The Secret Discovery
It was late at the end of a perfect afternoon Sarah was doing some shopping.. not having anything in mind, you understand, just the laid back kind of shopping you do on a quiet tree lined street where the pace is slow and even the children play quietly under the over- hanging limbs of the shady maple trees. Walking quietly between little quaint shops, a small but luscious bakery, and the polite residents of the town.
In between the trees here and there the sunlight played upon her face and she reveled in its pleasant warmth smiling to herself knowing that even if she didn't find anything, that the days trip would not have been a waste, simply because of the fact that she was there and, for once, relaxed and enjoying herself.
As she strolled past a well weathered old bench two very old women looked up at her from their stitchery and smiled. Sarah pleasantly exchanged good afternoon's everyone smiled and she continued up the slate block sidewalk.
The day had been a good one and she was feeling a touch hungry so she began looking for someplace to duck into to take in a light lunch. As it happened the very next corner had a brightly painted fold out sign, the style that realtors use, that was lettered to read: "The Panache Deli -----> 3 doors down". The bright colors and small flowers painted on the sign had caught her eye at first, but now she knew she was really hungry, so she began walking up the bright narrow street.
Sarah meandered past a small drug store, looked in the window at the tiny barbershop, and then came to "The Panache". Not at all out of place here, the deli itself was a bright yellow, and Sarah smiled at the window boxes full of flowers, as she entered.
Inside there was a small counter and a pretty young girl who took the order and returned with a turkey sandwich, a little salad, and a glass mug full of sprite which had a slice of lime and a thinly sliced round of lemon floating on the top for color. Sarah happily paid the $4.85, and went over and sat in front of the window where she had seen the window boxes from outside.
Just as bright as they had looked outside, the flowers gave her a relaxed feeling as she unrolled her fork from the cloth napkin. Sarah settled back into the seat and had noticed little more than how well she liked the food until she was almost done with her meal. Looking a little above and past the flowers she idly stared out the window and watched the people walk by. There was the little boy on his bicycle grinning wildly as his dog pulled him along, there was the middle aged fat woman in the flowered dress who came out of the Bakery across the street with three baguettes for the nights dinner. She smiled as she saw the tall thin man with a green baseball cap drop his ice-cream, just in time for the waggly tailed stray to come up and lick the sidewalk clean of it.
The light reflecting of the glass in the door of the antique shop across the street caught her eye as it opened and closed, some happy tourist scurrying away with a new found treasure. Sarah, as s she finished her sandwich and looked at the wall clock, she decided she would have at least thirty minutes to go through the shop, kind of as a last stop before driving home.
Avoiding being run down by the excited kids exiting the matinee of "Benji and the Circus" Sarah crossed the street and entered the store. As she closed the door, she looked through the huge plate glass window past the gold leafed lettering which said Murials Antiques, at the wonderful little place she had just had lunch.
Hearing the bell hung from the door handle resulted in a disembodied musical voice shouting "hi sweety, just holler if I can help you with anything" from behind an old Victrola record player. Murial it seemed was busy trying to remove decades of dirt, but not the patina from the oak wood of the old record player. Sarah smiled raised her voice ever so slightly and said "no problem.. I will", as the latch clicked the door shut.
The shop was set "just so" items were displayed in a thought out pretty manner with little signs describing the item, its age, any known history, and tastefully in the lower right corner, the price. Sarah made her way around much of the store, stopping now and again to pick up an old teacup, or a ceramic bluebird. Just as she was wishing she had more time, Sarah spied a golf ball sized figurine of a mouse.
She had to have it! As she picked up the mouse and cradled it in her soft hands, she just KNEW it was exactly what she wanted. The lines were perfect, there were no chips or sharp edges... everything was right! It felt so good to hold. She picked up the card and read it: "This little mouse needs a good home... produced in about 1879. Mouse $50.00, story about the mouse $500.000"
Sarah bit her lip.... fifty dollars was a bit much, but it was made in the last century... strange too that there would be no story printed on the card. Sarah wavered for only about two minutes deciding easily to get the mouse, reasoning to herself that she could cut back on something else in order to fit it into what was left of her budget.
Murial had evidently been happy with removing forty of the fifty years worth of grime from the old phonograph and had taken her seat behind a large old brass "National Cash Register Corporation" antique cash register. She smiled sweetly as Sarah brought up the little mouse.
"Oh honey!" Murial exclaimed, "I see you found one of my favorite treasures!" She smiled and almost glowed as she took the card and mouse and set them on the counter. "Well with that be cash or the devil's plastic" she joked as she began wrapping the mouse in tissue paper to prepare him for his journey.
Sarah sighed, "I think I'll have to put it on the visa..". Murial nodded, and smiled again. Sarah said "Oh I liked the joke about the story behind it costing 500 bucks!", Sarah grinned at Murial.
