The Mynerthins – Part 2

Read Part 1 Here

Brent returned to work but had a difficult time concentrating. Durk had expressed relief that Assistant Plethor was dead. It was wrong to feel this way, as Assistant Plethor was an appreciated instructor who always kept the Mynerthins hard at work. Plethor made certain they did not deviate from their assigned informative discussions. As a matter of fact, Brent felt he achieved more when Assistant Plethor was actively encouraging him to complete his duty faster!

Brent paused his typing. Something was terribly wrong, he realized. For some reason, Brent was feeling more happiness at Assistant Plethor’s passing than he was supposed to. For the second time that day he wondered if he should seek out a medical evaluation. He searched the room and found the two men with dark sunglasses staring back at him. They approached.

“Brent,” the tall, slender one said. “Come with us.”

Brent followed the two men out from the main work area and into a compact, dimly lit private room. The shorter of the two men secured 2 bolts and a padlock after they shut the door. Brent noticed Steve placed what was called a “handgun” beside himself on the table. Brent had never seen a real one before.

“Call me Steve,” said the tall one, before thumbing toward his stockier, mustached counterpart, “This is Horatio. Do you’re know why we brought you here?”

“Yes,” said Brent. “Director Limely informed us you would help us engage and sort out our feelings toward Assistant Plethor’s death.”

“Great! Now let’s get started.”

Horatio clicked a pen and prepared to scribble notes on a piece of paper. Steve pressed a button on a recording device and a light began to blink red.

“It is a tragedy and something worth feeling sad about,” said Brent. An unsettling image flashed through his imagination – it was Assistant Plethor, only he was screaming and had the head of an axe wedged into his skull.

“It certainly is,” Steve finally said.

“Assistant Plethor always helped us get a massive amount of work completed. He was one of the best at ensuring our productivity.”

Horatio spoke with a chunky, burly voice. “I figure Assistant Plethor won’t be barking orders at you anymore. You must feel good about that at least, huh?”

“Yes,” said Brent. “Yes I think that is relief that I feel. How did you know that?”

The AC vent hummed as Steve scratched his chin. “What were you doing last night around the hour of 2200?”

“I took a shower and went to sleep.”

“Before the shower,” said Steve.

“I was either reading or writing.”

“Which was it?” said Horatio.

Brent thought about it for a moment. “I believe writing. I have been doing that lately.”

“About?” said Steve.

“I journal every night. It’s supposed to help organize my thoughts and feelings.”

“Did you murder Assistant Plethor?” said Steve.

Brent burst out in laughter and pounded the table with his fist. Sarcasm was a rarely acceptable form of communication for the Mynerthins, but one that he secretly enjoyed. It was believed to be a reflection of negativity and passive aggressive attacks, but Brent always found it to be more of an intellectual inflection.

“No, I did not murder him. Would you like to see my journal?” said Brent.

Steve leaned heavily onto the table as he tapped his fingers against his cheek. His eyelids squeezed together as he kept his gaze firmly trained on Brent. “Are you lying to us?”

The smile disappeared from Brent’s face. Being honest and truthful at all times was the most important virtue of the Mynerthins. Their purpose to human civilization was centered on the knowledge that they were the truth-tellers, provided with the authority to correct wrongful thoughts and dangerous opinions. A Mynerthin that was a known liar was better off dead.

“You have disgraced me,” said Brent. “You have not relieved my grief but sorely aggravated it. Assistant Plethor’s death was a tragedy and worth feeling sad over. I beg you to perform a lie examination on me and grant me the opportunity to redeem my integrity. I demand it.”

Sometime went by before Steve finally exhaled a heavy sigh.

“Horatio, go with Brent to his quarters. Check out his journal. And take pictures. I’ll bring in the next grief-stricken warrior.”

Horatio smiled as he stood. “You’re a natural therapist.”

“I demand a lie detector!” said Brent.

“You’re not getting it,” said Steve, before turning to Horatio. “The title’s Grief counselor, and you’re goddamn right I am.”

Brent felt as though his face were boiling as he watched Horatio unclasps the locks.

White Knights of the Round Table

white knights of the round table

INT. UNDERGROUND ROUNDTABLE – NIGHT

A dozen of the nicest guys you’d ever want to meet surround the long, marble table. At the head sits JUDGE MCELROY (65), who strikes his gavel three times.

The white knights quiet down, with some of them even ‘shhhing’ one another.

JUDGE MCELROY

Welcome, white knights.

WHITE KNIGHTS (IN UNISON)

Thank you for having us here, Judge McElroy.

JUDGE MCELROY

Now, as some of you may know, the matter we have come to discuss today plays a serious role in our personal lives. We are here to discuss women, and more importantly, their failure to find themselves attracted to the good guys, meaning us, and their terrible inklings toward bad guys –

Judge McElroy lets out a breath, pulls up a poster of Chris Brown, then points at it in disgust.

