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The Puzzle (standard:other, 2030 words)
Author: UnsunAdded: Jan 28 2001Views/Reads: 2246/1188Story 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.


   


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