Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Aboard My Train Of Thought by Scott C. Endsley (10 ebook reader .txt) 📖
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- Author: Scott C. Endsley
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laid Artie, a paranoid schizophrenic. Artie didn't have any friends, and at 32, still lived with his mom and dad. One day they thought they'd buy him a computer to get him on the Internet, to make acquaintances and learn to trust people. All was great the first few hours, until his computer froze up with a message on the monitor: "You have performed an illegal operation!" His parents found him three weeks later, wandering in the Arizona desert, hiding from the law.
I was just getting snug in my hospital blanket, with the heating vent blowing on me and emitting a musty nostalgic odor I contrived to place, when just like an unpredictable dust-storm, a heavyset, hairy under the arms, sumo wrestler-looking, registered woolly mammoth heifer, flattened the door and belched, "Mr Hipwing, your doctor wants to see you now!"
"I was just getting cozy, tell him to wait till later, Ok?"
She moved toward me like an approaching Sherman tank in fierce battle, lifted me up by the foot of my bed, carried me past the (most feared of all possible trepidation) Foam-Rubbered-Wall Time Out Room, then slammed my bunk on top of Doc's psychiatric couch, violently scattering two by fours; and concluded by hurling back my pajama pants to me. They had gotten hung on the doorknob as the mattress and I approached in a hazardous emergency landing attempt, while Doc quietly cleared the runway.
DR: Ah Clyde, I'll bet we're feeling better today, aren't we?
ME: Oh yeah! What's she like when patients give her trouble?
DR: She's one of the best staff members we've got.
ME: Yeah, I'm sure that's well understood around here. Where's Maggie, my dog? Did she tell you what all was going on, concerning Homer? He escaped from the second story of this book, and I'm afraid of what he'll do next!
DR: Clyde, you're talking gibberish! It's all in your head. See, look out the window, tell me what state you're in?
ME: I'm sure you're going to try to convince me I'm back in Oklahoma..... but how? I drove up here, to New York City, to see Flush. If you don't believe me, try asking him!
DR: It's all a delusion, Clyde. The medicine I've got you on will soon stop your brain from wandering.
ME: Doc, I don't want to be on meds, Ok? Just listen to me...
DR: Say, have you thought about Electro Shock Therapy?
ME: What? Are you crazy? (wrong question). There would be nothing left of my brain... it would....
DR: Not true, Clyde. It would help put your past behind you.... Never again to haunt you. Your insurance will pay for it. And you wouldn't have to be on as much medication... You don't want to go through life battling an imaginary war, do you? Whatya say?
ME: I dunno, man......
DR: We can do it right now. All you have to do is sign here and from this day forward, you'll be free from your past, Clyde..... I'm your friend. I know what's best for you. I wouldn't let you down.
ME: Does it hurt?
DR: Nope; we'll put you under anesthesia, and you'll wake up a brand new person... Come on Clyde!.
ME: This is the best way... Huh?
DR: The best.... Clyde.... the best. Trust me.
ME: All right. I guess... Where do I sign?
No sooner than I had signed, they put me in a gown of some sort, and wheeled me into what appeared to be a miniature surgical room. They escorted me out of the wheelchair and onto the table, where I was straight-away strapped down, arms and legs. I was fearful, and wasn't totally convinced everything was in my head, but trusted the doctor's judgment. At that moment the anesthetist entered the room armed with the NEEDLE!
His bushy eyebrows were peeking above his glasses, as his face seemed to form a smile, though I couldn't see behind his surgical mask, of course. The hypodermic needle had no sooner pierced my skin, when he revealed his easily recognizable face and whispered eerily, "Dawn Comes With Rosy Fingers...."
I could barely respond, my mind heavy with the power of the drug. "Ho.... Ho... mer..... Wh..... W...h...y....?"
-----------------------------
(Episode 16)
"My fellow comrades, I the Honorable Homer, have now been generously given all power over the European peoples. So today I'm sending the man I think best suits the appointment of First Secretary of European Affairs, the only man to lead, beneath my supremacy, the now Unified People.."
Homer then, with a evil shift of his eyes, and a wave of his hand to my Fictional Likeness, added, "Mr. Hipwing, would you please say a few words on behalf of the newly liberated continent?"
"Thank you, Honorable Homer,... Friends, Press, and the like.... "
<*><*><*>
Maggie had wondered why she wasn't allowed to accompany me in the hospital, and became suspicious. She had caught a glimpse of Homer's press conference in front of the UN building, on a TV in a shop window, and unhesitatingly set out to search desperately for the International Command Center for World Peace, and alert My Fictional Likeness, Claude, of my dire straits.
