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Foray Into Fiction: The sisters of the four seasons

Each of the four seasons are controlled by one of four goddess sisters. These four sisters are permitted to control the weather and climate on a shared basis. Each rules the climate and weather for a part of the time, expressing herself as she wishes. Each sister can be capricious.

When the time comes, each sister must hand over control to her sister and allow her sister to have her turn. Each sister gains control from the same sister, and each sister gives control to the same sister on each turn. Autumn to Winter, Winter to Spring, Spring to Summer, and Summer to Autumn.

Autumn’s hair is redish-brown. Spring's hair is a mix of red, yellow, and blue. Summer’s hair is a fair, pale yellow. Winter’s hair is white. All four sisters are unique in personality. Summer and Winter are the most opposite in personality. Summer is vivacious. Winter is enigmatic.

During the times the sisters get on well, the sharing is done without difficulty. When two sisters do not get on well one sister will struggle tenaciously to resist handing over control to her sister when it is her sister's turn.

© Trevor Dailey


Can you play bass guitar?

Sure, I can. It only has four strings, right? How hard can that be?


Come on! Would you wake up!

If you want me to wake up then you buy me a cup of coffee!

You don’t drink coffee!

I’ll start now!


(c) Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: It The Individual

Community Services are not concerned with the death of a Member found early this morning. It was found dead outside in the public, and was discovered by a Community Services Member conducting its duties for the public.

“It was well known to Community Services,” said Community Services Officer 741920. “We had obliged it many times for a contribution to the community for not carrying it’s personal identification sharing device. It always would tell us it ‘refused to be obliged’ and that it ‘refused to contribute’. It said its name was ‘Perrin McCormick’, and it said it was 'not a Member, but an individual'. It said it owned a factory once called the ‘Perrin McCormick Bakery and Confectionary Company’ before what it said 'the socialists stole it from me'. It obviously was a denier, and a criminal for engaging in private enterprise, but it was a Member, so we were obligated to take care of it, but it would not allow us to do so. It denied everything.”

We at the Community Services Information Service searched all government commerce records, and without any doubt, the ‘Perrin McCormick Bakery and Confectionary Company’ could never have existed since no private enterprise is legal. However, it is known that private enterprise did once exist, it was once legal, in the time before such evil, created by untempered individual freedom, was finally purged from society along with its cause: the selfish wants of the individual.

It came to the end of the report, and its reading device went into sleep mode. A wave of sadness flowed over it. It new It. It knew It was telling the truth. It knew the real evil. It had secret images of the factory, documents, all kept on paper to prevent detection. It knew of others who had information of a time when individual freedom was allowed. A time when dreams, occupation, knowledge, ignorance, religion, tradition, temptation, life, death, failure, success, love and memories could be a part of its, one’s, life. One once had individual rights. One once had individual choice. One once had individual freedom.

Its device beeped and awoke from its sleep mode. Its ID number came on screen. Frequent check ins were required. It must log in. It paused. It was prompted again; and then it was warned. It watched the countdown on the screen. It felt the feeling stronger than it had ever felt before. It whispered its forbiden name to itself, and with purpose it spoke these words out loud: “I refused to be obliged. I refused to contribute. I am an individual. I will be free.”, then it threw the device to the ground, and it ran.

(Inspired by, Anthem, by Ayn Rand)

(c) Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: A Bell Named Liberty

A Bell Named Liberty

Once there was a town that wanted to celebrate their country’s anniversary of freedom. It was decided that a bell would be cast and be placed in the tower of the City Hall, and when the bell was rung, the sound would be a reminder to all who heard it of their freedom. The bell was to be made from the finest material available, to be made by the finest bell makers in the town. So it was done, and when the bell was completed, because of the freedom it was to represent, the bell was named, Liberty.

A great crowd gathered on the day the bell, Liberty, was to be first rung. The leader of the town’s government would be the first to pull the rope to ring the bell, and the symbolic sound of freedom would be heard. The bell was rung once, and on that very first ring, the bell cracked. The bell was not rung again, and the bell was later removed from the tower.

