Rob Roy O'Keefe's Blog: Green eggs and spam, page 2
July 31, 2023
Short Story Serial: Third Installment
“Well, you’re alive and seem to be walking on your own,” observed Chance. “That counts for something. What can I do for you?”
Leonard was back at the Last Chance Agency, hoping to land more work.
“Well, I learned a lot from Kicks, but I was wondering if you could help me get a job that lets me use my own abilities.”
Leonard looked expectantly at Chance. Chance looked expectantly at the pizza box on his desk. Why does everybody show up at lunchtime, he wondered.
“Your merging talent means I not only have to find something for you, but at least two others with abilities that work together. That’s not easy, kid.”
Chance quickly continued before Leonard could unleash his sad puppy look, which was turning out to be a power in itself. “But I do know about something that could work in your favor.”
Just like that, Chance saw that the puppy – Leonard – was at attention. “The city is sponsoring a tournament for people with abilities. Turns out that the amount of abilities-related crime is getting out of control and working with independent contractors to manage it is costing the city too much. So, the city is hoping to identify cheaper, home-grown talent, meaning whoever wins the tournament will be on the city payroll along with full benefits and a pretty nice retirement package.”
Leonard’s expression quickly shifted to excited puppy. “There are a couple of prerequisites, Chance explained. “It’s only open to teams of three to five. No individual contestants. And it’s only open to new teams – probably to keep the salaries as low as possible.”
“Where am I going to find anyone to team up with?” Leonard asked.
Chance raised his eyebrows. “Have you seen my waiting room?”
Leonard was back at the Last Chance Agency, hoping to land more work.
“Well, I learned a lot from Kicks, but I was wondering if you could help me get a job that lets me use my own abilities.”
Leonard looked expectantly at Chance. Chance looked expectantly at the pizza box on his desk. Why does everybody show up at lunchtime, he wondered.
“Your merging talent means I not only have to find something for you, but at least two others with abilities that work together. That’s not easy, kid.”
Chance quickly continued before Leonard could unleash his sad puppy look, which was turning out to be a power in itself. “But I do know about something that could work in your favor.”
Just like that, Chance saw that the puppy – Leonard – was at attention. “The city is sponsoring a tournament for people with abilities. Turns out that the amount of abilities-related crime is getting out of control and working with independent contractors to manage it is costing the city too much. So, the city is hoping to identify cheaper, home-grown talent, meaning whoever wins the tournament will be on the city payroll along with full benefits and a pretty nice retirement package.”
Leonard’s expression quickly shifted to excited puppy. “There are a couple of prerequisites, Chance explained. “It’s only open to teams of three to five. No individual contestants. And it’s only open to new teams – probably to keep the salaries as low as possible.”
“Where am I going to find anyone to team up with?” Leonard asked.
Chance raised his eyebrows. “Have you seen my waiting room?”
July 23, 2023
Short Story Serial: 2nd installment
Leonard knocked on the door of the studio apartment. He couldn’t believe his luck. He had a gig! Chance told him it wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t care.
Of course, it’s not how he envisioned his start. But a sparring partner was something. Even if it was for a declared villain. But Chance said she was second-tier. Second-tier!
“Come on in,” he heard in response to his knock. Well, at least she sounded nice, Leonard thought, becoming hopeful.
Until he opened the door. As it swung wide, something flashed by his head, missing him by only inches. Whatever it was embedded itself in the wall. It looked like – it looked like a woman’s dress shoe, but with a knife where the heel should have been. The knife itself was vibrating slightly while buried in the wall.
“Hey! What the –“
“Move fast!” came the warning, quickly followed by another knife/shoe hurtling towards his head.
Leonard dropped to the ground. The second shoe missile landed right next to the first one.
“Well, at least you’re quick,” said the barefoot woman at the far end of the sparsely furnished apartment. “I’ll give you that much.”
“What was that? What did you – how did you –” Leonard sputtered as he got up from the floor.
“Object-specific transmutation,” was the response. “In my case, I transform whatever I’m wearing on my feet – socks, sandals, slippers – into whatever kind of footwear I can imagine. In your case, I went with stiletto heels.”
