AND NOW FOR A WORD FROM THE RIGHT SIDE OF MY BRAIN

THE LITTLE MATCH BOY 'arc' is over. If anyone is interested and would like to see it, episodes run from about Christmas Day (12/25) to 1/15. It IS a nice, sentimental read for a cold winter's night. Would of made a really first rate 1930's black and white tearjerker. Freddy Bartholomew could a earned a special Oscar for it. Maybe in a parallel universe he did.


But now I need your advice. Two story lines are bouncing around in my skull and I have to pick one. TRUE, I WILL wrap up the vampires and aliens first, but I'm talking about what comes after. PLEASE take a few seconds to comment and let me know which one you think might be best.


first choice -
these are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO


Mars is colonized. A culture develops almost exactly like the Old West. Big, land grant families control huge spreads on the terraformed (made Earth-like) red planet. This takes place a couple generations in the future. Americans speak an amalgam of Spanish and English (Spanglish). The colonists refer to themselves as 'Troopers' (in homage to the old cavalry) and their 'national' anthem is SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON (see the classic John Ford film...one of THE BEST).


Our pivotal characters, members of the powerful TEXACO FAMILY have a baronial holding called Polvorosa (red dust) just outside of the capital city, called BARSOOM. They raise herds of prize 'sky ponies' genetically engineered, winged horses perfectly suited to the somewhat lower gravity and high-plains conditions. The horses pound over the cin

THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part XXII

One of the workman came out a little later to take a piss. The alley was closer than the latrine. And nobody was out there, 'cept for the drunk and the little boy. So after his urine stopped steaming, he fastened up and took a quick hop over to the tiny fella. Tapped the tip of his shoe with his toe. The dog growled a bit. She looked real hungry. You could see it in her face.  Spaniels always look sad, but she looked even worse. The guy reached into his pocket and tossed her a hunk a short bread left over from lunch. She tried to grab it in mid air, only she couldn't. So he picked it up and gave it to her. You should see how fast she gobbled that up. The man said something to the boy, but the little bloke was sleeping. And the drunk laying a ways off started moaning  and gurgling. Workman figured they were together, father and son maybe. So he just turned 'round and went inside. Told a shift-mate about it. The shift-mate told him to worry 'bout himself and not get involved. Still, a half hour later, he went back outside and threw a piece a canvas over 'em.


Two hours later, when it was dark and the cooperage was all closed, it started snowing. But the tarp kept in all the heat. And the kid did have a fever and all. You know how it is with the little ones. Fevers don't run continuously. They come and go. Now it was time for 'the comin.'  So he starts whimpering in his sleep. Not a real sleep. More like a delirium. So the drunk jumps up. He hears it, but can't tell where it's comin' from. See the snow dusted the top side of the canvas and it just blended in with the pile of sawdust. He starts mumblin' somethin' 'bout ghosts and haunts and stumbles off. Napoleon stuck her nose out, she did, but 'cept for a fast outing to take a dump, she wern't gone nowhere. Funny how starvin' dogs still heed the call. The little fella was beyond all that. Guess the sickness effected his kidneys. 


Not long after they started gatherin' 'round him. The spirits, I mean. Who am I? Oh, I ain't no spirit. I AM a ghost. But I don't bother nobody. Just mind me own business, walkin' up and down the streets, lookin' into windows, things like that. Sometimes I slip through a wall, peek in a bedroom. I get curious. I used to be human too, you know. And believe me, I did not mean to give that man no hearty-tack. But he come outta the bathroom (fancy that...'bathrooms') and ketch me standin' over his wife. I get scared, shoot up through the ceiling and he falls down dead on top a her. She kept right on snorin' and sleepin'. Not exactly sure how that scene played out.


But I did want to see what happened to the little one. A lady there was. I figured her to me the ma. She sat down on the cold ground right next to him. Didn't move the tarp. Maybe that was beyond her capabilities? I don't know. Then a big fella comes by, crouches  down and just sighs. I knew he was the daddy right away. They looked so worried. Maybe it wasn't a done deal yet. Still they came to be with him.


And I knows how it goes with folks at times like that. Them what is passin', I mean. Part of 'em still lays sufferin' in the 'hard' world, but another part rests somewhere's else. Do I know what it's like over there? No, I told you. I'm a ghost. Ain't never been nowhere but Prague. Well, once I went to Pilsen, but that don't count. But I know..... I know. Sometimes when I sit real still  (People can be walkin' all around me. It could be bright daylight. The sun could be shinnin'. I don't care) I hear things. I hear little bits a magic from the next world. That's how I know. Maybe I'll go there one day? Who knows?


Little fella moaned a bit. Ma moved in close. She starts singing a quiet song. Then the dog drags herself out from under the tarp and just stands there.  Oh, she could see them. I know that. Must a known I was there too. Canines is smart that way. Could be cats are too, only they don't care. Little boy must a seen over to the 'next place.' I could hear a sweet, little, childlike chuckle. That's how I know. Them what loves him were startin' to ease him through. Dog comes right over and lays down close to the pa. He pets her. Don't know if she felt it or not. But she acted like she did.


