Chapter 11: Fire Sale on False Wood Beams, Pt. 3

This is part 3 of the series from chapter 11. Stories as told from a Carib-Jamericanian perspective. In richly blended language mix of; nonsense talk, sensational spelling, double entendre, and Jamaican Patois. Yes, wordplay is the order of the day around here. So, here’s today’s excerpt.

Meanwhile, the prophets, magicians, and soothsayers of those days and after, were sending out the warning prayers. On laughter, though it might have been, still, and softer too, on the briers. The message they sent was, for them to just chill. Telling them and her to stay her will, as it occurred. “The earth,” they say, “is at her limit’s plight one way or the other.” Yeah, so I heard them saying at the time to the brother, but still. Others said to us that night. “That could never be right, something has got to give if we’re to continue to live.”

Many high and mighty of the daytime (likely,) were to have rebutted the warnings, slightly. Calling it a hoax, fake news, and the rest of the arts on which to muse. Storming in, all evening rapping up the views, (but of course.) On eye-witness news, even. Until, yeah. Up until There arouse a whisper in a small corn her mister, yeah, right there in that small corner of a faraway land this Terre.

Warmer than cold winds in this icy corn or sum thin of the bassists’ sinister ring. A sign saying that some troubling occurrence had begun to hit them on the abhorrent backside of their fore-ends, yes man, of their overly busy hands, then hers, again. Back and forth like children, they were passing around the blame. “Something with the potential to affect us on all ends — sir,” I heard her say when she said it to him and her.

And then, that effect came affecting us as quickly as it did the call to the term must. Just like an early morning wake-up call from the boss and up. “Can someone bring me my coffee cup — please?” so said the beast, sorry, I meant to say, the boss. “Bring in my coffee, please,” he said, “ten Q.” So, he did, just as he’d off times do.

Though many of us Kinglanders took it lightly at the timers. The entire world was soon told to shut down behind her g-line girls, yeah, there it is, the line is wrapping around that building and following behind her. You know, like, there was to come the stern warning to them that says, close the door, and go inside your house for more, or go take a sneak peek in hers if you can’t find yours. Yeah, man, the door is what we’re talking about on these classic chords and scores.”

“How convenient and pure!”

“Well, if you like,” it continued. “You may close, (or open,) the lid on your fly-fishing kit door behind her, and go in and hide all four from behind the point-blank firing line of yours. But, whatever you do, or don’t do. Go into your house — Blue, and close those doors behind you. Stay there until you get further words from; remind me, who?”

“Us, of course. Who else did you expect but us?”

“Meaning, them, and who again?”

“No, stop pointing at me, not true, it was neither me nor you. We should never be blamed for such things as they’d claimed, but...”

“I know, I know.” They gave out the commands, though, and we did what was wrong, we obeyed the quiz. But they all knew that they couldn’t keep the Kingsland world locked up for too long a gig, as if we’re kids, and twirling the finger ring seed at his…, no.

“Because?”

“Because of whatever interested whoever, with whatever each side was to come falling upon them with, with clever. Well, everyone except this one.” One man, one country did what no other could or would have done to her own clan. “See?”

“Yes, of course I can still see.”

While the rest of the world was busily searching for goods. The needed cure to their ills, as should. Casting their nets out to fetch the magic pills, the daily food, and paying the lightweight electricity bills. All good. At the same time, they were searching out the magician’s brains for the next miracle-fix her upper kitty frame of mine, to correct the ills for them, but. This one country, though. Closed the door on everybody — Huntley, “…”

“Oh!”

“Yes and tossed away the keyed-up Bentley.”

“No!”

“Yes.” The borders that were bumpy and everything else that could be closed some more — Leigh. Came closing in on me, and even after everything that could be closed upon the executive order, was closed up on him proper. Yes, that sort was the cart that was to come from the call coming in from the front leader’s quarter. Even falling to the bounce back calling upon the mouths of its inhabitants galore, those who would soon be taking the other peoples’ cure, yeah. Their chatty-chatty mouths were closed out too.

Then came the busy-bodies, and you. The reactors reacting, and their canceled cultural remedies impacting. Then came the repercussions, the acting out and upon, and the measured results about which they were busily chatting. While throwing insulted coupons for several years later on down the road without stopping to look at the sign that was announcing a signed-up sinking sandy, Sulking sun, on their own watering holes.

Necessity, they say, is the mother of all invention right away, so. They had pushed this tiny country into a tight lid can, like me, look man. Can you see it? Or was it a basket, looking like this one-door ring sieve? Come, look, and see. Now, tell me, do you agree? Which one is he? Okay, I’ll continue to say what I see. While they themselves were left there where they were, like, eyes wide open but, “still can’t see,” more or less like fish on the markets, meant for meat. No?

“Well, um, you should know, so…”

To be continued.

That’s it for this excerpt. Be sure to join us again tomorrow or any time thereafter, for more of the “Fire Sale” series, and to continue with the story. Don’t forget to like, share, and comment. We sure would appreciate it if you’d subscribe and follow us somewhere too, thank you.

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Just an excerpt from my book called “Twisted Tales from the Big Fail.” A Novel: Real Inky Trails Series.

By writingelk, All Rights Reserved.