Archive for July, 2014

“Kidnapped” A Short Story

Posted in Uncategorized on July 30, 2014 by busterpaul

         The man crept into the worn out, dimly lit, decrepit parking garage. Concrete and cavernous, there was only s single vehicle that existed between drastically faded yellow zoning parking stripes. The vehicle was covered in dust. Its tires were empty of air and the passenger’s side rear quarter panel had shown the finger painted words “Wash Me” which were now developing their own new layer of dust with the passage of time.

          He stealthily soft-toed his way along the stretch of pitted wall. Posts of iron rebar dangled from chipped paths of cement from above. He was careful not to walk into them and lowered his head to avoid contact. He’d remembered that nasty feeling of getting gashed in his right calf some years ago when an exposed length of sharp edged rebar complimented his flesh. Now was not the time to take a rod to the head. He stopped his pace as he heard nearby rustling. Scanning the area, he saw it. It was just a mouse gathering sweet nutrients from a candy wrapper.

            A wisp of cobweb laced his face as he continued moving along the wall. He swiped it away with his backhand and accepted the dastardly, creepy feeling. For a moment he began to feel his heart race. He paused to take a deep breath and calm himself. He hugged the wall and continued on as he inched closer to the corner. He could hear the sounds of her captors as they mumbled in nonsensical, inaudible, gibberish and as he reached the end of the wall, he peeked around the corner and saw from a good distance that there were three of them. The view was shadowy but he could also make out the shape of a chair. It was positioned away from his direction and he was unable to see who was sitting in it. The figure seemed headless and flattened off, but rather angular in shape. Perhaps the lighting was playing tricks on his vision. Whoever it was, they were undoubtedly the leader of this company of thieves. They would pay a price for taking his daughter, and for luring her innocence, and preying on her social aptitude and her joyous desire for laughter and fun. Shameless beings they must be. A car from outside the rundown parking garage was heard and as it passed, its headlights faintly shone in the direction of the captors through aerating ports of the massive concrete structure.

And that’s when he caught a glimpse of Sophia.

            Brief that it was, he was sure that he heard and saw her lightly giggling in response to the dwarfish trio that surrounded the chair. He pulled his head back from around the corner and pasted himself to the wall to think. “Why was she giggling? Why wasn’t she afraid of what was happening? Did she not wish to herself for her daddy to save her? Was she not frightened of the situation? Had she not felt the need for her father to help diffuse and dismantle the elaborate plan orchestrated by these unknown perpetrators?” He was saddened, almost deflated having considered such thoughts, but he was here to get his daughter back at all costs and persisted with his plan.

            It was time for one last check of his shoulder slung haversack. He unfastened the closure to the flap of the pouch and looked in. All that he needed was there. In a smaller side pocket he retrieved a pen-sized telescopic mirror, the kind most commonly used to view the undercarriage of an automobile. He extended the mirror to its fullest and perched it beyond the corner to get another peek. He could only see two of the captors now and as he began to seek the third, he was quick to spot him in the mirror patrolling the garage area. The little being was edging along the ninety degree wall that met the corner where the man was. The man readied himself to overtake the dwarfish imp. Just as soon as he made the corner, he would lunge at his opponent and hold him ransom until he got answers.

            The imp reached the corner and the man snatched him up with one smooth, fluent motion. He was wise to cup the mouth of the little being with his hand to avoid any noise or risk of notice. The little yellow minion’s single eye popped open with trepidation and he was completely taken by surprise. He wriggled in the clutch of the man and tried to generate some noise but the man’s grasp was too strong.

“Calm down little fella, I’m not gonna hurt you, I just want my daughter.” The man quietly said in a whispering tone to the trembling minion.

“Blink your eye once if you understand me.”

The yellow being blinked his one eye unable to make any noise from his hand-cupped mouth.

The man raised the minion up a bit and hooked his blue denim overalls onto a protruding post of rebar.

“How would you like some banana my little friend? Blink twice.”

His eye closed and opened two times.

