Twisted Tuesday- The Importance of Being Earnest vs. Sci-fi Dystopian

"It is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn't. More than half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn't read."

"Relations are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die."

"The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means."

"I could deny it if I liked. I could deny anything if I liked."

---Selected Quotes from The Importance of Being Earnest

The Chronicles of Candace

The musty room was quite unlike what she'd expected. She could only afford a second-rate Chronicler, though, so she shouldn't have expected more. Books were everywhere and not the shiny, flat digitals that she was anticipating in a Chronicler's shop--these were thick leather-bound volumes. Everything was brown and aged. No, this was not at all what she'd expected, and she turned to leave before she was seen.

"Hello. Is someone there?" a man's voice called. He limped in then, leaning heavily on a cane. His snow white hair was tufted just above his ears and thinning elsewhere. He wore glasses--glasses! It had been decades since she'd seen anyone wearing glasses.

"I must be in the wrong store," she said, sure that it was so.

"You've come to have your life rewritten?" the Chronicler asked, examining her.

Candace didn't like the casual air about him--as if she was asking for nothing more than a cup of sugar. It had been a big step to give up--to admit that she was making an absolute mess of her life and someone else could do better.

"Yes, I have, but I'm looking for something better not worse," she said, frowning severely.

His laugh turned into a dusty cough, and he smacked his cane against the ground, saying, "Oh... well then... Let's get started on your happily ever after right away."

There was something in the way he said it-- a cunning-- that she mistrusted, but Candace couldn't afford a first-rate Chronicler. Nonetheless, she followed him through the stacks and stacks of brown books to a writing desk with a quill, a bottle of ink, and a single sheet of paper.

"Where is your digital reality creator?" she asked, eyeing the blank page. People still used paper?

"All in good time, my dear," he said, indicating she should sit in front of the desk. "So, you want me to tweak your life? You realize, of course, that you might be forced to adjust your reality to suit those that adjust theirs?"

"Of course, but can't I come back for an update?" Candace asked, worriedly. It would be just like her cousin Maura to ruin her new reality.

"Of course... of course.... If you'd like, but it's a slippery slope, and there are rules on what I can adjust. I can't change people or situations... only events."

"I know... I know.... I've read all the books before I decided. I've read Clayton's "A More Ideal Reality" and James's "Demand the Best Life You Can."

He held the quill over the blank page, paused, and stopped to stare at her. "What about the old books--when reality wasn't created?"

"Naturally, I haven't read those," she said in horror. "They're fiction. We've been counselled not to read those."

He snorted and dipped the quill in the ink pot. "Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn't. More than half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn't read." His hand was covered in age spots and gnarled slightly, and the quill's feather shivered slightly as he wrote, "Miss Candace Brooks."

"How did you know my name?" she asked.

"I'm a Chronicler," he said as if this answered her question, and maybe it did. Chroniclers were born to adjust reality and few understood why or how they were the way they were. It was seemingingly mystical and magical, but, of course, Candace didn't believe in such things.

"Now then... let's talk about your family. Who shall we kill?" he asked.

"Kill?" she repeated, eyes widening.

"Of course, you're young, Candace, and surely some of them are standing in the way to your happiness. A train wreck... though I guess few people take the train these days, so they might be suspicious if we tried to get them on one. Oh... how about a nice zoo animal mauling? I haven't done one of those for quite a while."

"You're going to kill off my family?"

"Naturally. Easiest way to change a path. Kill people. Relations are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die."

Candace couldn't quite close her mouth despite the fact that even the air of the Chronicler's shop was thick with dust. "You can't do that! The books all said...."

"Bah," he said. "I'm a Chronicler--I can do whatever the hell I want, my dear Candace. If you'd like to play God, let's do this right. Now then, your Aunt Cecily is rather tedious, isn't she?"

"Aunt Cecily has had a very difficult time of it. She lost her whole family in World War III," Candace said, glaring. Her aunt was a horrible person, but she had a reason and a right, didn't she? Yes. If anyone had wanted to bend reality to suit her, you'd think her aunt would be at the front of the line. Frowning, she said, "Perhaps, you could have someone stop by and help my aunt. I don't think she gets visitors very often."

The Chronicler threw the quill down, saying, "Come now, Candace, you could do that on your own after you leave here. You're wasting my time. I'm here to fix the things that you don't care to--not inspire you."

"Well, I don't want my reality to ruin others' lives," she said earnestly.

His shrewd eyes stared through her.