JUDGE MCELROY (cont.’)

Like him.

The white knights stick their tongues out, some even shake their heads angrily in disapproval. HAROLD (42), bald and grumpy looking, bangs his fist against the table.

HAROLD

That guy’s a jerk!

Judge McElroy puts the poster on the table. One of the white knights, JERRY (20), picks it up and tries to tear it in two. After failing he crumples it instead.

JUDGE MCELROY

Now, now, gentlemen. Let us not behave as these, quote on quote, ‘bad boys’. We all know that it is not his superior dancing skills that land him the women, nor is it his incredible good looks, as everyone in here is ravishingly handsome, and more than a few of us have achieved high scores on dance dance revolution.

Jerry smacks the table with both hands.

JERRY

What is it then, your honor? Why do women fall for low-lifes like him? I mean, should we really blame everything on the inferior intellect of females?

The room is quiet for a moment, and Judge McElroy appears deep in thought as he slowly spins his gavel on the table.

JUDGE MCELROY (sighing)

No, no. I’m afraid we can’t blame their brains entirely.

HAROLD (35), who is built like an average person, with a decent smile and a half-decent beard, speaks up with the confidence of a math teacher armed with a calculator. He wears a plaid button down and his hair is combed modestly.

HAROLD

I know what it is.

The surrounding knights look at Harold in bewilderment, as though he is about to tell them the secret they have been waiting their entire lives to hear. PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE, who has a button pinned to his suspender that says ‘feminist supremacist’, jumps in.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

You do?

HAROLD

Yes.

Every knight at the table waits on edge.

HAROLD

Subliminal messages.

The white knights are confused. Judge McElroy sits well over the table.

JUDGE MCELROY

Do elaborate on your theory, sir Harold.

HAROLD

Haven’t any of you ever noticed how he slides his feet, points at his junk, and moves his hips like he’s penetrating one of our females?

The white knights take time to reflect on Chris Brown music videos.

JERRY

He’s does do a lot of that.

HAROLD

Those are all subliminal messages, geared toward sex!

The white knights gasp.

HAROLD

He’s tricking our women into sleeping with him by his overtly sexual dance moves!

The white knights seem so angry they could do something about it. Professor Super Douche throws his glasses at the table. They bounce once then his FRED, who sits across from him.

FRED

Ow.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Sorry.

JERRY

Let me get this straight.

(beat)

Are you saying that, theoretically, if we were to perfect Chris Brown dance moves… women would sleep with us?

The white knights turn their heads to Harold in a flash.

HAROLD

I would never lower myself to that level.

The white knights are discouraged, but politely nod in agreement anyway.

HAROLD

I’ll tell what we should do, though.

(beat)

Training school for ladies.

The white knights are attentive once more.

HAROLD

It’s not going to be like any ordinary school, though. It’s more like a boot camp… No, no, not a boot camp…

Harold stands up. He begins to walk in circles around the room, staring at nothing as he speaks. Inspiration has struck this man! An idea from the heavens, and every white knight is on the edge of their seat, eager to hear it.

HAROLD

Yeah, a training school! Judge McElroy, where did you send your puppy to get properly trained?

JUDGE MCELROY

Dog training.

HAROLD

Yeah, yeah! Like dog training… only, for women. Human women!

Some of the white knights are smiling, laughing even.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Harold, you must be joking.

HAROLD

I’m not though! I’ve never thought so clearly in my entire life…

Harold gets up on the marble table. He paces hurriedly as he speaks, raising his arms even. His smile reaches from ear to ear.

HAROLD

There the women will be taught properly. Every time they look at a man with tattoos and a hairstyle, they will be shocked!

JERRY

With a shock collar?

HAROLD

Exactly! And every time they are complemented politely, or have the door held open for them, or find a man willing to listen, they will be taught to…

Professor Super Douche stands up with vigor.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Give them a blowjob!

The white knights glance disapprovingly at Professor Super Douche, who slowly sits back down.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Sorry.

HAROLD

Every time a good guy does something good for a women, they will be taught to… to tickle his pickle!

The white knights cheer.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

How is that different than what I said?

JERRY

Shut up, douche.

JUDGE MCELROY

Say another word I’ll spill your brains on the floor with my gavel, maggot.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Sorry.

JUDGE MCELROY (to Harold)

It’s settled then. Tomorrow night, we begins plans to build this ‘Lady Training School’. The only question left in my mind, Sir Harold, is what shall we call it?

Harold puts his hands to his hips and stares up to the ceiling. He is deep in thought, and clearly on the verge of one last act of genius.

HAROLD

We shall call it…

(beat)

Pickle ticklers.

The white knights nod in agreement. At first only smiles are the only sign of approval, but gradually, and one by one, they begin a slow clap. Harold modestly accepts by smiling and laughing like Paul Rudd.

