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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located on the ceiling) and abruptly threw my Train of Thought in reverse.
--------------------------
(Episode 7)
The long ride from California back to Oklahoma took all of two days. I noticed from the beginning, that the sun rose every morning in the west, and set in evening in the east. From what I gathered we were making a voyage reverse in time (Duh...).
On the second morning, when I got up to stretch, I noticed I was approaching familiar surroundings. Again, I suddenly spied a small Merry Band of Calypso Singers and realized it was time to bail out. Same as before, I landed head first on a large pile of rocks, but this time I rose to my feet to join in with the singers--- I was curious to find out where they were going.
They at once stopped playing and singing, as one of them shouted, "You're not one of us!" and began hitting me over the head with their guitars and bongos. I fled realizing they weren't so friendly after all, and walked on to the large maple tree to wait for the strange stranger; but fell fast asleep.
The wind danced in my hair as the old maple swayed and creaked. Then suddenly, I awoke to the sight of large smelly tennis shoes.
"Pardon me, could you tell me the way to the Grand Entrance to the Gate of the City of the Intellectually Inept?" the Strange Stranger asked.
I got up on my feet and told him to follow me. We strolled into the City of the Intellectually Inept and looked for Big Buford's Buffalo Barf Bucket Burger Bistro. When we got there, we found a quiet place in the back of the room. I whispered, "Okay, you're here, what is it you want to tell me, and what do you want to know?"
"Are you the Intellectually Inept?" He stared into my eyes.
I paused thoughtfully, "No, I'm just the Gate Keeper."
"Do you know where I might find him?" He leaned closer.
Fresh out of oblivion, who else but Homer slowly sauntered up to our table like molasses that's been refrigerated for a year. Or a scene in a movie that dragged, and never got to the line that you knew was coming next. Or like a book that pretty much does the same thing while you wonder, why am I reading this? My kids will probably grow into teenagers before he gets to that stupid line that I've been expecting, and waiting on now for 84 words; all for the privilege, at the expense of my bladder, just to once again read Homer mumble, "Dawn Comes with Rosy Fingers."
"And leaves with dishpan hands!" Strange excitedly fired back..
"What color were her eyes?" Homer asked, as I fell out of my booth..
"One was strikingly beautiful, and blue as robins' eggs, the other green with envy!" Strange got some applause from the table behind us with that one.
"And why was she frugally walking the tightrope, while nervously balancing her checkbook on the tip of her nose?"
There was a long meditative pause.... "..........Because it was two days before payday, and she's a lousy juggler!"
"Yes! Yes!... But!... Most importantly, why was she balancing the checkbook on her 'nose?'"
Strange slumped and wiped his sweaty baffled face. He'd been stumped. But being one to never accept being outplayed, he guessed ... "Because there wasn't anything else to write on?"
"Ok Charley, tell Mr. Strange here what wonderful prizes he'll be taking home today!" Homer sarcastically praised... along with everyone else in the joint, and even some in the drive-through, who hoorayed. Streamers and confetti fell. A beer barrel polka band, consisting of World War II vets, marched inside and down the isles playing-- what else but-- The Beer Barrel Polka; as Homer and Strange got out maps and diagrams, conversing amongst themselves in even more ridiculous riddles, while each person stared with great interest.
"Uh, fill me in guys, huh?" I suggested, wanting them to clarify, what in the world was going on.
"Shh!" the Strange Stranger whispered, "Homer here is the Intellectually Inept!"
"You just now figured that out?"
"Don't you understand?" Strange asked elated, "Now the Question can be asked by the Man in the Back Row with the Gray Flannel Suit and Funny Looking Nose!"
"But first we have to go into the Fictional Forest to find him!" Homer announced. "Didn't the 'Anti-Beast' you met in the 5th episode of this story tell you that?"
I wasn't going to even bother trying to figure out 'who' that was. I just gave both Homer and Strange a self-evident, bewilderedly born-brainless, dumbfounded look.
"Don't worry who he is right now," Strange said, tossing me an explanatory life jacket. I swam over to it as he continued, "you'll know about him soon enough, but you'll probably have to wait until you have completed the last story in your upcoming sequel."
"Oh."
-------------------------------
(Episode 8)
We camped by the large maple tree deep in the Fictional Forest. As I was munching on sardines and crackers, Homer was finally explaining to me things I found puzzling. "You see, we're all here cause you brought us here. Without you, we wouldn't exist!" Homer got out a hunting knife and pricked his thumb. "You see that, that ain't blood... that's ink...your ink.... our life support. Everything that's here is only here cause you wanted it to be."