She darted in between legs, cars, kids at play, and an occasional fire hydrant, but in her nobility, she wasn't the least bit tempted. She was unyieldingly duty-bound. Jollity would have to be put off till later!
She managed to jump through the window of a moving cab, fondly remembering one of Matilda's favorite tales. "To the U.N. building! Oh, please hurry, my good sir!"
Following a mad excursion through rush hour traffic, the taxi came to a startling standstill. Maggie, thrown out of the open window and landing in a soft flower bed, briskly entered into a welcoming revolving door. She looked behind, and became aware of the vice presidential limousine pulling up to the curb. "He can't be too far!" she reasoned.
She put forth the effort, once inside of the UN building, to emulate a simple commonplace dog, and pretended to analyze certain entertaining odors on the expected places of folks, as they passed by. She hoped her dumb pooch act would assist her in being less eye-catching. Soon afterward, she unmistakably caught a glimpse of Homer and swiftly backed into a deep-set area along the hallway.
His Honorableness was deep into a chewing-out session with several of his yes men, smoking a long foul-smelling panatela cigar while he passed, then progressed out-of-doors. Mag immediately spotted Claude, then lunged forward. She whined while nipping at his pants leg.
"Maggie!" he acknowledged, quickly swooping her up and easily concealing her, due to her mediocre size, inside his weather worn trench-coat while advancing toward his limousine.
"Okay Mag... how's Clyde?"
"They've got him locked up inside of 'The Crazy Nut's Gone Bananas In The Big Apple Mental Health Facility!'.... Tell your driver to go there, I beg you! They won't let me see him, something must be dreadfully wrong..."
-------------------------------
(Episode 17)
Claude and Maggie pulled up to the alley, right behind 'The Crazy Nut's Gone Bananas In The Big Apple Mental Health Facility,' and intensely observed the entire campus to make sure they would not be seen. Claude advised Mag to stay in the car to keep watch and put on her 'dog act' if she thought she noticed anything suspicious. He then snuck around to the front of the unlocked door of the public lobby.
"Mr Hipwing, how did you get out here?" a curious hospital tech wanted to know.
"Well... I dunno.... Maybe you should take me back to my room."
The intern escorted him down the hall, and then down some stairs leading to a locked door. Reaching into his pocket, he removed some keys, and unlocked all the locks as he expressed his puzzlement, "How did you get out of here?"
"It's simple. I just did this..." Claude returned, as he belted the tech under the jaw, with all the power he could find. The force of the blow knocked him into the laundry room. With a smile of pride, Claude rushed into my room, discovering me incapacitated, and hooked to all sorts of monitors. While removing them, he felt around my lower neck and crudely ripped the chip Homer had planted.
"Homer, why...." I mumbled, still quite a bit groggy
"Clyde, get up! It's me! I've come to get you outta here," he proclaimed, and without any hesitence began stripping the tech of his clothing; trading mine for his. He tried to prop me up on my feet; but they were jelly, so he carried me over his shoulder. There didn't seem to be anyone on the basement floor as he looked around, so he hurried me up the steps and we quietly snuck out the door. It seemed odd, he thought to himself, that nobody else was around while he shoved me inside of the limousine. But he thought too soon, as several hospital staff tried to jump on the car and stop us. We fled just in time!
I was beginning to feel my old self again, and sat up in the back seat after I noticed Maggie. Claude, my likeness, began to explain a plan to rid Homer just as the chauffeur turned around slowly and revealed himself.
"Mr Pigglesworth!" I exclaimed.
Elmo began scolding me for carelessly losing his note explaining what procedure to take in dealing with His Honorableness. "This whole thing could have been wrapped up already if you hadn't been so clumsy, Clyde. Listen carefully, here's what you need to do....."
------------------------------------------
(Episode 18)
I wasn't real confident about the whole contrived effort, but I dared to do it anyway. Armed with My Likeness' Identification tag, I slipped by the White House Security Officer, the following afternoon, without any resistance. "Good afternoon, Claude!" he bid.
I had almost forgotten that Claude was the nickname Homer gave him, so as to not get the two of us confused. "Beautiful day, isn't it Bill?" I acknowledged, reading his identification and name badge.
I prowled down the west-end corridor, past the Press Secretary's office, and over to Homer's Personal Secretary's desk. She was buried in mounds of dictation notes, but managed to glance up at me with a puzzled expression. "You need something, Mr. Hipwing?"
"What, Dorothy? I uh..."
"Are you all right, Claude?"
Whew! She didn't recognize me. I inquired as to whether His Honorableness was in and freely at my desposal. She scanned a poorly legible list of executive engagements, then nervously solicited him on the speakerphone. He growled and him-hawd awhile, but agreed to entertain me.