Then I heared the chimes from Saint Vitus. You can hear them all around these parts. Don't remember what time it was. That ain't important. The pa puts his arm around the ma. I see her shoulders movin', so I know she's cryin'. Funny, think she'd be lookin' forward to the reunion. Guess she wanted him to have better than this. A few minutes later, steam starts risin' up from the tarp. Just like from a hot rock. You know them saunas they got up in Finland and over in Russia? Well, it was like that. Then the parents get real still. Everything gets still, even the air. The sky was clear. That I remember. You could see the stars. You could see the moon. The cold, little alley was all shiny with a dark and silvery light. And I felt something. Not a ghost. Not a spirit. It was like that, but it was different. Warmer. Sweeter. Now I'm gonna tell you it was an angel. But there's no way I can know for sure. 


I looked back down at the ma and pa. That's when I saw him. She had him. She was holding him. The little one, I mean. And he puts his head on her shoulder and snuggles close. The pa helps her up. Guess they ain't been dead long and still move like livin' folk. Then he leans in close and kisses the little fella. 


That's when they started to disappear, just like mist evaporating with the dawn. Dog starts whining. She must a wanted to go too. So she stands there for a few heartbeats, looking, like she can see them movin' off through the still, cold air. Then she comes back and lays herself down over the little body. You see the body was still there. 


In the morning, when the workman came back, they found him. His cheeks were still rosy. Well, flushed was more like it. A bloke goes runnin' off. Then he comes back with two men. A few crowns change hands. Might a been Austrian shillings. I don't know. The plain dressed man reaches down and picks up the little body. Somebody else hands him the canvas tarp and he uses that to wrap it up. Then the other one, his boss, I reckon, says something and they leave.


So I drifts off after 'em, wantin' to see where they was headed. Could a been to an undertaker's, but it wern't. Them two blokes ducks into a side door goin' down  to the cellar of some high falutin' medical college. Didn't have to go in. I could see through the window.  Oh, them what worked there took good care of him they did.... at least for now. Cadavers come dear, you know........


And the dog? She went with. Followed 'em the whole way back. See? There she is now, layin' down right by the door...


Wonder if she'll smell it when they start to cut him up?


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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part XXI

Sometimes the course of a stream can be changed by little things. A large rock might roll down from above and split the flow in two. All the little life forms, the crayfish and the minnows that swim down one side will live. But the other side is different. A farmer throws cans in there. They're practically empty now, but once were filled with poison. He used it to kill potato bugs. Now it will kill everything else.


Human life is like that too. When the sick little boy fled the snow sweepers, he could have turned down an alley behind pretty, little shops. Maybe he'd have burrowed in behind trash bins. A shopkeepers wife bringing out old stained wrapping paper, or broken buttons might have found him there. The good woman, if in fact she was a good woman, could have given him soup and hot tea with lemon...perhaps some bread and jam. Then she'd wrap him in a blanket (a new one, taken from their inventory) tuck him in an old, over-stuffed chair back in a little office and let him sleep. At closing time, or even before (her husband, being a kindly man would let her go) she'd summon a horse-drawn cab and with some help, carry the little fellow back to her house. Maybe a maid, some nice, young girl just in from the country, would hurry out to assist her, as they bundled him up the neat granite steps and through the front door.


He'd stay in the second bedroom, the son's room. That would be all right, since the young man was away at university and would not be home til Easter time. Perhaps by then, they'd fix him up with a room of his own. And maybe, in the best of all worlds, Napoleon would be there too, with a warm, clean stack of blankets in the storeroom by the kitchen and a nice, old piece of crockery heaped with scraps.


But this was not the best of all worlds. The little boy stumbled down another path, behind a noisy cooperage, a place where men made barrels. And he collapsed upon a small, pile of sawdust swept into a shadowy, dark, cold corner. A half dead drunk slept not far off. Heavy metal doors covered with chipped, green paint opened sporadically, so the workmen could roll out the fresh, oak barrels and stack them onto big, flat wagons, each one pulled by huge shaggy horses that snorted like dragons. Napoleon stood guard, barking at the gigantic beasts when they stepped too close. You should have seen them. They had hooves like dinner plates. But the dog was a good guardian and the match boy laid there unmolested. No one came near, or checked on him at all. He just slept and slept and slept. Napoleon carefully arranged herself across his thin, little body, a living blanket to fend off the cold. A few workmen came out to smoke cigars. They could not smoke inside the cooperage. But it was cold, so they quickly sucked up all the tobacco and stomped back in. One or two may have glanced his way, but they didn't do anything. It could be they did not want to appear 'sentimental' in front of their mates.......maybe.


Now the sun hates to stay in one place very long, so he rolled across the frigid, blue sky to another roost high atop the Saint Vitus steeple. Damp, gray shadows crept in to take his place. 


And soon the little boy began to wheeze...


Yet in his dreams he did not wheeze. In his dreams he was on that other street... in the other house... with the neat, granite steps.


But that was only an illusion.........