I was beginning to understand, I thought. "You mean I've dreamed up the whole adventure and we're not really here?" I grabbed Homer's knife and pricked my thumb. "INK!.... Oh great, even I'm a figment of my own imagination!" I surmised, flipping the knife to the ground.
Homer put his hand on my shoulder, "You'll understand later, just enjoy the ride until then."
-----------------------------
(Episode 9)
It was the break of morn as I rolled over and studied Homer, ungracefully waking. He sure was an ugly sort that time of day. It appeared as though he had combed his hair with an electric mixer, and without his dentures, looked like a wide-mouthed bass. One undeniable trait about ol' Homer though, was that he had plenty of hindsight. I was told he used it quite a bit in his spare time, sitting on park benchs observing the pretty ladies that went by.
"Dawn Comes with Rosy Fingers," I laughed. He just threw his drool-soaked pillow at me as I darted from its path..
Strange was snoring away, sounding like a hog with asthma, till I got up and yelled, "We're hungry!"
The mountains echoed back, "Hold on a second, will ya?" Seconds later, it began raining manna as Homer and I began gathering it..
"Manna's gettin' hot, and the coffee's gettin' cold," I informed Strange as he finally threw back his covers, with a "I can hardly wait" look.
Just then, there came a loud MEOW out of the maple tree. I stopped to realize I hadn't seen or heard from my cat in awhile. "Matilda... is that you?"
"Yeah, I didn't want to disturb you all when I came back from the convenience store to get some beer and pretzels... So I passed the time away with 'The Wall Street Journal,'" she answered, folding the paper and hopping down.
"Homer, Strange, this is Matilda," I announced. "As you can see she's not an ordinary cat."
"I'm so hungry, she'd make a mighty fine omelet, if you'd ask me," yawned Strange, refusing a manna loaf because he was watching his cholesterol.
"So what's the plan?" questioned Matilda. I began filling her in on everything as she was batting at some moth or something. "Have you met with the Man in the Back Row with the Gray Flannel Suit and the Funny Looking Nose, yet?" she asked.
"No," I answered. "That's why we're camped here for the evening... we..."
Just as I almost completed the sentence, the one-eyed midget in his Mercedes swerved up to us. He slowly got out of his car, limped over to our campsite and pulled out his small revolver. "Your cat or your life, which is it?"
Out of nowhere popped a 6 foot 8 inch, 250 pound ringing phone booth.
"Wait just a minute." I demanded, "I've got a phone call.... Hello..."
"Yes this is your editor calling. I tried to call some months ago, but you refused to answer. I just wanted to let you know this is YOUR story, and YOU shouldn't fear the one eyed midget... He's at your mercy. All you have to do is erase him, if he gives you any more trouble..." (Click)
"Well,... well,... well," I sneered, hanging up the phone, "Seems you think you can intimidate me. I think I'll just erase you." The one eyed midget's eye got real big as he dropped his gun and ran for his car -- but I erased it.
"Who sent you and why do you want my cat?" I yelled.
"Please, Sir, I ... I'm the Man. The Man in the Back Row with the Gray Flannel Suit and Funny Looking Nose..." he tearfully answered. "It's just, well, I got a family... and I never get any good parts... you see, because I'm divorced from my wife, my kids, they don't think much of me... I..."
"Oh knock it off..." I growled in disgust. "Look, I promise you, in my next story you can play the one-eyed midget, okay? But we're wasting a lot of ink right now. So I wish you'd just ask the BIG QUESTION that you're supposed to ask."
"Well,... ah... Okay. Here goes... What if anything is the meaning of this story?" he asked.
"That's it? ... Why didn't you ask me that in the very beginning like I asked you to?"
"Sir, my time had not yet come, and for that matter, your thoughts are my thoughts," he shrugged.
"Homer, what is he talking about?"
"Well, Clyde, best as I can figure, he's trying to tell you that had you wanted him to ask that question in the first place, your felt-tip pen would have put the words in his mouth."
"All right, here is the answer to the quiz... All I have created is meaningless... as meaningless as your very life. You're nothing without the stroke of my pen." I could almost feel his heart sink as the one-eyed midget picked up his own gun, and with a pull of the trigger.... spilled his own ink.
-------------------------------------
(Episode 10)
We buried the one-eyed midget's remains in a sardine can, after cremating him over the fire we set the night before to roast marshmallows, said a quick prayer... then told the Creator he could go back to whatever he was doing.
"Well what now, Homer?" I asked.
"Well, before all this was goin' on, we figured a way to get you back to your physical reality," Homer smiled.
"Look, Homer and I have devised a plan. Read it carefully, study, then eat it," Strange added.
"Eat it?" I questioned in puzzlement.
