Sorry, my\u00a0brain is paste right now. I think of Scholes, I think of footwear.\u00a0His discussion of literary theory feels like it’s\u00a0going in circles. Tired. I shall post a story I wrote inspired by “Story of an Hour.” Always seemed like an anecdotal story\u00a0for strictly introductory purposes; all fiction is an elaborate\u00a0joke to get to\u00a0a drawn-out\u00a0punchline:<\/p>\n
One day, Dan Freeman was abducted by aliens. These aliens were gentle but firm. They promised to cook, clean, and provide entertainment for him until such time as their study of human behavioral patterns came to an end. All he needed to do was be himself.<\/font><\/p>\n Though angry, Dan was also rather excited. It seemed like a nice gig, especially in light of his recent employment opportunities\u2014or lack thereof.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cFinally,\u201d he thought, as the little purple man who was his host finished gesticulating with his three arms (which might have been feet). \u201cI\u2019m finally getting what I deserve. All my needs will be taken care of, and all my days will be a breeze.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cZorsplatt!\u201d the little purple man exclaimed. Dan nodded and favored him with a blank smile. His Splurbian translator operated on a ten-second delay. In a moment, the stentorian tones of television actor and history channel narrator Edward Herrmann flowed into his ears: \u201cAnd, in conclusion, we shall select a mate for you, engaging in a worldwide search of your home planet.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cWow!\u201d Dan said. \u201cYou said all that in just one word?\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cSnarf blug, chesekstan. Snedley sploo. Elta fremon che so la la garfnoddle. Deweda dweda ne ne.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n In ten seconds time, Edward Herrmann\u2019s mellifluous tones translated this statement as \u201cIndeed.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cHuh. My own space girlfriend. Do I get to choose?\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n The little purple man did a back flip, or perhaps he stood up\u2014Dan wasn\u2019t exactly sure what part of his captor was the head\u2014and unleashed a torrent of rapid-fire gibberish. In a few moments, Edward Herrmann assured Dan they were counting on his input.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cMan, you guys thought of everything.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cFlurble!\u201d said the little purple man.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cI am not a guy,\u201d Edward Herrmann translated. \u201cI am a hermaphrodite.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cOh.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n A door slid open and a little purple chef with an ample belly\u2014or perhaps an enormous cranium\u2014waddled in. He was carrying two gourmet dishes on his tentacle-arms and he skittered across the room on his hundreds of little legs (which might have been hair). \u201cSplattle!\u201d he said. Ten seconds later the powerful voice of veteran character actor and history channel narrator Keith David said \u201cI have brought forth your sustenance!\u201d He slapped the dish down and removed the top; inside, hundreds of little bugs wriggled.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cUm,\u201d Dan said.<\/font><\/p>\n The little purple chef slapped his fat belly\u2014which, as it turns out, probably was<\/em> his head\u2014and gibbered for a bit. \u201cOops,\u201d Keith David translated. \u201cMy Bad. This meal is not for you.\u201d He handed it over to the little purple hermaphrodite, who quickly dug in. He placed an alternate plate before Dan, lifting the top to reveal a well-cooked steak, mashed potatoes and asparagus.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cAh,\u201d Dan said. \u201cMuch better. Although, for future reference, I\u2019m not really a fan of asparagus.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n The little purple hermaphrodite choked on a mouthful of grub; hacking it up, he\/she let out a piercing scream. Edward Herrmann soon joined in. The little purple chef looked stricken (I think), at least until the little purple hermaphrodite pulled out an object that looked like a pencil and fired an incandescent beam of tightly focused energy through the little purple chef\u2019s belly\/head, coating the wall behind him in a gooey splatter of purple guts. The little purple chef screamed and fell down dead. I stared at the corpse for a full ten seconds before Keith David said \u201cAaargh!\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cSplittle splottle fooby booby splay nog,\u201d screamed the little purple hermaphrodite, his\/her arms fluttering above him\/her like a deformed, waving balloon at a car dealership.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cWe do not take kindly to failure amongst our staff!\u201d Edward Herrmann translated huffily.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cEvidently,\u201d Dan said, looking down at the little purple chef\u2014now the little dead chef. He gulped and turned back to his dinner. How would he be able to eat now? He winced and began picking at the mashed potatoes.