"Let's not kill anyone," Candace said, shifting in the hard, wooden seat. Why didn't he have the new conforming-liquid seats that the other shops did?

"Very well," he said, finally. "Let's talk about love, then. Who would you like to love you?"

"Care for me?" Candace squinted at him, seeking clarification.

"No, that's a watered-down emotion that you've got already all around you. I'm prepared to write out a torrid love affair with groping and passion. Passion, Candace! That's what you need." He picked up his quill again. "A stranger-- strangers are always good for such things." He pointed at her with the quill's tip and said, "You may need new clothing. In fact, I would pack extra clothing just in case it's torn off you in a heated moment of ecstasy."

Her cheeks on fire, Candace whispered, "I thought you couldn't force someone to love another. It's not allowed. You could be barred from Chronicling."

"Only if I'm caught and who is to say that the person standing just outside my door hasn't been stalking you, hoping to declare his undying devotion. So you see, I could deny it if I liked. I could deny anything if I liked." Pursing his lips, he commented, "I could, in fact, deny I just said that, and they'd believe me--they always do. I could write that out too."

Candace's eyes flicked to the front door. Wouldn't it be better to have something like that happen naturally? "Just outside the door?" she whispered. Shaking her head, she said, "Can't it just be something normal--not drastic? I just want a few nice things to happen."

He rolled his eyes, saying, "You could do that. That's not what I'm here for. Wait! I have it. I have the perfect reality for you."

His quill hovered above the paper, but Candace leaned forward and put her hand flat where he would have written. This was too much.

"No one dies... and nothing passionate, right?"

Heaving a sigh, he said, "Very well. The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means."

"Fiction?" she repeated, distastefully. "I don't want fiction! I want reality!"

Slapping his hand flat on the table, he rose up, saying, "Well, then what are you doing in my shop?" Crumpling up the paper, he tossed it in the wastebasket beside the desk. "Go make your own reality, Candace, and stop wasting my time!"

"I will," she said, jumping to her feet and glaring at him. In a huff, she strode through the dusty, brown shop and out the door.

The Chronicler smiled and took the paper from the waste basket, flattening it with a hand that was no longer old or gnarled. "Now then, Miss Candace Brooks lived happily and unhappily, but she lived." He wrote the words beneath her name and shook sand across the ink to absorb the excess. Blowing the sand away, he filed her paper along with the others in the book of life.

Twisted Tuesday- Anne of Green Gables vs. Horror

"I'm not a bit changed--not really. I'm only just pruned down and branched out. The real ME--back here--is just the same."

"It's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn't it?"

"It's all very well to read about sorrows and imagine yourself living through them heroically, but it's not so nice when you really come to have them, is it?"

The night was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of snowy slope; big stars were shining over the silent fields; here and there the dark pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and the wind whistling through them.

Quotes taken from Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery



Unhallowed Ground

The night was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of snowy slope; big stars were shining over the silent fields; here and there the dark pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and the wind whistling through them. It was the perfect atmosphere to scare Ben. It was all still and quiet-like in the woods, Tara thought. The October moon was making it's last appearance and the orb seemed haunted and sallow. It was a perfect night--for revenge.

"Where are we going?" Ben asked, amused. He'd been following her in silence for a while now just holding her hand. They'd been together for a month, and he'd scared the crap out of her the previous weekend at a haunted maze. He knew she was trying to get back at him, but this... just didn't seem all that scary. It was the woods--and cold--seriously cold. Hopefully, he'd earn a little something to warm him up by just coming out here. Tara wasn't a prude about that kind of stuff, and he really liked that.

"We're almost there. I read online about this clearing that's haunted," Tara said, pulling him.

Their boots crunched on the ground. Frozen ground. Frozen leaves. Other than the noise of their shoes and breath--even sound seemed frozen. They broke through the trees into a clearing.

"How is this haunted?" Ben asked, staring around him. The ground was perfectly flat... no rocks... just the white-gold frosted bones of grass and two barren trees in the very center. It was supernaturally still, he'd give it that, but haunted...? He wondered if he'd win points with Tara if he pretended to be scared.

"Online it said something about it being cursed. There was a pair of teenagers like twenty years ago who were going at it in this clearing, and her father found them and killed them. You'd think the two of them--against an old man--anyway. I wouldn't let anyone kill me for getting it on in a clearing. He still comes here, sometimes, they say."

"Uh huh...," Ben said, skeptically. It looked like a clearing. The two trees in the center were a bit strange--like a shrine to the teenagers, but that was probably what created the lame story.