"Yes, if you don't, some character might find it
--------------------------
(Episode 7)
The long ride from California back to Oklahoma took all of two days. I noticed from the beginning, that the sun rose every morning in the west, and set in evening in the east. From what I gathered we were making a voyage reverse in time (Duh...).
On the second morning, when I got up to stretch, I noticed I was approaching familiar surroundings. Again, I suddenly spied a small Merry Band of Calypso Singers and realized it was time to bail out. Same as before, I landed head first on a large pile of rocks, but this time I rose to my feet to join in with the singers--- I was curious to find out where they were going.
They at once stopped playing and singing, as one of them shouted, "You're not one of us!" and began hitting me over the head with their guitars and bongos. I fled realizing they weren't so friendly after all, and walked on to the large maple tree to wait for the strange stranger; but fell fast asleep.
The wind danced in my hair as the old maple swayed and creaked. Then suddenly, I awoke to the sight of large smelly tennis shoes.
"Pardon me, could you tell me the way to the Grand Entrance to the Gate of the City of the Intellectually Inept?" the Strange Stranger asked.
I got up on my feet and told him to follow me. We strolled into the City of the Intellectually Inept and looked for Big Buford's Buffalo Barf Bucket Burger Bistro. When we got there, we found a quiet place in the back of the room. I whispered, "Okay, you're here, what is it you want to tell me, and what do you want to know?"
"Are you the Intellectually Inept?" He stared into my eyes.
I paused thoughtfully, "No, I'm just the Gate Keeper."
"Do you know where I might find him?" He leaned closer.
Fresh out of oblivion, who else but Homer slowly sauntered up to our table like molasses that's been refrigerated for a year. Or a scene in a movie that dragged, and never got to the line that you knew was coming next. Or like a book that pretty much does the same thing while you wonder, why am I reading this? My kids will probably grow into teenagers before he gets to that stupid line that I've been expecting, and waiting on now for 84 words; all for the privilege, at the expense of my bladder, just to once again read Homer mumble, "Dawn Comes with Rosy Fingers."
"And leaves with dishpan hands!" Strange excitedly fired back..
"What color were her eyes?" Homer asked, as I fell out of my booth..
"One was strikingly beautiful, and blue as robins' eggs, the other green with envy!" Strange got some applause from the table behind us with that one.
"And why was she frugally walking the tightrope, while nervously balancing her checkbook on the tip of her nose?"
There was a long meditative pause.... "..........Because it was two days before payday, and she's a lousy juggler!"
"Yes! Yes!... But!... Most importantly, why was she balancing the checkbook on her 'nose?'"
Strange slumped and wiped his sweaty baffled face. He'd been stumped. But being one to never accept being outplayed, he guessed ... "Because there wasn't anything else to write on?"
"Ok Charley, tell Mr. Strange here what wonderful prizes he'll be taking home today!" Homer sarcastically praised... along with everyone else in the joint, and even some in the drive-through, who hoorayed. Streamers and confetti fell. A beer barrel polka band, consisting of World War II vets, marched inside and down the isles playing-- what else but-- The Beer Barrel Polka; as Homer and Strange got out maps and diagrams, conversing amongst themselves in even more ridiculous riddles, while each person stared with great interest.
"Uh, fill me in guys, huh?" I suggested, wanting them to clarify, what in the world was going on.
"Shh!" the Strange Stranger whispered, "Homer here is the Intellectually Inept!"
"You just now figured that out?"
"Don't you understand?" Strange asked elated, "Now the Question can be asked by the Man in the Back Row with the Gray Flannel Suit and Funny Looking Nose!"
"But first we have to go into the Fictional Forest to find him!" Homer announced. "Didn't the 'Anti-Beast' you met in the 5th episode of this story tell you that?"
I wasn't going to even bother trying to figure out 'who' that was. I just gave both Homer and Strange a self-evident, bewilderedly born-brainless, dumbfounded look.
"Don't worry who he is right now," Strange said, tossing me an explanatory life jacket. I swam over to it as he continued, "you'll know about him soon enough, but you'll probably have to wait until you have completed the last story in your upcoming sequel."
"Oh."
-------------------------------
(Episode 8)
We camped by the large maple tree deep in the Fictional Forest. As I was munching on sardines and crackers, Homer was finally explaining to me things I found puzzling. "You see, we're all here cause you brought us here. Without you, we wouldn't exist!" Homer got out a hunting knife and pricked his thumb. "You see that, that ain't blood... that's ink...your ink.... our life support. Everything that's here is only here cause you wanted it to be."