PROFESSOR SUPER DOUCHE

Great idea, Sir Harold!

Jerry jumps across the table and tackles Professor Super Douche. He beats his ass to the cheerful amusement of everyone.

Fade out.

  • Thomas M. Watt

Bizarre Setting for “Way of the World”

The entire Way of the World series takes place in two distinct settings – The Island of Paradise and a town called Gnashing.

The Island of Paradise is a metaphor for the garden of Eden, and in later books becomes the kingdom of heaven.

Gnashing is a metaphor for the world – and in the town of Gnashing there is a wilderness that features rattlesnakes, wolves, and bears. There are green ferns from the east coast, and giant redwood trees from the west coast. To one side of the wilderness is a beach, to the other a desert. The extravagant homes in Gnashing are based on early 20th century Edwardian models. Here is a sketch of the Dunlap’s residence:

Dunlap's estate front view

Across from the luxurious houses are farms, where the lowly class of Loyalists work (they were slaves not long ago).

The setting of Gnashing is meant to be timeless and multicultural. The “Way of the World” series has a Spiritual message at its heart, a theme which each and every generation of man has questioned since the beginning of his existence.

What do you think of this setting? Is it too ridiculous and unbelievable to have a rich wilderness within close proximity of a desert? Should the bizarre setting of Gnashing and non-existent time period be established within the first few pages through direct narration, or should that be left up to the readers to figure out as they go along?

Looking forward to hearing your opinions.

Thomas M. Watt

Author of “A New Kingdom”

Way of the World – Michael’s Story

Kingsley's island on fire

Spent all morning stacking the chapters up so I could make a single file out of them. It amazes me how much time I spend on the easiest of tasks.

Going to promote Way of the World on a daily basis from here on out, sorry ’bout it. I’ll give you updates, information, and every reason to resent me as a blogger and a human being.

Oh well.

Anyway, Way of the World is a book series that I spent a year and a half of my life working on. I’m kind of embarrassed to admit it, but I got ridiculously obsessed with the concept – it’s a loose allegory of the bible, from Old Testament to New, and features biblical protagonists that would make Marvel comics jealous.

The first book is split into two stories – one is told from the Archangel Michael’s perspective, the other is told from Adam’s, who of course stands for the Adam who is responsible for the fall of man.

I’m not marketing this as a Christian book mainly because I don’t feel it is one. It’s a ‘Christians meet the real world’ book. I believe people who know nothing about the bible and have no belief in God whatsoever will still enjoy this story.

What are your thoughts? Does this concept appeal to you? Are there any aspects of Way of the World that you don’t like, or find offensive?

Let me know.

Thomas M. Watt

Julie and Benjamin – Part 2

Image

Julie and Benjamin sprinted away, shackled together by a chain-linked set of handcuffs. The police officer chased after them.

“I knew something like this would happen!” Said Benjamin.

“Well it’s hard to go unnoticed when you’re wearing handcuffs, Benjamin.”

The couple turned the corner and ran through a bush hedge into a backyard. The backyard was littered with bullet-holed beer cans and empty shell casings, along with a single rocking chair and a flaky wooden shed.

“In here!” said Julie.

“Are you crazy?” said Benjamin, as he tugged back his handcuffs and kept her from entering.

The sounds of approaching  sirens were accompanied by the shouts of, “Police, police!”

“Fine,” said Benjamin, practically dragging his wife behind as he kicked open the door. They slammed the door behind and found themselves engulfed in darkness. The cruisers could still be heard outside.

“This is all your fault,” hissed Julie.

“My fault?” said Benjamin. “It was you who talked me into your stupid plan!”

“Shut up.” Said Julie. “Just shut up. I hate you. I hate that I’m here with you. I hate that I ever married you.”

“Oh,” said Benjamin. “That hurts. That really hurts, Julie.”

“You’re not a strong man. You’re a coward.”

“Well you’re fat.”

“I am not fat!”

“Shhh, keep quiet.” Said Benjamin.

The two kept silent for a bit, as the sound of footsteps trudging through soggy grass could be heard just outside.

“Nobody here,” a voice finally said. The officers could be heard stomping away.

Julie issued a sigh of relief. “If only you didn’t get so nervous, we would have gotten away.”

“Oh please,” said Benjamin. “We got caught because you didn’t keep the officers distracted long enough.”

Julie scoffed. “It was a fool-proof plan, Benjamin. I was sobbing like a baby, and all the policemen were trying to calm me down. All you had to do was go through their lockers, toss all their uniforms in the sack, then walk. But no, you had to trip on the way out and spill everything.”

“Well it was a stupid theft in the first place. The more I think about your reason for wanting the uniforms, the more I question your sanity. By the way, thanks for taking the initiative to bolt after we were cuffed together!”

“I can’t believe I married such a… bore.”

