Just because I am paranoid, it doesn't mean they aren't out to get me

"So you think we are out to get you, and that we are based in South Africa?"

"Aha! So you admit it!"

"Admit what? I've only asked you a question."

"Yes, but you gave yourself away."

"Oh? How so?"

"You said 'we.' That proves it. You are one of Them. I knew it all along!"

"Nonsense. It means nothing of the sort."

"Sure, that's what they all say. But you've really slipped up this time."

"Oh I have, have I? Look, I want you to read this article for discussion at our next session."

"Yes. That is how They -- You -- always work, isn't it? Distributing your propaganda."

"Oh, nonsense. Just read it whenever you have time, and we will discuss it at our next meeting."

"Yeah, ok. Sure. I'll read it."

"You will, won't you? You aren't just saying that?"

"Of course."

"Promise?"

"Sure. I promise."

"Remember, we don't break our promises."

"Hm. You don't?"

"No. Never."

"I see."

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The Grand Conspiracy

I don't know what all They are up to, but I've found a good lead to gathering more information. There's been talk of South Africa that I've overheard. I'm sure there is at least a cell there, and I suspect it is one that is very high up. Maybe even the HQ itself. I'll have to keep alert so as not to fall into the trap. But South Africa seems as good a lead as any, at the moment.

It's all a matter of keeping alert, of staying just one step ahead of Them.

A Buyer's Trip

We boarded the small plane to make our wait to South Africa. It was a twin engine affair, all we could afford at the moment. But we knew the silver bullion we'd pick up would make it worth our while.

Just as we began to board the plane, an official ran out toward the runway, followed by five police officers. The official was waving documents in his hand, shouting. The police officers were waving their guns.

"Hurry up!" I shouted to the pilot. Jackie was frantically closing the door.

"No way can I take off now!" the pilot objected.

"Consider it an investment," I replied. "We'll give you a silver bar when we leave Johannesburg safely."

The plane was off the ground in less than three minutes.

A Burger and Fries

"Hey pal? You there?"

"Who's that? And what do you want?"

"It's me again. C'mon... surely you recognize my voice by now!"

"How can I be sure it's you?"

"Alright, forget it. You don't have to talk."

"Yeah...?"

"I just wanted to tell you about the great meal I had at McDonald's. It was great. Me and the kids, and we had a ball."

"You take your kids to eat fast food? That's horrible for them, you know?"

"Oh! But the face of fast food has changed, thanks to McDonald's! They offer all sorts of good-for-you food, and it's as great tasting as ever!"

"Good-for-you?"

"Yeah. The McDonald's near my place has salad and fruits and yogurt... all sorts of healthy choices for you."

"Yeah? A healthy fast food place? Where is that?"

"It's on I-45 in League City, Texas. And the kids love it, of course."

"I never heard of kids loving healthy food."

"That's the joy of it. Every time I tell them we're going for McDonald', they are thrilled, and don't even realize how good for them it can be! It's like sneaking in the good stuff with lots of fun."

"Hm. I see."

A Few Simple Questions

"So, what does that mean exactly?"

"The mean of the average of the two coordinates in hyperspace explodes that melting pot."

"I'm sorry?"

"Finding the coordination to dexterously increase mobility in formidable situations grants considerable value in your stock. It's elementary."

"Yes, well, even so, I'm not sure I'm quaint -- er, quite, I mean -- quite following you."

"Quiet? Insufferably."

"Well, at least we agree on that."

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Mixed Bag

Peanut brittle ice cream freezes on hotplates in the oven. Former presidents in the bakery pack their bags and go into solitary confinement. After work, at least, so the piggies say.

Final convents isolate conventional endings. And the dish ran away with the spoon.

Log entry. 12 December. Patient 390086

Patient has just come to realize that I don't believe her stories. Continues to insist upon their veracity.

Next appointment: 14 December 2 pm

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Unbeliever

"I see."

"What?"

"So now you are telling me that you've given a lecture to the International Society of Archaelogists?"

"Yes. In Cairo. About 8 years ago. And without any preparation. Isn't that hilarious?"

"Certainly. A riot. Was this before or after you were in Gandolfo?"

"Er... before. Yes. It was before. Jackie was still with me in Cairo."

"Before or after the plane crash in the jungle?"

"Um..... Hm. After."

"And before or after you were abused by that man?"

"Certainly before that. All that happened after Jackie died. I told you I was in a real pit then, emotionally."

"I see."

"It must've been Jackie's death that got me so down."

"Well. One would think so."

"I still miss him today."

"Hm. The jungle treks and desert digs must not be the same without him."

"Oh, come now. I haven't done anything like that since he died, really."

"No? I would've thought you'd been off to the North Pole or some such."

"Well... no."

"No?"

"No. But we did go to the South Pole together before that awful event when he got shot."

"Of course you did."

"You don't beleive me do you?"

"Why wouldn't I believe you?"

"Hm. I see."

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Giving a lecture

I stood in the front of the large crowd, all looking expectantly in my direction. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back. I didn't know I was expected to make a speech. This gathering of archealogists from all of the world looked my way, silently, awaiting me to enlighten them on the Golden Age of Byzantium.