“Yeah, but the heels are real stilettos – you know – knives!” Leonard protested.
The woman smiled, enjoying her Leonard’s discomfort. “It’s always important to create a great first impression. I’m Kicks. And you are?”
Leonard was about to say Crisscross, but then he remembered Chance’s reaction. “I’m working on that,” he said instead.
“Aren’t we all,” offered Kicks. “So, tell me about your ability. I’m really hoping for a challenge. Do you breathe fire? Or maybe you’re super-fast. But it would be great if you could breathe fire.”
Leonard explained what he did as enthusiastically as he could. He wanted to impress as well.
“Oh,” was Kicks’ response, making no effort to hide the disappointment. She then sat on the floor and put on a pair of no-slip, low-rise socks, the kind patients are given at hospitals.
“I have to have something on my feet to transform, otherwise I’m powerless,” Kicks explained. “Hospital socks are light, inexpensive, and easy to put on.”
She then stood up and looked at Leonard appraisingly. “Well, I need to practice and you’re here. So, let’s get started.”
Leonard nodded eagerly. “Okay, what do you want me to –“
“Run!”
For the next two weeks, Leonard put all his energy into being a sparring partner, which mostly entailed trying to stay alive while dodging a variety of deadly footwear including hobnail boots, steel-toed work shoes, sharply pointed oxfords, and the occasional wooden clog, which could really leave a mark.
He also got to know Kicks. Transmutation might have been her power, but what really made her formidable was her ability to launch her footwear with force and precision. It turned out she was a trained dancer and gymnast.
Leonard also didn’t think she was particularly villainous. Mischievous maybe, but that was all as far as he could tell. He asked her about it after one of their sparring sessions.
“It’s about independence. Have you ever noticed that villains seldom team up? And even when they do, it’s temporary. So, as a professional villain, I get to work by myself. The other thing is that heroes only work when there are villains to battle, so they have no control over their schedule. If a villain decides to work only after midnight, then the hero has no choice but to work the same hours. I, on the other hand, can work when I want. And heroes are entirely dependent on villains for job security. No villain, no work. It was an easy decision, really.”
“What about good and evil and all that?” asked Leonard.
“First of all, I’m not running around trying to hurt anyone or take over the world. I focus on high-end theft – jewels, art, rare coins, that sort of thing. And the people and institutions who have those things also have plenty of insurance, so the only hurt is to their egos. I can live with that.”
“Sounds like a rationalization,” commented Leonard.
Kicks thought about that for a moment. “Maybe it is. Now, are you going to start running or am I going to knock you out cold you with a pair of disco-era platform shoes?”
Leonard’s job as a moving target lasted for a couple of months, until one day Kicks announced she would be going out of town for a while. She thanked him for his enthusiasm, and even offered to let him stay at her studio apartment if he wanted, but he declined.
The truth was that he had been thinking about moving on. After all, he needed to find a way to work on his own abilities. It wasn’t that he hadn’t benefitted from his gig with Kicks. In fact, he was quicker than ever – much quicker – both on his feet and in his decision-making. He even had time to come up with a new name.
“’Mixmaster!’ What do you think?” he asked Kicks.
“Sounds like you’re a kitchen appliance,” she responded. “Keep trying. You’ll come up with something.”
After their last training session, Leonard walked to the door and turned to say goodbye. Surprisingly, he realized he was a little sad. He looked over to Kicks, who was putting on a pair of those low-rise hospital socks she always carried with her, but she didn’t seem to notice he was leaving.
As Leonard opened the door, he was startled by the sound of high-velocity footwear flying by his head and thumping against the wall. He looked down at the floor where he saw a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers.
He spun around to see Kicks laughing. “Something to remember me by.”
Of course, it’s not how he envisioned his start. But a sparring partner was something. Even if it was for a declared villain. But Chance said she was second-tier. Second-tier!
“Come on in,” he heard in response to his knock. Well, at least she sounded nice, Leonard thought, becoming hopeful.
Until he opened the door. As it swung wide, something flashed by his head, missing him by only inches. Whatever it was embedded itself in the wall. It looked like – it looked like a woman’s dress shoe, but with a knife where the heel should have been. The knife itself was vibrating slightly while buried in the wall.