Upon examination, the bell was found to have no faults in material nor workmanship. No logical explanation for the bell cracking could be found. The bell was returned, not repaired, to the tower where it could be seen, with its large crack, by all. The bell was never rung again, for the people of the town who wanted the sound of the bell to represent their freedom, realized the real message in the cracked and silent bell they called Liberty.

Liberty is fragile, it is not easily restored, it must never be taken for granted, and it always must be secured.

(c) Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: Mr. Capriccio

After a few years of working for Mr. Capriccio, I moved up into a new  job.  Mr. Capriccio met with me in his office. He asked me if I would  be interested in a job doing collections. If Mr. Capriccio offers a job, it would be best to accept it. He really wasn't asking me, he was  telling me. I accepted my new position. My new responsibilities included  collecting on overdue private loans Mr. Capriccio had made to certain  individuals. I knew it wasn't going to be exactly what I expected when  I was introduced to Bruno and Jimmy.

Bruno was big and strong, like a gorilla. Next to him, I felt like a  child. Bruno was an older man, maybe late forties, early fifties, but  he was still as strong as ever. His jet black hair was combed straight  back, his eyes were brown, dark, and serious. He gave an impression of  great experience from his well worn face.

Jimmy looked like Mr. Clean with tattoos, and without the smile. Jimmy  was maybe in his late thirties, early forties. His eyes were piercing  blue. Jimmy had an edge to him. He not only looked like he was always  ready for a fight, but he looked like he was always expecting a fight.

"These are your two Insurance policies", Mr. Capriccio said. "You’ll need 'em if you have any trouble"

For the next few months, everything went well. I got to know Bruno and  Jimmy during the time we spent together. Bruno spoke very little about  his past, preferring instead to talk about books he read. Bruno was a  man who loved to read. He would read, and read, and read. I was  greatly amused by his reading glasses that he would put on before  opening his book. This giant of a man, a man that looked like he could  tear apart a car with his bare hands, and might have done so for all I  knew, sitting across from me with a book in hand, and reading glasses  on his nose. He would look up from his book and look at me when he  thought I was watching him. Seeing my smiling expression, he would ask  me, "Have you read this one?"

"No," I would reply, still smiling, "but it looks like a good one."

"It is." Bruno would say lowering his eyes back to the page of the  book. "You should read it sometime." I would laugh quietly, and make  note of the book title.

Jimmy was different. Jimmy liked to move. He drank 'stiff' as he  called it. He always drank liquor, and usually straight. Jimmy had a  checkered past, and he would talk about it. We once got to the point  where I thought I knew him, and when he mentioned he was a "retired"  member of a certain gang during one of our many conversations, I  joked, and I said, "Really? You don't look the type."

Jimmy's expression suddenly went cold. His blue eyes burning at me. I  looked at Bruno in confusion. Bruno was already looking back at me  with a serious stare. Jimmy stood up from the table, removed his  jacket, his tie, and his shirt. Jimmy pointed to a one of the tattoos  on his chest, and glared at me.

"Don't you ever doubt my loyalty!” he sternly said.

"Jimmy, I didn't mean anything by it, I was just joking," I nervously  said, fast becoming over come with fear at the look on Jimmy's face.

"Don't you EVER doubt my loyalty!" he said.

"Never." I said.

Jimmy got dressed, and sat back down. The silence lasted forever, it  seemed. All three of us keeping to ourselves. Bruno was reading, me  looking into my glass, and Jimmy staring a hole into me.

Jimmy finally spoke. "Kid, don't worry about it,"  I looked up at him,  "but always remember it."

I nodded, and downed the last of my drink that was growing stale in my  glass.

I was collecting on the debts, and Mr.  Capriccio was happy. Bruno and Jimmy were around for me if anything went bad. Things never really did. Every collection was from a business.  Mr. Capriccio told me I was representing him, so we had to be professional at all  times. That was the reason for me wearing a suit. Everything was going  so well, I started to think I didn't need my "Insurance policies". Then it happened. I got a a collection at an apartment in a seedy part of town.

Mr. Capriccio had never sent my to a private residence before, never a house, never an apartment, just a business. This was wrong, I thought, but I knew Mr. Capriccio didn’t make these kinds of mistakes. Jimmy called me. He told me he and Bruno were coming along for this collection. Bruno drove, all three of us got out of the car.