I was beginning to understand, I thought. "You mean I've dreamed up the whole adventure and we're not really here?" I grabbed Homer's knife and pricked my thumb. "INK!.... Oh great, even I'm a figment of my own imagination!" I surmised, flipping the knife to the ground.
Homer put his hand on my shoulder, "You'll understand later, just enjoy the ride until then."
-----------------------------
(Episode 9)
It was the break of morn as I rolled over and studied Homer, ungracefully waking. He sure was an ugly sort that time of day. It appeared as though he had combed his hair with an electric mixer, and without his dentures, looked like a wide-mouthed bass. One undeniable trait about ol' Homer though, was that he had plenty of hindsight. I was told he used it quite a bit in his spare time, sitting on park benchs observing the pretty ladies that went by.
"Dawn Comes with Rosy Fingers," I laughed. He just threw his drool-soaked pillow at me as I darted from its path..
Strange was snoring away, sounding like a hog with asthma, till I got up and yelled, "We're hungry!"
The mountains echoed back, "Hold on a second, will ya?" Seconds later, it began raining manna as Homer and I began gathering it..
"Manna's gettin' hot, and the coffee's gettin' cold," I informed Strange as he finally threw back his covers, with a "I can hardly wait" look.
Just then, there came a loud MEOW out of the maple tree. I stopped to realize I hadn't seen or heard from my cat in awhile. "Matilda... is that you?"
"Yeah, I didn't want to disturb you all when I came back from the convenience store to get some beer and pretzels... So I passed the time away with 'The Wall Street Journal,'" she answered, folding the paper and hopping down.
"Homer, Strange, this is Matilda," I announced. "As you can see she's not an ordinary cat."
"I'm so hungry, she'd make a mighty fine omelet, if you'd ask me," yawned Strange, refusing a manna loaf because he was watching his cholesterol.
"So what's the plan?" questioned Matilda. I began filling her in on everything as she was batting at some moth or something. "Have you met with the Man in the Back Row with the Gray Flannel Suit and the Funny Looking Nose, yet?" she asked.
"No," I answered. "That's why we're camped here for the evening... we..."
Just as I almost completed the sentence, the one-eyed midget in his Mercedes swerved up to us. He slowly got out of his car, limped over to our campsite and pulled out his small revolver. "Your cat or your life, which is it?"
Out of nowhere popped a 6 foot 8 inch, 250 pound ringing phone booth.
"Wait just a minute." I demanded, "I've got a phone call.... Hello..."
"Yes this is your editor calling. I tried to call some months ago, but you refused to answer. I just wanted to let you know this is YOUR story, and YOU shouldn't fear the one eyed midget... He's at your mercy. All you have to do is erase him, if he gives you any more trouble..." (Click)
"Well,... well,... well," I sneered, hanging up the phone, "Seems you think you can intimidate me. I think I'll just erase you." The one eyed midget's eye got real big as he dropped his gun and ran for his car -- but I erased it.
"Who sent you and why do you want my cat?" I yelled.
"Please, Sir, I ... I'm the Man. The Man in the Back Row with the Gray Flannel Suit and Funny Looking Nose..." he tearfully answered. "It's just, well, I got a family... and I never get any good parts... you see, because I'm divorced from my wife, my kids, they don't think much of me... I..."
"Oh knock it off..." I growled in disgust. "Look, I promise you, in my next story you can play the one-eyed midget, okay? But we're wasting a lot of ink right now. So I wish you'd just ask the BIG QUESTION that you're supposed to ask."
"Well,... ah... Okay. Here goes... What if anything is the meaning of this story?" he asked.
"That's it? ... Why didn't you ask me that in the very beginning like I asked you to?"
"Sir, my time had not yet come, and for that matter, your thoughts are my thoughts," he shrugged.
"Homer, what is he talking about?"
"Well, Clyde, best as I can figure, he's trying to tell you that had you wanted him to ask that question in the first place, your felt-tip pen would have put the words in his mouth."
"All right, here is the answer to the quiz... All I have created is meaningless... as meaningless as your very life. You're nothing without the stroke of my pen." I could almost feel his heart sink as the one-eyed midget picked up his own gun, and with a pull of the trigger.... spilled his own ink.
-------------------------------------
(Episode 10)
We buried the one-eyed midget's remains in a sardine can, after cremating him over the fire we set the night before to roast marshmallows, said a quick prayer... then told the Creator he could go back to whatever he was doing.
"Well what now, Homer?" I asked.
"Well, before all this was goin' on, we figured a way to get you back to your physical reality," Homer smiled.
"Look, Homer and I have devised a plan. Read it carefully, study, then eat it," Strange added.
"Eat it?" I questioned in puzzlement.
"Yes, if you don't, some character might find it
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