“Hey! What the –“
“Move fast!” came the warning, quickly followed by another knife/shoe hurtling towards his head.
Leonard dropped to the ground. The second shoe missile landed right next to the first one.
“Well, at least you’re quick,” said the barefoot woman at the far end of the sparsely furnished apartment. “I’ll give you that much.”
“What was that? What did you – how did you –” Leonard sputtered as he got up from the floor.
“Object-specific transmutation,” was the response. “In my case, I transform whatever I’m wearing on my feet – socks, sandals, slippers – into whatever kind of footwear I can imagine. In your case, I went with stiletto heels.”
“Yeah, but the heels are real stilettos – you know – knives!” Leonard protested.
The woman smiled, enjoying her Leonard’s discomfort. “It’s always important to create a great first impression. I’m Kicks. And you are?”
Leonard was about to say Crisscross, but then he remembered Chance’s reaction. “I’m working on that,” he said instead.
“Aren’t we all,” offered Kicks. “So, tell me about your ability. I’m really hoping for a challenge. Do you breathe fire? Or maybe you’re super-fast. But it would be great if you could breathe fire.”
Leonard explained what he did as enthusiastically as he could. He wanted to impress as well.
“Oh,” was Kicks’ response, making no effort to hide the disappointment. She then sat on the floor and put on a pair of no-slip, low-rise socks, the kind patients are given at hospitals.
“I have to have something on my feet to transform, otherwise I’m powerless,” Kicks explained. “Hospital socks are light, inexpensive, and easy to put on.”
She then stood up and looked at Leonard appraisingly. “Well, I need to practice and you’re here. So, let’s get started.”
Leonard nodded eagerly. “Okay, what do you want me to –“
“Run!”
For the next two weeks, Leonard put all his energy into being a sparring partner, which mostly entailed trying to stay alive while dodging a variety of deadly footwear including hobnail boots, steel-toed work shoes, sharply pointed oxfords, and the occasional wooden clog, which could really leave a mark.
He also got to know Kicks. Transmutation might have been her power, but what really made her formidable was her ability to launch her footwear with force and precision. It turned out she was a trained dancer and gymnast.
Leonard also didn’t think she was particularly villainous. Mischievous maybe, but that was all as far as he could tell. He asked her about it after one of their sparring sessions.
“It’s about independence. Have you ever noticed that villains seldom team up? And even when they do, it’s temporary. So, as a professional villain, I get to work by myself. The other thing is that heroes only work when there are villains to battle, so they have no control over their schedule. If a villain decides to work only after midnight, then the hero has no choice but to work the same hours. I, on the other hand, can work when I want. And heroes are entirely dependent on villains for job security. No villain, no work. It was an easy decision, really.”
“What about good and evil and all that?” asked Leonard.
“First of all, I’m not running around trying to hurt anyone or take over the world. I focus on high-end theft – jewels, art, rare coins, that sort of thing. And the people and institutions who have those things also have plenty of insurance, so the only hurt is to their egos. I can live with that.”
“Sounds like a rationalization,” commented Leonard.
Kicks thought about that for a moment. “Maybe it is. Now, are you going to start running or am I going to knock you out cold you with a pair of disco-era platform shoes?”
Leonard’s job as a moving target lasted for a couple of months, until one day Kicks announced she would be going out of town for a while. She thanked him for his enthusiasm, and even offered to let him stay at her studio apartment if he wanted, but he declined.
The truth was that he had been thinking about moving on. After all, he needed to find a way to work on his own abilities. It wasn’t that he hadn’t benefitted from his gig with Kicks. In fact, he was quicker than ever – much quicker – both on his feet and in his decision-making. He even had time to come up with a new name.
“’Mixmaster!’ What do you think?” he asked Kicks.
“Sounds like you’re a kitchen appliance,” she responded. “Keep trying. You’ll come up with something.”
After their last training session, Leonard walked to the door and turned to say goodbye. Surprisingly, he realized he was a little sad. He looked over to Kicks, who was putting on a pair of those low-rise hospital socks she always carried with her, but she didn’t seem to notice he was leaving.