"Honey, that was no joke, the mouse costs fifty dollars, but you really have to know the story, and I'm afraid that will cost you the full five hundred." Murial had suddenly become somewhat serious, almost pensive.
Sarah looked at Murial a little funny and decided that maybe the lady wasn't all there after all. I mean what possibly could be worth five hundred dollars for a story. Sarah withdrew back into herself a bit and politely thanked the owner of the shop, and declined al but the mouse itself.
Murial gently tried once again, but Sarah decided that she knew what was best and that Murial only wanted to gouge her out of money that she really didn't have anyway.
As she left the shop, she reveled in her coup of getting such a wonderful item for such a tiny price. As the door closed behind her, a slightly sadder looking Murial locked the door for the evening. The shadows grew long as Sarah walked back to her little car. Unlocking the door, she set the package on the front seat and put her right leg in and sat down. Just as she pulled her left leg in she jumped as she thought she felt something hit her toe.
The drive home was uneventful, and as she entered her apartment parking lot, even if a tiny bit run down it was still her home, she smiled to herself having reflected the whole way home on just what a wonderful day it had been. She got out of her car, locked it and began making it up the stair way when something at the head of the stairs caught her eye.
Sarah sighed deeply, the landlord had JUST had the exterminators out for the damn roof rats, and she would have to call and bitch again. It was dark but there was no way she coulda been wrong, she was sure she had seen yet another rat.
Sarah unlocked her deadbolt and then the door and entered her little apartment, switching on the light all in one fluid motion borne of continuous habit. She was still full from her late lunch and so decided to skip dinner and go to bed early.
Sarah opened up her new treasure and put it on the shelf beside the other little things she had bought, (each time thinking that they were just THE perfect item.. later only to want something new) smiled to herself, and headed for a long hot shower.
Sarah went to bed that night but was woken up several times, never really sure of WHAT had woken her up, sometimes thinking she had heard scratching noises, sometimes for no reason at all. The sleep she did have was fitful and provided little rest.
The next morning Sarah woke up and stumbled into the bathroom, groggily brushed her teeth and combed out her tangled hair. She reached into the medicine cabinet and retrieved the Viseene and drooped two drops each into her bloodshot eyes. "there" she thought, "that will cover me...nobody need know WHY I'm in such a bad mood".
As Sarah ate a rather uninteresting breakfast, she mused over her new find, retrieving it from the shelf and sitting it on the table next to her bowl. Sarah decided that today would be a good day to take it to work and put it on top of her terminal where she could eye it SARAH SCREAMED! what the HECK could have run over her foot?!?!?!?! That sorry old landlord had PROMISED there would never be another pest to bother her.
Angrily Sarah threw on a sweat jacket, grabbed her keys and headed for the door. She stopped for just a second, turned and retrieved her little crystal treasure from the table which she stuffed deep into the pocket of her sweat jacket.
She headed for the door and turned the deadbolt open and then flung the door open. She was going to give the lazy ol creep a piece of her mind.. RIGHT NOW!! The worthless sod was probably passed out in the boiler room any how...she'd go right down and...
Sarah screamed. Not a little scream but a skin peeling, acid bathed, freaked out scream. For as she opened the door, hundreds, no... maybe thousands of mice had began scurrying into her apartment. She ran. She ran stomping on mice, and yelling all the way to the stairs. What the hell was happening?!!?!?
As she ran down the stairs, the mice followed her. She had no idea what she should do. Hundreds upon hundreds of pink tails and little clawed feet followed her as she ran to the boiler room where she knew she would find that fat bastard landlord who was supposed to keep this from happening. As she got to the door of the boiler room she was at a dead paniced run. Following her was the carpet of little creatures. As she reached the boiler room she reached for the tarnished brass knob and pulled... hard! The knob didnt turn and the door didnt move. Tears streaming down her face, she wrenched at the green stained brass. To no avail. The door was jammed. Jammed solid. She began to panic hitting the heavy wooden door with her fists and... odd...nothing... she tuned to see the horde of rodents all kind of gathered around, stopped. All were just looking at her.
Suddenly she felt very warm... she removed her jacket, pausing to look at the surreal sight before her. As she lowered the jacket, the group, almost as if it was one entity followed it and moved slightly to remain closer to it.
She leaned back into the door incredulous, and almost understanding. She took the mouse from the pocket of the jacket and moved it in a great arc in front of her. The throng of mice followed it with their eyes, an occasional twitching tail the only indication of any individuality of the group.
The door suddenly burst open and a large fat man, smelling of cheap scotch and a lack of showering, came through the door. Drool stains yellowed the collar of his shirt and his bleary bloodshot eyes blinked incoherently as he beheld the sight in front of him. Sarah eyed him with disdain, wondering how anyone could allow themselves to become such a low class of human being.