He wouldn't answer the door. He never left his apartment. He was a  drug addict, and he got his junk delivered to his door. His dealer was  the only person this guy would open the door to, and his dealer was at  the door at the same time like clockwork. I thought about having Bruno  kick in the door, but I knew that would draw unwanted attention to us,  and worse, to Mr. Capriccio. Still, this guy wouldn't pay, and I had  to explain to an ever increasing annoyed Mr. Capriccio why I wasn't  collecting his money. I had to figure something out, and fast.

Jimmy was standing at the entrance door. He had the cigarette in his  mouth, and he was sparking his lighter. Bruno and I were in the  stairwell, ready to go. Soon came the dealer. Right on schedule.

"Hey, pal, you got a light?"

As he paused to get the light, Jimmy attacked. As soon as it happened,  I was on my way to the apartment, with Bruno close behind me. We  reached the apartment door just as Jimmy came emerging from the  stairwell door, right on time. I knocked. The door opened.

"What the…?!”

He was tall, skinny, with shoulder length, unkept, dirty blond hair.  He looked like he hadn't eaten much in days, and he probably hadn't.  His arms were all marked up. He was only wearing blue jeans when he  opened the door.

I jammed my foot against the door so he couldn't close the door. I  began just as I had countless times before. My script memorized. He  opened the door wide. I slid my foot back from the door, as I  continued to recite my memorized speech about who I am I why I am there.

His fist struck me hard at the bridge of my nose, between my eyes. The  pain was tremendous. I flew backwards into the wall, my head bashing  out a hole in the cheap plaster. I felt nothing as I fell, sliding  down the wall, to a seated position on the thin, worn out, smelly  carpet in the dingy corridor. My vision was tunnel. I lost my colour  vision, I was seeing everything in black and white. I saw stars, like  little bits of tinsel were falling around the periphery of my vision,  flashing in the light. I became a constellation. My ears were ringing. I had a big problem.

Bruno was now standing in front of me. His job wasn't to help me up,  or to see if I was injured. Bruno's job was to make sure nobody came  and finished me off. A tactic might be to get try to get Bruno and  Jimmy away from me by acting as bait, so I would be easy pickings for  the ambush. I had to get it together, and get to my feet quickly.  Jimmy was inside that apartment, and if I didn't get in there soon,  someone could die, and I wasn't worried it was going to be Jimmy.

Just as the punch landed, Jimmy busted into the apartment. Jimmy was  in there beating the idiot who punched me. It makes Bruno and Jimmy  look bad when they fail to protect me. It was all my fault, but I knew  Jimmy didn't see it exactly that way. Jimmy wasn't going to stop until  I told him to stop.

I grabbed the back of Bruno's jacket, and I pulled myself up. "Bruno,  you're blocking out the sun. Get the door, will you? " I said. Bruno  opened the now closed door. I wiped my nose with my hand, as I  stumbled forward on rubber legs. My vision was returning to normal,  and my head was beginning to feel like it was going to explode. I had  to get control of the situation, and fast. I went inside. I saw Jimmy  taking care of business. How long this was going on, I have no idea.  Jimmy did good work, he didn't need much time. The guy was already  pretty damaged.

"Jimmy!. Jimmy. Jimmy, that's enough. Thank you," I said. Bruno  grabbed the guy, and threw him like a rag doll across the room. The  guy flew through the air.

"You! Don't you move! Don't you…move!" I ordered when he  landed. He wasn't going to move, not after his beating, and with Bruno  watching him.

Working quickly as I could, I gathered the cash that was lying all  around the room. Jimmy had probably messed the place up, but I really  couldn't tell. I don't think good housekeeping habits were on this  guys list of talents. I ignored the drugs, we weren't in that racket.  The cash was what I wanted.

"Okay, let's get out of here." I said.

(c) Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: The Band Manager

Scott telephoned me asking me to manage the band, trying to convince me to manage the band. This was not something I wanted to do. Being a member of the band, the lead guitar player, was what I wanted. It was true that I could not play guitar well, but I could have got better if they let me into the band. Instead, they chose Paul who could play. Scott was lead vocals, Paul was lead guitar, Mike was bass, and Peter was drums. They wanted me to be a manager. It took about an hour before I finally agree to manage the band. My conclusion was I could run the band. Besides, I had read Hit Parader and Circus magazines, and I knew everything I needed to know about bands. How hard could it be?