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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part XX

About nine hundred thousand people lived in Prague at that time. Art Nouveau salons flourished throughout the city creating masterpieces of all kinds. Political theorists grappled with all manner of problems in the great, Bohemian Diet. And wealthy dilletantes from glittering capitals the world over drifted in and out of the 'better' hotels and cafes. Stylish titled folk from Vienna and Budapest flocked to their palaces on the Vltava. But all that happened during the summertime. This was winter and things were quite different.


The little match boy drifted in and out of delirium. He saw great, warm, bowls of stew and cozy, thick quilts.  Maminka and Tatinek were there. Sweet babkas and bundt cakes occupied places of honor on the smooth, white, enameled kitchen table and he sampled it all. Moments latter an icy breeze would rouse him and he'd cry into Napoleon's fur. 


The pain in his throat was less searing now. Maybe he  could just no longer feel it. But the trembling was still there. So was the fever. Perhaps being light headed was a good thing. The boy reached into his pocket, a chunk of one of the large cookies still remained. He broke off a piece and chewed it. Swallowing was hard, but he did it. Another child, perhaps a girl, under another table cried out for help. She kept it up for fifteen minutes. And then her voice grew still. A bit later, the boy had to pee. He just wanted to lay there and do it in his pants. But a part of him was still the good, little baker's son, so he struggled to get up and slowly stumbled down to a crate by an alcove. Dizziness overwhelmed him, yet he managed to stay upright and empty his bladder. It felt good. He shivered. 


Then he turned around and made his way back to the spot under the outdoor market table.  A few loose pages of newsprint blew down the aisle, plastering themselves against his stomach. The boy mechanically gathered them up and used them to fend off the cold. But soon the pain came back. Yet even so, he slept. This time he had no dreams.


Two hours later the sun came up. The sky was blue. Teams of men with shovels and ice picks worked their way down the aisles and among the tables, readying them for the soon-to-arrive vendors. The few children left got up and ran away. The little boy watched them leave through half opened eyes. He did not want to go. But when he saw the men kick and beat an older boy, not so far away, he grabbed onto a table leg and pulled himself up. A few fluttering heartbeats later he shuffled 'round a corner and disappeared from sight. Napoleon went with him.


Almost all the children were gone. Only the one who cried last night was left. But she, at least, was dead.


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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part XX

About nine hundred thousand people lived in Prague at that time. Art Nouveau salons flourished throughout the city creating masterpieces of all kinds. Political theorists grappled with all manner of problems in the great, Bohemian Diet. And wealthy delitants 

THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part XX

About nine hundred thousand people lived in Prague at that time. Art N

THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part XIX

An icy rain came down to claim the snow covered city, sealing all under a frigid, glass-like veneer. The little boy skittered and ran all the way back to the outdoor market off Wenceslas Square. Napoleon, her shoulders hunched and nose pressed down to the ground, trotted after him. She was so cold and so wet. As soon as they claimed a spot under one of the heavy, gray tables he dried her. He took off his scarf   ( in itself a true sacrifice) and rubbed the bone numbing chill from her fur. She kissed his face. He laughed. Then he flapped the woolen scarf in the wind (fortunately, the rain couldn't reach this corner) and wound it round his throat. Other street urchins occupied similar positions, sitting in their under-the-table shelters and staring out, just like animals in a zoo. No one came to bother them, even the child-stealers. Some said the snatched ones wound up in sup-alpine salt mines. They needed children there to squeeze into the tiny, little narrow places. Others claimed they sold them east,  to spoiled Russian-Ukrainian nobles for 'domestic' work on country dachas. But the latest story was even more sinister. 'Pharmaceutical' factories were establishing themselves throughout the Hapsburg realm. Indeed, there was a new wonder drug, aspirin, on the horizon, plus other sometimes miraculous elixirs as well.  Clinical functionaries kept such unfortunate young ones locked in primitive laboratories, where they were regularly dosed with a veritable rainbow of bitter nostrums. Strong, canvas belts secured them to the beds. Movement was difficult. And the sheets were rarely changed. Death was common, almost a given. The fresh, new corpses turned profits again, as they assumed vivisectional duties upon gurneys in well respected, university medical schools. No one asked questions. They just did not want to. 


But the little boy did not know this. He had his own troubles. First there was a weak, small itching at the back of his throat, courtesy of the tram-ogre's filthy spit. It made him cough. He wedged himself deep into the corner, up against a store front. But it didn't really chase away the cold. Then his head began to feel hot...and his neck too. He loosened the scarf and pushed his cap back from his forehead. At least he had the dog. She kept him warm.  And in all probability, he returned the favor. But the itching got worse, blossoming into a growing red-hot fire. If he were a well-to-do boy, hired doctors might recommend quinine or some other pricey treatment, but he was not. So he 'made do' with an icicle snapped off from the edge of his table-roof and slowly sucked at it in an attempt to lessen the pain. He trembled. He shivered. His little head hurt and his ears hurt too. But at least he was out of the rain.


And he lay there with the dog, waiting to get better.


Another boy, from under another table, tried to snuggle in against Napoleon too. But she snapped at him and drove him away.


The wind died down at sunset. The dampness vanished too. But the air just got colder and colder.


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