<\/font><\/p>\n Dan and the little purple hermaphrodite dined in silence for a few minutes, Dan careful not to touch any of the offending vegetables. He wondered idly if his voice was being translated into a mildly famous Splurbian celebrity. Probably so. He wasn\u2019t sure why, but the thought actually pleased him. As he began debating which celebrity would be best suited for his voice\u2014perhaps the Splurbian equivalent of Edward Norton\u2014he cut at his steak with greater enthusiasm. He spared a glance behind him and saw that the little dead chef, as well as the mess made by his passing, had disappeared.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cWow,\u201d he thought. \u201cWhat service!\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n As the little purple hermaphrodite and Dan went over the criteria for his stay\u2014indefinite, but pleasant\u2014they finished their respective meals. By the end of dinner Dan was almost certain that he\u2019d imagined the little purple chef entirely. After all, he was in an alien spaceship talking to a creature whose anatomy he couldn\u2019t even fathom.<\/font><\/p>\n Anything was possible.<\/font><\/p>\n An hour later, after a delicious dessert of caramel apple pie for Dan, and roaches for the little purple hermaphrodite, the two were looking through the Victoria\u2019s secret catalogue for a mate. Suddenly, a little purple man in a little purple HAZMAT suit rushed into the room.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cFlibble flobble,\u201d he wailed. Ten seconds later, the dulcet tones of Meryl Streep translated this sentence as \u201cCode Seventeen-B!\u201d and then the little purple man\u2014probably a little purple woman\u2014exploded, splattering the inside of her little purple suit with little purple guts.<\/font><\/p>\n The little purple hermaphrodite seemed to sigh\u2014or perhaps fart\u2014and put the catalogue away.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened?\u201d Dan asked.<\/font><\/p>\n When he\/she answered, the little purple hermaphrodite\u2019s voice had a fatalistic quality to it. Edward Herrmann almost seemed to take longer, as if he were reluctant to translate. But translate he did.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cWe made an unforgivable error,\u201d Edward Herrmann said, voice cracking. \u201cIt seems your species carries a certain bacterium which ours cannot tolerate for a sustained period of time. We are all exposed. Though it takes a variable amount of time for death to occur; sometimes earlier, as in the case of my dear wife Garfsblaggle,\u201d\u2014he gestured to the little purple pile of goo in the little purple HAZMAT suit\u2014\u201cand sometimes a little longer, death is nevertheless inevitable. Honestly, I could detonate at any moment.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cOh my,\u201d Dan said. \u201cIs there anything I can do?\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n The little purple hermaphrodite sighed, looking not at Dan but into the eyes of the Fourth Horseman, and gabbled a bit more.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Edward Herrmann translated. \u201cOur race is telepathically linked via brainwave. Your bacterium will destroy us all, even those on our home planet\u2026Splurbia.\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cNo!\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d said Edward Herrmann.<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cBut, what will happen to me?\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n \u201cYou shall be returned to your home planet immediately. I am sorry we did not get to continue our association much longer, Dan. But, in the short time I\u2019ve known you, I feel safe calling you\u2026friend.\u201d He held out a tentacle-arm, the last act of a doomed hermaphrodite feeling the ephemeral breath of some slouching beast upon his neck (or perhaps upon his ankle). Dan reached out his hand, a single tear rolling down his cheek\u2026and then the little purple hermaphrodite exploded. Dan was coated with purple substance that felt like a mixture of jelly, honey, and Jell-o.<\/font><\/p>\n Ten seconds later, Edward Herrmann said \u201caaaah\u2026\u201d<\/font><\/p>\n In a moment, lights appeared before Dan\u2019s eyes, a deep thrum hummed in his ears, and he found himself in the food court where he\u2019d been abducted. He looked at the people milling by, so blissfully unaware of the truth behind the curtain of their own consciousness. So sad. So short-sighted. So small they all were, so oblivious to the presence of life beyond the stars.<\/font><\/p>\n And then Dan laughed.<\/font><\/p>\n After all, there was nothing to be oblivious about anymore.<\/font><\/p>\n -Matt (maybe)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Sorry, my\u00a0brain is paste right now. I think of Scholes, I think of footwear.\u00a0His discussion of literary theory feels like it’s\u00a0going in circles. Tired. I shall post a story I wrote inspired by “Story of an Hour.” Always seemed like an anecdotal story\u00a0for strictly introductory purposes; all fiction is an elaborate\u00a0joke to get to\u00a0a drawn-out\u00a0punchline: […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":24,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[75],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/139"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/24"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=139"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/139\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=139"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=139"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.samplereality.com\/gmu\/spring2008\/610\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=139"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}