Tara tried not to appear disappointed. It didn't look like much. Oh well, at least she had Ben here to generate body heat--she was so freaking cold. Turning to him, she slipped into his arms and kissed his neck.

"Here?" Ben asked. He'd never said no before, but there was something eerie about this place.

"It's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn't it? Well, this time, we know it's not allowed. Let's sin a little, Ben," she whispered in his ear before biting it.

"Uhh.... Tara, how about back in my car--where it's warm?" he said, trying to dampen his arousal. Seriously, she was right. It felt wrong. He'd just as soon have sex in a graveyard than this place.

With a groan, Tara stepped back, frowning, and folding her arms. "BEN--come on. Are you too scared?"

Rubbing his neck, Ben looked at her and shrugged. "I'm just not in the mood--right now." Wow. He'd never said that before.

"Doesn't it turn you on just a little?" she asked. Holding her hands out, she said, "I can totally feel the air telling me to stop. It's awesome. There is no way we're leaving this place without scratching this itch, Ben."

That's when it happened. Tara tried to move toward him, but she didn't. Her feet were frozen to the ground.

"My shoes are stuck," she said. Reaching down, she untied her shoes. "My feet are stuck in my shoes." They looked at each other, horrified. "What's going on here?" she asked Ben.

Backing up, eyes wide in fear, Ben said, "Okay--you got me. That's pretty freaky. Knock it off and let's go."

"I can't move," she insisted, trying to pull her foot out. "Help, Ben, help!"

Stumbling, he ran to her and yanked at her foot. It was stuck and her skin felt odd, stiff and rough. Whatever was happening, it was spreading.

"I can't bend my knees," she screamed.

"I don't know what to do," he said as he began to dig around her shoes with his finger. His nails scraped against something almost immediately--a root, growing out of her shoe. Glancing behind him at the other two trees, Ben jumped back. There was no way he was turning into a tree.

"What are you doing?" Tara asked frantically as the bark grew up her legs, across her waist, and stiffened her neck and her arms outstretched.

"The hell, Tara! You're turning into a freaking tree," he said, swallowing.

It was over in less than a minute. The transformation was complete. Where Tara had once been--stood a willowy barren tree.

Ben walked around her. What should he do? His girlfriend was a tree. That was when he heard the other two trees whispering in the still night air.

"Run--it's too late--run before he gets you too," they said.

"No, Ben, go get help. Wait. Don't go. No, not yet. Stay with me," Tara called, her voice scratchy and soft.

Ben sprinted out of the clearing with the whispers of the other trees egging him on.

Tara could see the other trees out of the corner of the knot that was now her eye. "Why?"

"If you care for him at all...," the tree that sounded female said.

Tears leaked from the knots in her tree body and congealed into sap. "So, I'll just be a tree forever?" she asked. "I don't deserve this! Maybe you do, but I don't deserve this."

The female tree sounded offended when she said, "It's all very well to read about sorrows and imagine yourself living through them heroically, but it's not so nice when you really come to have them, is it?"

A year later:

Ben finally made his way back to the clearing. He owed Tara that much--to make sure she was okay. Plus, he hadn't slept for days after the visit to the clearing, and when he finally had, he'd awoken, convinced it was all a weird dream and that Tara really had run off like everyone said. He just needed to see. The doctor's pills weren't keeping the night terrors away, but maybe if he saw that it was just a dream....

The clearing was just as he remembered it--only it was daylight this time. There were two trees in the center, side-by-side, and then a single tree near the edge of the clearing. He approached the tree and was only slightly startled when it called his name.

"Ben, please stay. I've been so lonely," the tree called.

"Tara, is that really you?" he whispered.

"I'm not a bit changed--not really. I'm only just pruned down and branched out. The real ME--back here--is just the same. Please, the old man comes sometimes, and he is crazy, Ben."

"What do you want me to do?" Ben asked. "I don't think this can be fixed."

There was a pause, before the Tree said, coaxingly, "It's not so bad as a tree--maybe if I had another tree beside me. The other trees are happy with each other. They're far away, though. It's really quite lonely, Ben. You could--join me."

Ben set the flowers he'd brought at the base of the tree and stepped back, before running out of the clearing again. There was no way he was becoming a tree.

Twisted Tuesday- Heart of Darkness vs. A Dental Love Story

He was obeyed, yet he inspired neither love nor fear, nor even respect. He inspired uneasiness. That was it!

"We live, as we dream--alone. . . ."

I don't like work--no man does, but I like what is in the work, the chance to find yourself.