As Leonard opened the door, he was startled by the sound of high-velocity footwear flying by his head and thumping against the wall. He looked down at the floor where he saw a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers.
He spun around to see Kicks laughing. “Something to remember me by.”
July 16, 2023
Short Story Serial
Over the next 8 weeks, I'll be posting installments of Third Person, Unlikely or the Not-So-Super Adventures of Leonard the Scrub.
Here's the first one:
“Next.”
Finally.
Leonard had been waiting for hours, but he knew that’s just how it was when you’re trying to get an agency to represent you. Truth is, he’d been waiting for more than hours. He’d been waiting for years. He had been seen and rejected by more agencies than he could remember.
This one, The Last Chance Agency, was the first to agree to see him. Of course, the name said it all. It wasn’t known for top talent, high standards, or great gigs, but what else could he do? He’d been working the night shift at a local warehouse since he dropped out of college. That’s not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
“So, what’s your – mmph, mmph – ability?” asked the disheveled, middle-aged man between mammoth bites of whatever kind of sandwich he was stuffing in his mouth.
Leonard had been rehearsing his pitch ever since his appointment was confirmed. He practiced eye contact, posture, tone, gestures, and pace. Naturally, he froze. Not the kind of freezing that looks like you momentarily lost your place – more like the kind where you run into a grizzly bear and you suddenly recall that your nickname in High School was Salmon, which you also had for breakfast.
“You okay, kid?” asked the sandwich eater.
The question shook Leonard out of his catatonic state. In his rush to compensate for this disastrous first impression, he abandoned everything he practiced and started to randomly mash words together.
“First no one, I mean, first, no one, at least I don’t think anyone –” Leonard blurted. “It’s unique and, and –“
“Stop. Just stop,” the man behind the desk pleaded, reluctantly putting his lunch aside. “You’re obviously not a first-tier, and I doubt you’re even a second-tier, which means whatever it is you can do isn’t really that special or someone else would have signed you by now, so don’t try to make your power out to be anything more than it is, okay?”
Leonard hesitated, then nodded. No sense in denying the obvious. The agent was right. He was a scrub, someone with minimal abilities.
He looked around the office. It was mostly barren, just like the waiting room he had been in all morning. There was a dying houseplant by the window, a generic abstract picture hanging from the wall, and not much else. The only thing that stood out was the name plate on the desk: Last Chance, Agent.
“Your name is actually ‘Last Chance?’” Leonard asked, incredulous. Okay, maybe not incredulous, but in-something.
“Yeah, it is,” Last Chance sighed, an indication that this wasn’t the first time the subject came up. “My parents were a bit different. I was the youngest of seven. The oldest was named First, then came Second, and on it went until me. What a riot, huh?”
Not wanting to spend any more time on the subject, Chance turned the conversation back to the business at hand.
“Look, kid. Unless you have first-tier super-strength, telekinesis, command of a primary element, can fly, or teleport, you’re going to have a hard time cashing in on your abilities. Even second-tiers struggle to maintain a steady income.” Chance paused to make sure what he said was sinking in.
“So, let’s start with something simple. Tell me your name.”
“Um, Leonard.”
Chance rolled his eyes. “Not your given name – your moniker. You know, the name that informs friend and foe alike that you’re not someone to be trifled with. You have one, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” Leonard replied enthusiastically. “It’s Crisscross.”
Chance laughed before he could catch himself. “Like the pop singer from the 80s? Or was it the 70s? What were his hits? Oh yeah, Sailing, Ride Like the Wind, probably some others. Why would you choose that for your name? What’s your ability, fading into the background on an elevator?”
“What? No.” This was not how Leonard imagined his first real meeting would go. “It’s kind of hard to explain. When I make physical contact with two people who have abilities, I merge what they do together.”
“So, if one of those people has impenetrable skin,” Chance hypothesized. “And the other can make trees grow spontaneously –“
“Well, in that case, the end result would be trees that can’t be cut, I guess,” Leonard concluded.
