Fifty

The Sand People will be back.
And in greater numbers.

Here’s a little dialogue scene I wrote two days ago. Couldn’t sleep so I tried to pass time by writing. As usual, the beginning of the story is based on an event that really happened and somewhere along the way my imagination just takes off. And as usual it is excruciatingly boring and as usual it is horribly, badly written. Enjoy.

It’s Sunday, around 12 o’ clock.
Four people in the room: three guys (R,S,T) and one girl (C).
C: ‘Yeah, I’ve seen him running. In the rain, too.’
R: ‘He’s crazy man, running in the rain. I mean, what the hell.’
C: ‘He doesn’t stop for anything. Rain, wind.’
T: ‘I go running in the rain too, sometimes.’
S: ‘What? Really?’
T: ‘Yeah, it’s actually pretty fun.’
R: ‘Fun?!’
T: ‘Sure. I put on some Bruce Springsteen or Mötley Crüe and off I go, no matter what weather it is.’
S: ‘Alé jong.’
T: ‘M-hm.’
…
C: ‘Yes, I often see you running.’
T: ‘Really?’
C: ‘M-hm, you’ve run by my house a few times.’
T: ‘Your house? What street do you live in?’
She gives the name of whatever-bloody-street-she-lives-in.
T: ‘Ah! the whatever-bloody-street-she-lives-in! Yeah, I run down there sometimes.’
S: ‘You run that far, even when it’s raining?’
T: ‘Sure. Three, maybe four miles. I sweat like an ass, too.’
R: ‘Zot.’
C: ‘Heh.’
T (talking to C): ‘So what, every evening you just happen to look out your window when I’m running down there eh? Or do I play my music so loud that you look to see what the hell’s going on out there?’
C: ‘Ha ha! You know, you’re right. It’s quite a coincidence. But I guess I don’t notice you every time. How many times do you go running each week?’
T: ‘Usually three times a week. But I run down different routes now and then.’
C: ‘So you don’t pass my house each time?’
T: ‘I’ve passed your house fourty-eight times.’
She smiles. So do I.
C: ‘What?’
T: ‘Fourty-eight times, I counted it.’
C: ‘I thought you didn’t know where I live.’
T: ‘I… might have lied.’
C: ‘Ha ha! You are terrible!’
T: ‘I am, aren’t I?’
She smiles again. I fart. A silent one. No smell. Good.
S: ‘I should start running again. I mean, look at MAH BELLEH!’
T: ‘That is quite a grotesque belly.’
S: ‘Indeed.’
T: ‘Quite.’
S: ‘Hmmm.’
I make the Herbert sound. ‘Hmmm!’
S: ‘Ha ha ha!’
T: ‘Maybe we could go running together. Swap stories, bore each other to tears.’
S: ‘Hey yeah. But it would be a pain to meet each other, we live too far apart.’
T: ‘Hmm. Yeah, you’re right.’
C (talking to T): ‘Maybe we could go running together?’
I am flabbergasted. I still don’t know what flabbergasted means but it seems to be the fitting term at this point in the story.
T: ‘The two of us?’
‘M-hm.’
If she says M-hm like that one more time, I am gonna cum hard in my pants.
Or fart.
Probably the latter.
T: ‘I didn’t know you went running?’
C: ‘I don’t. But I wanna start running. I am out of shape.’
She could not be more wrong.
T: ‘Well… you know… uhm… You think you can keep up with me?’
C: ‘Maybe.’
Her maybe sounds like baby. She looks just as cute as a baby, too.
A baby who hasn’t crapped his diaper, that is.
Horrible babies, those are.
T: ‘Well, I guess I could slow down my pace so you can keep up. After all, by now I am a fully-trained running machine so there’s no way you’re keeping up with me at full tempo.’
C: ‘Ha ha! Okay, you got yourself a deal.’
T: ‘I… uh… really?’
C: ‘Yes, or weren’t you being serious?’
T: ‘Oh, I was! I was! So… uhm… when do you wanna go running?’
C: ‘You choose.’
T: ‘Pfff. Tomorrow, half past eight?’
C: ‘Okay.’
T: ‘So what, I come down to your place and we start there?’
C: ‘M-hm.’
I cum hard.
In my pants.
Through my ass.
So it’s a fart, really.
Boy, what a horrible way to screw up the delightful mood of the story.
T: ‘Alrightie. Monday, half past eight. I’ll be there.’
By God, I’ll be there.
C: ‘Okay, I’ll see you then. I gotta go now. Got some school work to do. Bye!’
T: ‘Salu.’
C: ‘See you tomorrow!’
T: ‘Yeah, see ya tomorrow.’
She smiles and leaves the room. I look up across the table. My two friends are still sitting there. One of them gives me the ‘Way to go, buddy’ look, the other one gives me the ‘Nice work’ look. There is a slight difference between those looks, a nuance which can only be noticed by men who just came hard in their pants.
And, for the first time in a long, long while, I can’t wait till Monday.

I went running Monday. Fourty-nine. And I’m gonna go running in a couple minutes. It’s raining. Who the hell cares. Here’s the next bit of the Selfish Giant. Enjoy.

So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became Winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he died not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring. ‘It is your garden now, little children,’ said the Giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were gong to market at twelve o’clock they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.
All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good-bye.
‘But where is your little companion?’ he said: ‘the boy I put into the tree.’ The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.
‘We don’t know,’ answered the children; ‘he has gone away.’
‘You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,’ said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.
Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. ‘How I would like to see him!’ he used to say.
Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. ‘I have many beautiful flowers,’ he said; ‘but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.’

Two more random things to end this post.

One:
I have a new favourite word. Get ready, here it comes.

carnavalesque

Two:
I!
AM!
BEOWULF!!!