The Misadventures of Mr. Butterbutt's Island Vacation_Simulated Sympathy_It's All His Fault_
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The Misadventures of Mr. Butterbutt's Island Vacation
The Misadventures of Mr. Butterbutt’s Island Vacation Suzanne Marsh Mr. Angus Butterbutt’s office door was opened just a slight crack: his secretary Margie Malone tapped quietly on the outer door: “Yes Margie, what is it? I am leaving on an extended vacation as you know.” “No worries sir, I made the reservations for your vacation.” “Thank you Margie.” Just as she closed the outer door her desk phone rang: “Mr. Butterbutt office how may I help you.” The voice sounded imperious: “I wanna talk to Butterbutt NOW!” “Just a moment sir, Mr. Butterbutt will be right with you.” Margie buzzed the in...
Simulated Sympathy
My head is aching as the blazing sun beats heavily on me. I’m sweating buckets and my legs are strained. Standing out here in the www.onedoor.ccsun is one of the many sacrifices my brother and I must overcome in order to fulfil our duty. But, what is our duty exactly? No one told us before we left, so maybe I should think about what would make Master happy. Either that or we wait for him, I don't really know. I glance over at Michael and he’s seated on the pavement, I wonder what made him do that. I’ll just wait for Master, because I can't possibly think of what else to do.After an hour my legs give up and ...
It's All His Fault
I’m surprised at how well I’m dragging a body along Cory Pier at midnight. I never expected that I—an existence grounding itself on emaciation—was capable of such a feat. My body had never been muscular, had never been past skinny. And now, I have to thank it because it will be the reason why I won’t be charged with kidnapping and, probably, murder. Keith had always been good to me, my brother after all. I just never expected him to do all of that. He ruined my business, made me penniless—my wife left me for that—and bombard me with debt that I never could have prepared myself for. He made me ...
Mnemosyne, the Count, and the House On the Sea
Mnemosyne loves to dream. Her dreams love her too, so much, that they carry onto the light. Mnemosyne sometimes believes the images she dreams of she can see them appear before her.“Mama, look at that house on the island”. The house rises before them, on a patch of green rock, as if the sea had birthed it. It was of Victorian Gothic architecture, white, stretched onto three-wide floors, with a small window on top. The attic. That’s where I will keep all my books. Mnemosyne thinks but she has no time to give voice to her thought; her mother pulls her away down the path to the ferry, and the hou...