Scratching foully at his groin he mumbled something about "another fucked up dream", glared at Sarah, and trudged away toward another place where he hid his bottles of slow liquid poison.
Sarah, though still scared shitless, appraised the sight in front f her, surveying the field of tiny eyes and matted hair. All of these little animals were of one mind... it was as if this herd had become one body. All eyes were glued on what she held in her hands.
Slowly she backed into the boiler room, a dark place with a small flight of eight stairs leading down to the cement floor which had been cracked and broken from years of excessive dampness and heat. she turned slightly and touched the handrail for balance as she moved down the stairs. As she looked up she saw the horde following her, thousands of little paws running over her jacket. Like bees drawn to a queen she mused.
As she got to the bottom of the stairs she felt the heat of the huge oil burning furnace on her back, and smelled a mixture of cheap whiskey and stale urine. The landlord's chair was here, a puddle of warm vomit dripping from the tattered arm into a bigger puddle at its base.
Sarah choked back the urge to vomit, and continued making her way over to the boiler which was roaring, having been turned up a couple notches too high this cold morning by its drunk operator. Mice scurried through the puddle and over the empty bottles that littered the floor, all totally intent on the object of their desire.
As Sarah neared the boiler her backward pace quickened, almost tripping once, it was at this point she lost conscious thought. Things just began happening. Later she would not recall any real conscious decision, only the panic of the moment. ..and still the mice kept coming... even more than before, additional members scurrying from cracks in the walls and even jumping from the beams over her head to be part of the mass that moved toward her.
With the speed borne of panic and horror, and in a quick fluid movement Sarah pulled on the solid iron lever that opened up the two inspection doors on the boiler. One door near to the ground was about the size of a brick, probably meant for lighting the furnace. The other was just a little bigger than a fully opened page of newspaper, obviously used when major repair to the inside was necessary. A blast of heat so intense that it caused her eyes to dry erupted from the doors as she released the lever..
The flames danced a hellish dance and played upon the massive jets of gas used to boil the water.
Without so much as a thought of its value, or her love for it, Sarah threw the little crystal mouse into the blazing inferno before her. As moths to a light, the carpet of mice, which now covered the room's floor, charged after the little piece of glass. Charging straight into the blasts of gas, and ignoring the putrid smell of singed hair and the screams of the ones that had gone before them, the throng of mice funneled into the little inspection port on the furnace.
The smell of burning flesh filled and permeated the air and as the last several feet of the living carpet disappeared into the furnace, Sarah could no longer contain her stomach, and soon the odor of half digested Cheerios mingled with the rest of the smells of the room.
A week after the boiler was replaced Sarah found herself getting back out of her car, this time parked squarely in front of Murials Antiques. Pausing not a second to look at the wilting flowers in front of the Deli, Sarah entered the door to the shop. Murial looked up from putting out her cigarette and smiled at Sarah as Sarah grinned back at her.
"Ahhh my dear I was wondering when you would show up again, I knew you would want to buy the story sooner or later." Murial grinned evilly.
Sarah smiled sweetly, and with a glimmer in her eye said, "Ya know, I am curious about the story, but what I want most in life now, is a statue of a lawyer.
Nothing in this story was meant to portray any real lawyers living or dead nor were any scenes inspired by lawyers ether past or presnet. No lawyers were hurt in the writing of this story nor were any lawyers consulted for the technical details which are included herein. All persons reading this story are responsible for their own legal counsul and are expected to seek quallified legal counsul before attempting any actions depicted in this sory. Please see the legal disclaimers page of this website. This page ameliorates and eliminates our liability to those who misuse the story on this page and all of the other pages associated with this website. Your rights dont vary even if you are living in another state unless of course you are a lawyer in which case I'd really like you to go talk to my friend sarah.
IN OTHER WORDS - ITS A DAMN JOKE TAKE IT AS SUCH!
11-15-1997
More than a couple people have asked me about this page and why I wrote it. A few asked me if I was a professional writer. Well, I take that as a great compliment, but no.. Im not a professional writer... would that I was so good.
The story was actually inspired by, and is supposed to be, a joke. I heard a joke, (about 8 lines long), on a radio program one night, and for some strange reason I decided to make it into a story that would end with a humerous punch line. Why?? I dunno... just kinda felt the need to try something new and different. :-)
Anyhow, seriously, I bode no ill will to anyone by this story, and it was in fact just a silly exercise in creative writing which was never intended as any form of threat or to be taken in any way seriously.
Do I hate lawyers? naw... I think some of the stupid lawsuits, threats of lawsuits, and other things that some of them do are inane at best, and certianly not always just, but in all seriousness two people in my real life who I most respect from school are members of the bar. One is a prosecutor, and one is an advocate.
Hope you enjoyed my silliness,
Charles