“I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth now and if you so much as make a noise -any noise at all, I’m going to pull down hard on your little minion legs and you’re going to have a denim overall wedgie the likes of which you have never experienced. Are we clear?”

The minion’s pupil dilated in fear. He blinked once and the man felt the muscular movement of an enormous gulp in his mouth covered hand.


The man reached into the haversack and pulled out a banana.

“Look at that…” He waved the banana back and forth in front of the minion. “It’s perfectly ripe.”

“Ripe.” The minion softly tweaked and followed the movement of the banana with his one eye.

“We’re gonna have a little Q & A now. For every answer I get, I’ll give you a piece. Sound fair?”

The minion blinked.

“Which one are you?”

“Tuart.” He said.

“Stuart? You’re Stuart?” The man asked.

The minion nodded and the man wedged a chunk of banana into his mouth.

“Mmm…” he smiled.

“Who else is over there?”

“Dabe and Jerry.”

“Good. Dave and Jerry.” More banana… “Who’s in the chair?”

The minion was reluctant to answer and the man began to pull down on his stubby little legs causing his overalls to ride up.

“Nob.” The minion pleaded.

“Nob?” The man asked quizzically. Stuart motioned his eye to the banana. The man gave him another piece.

“Pun Nob.”

“Pun Nob?” The man was unsure.

“Air Dance.”

“Air Dance..wha..?”

“Pun Nob Air Dance. Ba-Na-Na please.”

The man shoved another banana bite into his mouth and considered the encryption.

“Pun-Nob-Air-Dance.” He thought about it.

“Bi-nabble C” the minion babbled.

And then it dawned on him…

“Spongebob Squarepants? Pinapple under the sea?”

The minion smiled. “Ba-Na-Na.”

The man darted one more piece of banana into Stuart’s mouth and unhooked him from the rebar post. He grappled Stuart horizontally into his arm like a collegiate football star and raced around the corner toward the captors.

“Hold it right there!” He yelled in a deep Indiana Jones-like vocal blurt.

“Get away from my daughter and get up against the wall or this little guy becomes minion jam!”

“Daddy!” Sophia belted with joy and curiosity. “What are you doing here?” She asked.

“Sophia, step behind me closer to daddy, these guys are in a lot of trouble for what they’ve done.”

“But daddy, they haven’t done anything. Please don’t hurt Stuart.” Sophia claimed innocently.

“Stay out of this Sophia. This is between me and Spongebob, and these three little demonic minions.”

The man looked down at Stuart cradled underneath his arm.

“Ba-Na-Na.” Stuart said and blinked his eye one time. Dave and Jerry moved closer toward them.

“Ba-Na-Na! Ba-Na-Na! Ba-Na-Na!” The three minions chanted methodically together.

“Quiet!” the man yelled excitedly. “Get Back!” He intensified his grip on Stuart and Dave and Jerry moved away.

He looked to Spongebob who seemed to be enjoying all of the commotion.

“What do you have to say to all of this Spongebob?”

“Well sir, it’s like Sophia said, we’re just having a little fun together is all.” Spongebob said in his goofy, runty, Spongebob voice.

“This could probably all be best explained by your endearing little girl. She’s such a great kid.” Spongebob added.

“She’s six years old Spongebob!! How could she possibly explain any of this?” The man seethed.

Sophia interjected.

“Actually daddy, I’m certain I could explain all of this perfectly well if you’d permit me. She looked up a bit and cupped her hands in front of her mouth to project her voice. “Could we please dim the lights a bit more and bring up the spot?” She bellowed into the air as if conveying direction to a behind the scenes stage manager.

The already dim arena became darker in tandem with a Fresnel Spot rising to cascade upon Sophia.

The man stood jaw-dropped and befuddled.

“You see daddy…” Sophia went on. “You’re trapped in a dream right now and in your slumbering state, your subconscious has doctored up this extravagant story of me being kidnapped and held captive in this enormous, decaying cement edifice by my favorite animated characters. It’s your way of translating to your reading audience on the Blog that you feel threatened by the attention I give to Spongebob and Minions. Psychologically, you feel that you’ve had to take a back seat to my animated friends and that I share more love for them than I do for you.”

