|The Puzzle (standard:other, 2030 words)|
|Author: Unsun||Added: Jan 28 2001||Views/Reads: 2207/1160||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A piece I wrote for a class. It's a fiction story......go ahead read it.|
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story greater things. They were too simple in their ways of being. And I too great a puzzle solver to gain further from their trivial enigmas. And so began my second plan. The Club was no good. Too big, and interweaving, with no cubicle to hide in, unnoticed by my subjects. The Office, too simple. I knew it all, that realm was conquered. Except of course for their homes and private lives. I could not of course follow them about their homes scrawling notes. The Puzzle didn't work that way. The Puzzle requires finesse and subtlety. Yet this was clearly the next step. To observe them at home, how they eat, and drink, and read and sleep. This was the next level of the Puzzle. At this point 6 months after my first exploits, I realized my house has TWO bedrooms. One of which was currently vacant. And so I put out an ad. I rented it cheap, I didn't need that much money, besides how often does one get paid to be entertained? But I didn't rent to just any old sap who could plop down the 200 a month for room and board. No I needed an enigma, someone that no one understood, a challenge for my Puzzle solving prowess. That was when I met Bill. He was the fourth person I interviewed. That interview was quite possibly the most confusing experience of my life, exempting of course the next year and a half I spent with Bill. He arrived at my door wearing light blue jeans, heavy workman's boots, and a baggy tan T-shirt with a large beer stain on one side. He was pudgy, with a ruddy complection, and a round face. He had salt and pepper hair down to the back of his neck. It hung in long sweeping curves about his chubby smiling cheeks. He spoke with a perfect British accent, straight from Stanley Kubric's A Clockwork Orange. "Hi Hi Hi there," he sung as I answered the door. I invited him in and he promptly crashed down onto my nice armchair. I looked out the door to see his black, severely battered "motorcycle" and I use quotes because I do mean severely battered. "You like to ride motorcycles?" I asked lamely, hoping to ascertain the depth of this enigma. He nodded and said something about a "Rumbling through the Guttyworks" and a relief of the pain in his "Gulliver" which I couldn't quite follow. I simply nodded, closed the door and continued the interview. Of course about 10 minutes into the interrogation when I was just getting a handle on his Clockwork Orange imitation, he switched to what I can only assume is his normal mode of speech ( for though his dialect often shifted, he frequented this manner of speech). He then asked for "A flagon of the amber fluid of the gods" which I later learned was beer, preferably from Budweiser. At the moment I simply asked him to repeat himself. It was also the moment at which I decided that a fellow this off the wall would prove to be an interesting enigma. He would make the Puzzle amusing again. Why, just sitting in my living room with him I began to feel the anesthetizing properties of his presence. The Novocaine fun sliding on my skin, making life bearable, even enjoyable again. The balm of life. This was a great enough challenge for me. And indeed he was. This was apparent in more than just his strange shifting dialect, for he also declined to live in the second bedroom. Instead, he moved to the basement. Which though large enough, I suppose, was all concrete and pipes, with no windows; hardly amiable living conditions. But he moved right in and made himself content there in that dark musty hole (which I had never bothered to clean in all the former years I had lived in the house). It was not until he moved in that I discovered the true depth of his madness. The madness effected far more than just his dialect and living conditions. Though it was a delightful twist to the Puzzle. To figure and understand what psychologist, psychoanalysts, psychiatrists, neurologists and all other manner of scientific men had sought to understand for centuries? Ahh, the thrill of it! But as I said, Bill's peculiarity rang far beyond his speech. Not the least of which was his mysterious source of funds. Though he held no bank account of which I could ascertain, he was never at a lack for money. True he remained in his stained jeans and T-shirts, and continued to ride his beaten bike. When he came across an item he desired he made no hesitation to purchase it. I recall one instance, for example, that he purchased a fairly large automobile. Which he then proceeded to disassemble, and place the various parts in his dwelling. When I questioned him on the matter, he responded with a perfect imitation of Hannibal Lector "A census taker once tried to poll me," His eyes said the rest, sparkling blue, with a playfully hidden threat. Yes, most curious was this riddle I had invited into my home. Though I knew the secret of his madness, he hid it well. The neighborhood thought him a gentle soul, worthy of waves and tilts of their hats. Greeted with glee by children and small dogs. While I took notes from my window sill. Bill was indeed a riddle worthy of my talents as a detective and psychologist. He made the Puzzle so lively how could I let him leave, even if I thought him dangerous? Impossible, not till I had solved his intricate and puzzling existence. Then came the fateful day when I was torn from my house, my intriguing project brought short by the foolishness of my subject. I know not how I was caught, so cannot fully explain it to you good sir. But suffice it to say that the conniving, though mad, Bill discovered my investigation into his skull. He grew wary, spending his time away from me in his basement dwelling or around the neighborhood. Anywhere out of my sight. It was not long before he brought his friend to visit. He was interesting enough, not unlike yourself in fact. Yes a good deal like you. We made polite conversation over a small lunch, and not long after I was informed that I was to be committed. And here I am kept from the one enigma I long to solve. The patients are interesting but none offer the complexity and sheer mind boggling capacity that Bill lent to my life. In here the Puzzle is dying, it longs for new riddles. The morphine I need, to dull the pain and make life bearable is in precious short supply! YOU hear me! I need my morphine!!! I NEED the Puzzle!!!!! I need it!! "Hold still sir here it comes" and sure enough it did, as the therapist plunged the large needle of sedative into his flesh. Releasing the psychic balm within the vial. Calming the frantic patient. Two years he had been here, and still he was ranting about Bill and The Puzzle. Still he did seem to be establishing some sort of a rapport with the patient, and he talked openly. His speech made no sense, no sense at all. Tweet
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