The house was in a trailer park. The band would rehearse at Scott's house, and set up in the narrow living area of the trailer. The chesterfield, being two feet or less from the band was where I sat. They wanted me to listen to them as their new manager. The first song was 'Smoke On The Water' that they stumbled through, and the second and last song was so badly played I can't remember what it was. Scott leaned on the mike stand, Paul never looked away from his left hand fingers, Mike looked at his shoes, and Peter looked like he was in a school music class. No emotion and little movement by any of them. At the end of it, the guys mentioned coming up with a name for the band. Mike suggested I think up a name for the band because I was the band's manager. Thinking for a moment, I said the first name that came to my mind that was created from seeing the band perform: 'Stock Footage'. After the pause, as the band members looked at each other, they agreed to the name. 

From the beginning, I started to annoy Stock Footage. It was my job to book the band, and I booked them almost everywhere, mostly bars, a few nightclubs, some strip joints, and everywhere in between. It was my solution to their lack of experience. They had to get out and perform in front of as many live audiences as they could to get better. Rehearsing just wasn't enough.

Many of the places I phoned did not want a band to play there. It was the same old story, the band wouldn't bring in any money the person would say to me. Booking was hard, and I hated doing it, but it was a numbers game. Eventually someone would say yes. The next problem was negotiating pay, and getting the place to advertise the band. Spending nights photocopying advertisements that were hand drawn wording with a Polaroid shot of the band stuck on a piece of paper was part of my job. Then getting them out there was the other part. After leaving a few copies with the owner of the place the band was going to play, it was frustrating to show up to find not a single one had been posted anywhere. Many owners of the places couldn't even be bothered to put one of the advertisements in a window to help promote the band.    

Mike was swearing as his feet slipped on the icy ground. The air was bitterly cold, and it had started to snow again. We both pulled hard on the equipment case to get it out of the back of the rented van. With a hard thump the end of the case dropped to the ground. Mike swore even more. Being in charge of the money, I knew we would be lucky just to cover the cost of the van rental with this show, and a dozen more shows. None of us had eaten yet either. We hauled the equipment into the bar, and we set up with the rest of the guys who had hauled the other stuff in. 

My mind wasn't on the band playing, having heard the set so many times, my mind drifted as I sat a a table to the left of the stage. At least that's what the bar owner called it. She asked me if I wanted a beer. Tight low cut shirt, busty, attractive. No, I politely said, then I went back to trying to work out the problems in my head. The band finished the last song for a small group of drunks. After helping in packing up the gear, I looked for the owner for our pay.

"Thirty two for the show," he said. "You can pay the 15 dollars now, I'll just make it even, or I can take it out of the 32." 

"What?!" I said, "No. It's 32 dollars for the band that's what we agreed to!" 

Being ripped off was something I had learned about the hard way. One guy told me he had to count up the receipts for the night before he could pay us, and then told me the receipts didn't add up to enough to pay the band. Another was me being told by the staff only the owner could take money from the till, and he had left an hour ago. The band had casually gathered around me.

"Yeah, but you drank 15 bucks worth of beer tonight. You gotta pay for that. Like I said, I'll even it out to 15 for you boys." 

I flashed back to the attractive waitress earlier with the large breasts in the tight low cut top. 

"You idiots! You f'ing idiots!". They had no idea. "How much beer did you morons drink?! How many times did she ask you if you wanted a beer?!"

Scott went from me to the owner. "We thought it was on the house. We're the band! It was on the house, right? For the band?".

"On the house?! A bar girl! She is a bar girl! Do any of you idiots know what that is? She uses her brain to get jerks like you guys to buy beer while you stare at her big boobs! That's her job! On the house! F'ing unbelievable! Take it off the 32."

"What?!" Paul exclaims, "That only leaves…" 

"That's right" as I interrupt, "because you guys drank 15 worth of beer while staring at her boobs!" 