The man shook his head and blinked to clear his eyes as he was certain that for a flash his little girl was sporting a Freudian beard.

She continued in a relaxed pace as if conducting a seminar to a Harvard audience. The spot followed her.

“You’re probably wondering how your six-year-old daughter could possibly be displaying such words of   maturation. Well daddy, I want to make clear to you that because you are trapped in this nightmarish hell of a dream, the very words that I am vocally expressing to you right now are really your own. Think of it this way; it’s your voice in my tiny body delivered in my tiny voice.”

“But…” the man began.

“Don’t interrupt me daddy, I’m on a role here. Try to remember your own childhood hero’s like: “Billy Blastoff”, “Prince Planet”, and that- “Oh Mighty Isis” well she was a sexy one wasn’t she…” Sophia emphasized in toying fashion and winked at her daddy.

The man’s face turned red with embarrassment.

“It’s ok daddy if your reader’s are unfamiliar with the characters I just mentioned, I’m sure they’ll google them after reading this blog post. You see, I just like thousands of other children am filled with imagination and just because I am captivated by particular personalities, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. The fact is dad, that even though I’m only six, I am perfectly capable of differentiating the difference between fantasy and reality. I assure you that you’ve got nothing to worry about and that there is no reason for you to feel insecure. You are my hero daddy. You and you alone, and I wouldn’t trade that for any cartoon or digitally animated character in the world.

Well, now that I’ve explained all of this to you, why don’t you put Stuart down, shake hands with my friends, and we can all end this dream on a positive note. How about we sing Kumbaya…?”

And just as many dreams end abruptly, the man woke, enlightened and awakened…

The End


The Man With The Bag On His Head

Posted in Uncategorized on July 12, 2014 by busterpaul

For years now since living in Methuen, I’ve journeyed back and forth onto Rt. 28 into NH to go shopping, or dining or moseying into Home Depot or Market Basket. There’s an old man who wanders; seemingly aimlessly up and down 28. For perhaps as often as once a week or more, for as long as I’ve been in this region, I’ve seen him -Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall. My guess is he’s in his seventies.

                He’s about six feet tall with a bald crown and shoulder length white hair circling his cranial parameter- somewhat Peter Boyle-ish. He wears tattered clothing with a lightweight sports jacket and shoes. His hands are usually in his pockets as he strolls north or south along his famed route. The weather doesn’t matter. Bitter cold with sleet, snow and rain or scorching hot oppressing humidity he’s out there walking with a confused purpose. “Look daddy, that man has a bag on his head.” Sophia once pointed out from the back seat with a blend of excitement and laughter. It had been raining; not heavily, but steady. I looked to see and sure enough there he was. He had a clear plastic bag snuggly fit on his head as a makeshift rain hat to protect from the elements. Admittedly, I chuckled myself as this was not the first time I had seen him with a bag on his head. But as Sophia’s glee became increasingly shriller, I recognized the opportunity for a “life’s lesson.” Respect for people.

                There are bound to be dozens of opportunities in the years to come to emphasize to our children the meaning of having respect for others. I don’t know this man’s story.  His life is of no less value than my own. There is something about him that teaches me this with each drive-by passing. Is he a war veteran? Maybe he’s survived a horrible accident. He is unfortunately not at all in control of his faculties. It’s quite evident. For all I know he’s strolling to pay a visit to his own mom or dad. Whatever the case, he’s had my attention more and more each time I see him. I don’t feel bad for him. I rather admire him. There have been times when I’ve been tempted to offer him a ride, but I don’t know how he’d respond. And so on he walks unshaken by the often dangerous flow of traffic.

                We each have our own stories, our own bouts of turmoil, our own hidden pockets of despair and our own instabilities which one day may be the target of ridicule by those less weakened as a result of having never been taught respect. Teach your children early on. It is a fine example of responsible parenting. And if they don’t catch on over time, remind them that they like you and I, like it or not, may at some point be The Man with the Bag on his Head.