"Thanks, Dorothy." I smiled.
"Yes, what do you need, Claude? I'm afaid I'm very busy right now!" Homer scorned, though I caught the latest edition
I was just getting snug in my hospital blanket, with the heating vent blowing on me and emitting a musty nostalgic odor I contrived to place, when just like an unpredictable dust-storm, a heavyset, hairy under the arms, sumo wrestler-looking, registered woolly mammoth heifer, flattened the door and belched, "Mr Hipwing, your doctor wants to see you now!"
"I was just getting cozy, tell him to wait till later, Ok?"
She moved toward me like an approaching Sherman tank in fierce battle, lifted me up by the foot of my bed, carried me past the (most feared of all possible trepidation) Foam-Rubbered-Wall Time Out Room, then slammed my bunk on top of Doc's psychiatric couch, violently scattering two by fours; and concluded by hurling back my pajama pants to me. They had gotten hung on the doorknob as the mattress and I approached in a hazardous emergency landing attempt, while Doc quietly cleared the runway.
DR: Ah Clyde, I'll bet we're feeling better today, aren't we?
ME: Oh yeah! What's she like when patients give her trouble?
DR: She's one of the best staff members we've got.
ME: Yeah, I'm sure that's well understood around here. Where's Maggie, my dog? Did she tell you what all was going on, concerning Homer? He escaped from the second story of this book, and I'm afraid of what he'll do next!
DR: Clyde, you're talking gibberish! It's all in your head. See, look out the window, tell me what state you're in?
ME: I'm sure you're going to try to convince me I'm back in Oklahoma..... but how? I drove up here, to New York City, to see Flush. If you don't believe me, try asking him!
DR: It's all a delusion, Clyde. The medicine I've got you on will soon stop your brain from wandering.
ME: Doc, I don't want to be on meds, Ok? Just listen to me...
DR: Say, have you thought about Electro Shock Therapy?
ME: What? Are you crazy? (wrong question). There would be nothing left of my brain... it would....
DR: Not true, Clyde. It would help put your past behind you.... Never again to haunt you. Your insurance will pay for it. And you wouldn't have to be on as much medication... You don't want to go through life battling an imaginary war, do you? Whatya say?
ME: I dunno, man......
DR: We can do it right now. All you have to do is sign here and from this day forward, you'll be free from your past, Clyde..... I'm your friend. I know what's best for you. I wouldn't let you down.
ME: Does it hurt?
DR: Nope; we'll put you under anesthesia, and you'll wake up a brand new person... Come on Clyde!.
ME: This is the best way... Huh?
DR: The best.... Clyde.... the best. Trust me.
ME: All right. I guess... Where do I sign?
No sooner than I had signed, they put me in a gown of some sort, and wheeled me into what appeared to be a miniature surgical room. They escorted me out of the wheelchair and onto the table, where I was straight-away strapped down, arms and legs. I was fearful, and wasn't totally convinced everything was in my head, but trusted the doctor's judgment. At that moment the anesthetist entered the room armed with the NEEDLE!
His bushy eyebrows were peeking above his glasses, as his face seemed to form a smile, though I couldn't see behind his surgical mask, of course. The hypodermic needle had no sooner pierced my skin, when he revealed his easily recognizable face and whispered eerily, "Dawn Comes With Rosy Fingers...."
I could barely respond, my mind heavy with the power of the drug. "Ho.... Ho... mer..... Wh..... W...h...y....?"
-----------------------------
(Episode 16)
"My fellow comrades, I the Honorable Homer, have now been generously given all power over the European peoples. So today I'm sending the man I think best suits the appointment of First Secretary of European Affairs, the only man to lead, beneath my supremacy, the now Unified People.."
Homer then, with a evil shift of his eyes, and a wave of his hand to my Fictional Likeness, added, "Mr. Hipwing, would you please say a few words on behalf of the newly liberated continent?"
"Thank you, Honorable Homer,... Friends, Press, and the like.... "
<*><*><*>
Maggie had wondered why she wasn't allowed to accompany me in the hospital, and became suspicious. She had caught a glimpse of Homer's press conference in front of the UN building, on a TV in a shop window, and unhesitatingly set out to search desperately for the International Command Center for World Peace, and alert My Fictional Likeness, Claude, of my dire straits.
She darted in between legs, cars, kids at play, and an occasional fire hydrant, but in her nobility, she wasn't the least bit tempted. She was unyieldingly duty-bound. Jollity would have to be put off till later!