My job as manager lasted three months before the band fired me. Scott quit about a month after I was fired. Paul took over lead vocals and continued with lead guitar, until Mike became lead vocals and bass player. Paul couldn't sing and play guitar at the same time. Peter left the band, and was replaced with Rick on drums. Then Mike decided he had enough. The band folded. 'Stock Footage' was no more. We all moved on to other things. 

The old band members and I still see each other once in a while, and there is the talk of "getting the band back together". Maybe we will someday. Stock Footage is the only band we know of that plays with two drummers. That could be an attraction.

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: (The Big Bad Wolf III)


[Werewolf in human form sitting at table. Aloof. Across sit two men. Woman standing. Three other men standing. One of three other men places covered plates in front of two men at table first. They lift covers to reveal meal. Covered plate placed in front of still aloof werewolf. Two men across eating. Werewolf decides to eat. Lifts cover. Reveals dog bowl filled with dry dog food. Sweeps bowl off table. Lunges at man who placed plate. Two men across table leap up and intercept werewolf. Woman restrains werewolf from front. Werewolf wrestled to ground. Werewolf almost overpowering the three. Werewolf is enraged as he fights to get to the one other man. Two other men stand ready to hold the one other man back, but the one other man makes no effort to reach werewolf.]

[Woman to other man. Angry.] What the hell is wrong with you?!

[Other man] Me? What's wrong with your dog?

[Werewolf continues to fight to get to the one other man]

[The one other man seeing werewolf is being restrained gets more arrogant]

[The one other man] Come on, doggy!

[Woman calms werewolf down. He gets to his feet, still held back by two men and woman. Werewolf still angry but controlling himself.]

[The one other man] You'd better keep your dog on a leash from now on. [Pretends to pick hair off himself] And you might want to brush him a little more too.

[Two men ready to restrain werewolf again. Werewolf turns around and walks away.]

[The one other man] Yeah, you just keep walking! Any time! Any place!

[Werewolf under his breath as he walks away, back turned] My time. My place.

[One of two men to woman] He is getting stronger. It won't be long before he can make the change to wolf form again. Then nobody will be able to hold him back. Good thing you can control him like that.

[Woman] I don't control him. He only trusts me. And that is probably the only thing that is keeping him from killing us all.


[Werewolf on floor facedown. Human form. Beaten. Close up. Foot pushes dog bowl filled with dry dog food toward his face.]

[Male voice off camera] Not hungry?


[Woman dressed as Little Red Riding Hood approaches man. Man sees her.]

[Man. Snidely] Oh, it's just you. [Mockingly] What the matter? Have you lost your dog?

[Werewolf in wolf form surprises man and slams man against wall pinning him by the throat. Man choking and desperately struggling to get free. Overpowered. Werewolf glaring directly into man's face. Snarling.]

[Woman walks over to man as she removes a handfull of dry dog food from her dress pocket. Crams dry dog food into man's gasping mouth. Some pieces spill to ground. Turns and walks away. Camera follows her in close up as sounds of werewolf violence is heard in the background.]


© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: (The Big Bad Wolf II)


[Werewolf. Human form. In kitchen with women cutting food. Accidentally cuts himself.]

[Woman] Are you okay?

[Werewolf] I'm fine.

[Woman] Are you sure? I'll get a bandage for you, if you want.

[Werewolf] No, I'm fine. Thanks. It'll heal.

[Woman] Are you sure?

[Werewolf] I'm sure. I'm fine. See? The bleeding's already stopped.

[Women thinks behaviour is odd]


[Friendly behaving dog follows werewolf in human form wherever he goes and stays with him. Woman notices this as very strange]

[Woman. Amazed.] My dog is never friendly with someone new!

[Man approaches to pet dog.] There's a good dog!

[Dog reacts negatively showing aggression. Man quickly retreats with surprise and shock]

[Werewolf ] I guess I just have a way with some animals.


[Werewolf in human form. Woman notices werewolf's cut has healed completely. She is puzzled at the unusual fast healing]


[Werewolf in human form. Bound to chair. Gunshot wound. Clothing and body soaked from rain. Drowsy and unresponsive]

[Man] Tell me,

[Grabs werewolf's hand and forces it flat]

was this the result of an accident?

[Camera shows middle finger and ring finger are exactly the same length. Grabs werewolf's other hand and forces it flat.]

