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When George and Rose lost their marbles (standard:fantasy, 5267 words)
Author: AGLapitinoAdded: Sep 16 2002Views/Reads: 1788/1133Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A satire. Two people encounter problems in their lives escape to another reality.
 



WHEN GEORGE AND ROSE LOST THEIR MARBLES 

George could feel a presence hovering above him.  Something was going to
happen. He sighed wistfully, murmuring to himself, "Oh, I do hope so!" 

These days, he seemed to be engulfed in an aura of limbo, wandering lost
in familiar places.  He smiled apologetically, hell, I'm going through 
a middle age crisis. Impulsively he looked into the mirror on the wall 
for reassurance and was flabbergasted and downright horrified when he 
did not recognize his own image. 

"Who the hell are you?"  he asked politely, staring at a cherubic face
crowned with dark curly hair. 

He was in his cubicle at Island Realty.  He stared down incomprehensibly
at a stack of property analysis sheets on his desk looking for an 
answer. 

He cried out, "Where am I?" 

In the stillness of the cubicle, guilefully enhanced by a filtered
yellow light, there was no answer, only a slow permeating suffocation.  
George jumped from his chair looking for an exit. He stumbled into the 
hall and bumped into a plumpish woman with a beehive coiffure and a 
sparkling smile. "H'ya doing, Georgie boy?"  she asked with gusto 
pushing her face right under his nose. 

George bounced back into his cubicle and sat down. Mystified, he
rummaged around the desk and pretty soon it dawned upon him that the 
person who occupied the cubicle was someone evidently engaged in the 
sale of bargain real estate. Was that he? 

"My God," he moaned, I'm a salesman of bargain real estate!" 

He sat motionless for a long time trying to comprehend how it all
happened. Whatever the reason, he had to escape. From somewhere in the 
recesses of his memory a newspaper cartoon flashed brightly of a guy 
peeing on his desk and saying, "I quit!" Could he do that? 

During the days that followed he at slumped in his chair and said hardly
a word to anyone for the entire day. 

His production, never inspiring, went from mediocre to nada.  He spent
most of his time in the cubicle.   Every now and then he would stand 
and stretch his arms, yawn loudly, thump his chest and grunt, "Yeah, me 
born again man.  You said it!"   From along the row of cubicles the 
plumpish woman with the sparkling smile would answer, "Attaboy Georgie! 
Give them hell!" 

He dreamed of escape.  He wondered if he could find himself by becoming
a mailman or possibly go out west and herd cattle.  Eventually, his 
mind would go blank and he had difficulty remembering the simplest of 
things, like having lunch or time to go home. 

The sales manager, Tom Kantor, a no fool straight up guy, soon realized
good old Georgie had achieved too soon that proverbial state called 
death of a salesman.  In what was considered astute jump-start therapy 
Tom materialized each morning in George's cubicle, grasped Georgie with 
both arms and shouted hard into his face, "Hey, Georgie! When the going 
gets tough, the tough gets going! Go, man, go!" 

George nodded, smiled and said nothing. 

Back at his house, his wife Terry had been staring at a growing pile of
unpaid bills. Worst of all, provisions for her three teenage 
eating-machine sons were not only scarce but also limited to 
yesterday's white bread and outdated bologna.  After periods of 
wringing her hand while considering the possibility of flying the coop 
and screw all, she got the bright idea of getting a job.   In her very 
first interview she landed a sales position at Splendid Fashions on 
Main Street.  It was the first job she ever had, having married George 
fresh out of High School.  To her amazement and joy she was an 
immediate success.  Customers sought her advice on everything and did 
their best to buy out the store.  The owner, Salvatore Russo, looked on 
happily rubbing his hands in keen appreciation. Pretty soon Terry's 


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