She managed to jump through the window of a moving cab, fondly remembering one of Matilda's favorite tales. "To the U.N. building! Oh, please hurry, my good sir!"
Following a mad excursion through rush hour traffic, the taxi came to a startling standstill. Maggie, thrown out of the open window and landing in a soft flower bed, briskly entered into a welcoming revolving door. She looked behind, and became aware of the vice presidential limousine pulling up to the curb. "He can't be too far!" she reasoned.
She put forth the effort, once inside of the UN building, to emulate a simple commonplace dog, and pretended to analyze certain entertaining odors on the expected places of folks, as they passed by. She hoped her dumb pooch act would assist her in being less eye-catching. Soon afterward, she unmistakably caught a glimpse of Homer and swiftly backed into a deep-set area along the hallway.
His Honorableness was deep into a chewing-out session with several of his yes men, smoking a long foul-smelling panatela cigar while he passed, then progressed out-of-doors. Mag immediately spotted Claude, then lunged forward. She whined while nipping at his pants leg.
"Maggie!" he acknowledged, quickly swooping her up and easily concealing her, due to her mediocre size, inside his weather worn trench-coat while advancing toward his limousine.
"Okay Mag... how's Clyde?"
"They've got him locked up inside of 'The Crazy Nut's Gone Bananas In The Big Apple Mental Health Facility!'.... Tell your driver to go there, I beg you! They won't let me see him, something must be dreadfully wrong..."
-------------------------------
(Episode 17)
Claude and Maggie pulled up to the alley, right behind 'The Crazy Nut's Gone Bananas In The Big Apple Mental Health Facility,' and intensely observed the entire campus to make sure they would not be seen. Claude advised Mag to stay in the car to keep watch and put on her 'dog act' if she thought she noticed anything suspicious. He then snuck around to the front of the unlocked door of the public lobby.
"Mr Hipwing, how did you get out here?" a curious hospital tech wanted to know.
"Well... I dunno.... Maybe you should take me back to my room."
The intern escorted him down the hall, and then down some stairs leading to a locked door. Reaching into his pocket, he removed some keys, and unlocked all the locks as he expressed his puzzlement, "How did you get out of here?"
"It's simple. I just did this..." Claude returned, as he belted the tech under the jaw, with all the power he could find. The force of the blow knocked him into the laundry room. With a smile of pride, Claude rushed into my room, discovering me incapacitated, and hooked to all sorts of monitors. While removing them, he felt around my lower neck and crudely ripped the chip Homer had planted.
"Homer, why...." I mumbled, still quite a bit groggy
"Clyde, get up! It's me! I've come to get you outta here," he proclaimed, and without any hesitence began stripping the tech of his clothing; trading mine for his. He tried to prop me up on my feet; but they were jelly, so he carried me over his shoulder. There didn't seem to be anyone on the basement floor as he looked around, so he hurried me up the steps and we quietly snuck out the door. It seemed odd, he thought to himself, that nobody else was around while he shoved me inside of the limousine. But he thought too soon, as several hospital staff tried to jump on the car and stop us. We fled just in time!
I was beginning to feel my old self again, and sat up in the back seat after I noticed Maggie. Claude, my likeness, began to explain a plan to rid Homer just as the chauffeur turned around slowly and revealed himself.
"Mr Pigglesworth!" I exclaimed.
Elmo began scolding me for carelessly losing his note explaining what procedure to take in dealing with His Honorableness. "This whole thing could have been wrapped up already if you hadn't been so clumsy, Clyde. Listen carefully, here's what you need to do....."
------------------------------------------
(Episode 18)
I wasn't real confident about the whole contrived effort, but I dared to do it anyway. Armed with My Likeness' Identification tag, I slipped by the White House Security Officer, the following afternoon, without any resistance. "Good afternoon, Claude!" he bid.
I had almost forgotten that Claude was the nickname Homer gave him, so as to not get the two of us confused. "Beautiful day, isn't it Bill?" I acknowledged, reading his identification and name badge.
I prowled down the west-end corridor, past the Press Secretary's office, and over to Homer's Personal Secretary's desk. She was buried in mounds of dictation notes, but managed to glance up at me with a puzzled expression. "You need something, Mr. Hipwing?"
"What, Dorothy? I uh..."
"Are you all right, Claude?"
Whew! She didn't recognize me. I inquired as to whether His Honorableness was in and freely at my desposal. She scanned a poorly legible list of executive engagements, then nervously solicited him on the speakerphone. He growled and him-hawd awhile, but agreed to entertain me.
"Thanks, Dorothy." I smiled.
"Yes, what do you need, Claude? I'm afaid I'm very busy right now!" Homer scorned, though I caught the latest edition
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