Chance thought for a moment. “Not sure how useful that is. What’s more of a problem is you’re dependent on having two other powers with you. Otherwise, zip, right?”
“Please,” Leonard implored. “I just want to be –“
Chance cut him off. Why did he ever get in this business, he wondered. “Let me guess. Special? Appreciated? Noticed?”
Leonard was feeling stupid. He was also thinking he would be working at the warehouse for the rest of his life.
“If this were fifty years ago, you probably would have gotten all the attention you wanted.” Chance explained. “Hell, three hundred years ago, you would have been declared a witch. But it’s different today. Everyone is screened at a young age for ability genes. And over 80% of the population has them. Most don’t bother trying to develop their abilities because they’re generally unremarkable.”
“Take all of those others out in my waiting room,” he continued. “There’s one kid whose amazing power is making things warm. Not scorching. Not even hot. Just warm. He calls himself Heater. Can you imagine that? His name should be Toaster Oven. I’ve got another hopeful out there who changes the color of everything around her to magenta. That’s it. Talk about one-dimensional.”
“Now, in your case,” Chance went on, turning his attention back to Leonard. “I’d not only have to find a gig for you, but I’d have to find two other clients to work with you who had complementary skills.”
That’s it, Leonard thought. It’s over. No agent. No opportunity. Nothing.
Chance watched Leonard. He was just sitting there. It was like watching a sad puppy. No, it was worse. At least you could give a puppy a treat and it would instantly be happy. He had no treats for this kid. Unless, of course, he sent him to her. Sure, it might be nasty, but the kid – Leonard – could try it out and decide for himself. And if he survived, well then, who knows? If nothing else, at least Chance could finish his lunch.
Here's the first one:
“Next.”
Finally.
Leonard had been waiting for hours, but he knew that’s just how it was when you’re trying to get an agency to represent you. Truth is, he’d been waiting for more than hours. He’d been waiting for years. He had been seen and rejected by more agencies than he could remember.
This one, The Last Chance Agency, was the first to agree to see him. Of course, the name said it all. It wasn’t known for top talent, high standards, or great gigs, but what else could he do? He’d been working the night shift at a local warehouse since he dropped out of college. That’s not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
“So, what’s your – mmph, mmph – ability?” asked the disheveled, middle-aged man between mammoth bites of whatever kind of sandwich he was stuffing in his mouth.
Leonard had been rehearsing his pitch ever since his appointment was confirmed. He practiced eye contact, posture, tone, gestures, and pace. Naturally, he froze. Not the kind of freezing that looks like you momentarily lost your place – more like the kind where you run into a grizzly bear and you suddenly recall that your nickname in High School was Salmon, which you also had for breakfast.
“You okay, kid?” asked the sandwich eater.
The question shook Leonard out of his catatonic state. In his rush to compensate for this disastrous first impression, he abandoned everything he practiced and started to randomly mash words together.
“First no one, I mean, first, no one, at least I don’t think anyone –” Leonard blurted. “It’s unique and, and –“
“Stop. Just stop,” the man behind the desk pleaded, reluctantly putting his lunch aside. “You’re obviously not a first-tier, and I doubt you’re even a second-tier, which means whatever it is you can do isn’t really that special or someone else would have signed you by now, so don’t try to make your power out to be anything more than it is, okay?”
Leonard hesitated, then nodded. No sense in denying the obvious. The agent was right. He was a scrub, someone with minimal abilities.
He looked around the office. It was mostly barren, just like the waiting room he had been in all morning. There was a dying houseplant by the window, a generic abstract picture hanging from the wall, and not much else. The only thing that stood out was the name plate on the desk: Last Chance, Agent.
“Your name is actually ‘Last Chance?’” Leonard asked, incredulous. Okay, maybe not incredulous, but in-something.
“Yeah, it is,” Last Chance sighed, an indication that this wasn’t the first time the subject came up. “My parents were a bit different. I was the youngest of seven. The oldest was named First, then came Second, and on it went until me. What a riot, huh?”
Not wanting to spend any more time on the subject, Chance turned the conversation back to the business at hand.