"'The horror! The horror!"

Selected quotes from "The Heart of Darkness," Joseph Conrad


Teeth of Lightness

The beauty of the framed Monet prints on the walls seemed to contradict the horrible drilling sounds coming from another room. It was mingled with guttaral sounds which could be the horrible death throws of a person spewing blood, or just someone trying to talk with their mouth half-numb from novocaine. They'd just mentioned something about a golf game, so it was most likely the latter. It wasn't her first appointment to this dental office, but Amy could help but feel uneasy. She was about to see her new dentist, the younger Dr. Livingstone. The dental technician hadn't seen the humor in that.

"You'll be seeing our new dentist," Claudia had said, with as little intonation as seemed possible.

"Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" she had asked.

"Yes. His son," Claudia had replied.

Maybe they got that joke a lot. It seemed like all other dental offices were hiring their technicians right out of school, but Livingstone Dental hired only family. Instead of the pretty young dental techs eager to scrub your plaque, Amy had been stuck with Claudia and her ilk. Claudia was at least a hundred and five and dried and crusty. She was a cousin or something to the oldest Livingstone who'd probably been a dentist during the Revolutionary War.

Her own teeth were nothing to speak of, so how Claudia could lecture her on the need for better flossing, she had no idea. Wasn't it like a requirement to have good oral hygiene if you were going to be lecturing others on their teeth? Then, she caught a glimpse of a piece of meat stuck in the woman's teeth. The horror. The horror was that she'd seen the technician eating a meat-free salad for dinner just as she'd arrived. How long had that been in there? It was disgusting. This was her guide to better oral wellness? Really?

Really?

Claudia had been grilling her the entire time too. She'd pried her entire life story out of her while sticking her fingers in her mouth. Apparently, no question was off limits when you had your fingers in someone's mouth.

"So, the younger Dr. Livingstone?" Amy said, spitting into the sink as advised. They were done. Thank goodness. This appointment had taken longer than ever... and all with Claudia scraping at her dating life while using an ice pick instrument on her gums. What had taken so long? Amy took good care of her teeth.

"Yes," Claudia said. "He'll want to talk with you about that upper marital tooth on your left side."

Had she said "marital" or molar? Her mother had been getting after her to get married and Amy was hearing things now. Claudia must have said molar. She didn't have marital teeth, did she? Claudia poked her teeth one last time.

Why did she keep coming here? She didn't care for the elder Dr. Livingstone. No one did... not even the dental technicians. He was obeyed, yet he inspired neither love nor fear, nor even respect. He inspired uneasiness. That was it! Uneasiness. Why did she keep coming here? She could have gone somewhere new. Why was she here... in this seat... for a new generation of Livingstone torture? There was comfort in expectation. It was the only plausible answer. The only one.

"I'll let him know you're ready for him," Claudia said.

"Thanks," Amy said, stretching her jaw. Great Claudia... go let junior know I'm ready. If the Elder Dr. Livingstone was in his eighties, this one was most likely in his fifties or sixties. Hopefully he smelled less like ben-gay. The bright light above her was most likely scarring her retinas. Still... it was psychdelically hypnotic. Staring at the light was soothing in a strange sort of way. She could do this for hours and hours. Funny little dots swam around in front of her eyes and something pulsed in a heavy, sultry sort of way around the edges. It was probably her eyes' blood vessels begging for her to look away, but she couldn't. Like a moth to the flame, she stared.

A deep, sensual voice said, "There's no need for that," and snapped off the light.

She blinked and tried to focus on the person leaning over her.

"Well, hello...," he said, laughing at her. "My name is Dr. Livingstone. Didn't Claudia give you some glasses to put on so you aren't blinded for the rest of the day?"

"No," Amy said, scowling. "I think dementia may have set in already with her."

Her new dentist was hot. He laughed and scooted back, putting a finger to his lips to shush her as he closed the door. He was tall like the other Dr. Livingstones, but their build made them look like morticians. This Dr. Livingstone looked like a professional athlete... maybe a volleyball player... a beach volleyball player. His brown hair had streaks in it, and his skin was a golden brown... with bright white spots the size and shape of the light she'd be staring at floating in front of her eyes.

Coming straight from work meant that she was dressed professionally and her short black hair was curled and being flattened under her head on the weird vinyl seat. Amy had never been more glad that she hadn't been able to make her early Saturday appointment where she would have arrived in sweats with bed head and goop in the corners of her green eyes.

"Okay. I'm going to take you for a little ride on the chair since Claudia is the only Livingstone who suffers from height failure."