Or were you born this way?

[Camera shows middle finger and ring finger on other hand exactly the same length. Man gets closer]

And why do I smell wet dog?


[Woman near werewolf in human form. Woman secretly picks up small blade. Slowly sneaks blade to neck of werewolf. Quickly nicks the back of his neck. Werewolf instantly reacts, turning and glaring at her. Woman is silent and motionless showing anxiety.]


[Night. Camera tracking something human like moving fast through woods. Unidentifiable. Sudden closeup of werewolf in wolf form. Human and wolf like in appearance. Fresh bloodstained fur around mouth. Blank stare, and then snarls. Teeth fleshly bloodstained.]


© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: A Man On The Edge

Hello. Come in. Sit down.

Thank you.

You are interested in working here?

Yes I am. Very much so.

Good. We are looking for people. You're looking for permanent work?

Yes I am.

Your resume says you have done all temporary work. I see a lot of long gaps in between your jobs. Why is that?

I did those jobs because I want to work, and I will do a job that I am offered. Those jobs I accepted I worked hard at even though they were only temporary. My objective is to build to a permanent job.

I see. You've been working toward that goal for a while now? Just judging by your age. You don't have to tell me, but I am guessing you are now close to forty? Most people by your age have build up a skill set, and I'm not seeing that here. Unskilled work. These are the types of jobs we hire young students for. You don't have any issues that keep you from holding down a job, do you?

No. I don't believe there is any shame in having a job. I work...

Ok. Your education. It says "General Arts and Science". What is that?

It is also known as a "Liberal Arts" education.

Why isn't it called that?

I don't know.

It is a genuine diploma?

Yes. I have a copy with me if...

I'm just asking because an "Arts" and "Science" diploma sounds so contradictory. I mean, it's like socialism and capitalism. They are the opposite things. They don't go together. How long did it take you to get this diploma?

Two years. I graduated with honours on the...

With honours?

Yes. The Dean's list. I also have a copy...

Really? Why did you decide on this diploma? Why not take something realistic?

My education has taught me how to think how to apply the lessons that I learned to the world of work. I just need the oportunity to...

Ok, ok. You can save the speech. I don't have the time right now. How much did this diploma cost you? If don't mind me asking?

About $20,000.

Are you serious?

Yes. I had a student loan. 

You spent that much?

Yes. And I paid the debt off myself. It took me about 10 years, but I worked whenever I could, and I paid off my debt. I think that shows that I...

Doing jobs like washing cars for years? These are the only types of jobs you did? 

Yes. I want to work.

Alright. Thank you for coming in. Here. Don't forget to take your resume with you. You can find you own way out, right?

Yes. Thank you.

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: Earthworm


Out in my rubber boots
Splashing in the rain
Jumping in puddles
Getting all wet
When I came across an earthworm
On the sidewalk that had lost its way

I could have stepped on it
Or kicked it to the curb
I could have dissected it
Anatomized without a word
But I stopped and stared
At this lonely worm
And a thought came over me

I picked it up
Raised it to my face
It wriggled
I jiggled
It twisted
I turned
We squirmed

Oh earthworm what a sight you are!
Held here between my finger tips
Perhaps I will kiss you
Just to feel you upon my lips!

It wasn’t that the rain had soaked my dress
It wasn't that one earthworm I brought home
It wasn’t that single earthworm I had alone
It was the writhing handfuls of all the rest

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: Politics And Principles

You vote against every thing the Mayor proposes.

Not everything. Only the bad proposals.

Okay, that doesn't matter. The point is you oppose the Mayor's ideas more than your support the Mayor's idea. This isn't good politics.

What do you mean?

Well, the Mayor's spouse runs a very fine restaurant downtown, and after some of the council meetings the Mayor invites us out to the restaurant. We all get a free meal, and we have a good time. The thing is, you never get invited.

I know.

The reason you don't ever get invited is because you are not in good with the Mayor. I mean, well, what did you have for supper last night?

Macaroni and cheese. Hot dogs.


Yes, it is one of my favourites.

We were dining on steak, lobster, wine, while you were eating like a poor person!

