hair, and we know nothing at all about her straight/wavy blond/red hair.
So you have to make a choice. They lived here. They met this way. Her hair was like this, or like that.
He loved her. He loved everything about her, especially her long hair. They agreed to get married. But she had one condition. He had to quit smoking. The day that he smoked a cigarette, she would cut off her hair. So he didn't smoke a single cigarette, until finally, after fifty years of marriage…
Love we can accept. Yes, he loved her. That's easy enough. Or we can pretend that it is easy enough, as long as we avoid defining love. Why did he love her? Just for her hair? It seems unlikely. After all, they were married for so many years.
Was it her smile? That helps, but we don't smile for our entire lives, just a few moments here or there. So he worked hard all of those years to get that occasional smile out of her. Jacob worked for seven years to have Rachel, so he could have worked a week at a time to get a smile, those two seconds of radiance that made the rest of the week worthwhile.
But why would you think that her smile was more important than her hair? She never smiled, or always smiled. He never noticed. He just liked talking to her, a soul-mate who he could share everything with, one who he shared his entire life with. He was just more alive when she was there.
Still, we cannot get away from the facts. He loved her, and her hair was important to him, important enough to make a sacrifice. Important enough to stop smoking for.
Why did she want him to quit? Cigarettes weren't known to be dangerous back then, but she had some intuition that they weren't good for you. Or she just couldn't stand the smell. We only know that her hair was important to him, and his not smoking was important to her, so in this love story, they make a deal, and he sacrifices the cigarettes so he could keep her hair.
And what a sacrifice it must have been! He was a heavy smoker, a chain smoker who went through several packs a day. This we can be fairly certain of, for if it wasn't the case, there wouldn't be much of a story. Besides which, there is the end of the story, which I haven't told you yet. I will tell you. After all, the story isn't mine, but my friend's, and now yours. So I will tell the little that I know.
Even so, there is one question that really does need to be answered. Fifty years is a long time. Blond, red or black, that hair was white by the end of the story. A little love, a lot of love – they must have had arguments. This is a story about real people, after all. So the question is, was he truly faithful to her, to her fading hair, all of those years? Did he lose all desire to smoke? Was he tempted, sorely tempted, but thought of her hair and resisted? Or worse yet – maybe he wasn't faithful. Maybe he cheated a few times, and she never found out, or she chose to ignore his infidelities, knowing that if she carried out her ultimatum, then he would fail completely, and she would have no weapons left to change him with.
He loved her. He loved everything about her, especially her long hair. They agreed to get married. But she had one condition. He had to quit smoking. The day that he smoked a cigarette, she would cut off her hair. So he didn't smoke a single cigarette, until finally, after fifty years of marriage…
Most of the story is yours now. You can choose the details, personalize it so that it is truly yours. I cannot choose, because the story is not mine. It is my friend's, and now it is yours.
He loved her. He loved everything about her, but especially her long hair. They agreed to get married. But she had one condition. He had to quit smoking. The day that he smoked a cigarette, she would cut off her hair. So he didn't smoke a single cigarette, until finally, after fifty years of marriage, she died. He stood over her grave as the gravediggers filled it with earth, and lit a cigarette.
Dylan's
“From Delphi, you say.”
“Yes. Delphi. They heard the reference to ‘senators’, and immediately sent it off to us. It is brand new, just from last week.”
Lepidus unrolled the parchment again. It did mention senators, so it must be important. But you could never really tell what the oracle meant. Half the time the oracle was trying to mislead you. If you were smart, you might figure out what was actually going to happen. Or you might work yourself into the trap that the oracle set for you. Maybe you couldn’t escape the fates.
They said that the smart man considers every word of the oracle carefully, but the wise man ignores them completely.
“Read it again.”
“Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall”
“Stop right there. What do you make of it?”
“Seems obvious – though you know what Delphi is like. It’s the introduction to the prophesy. It is calling for all the senators to come hear the prophecy. And it says that all should hear, that the path should be clear for all to hear the words of the priestess.”
“The senators part makes sense there. But what men are these ‘congressmen’?”
“It is another word for Senator. Those who congress together are congressmen.”
“Or those who congress together are Gauls. It could be any group of men, friends or enemies.”
“And if it indeed means senators, then it could be en
emies and friends…”
“Lepidus, some things are best left unsaid.”
“Especially true things.”
“Read the rest. Often the end will help bear light on the beginning.”
“As one’s death bears light on one’s birth.”
“Just read it!”
“For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'”
“Who gets hurt? Is it a threat to senators? And the stalling – why would one who is hurt be stalled?”
“It says ‘He who has stalled’, not ‘who is stalled’. The one who gets hurt will be the man who has tried to prevent something.”
“Or one who takes care of horses and stalls them.”
“Or maybe it is referring to Hercules, who cleaned out the stalls.”
“It could refer to anything. Maybe to Cato.”
“He certainly has stalled. Kept talking at the podium till the early morning hours. How did he keep it up?”
“They never should have allowed him a break to pee. I’d like to see him last for twenty hours without taking a leak.”
“Knowing him, he’d manage it. Or bring a bucket to pee in. Or wet himself. He’s one stubborn bastard.”
“I won’t repeat your comment to anyone. You have enough enemies as it is. Let’s consider the rest of the prophecy.”
“There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your