"Height failure?" Amy asked, smiling. The chair began its slow ascent so he could look at her teeth. "You're my dentist's son?"

"Which Livingstone do you see?" he asked, frowning, and flipping to the front of my chart. "Oh. My grandfather...."

"Your father and grandfather are both here?"

Shrugging, he said, "I've always felt like my name should be Seymour." He winked and said, "Get it? Seymour Livingstone?"

"That was horrible," Amy said, laughing nonetheless. "You must really like dentistry in your family."

"It's a family thing. I don't like work--no man does, but I like what is in the work, the chance to find yourself."

"Finding yourself in teeth?" She tried to keep the amused skepticism from her face.

"Yeah... it's a rare man who can find himself in teeth." He set down her chart and eyed her. "Claudia spent quite a bit of time with you. I assumed I'd be doing some sort of consultation for dental work." He gestured at her chart, confused. "You have very nice teeth. Straight. Healthy. Okay... open up. We'll get to the bottom of this."

"Dementia," she repeated, opening her mouth obediently.

He laughed and nodded, saying, "Possibly. Perhaps she cleaned your teeth twice."

Well, this was strangely awkward. She was seriously attracted to her dentist, and he was looking in her mouth. Was he married? Could she ask that without it being weird and creepy? She didn't want to stalk her dentist. Besides... what seemed like chemistry could just be her dentist chair jitters, though she didn't feel nervous. He might not be interested in her at all. First things first, she should find out if he was married. Those gloves. He had stupid surgical gloves on. She'd never wanted her dentist to be less hygenic before now.

He was still looking perplexed when he sat back. "Dementia," he agreed, smiling.

She didn't want him to leave as he was showing signs of doing. Say something, Amy... anything.

"Claudia said you'd need to look at one of my molars," she said when he stood up.

"She did?" he asked, his eyebrows raised, as he re-opened the file. He sat back down, though. This was good. Where should she go from here? He looked so sweet when he held up her x-ray while biting his lower lip. Finally, shaking his head, he rolled back on his stool and opened the door. "Claudia?" he called.

Claudia called irritably, "What?"

"Which of her teeth was I supposed to be looking at?" he asked.

"Her left marital," Claudia said.

Claudia HAD said marital. Which tooth was that? "What does that mean?" Amy asked, scrunching up her nose.

She was glad her vision had returned to normal because she got to see her new dentist's cheeks flush, and he muttered, "It means we live as we dream... alone."

"What?" she repeated.

He shook his head and sheepishly said, "I'm single. Claudia says you're single. You're my last patient for the day. What are you doing for dinner once your teeth have stopped hurting from Claudia's prying?"

"I think I'm going out to dinner with my dentist, Dr. Livingstone, I presume," Amy said, grinning.

"It's Todd, and I'm going to go have a chat with my great Aunt. Your teeth look great, Amy." He handed her a toothbrush and a tube of crest with just a touch of embarrassment. "So, I'll meet you up front?"

Amy nodded. This was the best dentist's appointment she'd ever had.

Sucking the fun out of life or just sucking?

B woke up in the middle of the night puking and her fever keeps spiking. The husband doesn't puke but he had a high fever last week. It's entirely possible that I might be the last hold-out against this. The husband stayed home because I'm a social barfer (ie. anyone puking around me might cause puking.) He's better with sick people anyway. I have a severe contamination phobia. (Sweat and snot make my skin crawl. Actually, I insist that everyone keep their body fluids to themselves. I don't even like the feel of my own sweat. Yick.) Anyway, being around people oozing contamination is a situation to be avoided whenever possible. However, I adore my kids, and I kiss them a dozen times a day. It's instinctual. They're going to hate me when they're teenagers. I've already kissed their nasty, sick little heads a million times. I'm going down.

So, I'm going to start doing a "Twisted Tuesday" where I take a quote from a famous novel and use it verbatim in a completely different genre short story. Flash fiction with a psychotic bent... just for fun.

Some things I'm considering:

Heart of Darkness quote in a chick lit heartwarming story.

Jane Eyre in a Sci-fi or Horror.

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in a drama.

And so on.

I rarely post fiction online even though I think it's fun to write. Plus, it just seems like good practice. If anyone has any quotes come to mind to challenge me, bring it on. Unfortunately, this may just go to show you how truly twisted my mind is, but even psychosis has its place... hopefully not in a rubber room while strapped into a white jacket.

Oh crap. B just puked and the husband just left to return movies.