I hadn't studied Byzantium since I was studying in the postgraduate program at Yale.

I let the silence grow thick. The heat in the room seemed to have suddenly jumped to a temperature to match the desert sands outside these walls.

I cleared my throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Your Majesty, and members of the press," I began....

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Log entry. 11 December. Patient 465791

Patient unwell yesterday. Appointment at the Round Table postponed till today. She, like the patient before her, took to writing on the Table. Her writing, like her speech, seems to be spoken in advertisese.

For the next session, I will try to break her out of that pattern of speech.

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Log entry. 11 December. Patient 389645

Patient spent whole time at the Round Table writing. On the Table.

Content is the same, all about "Them," how "They" are out to get him.

Next appointment 14 December.

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Keeping My Mouth Shut

Alright. I've learned a lesson. I can't keep talking, no matter what they do to provoke me. No matter what. I just have to keep my mouth shut and bear it. I can't say anything. Maybe they'll stop noticing me then.

But that doesn't stop me from writing. I'll put all my thoughs down here and keep it all private. They won't know, and maybe They won't drug me anymore then. I don't want anymore of Their drugs. That was horrible, thinking They really had me in Their control for all the time I was out. Terrible.

But I don't think They got anything. No, that little weasel in the white coat and black glasses didn't seem none to happy the next time we met. No, I think I foiled Them. Them and Their stupid drugs. But I outsmarted Them still.

I've got to get out of here before They do get to me though. I can't take it forever, even though I'm careful.

Maybe that guy in the cell next to me will help. I don't know yet if he can be trusted, but I'll see if I can't get him talking some more. He might be of some use.

For now, I'll just have to shut my mouth and bear up under the strain.

showintale's blog

Log entry. 10 December. Patient 025486

Patient infuriatingly insists on continuing to converse in nonsensical phrases. Tried to force him to speak properly, at which point he shuts down, refusing to speak at all.

Next appointment for 13 December.


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Inquest

"I'm sorry, but none of that makes any sense to me."

"Sensory flint to be? Scanty reality seems to be. Aloft in the dungeon, dragging forth the dragon's fourth pleated skirt. For the first time, sensory flint to be?"

"You see, I know all the words, but the way you put them together is nonsensical."

"Unbiblical? Spiritual perhaps, dragging the drugs into the doorknob. Incantations can't afford plantations. Sensory flint -- Ha!"

"Exactly! 'Sensory flint' -- ha! indeed. What does 'sensory flint' even mean?"

"The golden mean is halfway there. It floats through the air. It scalds the scalp's hair. It's all like apples in pairs."

"Apples and pears?"

"Apples in pairs."

"Hm. I'm afraid I don't get it."

"Sensory flint."

"Whatever sort of flint, or fruit, or whatever. I don't understand it. You will just have to speak properly if you want to be understood."

-

"So? How about it?"

-

"So. This again?"

-

"Alright then. Have it your way."

A Second Helping

Dainty dollars added up, making it through the wilderness wanderings. The heliport landing was smooth as concrete and jam. Faintly walking through the corridors of the vast expanse, he stumbled over the cloudy pond.

Warrants issued for his release, requests from the peanut gallery. Excavations completed before schedule, we moved closer to the pretentious deadline set. Keyboards, laptops, hair dryers, filament all fill the firmament to capacity. An understatement to the nth degree.

Matted and exhausted, the pup sagged townward. The sounds of the atmosphere oppressed and bouyed him. All was quiet.

Log entry. 9 December. Patient 390086

Patient proving difficult. Refuses to believe the truth about her stories -- that they are all lies.

Next appointment 12 December.

Do you even know where Gandolfo is?

"Do you even know where Gandolfo is?"

"Why, yes. Of course. I just told you I was on the road to Gandolfo when this happened."

"Yes, but you said the desert. It isn't in the desert."

"I didn't mean desert per se. I meant the icy polar wastelands."

"Mm-hm. Try again."

"Uh. The tropical rainforests?"

"No. You don't even know where it is! You've never been there."

"Well, no. You see, I didn't finish my story. The bandits, you see, abducted me. I had to go with them and spend weeks as their prisoner."

"Yes. In the rainforest. Or was it icy polar wastelands?"

"No, in a small shack in the desert. But they flew me there, with a black hood over my head. So I really don't remember where it all started. Just that we were trying to get to Gandolfo when Jackie got shot."

"I see."

On the Road... to Gandolfo

We were on a long journey. As we made our way down the road to Gandolfo, we happened upon a party of bandits. Jackie stopped the jeep. We slowly stepped out.

Before we could utter a word, a bullet whizzed through the desert air, and Jackie dropped to the ground in a heap. He was dead.

"Wait! Stop! Don't shoot!" I shouted, trying hopelessly not to panic.

"We won't shoot you," said a dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark eyed man, stepping forward. "You're much too valuable to us alive."

"Me? I asked feebly.

"Oh yes. Don't pretend with me," he smirked. "You're the only one who knows where the jewel is kept."

"You must be mistaken," I said.

"Mistaken?" He raised an eyebrow. "Then maybe you should join your friend."

I gulped. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I didn't know what I'd do. I didn't even know what jewel he was talking about.