I've been poor. I know what it is like not to have enough to eat. Just having a decent meal regularly is fine with me. And lobster used to be considered a food only for the poor. Lobster are Crustacea. Crustacea are arthropoda. Arthropoda includes insects, spiders, crustaceans, and their relatives.

Never mind that! You could have a decent meal, more than a decent meal, at the restaurant if you would just get on the Mayor's good side. But your not on the Mayor's good side because you vote against almost all the new ideas for the City the Mayor comes up with.

Because most of the Mayor's proposals are not good ideas. They waste taxpayer's money. They create more government regulation. They are socialist ideas, not capitalist ideas. They are bad ideas for people, businesses, and the whole City. My job is to see that tax money is spent responsibly. My job is not to see that tax money is spent.  

I can't believe how stubborn and thick headed you are! Listen, I don't agree with every idea the Mayor has, but I am smart enough to know that if I side with the Mayor on the important things, the things the Mayor really wants, then I will receive benefits. Look, in politics you have to look out for yourself, number one. You don't understand that.

I understand principles.

Nobody cares about principles! Politicians get elected on promises, not principles! Nobody cares about that!

I care.

And that's your problem! Principles! You are unbelievable! I don't know how you got elected. No one is going to remember you unless you leave a legacy behind. Something everyone can see for years after you are gone. You'll probably get a new underground water pipe named after you that nobody will ever see, or even know is there!

People need water.

Oh, forget it! Enjoy your macaroni and cheese.

And hot dogs.

And your hot dogs!

Thank you. I will.

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: The Big Bad Wolf


[Enters room.] So, you have found out what I am. I hope you haven't melted down your grandmother's silverware just yet.


You're hurt.

[Sits in chair slowly.] No, not really, I just take a little time to heal. Right now I am bruised, cut, and sore, but I'll be fine in a few hours. I'll be fully healed by tomorrow. Amateurs.

No silver?

No. Either they didn't know, or they didn't have any. They were smart enough to ambush me, but not to kill me. That was their last mistake.

They caught you in werewolf form?

[With thought.] Yeah. Strange.


The silver bullet is newer. In the old days they used silver blades, arrows, things like that. You see, silver does two things: it prevents healing, and it is toxic, a poison to us in wolf form. We can get it two ways. If the wounds are not bad enough to kill, we can die from silver poisoning. That depends on how much silver we get. I've got my silver scars I can show you. Those don't heal. I don't know when they figured it out. The silver part, that is. What I do know is when they don't know how to kill what they have caught, they like to experiment. And when they do know how to kill what they have caught, they like to torture. If you think you understand why I don't like your human kind, you really have no idea.

But werewolves take human form.

Yeah. To either hide from you humans, or to ambush you. I guess. [Hinting he is not telling the truth]

Which are you? Are you here to hide or to ambush?

I'm here to try to help. Help both of us.


[Beaten and bloody. Human form]

[Swings pipe into him]

[Cries out in pain. Defiant.] If you keep hitting me with that pipe, some body is going to get hurt!

Yeah? Let's see, wolfie. How's this? [Swings pipe again.]

[Struggling with intense pain. Moaning.]

How 'bout it, wolfie? I want to see the big bad wolf. Where's the big bad wolf? Why don't you huff [swings pipe] and puff [swings pipe] and blow my house in? [swings pipe.]

[Silent and motionless on ground.]

No sense in beating him anymore. He can't feel a thing right now. He's not going anywhere. We got plenty of time. He can't stay in human form forever. [Gives hard kick on leaving]


[Dressed like Little Red Ridding Hood. Looking down. Face concealed in hood of cloak.]

[Laughter from others]

[Mean] Just what the hell are you supposed to be, little girl?!

[Looks up to reveal fearless face.] Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

[Werewolf surprises other men behind man in savage attack]

[Quickly removes concealed double barrelled sawed-off shotgun during distraction. Rapidly open fires twice into man at close range killing him. Picks up spent shells placing them in dress pocket. Turns and walks away. Pauses to lower hood, and to remove earplugs. Attention turned to sounds of werewolf doing killing behind her. Does not turn to look. Smiles to herself slightly with satisfaction. Pockets earplugs, conceals the shotgun, and walks on.]


© Trevor Dailey