“I can’t believe I married an insane woman.”

A light turned on. Julie and Benjamin turned to see a man sitting in the shed, a rifle in his lap and a cigarette in his mouth.

“You two done woke me up.” He puffed out smoke. “Ain’t nobody supposed to be on my premises, this here’s private property. You know what that means, don’t ya?”

“What?” said Julie.

The man stood up. A twisted grin overtook his face, and he held the rifle at his hip, barrel pointed in their direction.

Part 3, Coming Soon!

– Thomas M. Watt

A Handshake Precedes an Indecent Request – Part 2

chicken dinner

“Alright, I’ll tell you everything,” said Joe. “I’ll explain why I met you tonight and expect to leave with your wife, for good. I just need to know one thing.”

“What?” said Mr. Huerto.

“You won’t lay a hand on Marie. You won’t hurt her.”

Mr. Huerto laughed. “Joe, I’m not the type to hit a woman.”

“I know,” Joe gulped. “But after you hear my story, I’m afraid that all could change.”

Something loud fell and crashed in the other room. Marie sobbed louder.

“I don’t hit women,” said Mr. Huerto. “Now on with the story.”

Joe nodded. He had a breath, then began.

“When Marie and I were sixteen, we were already on our third year of dating, and felt normal teenage rebellion was getting boring. We needed thrill, excitement. We needed to do something new, something kids our age wouldn’t even dare. We needed more adrenaline-”

“Why?'” said Mr. Huerto.

Joe smirked as he returned his glance to Mr. Huerto. “We liked to fuck on it.”

Mr. Huerto shook his head and stuffed a cracker into his mouth. “Just… just go on!”

“Alright.” Joe nodded. “So me and Marie, we used to devise ways to get ourselves as close to danger as possible, without ever getting caught. It started out with stupid things, like breaking into random cars for a quickie. As time wore on, we got all the more adventurous. Started getting stupid with it. Broke into houses, backyards. Soon breaking in alone wasn’t enough.”

Mr. Huerto swung his glass of water to his lips then choked slightly on his drink. He tried to muffle his cough, and when he spoke again it was with a broken voice.

“You alright, sir?” said Joe.

“I didn’t exactly plan on hearing all about my wife’s sexcapades with some stranger tonight.”

Joe laughed. “That’s alright, it gets better.”

Mr. Huerto darted his glance back to Joe. Joe went on.

“So the whole breaking in thing, we got tired of it. It seemed juvenile, you know? So we decided to do something different. We decided to start getting strangers involved.”‘

Mr. Huerto raised an eyebrow.

Joe laughed. “Not like you think. It was a game. A sick, weird little game-”

“What was the game?”

Joe buttoned his lips initially. “Marie would go on dates with other guys. I would wait for her-”

“WHERE?” Screamed Mr. Huerto, standing up.

Joe shook his hands and backed away. “In the bathroom!”

“And then?”

“And then we would fuck, while her date was waiting for her!”  Joe scurried away.

Mr. Huerto charged on. “You mean to tell me the first date I shared with my wife, the night you were caught raping her in the ladies bathroom, the reason you were locked up for the last ten years… WAS BECAUSE MY WIFE IS A SEX-FREAK!”

Joe backed into wall. “Not a freak, Mr. Huerto. Exhibitionist is-”

“YOU WENT TO PRISON FOR TEN YEARS! HOW COULD THIS NOT COME OUT IN COURT?”

Joe fell into a corner. He looked down at the carpeting. “You can thank Marie for that one.”

“Why?” said Mr. Huerto.

Joe gulped. “She said if I could wait ten years, she knew a guy that would give us sixteen million dollars.”

“What? Who! I’ve got thirty-two million but I swear on my life I’m not about to give any… wait.”

Just then, Marie sprinted through the room and towards the front door.

“MARIE!” Shouted Mr. Huerto.

PART 3, COMING SOON!

Thomas M. Watt

Mayor Dunlap’s Estate

Mayor Dunlap's Estate

This is the Dunlap’s estate. It is known as the most lavish abode in all of Gnashing, and is frequently admired by all who pass by. It is located in the farm country, and is the same home former Congressman P. Farro inhabited.

Michael has some troubling childhood memories here, as the third story room was where he committed twelve murders during the Slave Owner Slaughter.

For more about my novel, “Way of the World,” feel free to check out my website at http://www.thomasmwatt.com

Casey, Jackson, and Gus

Casey, Jackson, and Gus

Casey is an Irishman who is vulgar, funny, and despicable. He loves his ‘shillelagh’, which is nothing more than a blunt club.

Jackson is an Australian, who is well-built and as crude as Casey.

Gus speaks with a croaky voice, and always is agitated about something. He is heavy, and not too fun to be around.

To find out more about my novel, “Way of the World,” just check out my website at http://www.thomasmwatt.com