“Look, kid. Unless you have first-tier super-strength, telekinesis, command of a primary element, can fly, or teleport, you’re going to have a hard time cashing in on your abilities. Even second-tiers struggle to maintain a steady income.” Chance paused to make sure what he said was sinking in.
“So, let’s start with something simple. Tell me your name.”
“Um, Leonard.”
Chance rolled his eyes. “Not your given name – your moniker. You know, the name that informs friend and foe alike that you’re not someone to be trifled with. You have one, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” Leonard replied enthusiastically. “It’s Crisscross.”
Chance laughed before he could catch himself. “Like the pop singer from the 80s? Or was it the 70s? What were his hits? Oh yeah, Sailing, Ride Like the Wind, probably some others. Why would you choose that for your name? What’s your ability, fading into the background on an elevator?”
“What? No.” This was not how Leonard imagined his first real meeting would go. “It’s kind of hard to explain. When I make physical contact with two people who have abilities, I merge what they do together.”
“So, if one of those people has impenetrable skin,” Chance hypothesized. “And the other can make trees grow spontaneously –“
“Well, in that case, the end result would be trees that can’t be cut, I guess,” Leonard concluded.
Chance thought for a moment. “Not sure how useful that is. What’s more of a problem is you’re dependent on having two other powers with you. Otherwise, zip, right?”
“Please,” Leonard implored. “I just want to be –“
Chance cut him off. Why did he ever get in this business, he wondered. “Let me guess. Special? Appreciated? Noticed?”
Leonard was feeling stupid. He was also thinking he would be working at the warehouse for the rest of his life.
“If this were fifty years ago, you probably would have gotten all the attention you wanted.” Chance explained. “Hell, three hundred years ago, you would have been declared a witch. But it’s different today. Everyone is screened at a young age for ability genes. And over 80% of the population has them. Most don’t bother trying to develop their abilities because they’re generally unremarkable.”
“Take all of those others out in my waiting room,” he continued. “There’s one kid whose amazing power is making things warm. Not scorching. Not even hot. Just warm. He calls himself Heater. Can you imagine that? His name should be Toaster Oven. I’ve got another hopeful out there who changes the color of everything around her to magenta. That’s it. Talk about one-dimensional.”
“Now, in your case,” Chance went on, turning his attention back to Leonard. “I’d not only have to find a gig for you, but I’d have to find two other clients to work with you who had complementary skills.”
That’s it, Leonard thought. It’s over. No agent. No opportunity. Nothing.
Chance watched Leonard. He was just sitting there. It was like watching a sad puppy. No, it was worse. At least you could give a puppy a treat and it would instantly be happy. He had no treats for this kid. Unless, of course, he sent him to her. Sure, it might be nasty, but the kid – Leonard – could try it out and decide for himself. And if he survived, well then, who knows? If nothing else, at least Chance could finish his lunch.
April 20, 2023
New flash fiction
Looks like the editors of Literally Stories have been generous once again, accepting my latest story, The Returning, for publication on June 26, 2023.
https://literallystories2014.com/
https://literallystories2014.com/
April 12, 2023
April 4, 2023
Blog koan
If I post an acknowledge that I haven't posted in a while, I wonder if that counts as a post?
February 13, 2023
Gravity Hill revised
After revising the original version of Gravity Hill, the short story has been accepted by Literally Stories, and will be published on April 12, 2023.
https://literallystories2014.com/
https://literallystories2014.com/
February 1, 2023
Awards competition
Small Stories: A Perfectly Absurd Novel has made it to the short list of books competing for the 2002 Mark Twain Book Award, representing the humor and satire category of the Chanticleer International Book Awards.
January 31, 2023
Borrowed Time
New short story, Borrowed Time, has been published on Literally Stories. It's now available at https://literallystories2014.com/2023...
December 30, 2022
New interview on Review Tales
Most interviews are standards fair, but this one is conducted by one of the characters from my book: Small Stories: A Perfectly Absurd Novel.
https://jeyranmain.com/2022/12/30/cha...
Enjoy.
https://jeyranmain.com/2022/12/30/cha...
Enjoy.
Green eggs and spam
Blatant self-promotion, unfounded opinions, and a story or two
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