A little bit of unfinished fiction....

A little bit of unfinished fiction....

Getting over my little bit of creeping crud, I've been wandering the internets looking at stuff, and things. Can't think of a damn thing to write about. I got about three lines into a post about the jacked up botard who's suing the Philadelphia Eagles because they didn't furnish him gloves when he got hired on to shovel snow before a playoff game. But I couldn't get much farther than calling the guy a jacked up botard.

I think I'll save the phrase "jacked up botard" to use on somebody in person. It seems like the kind of phrase that might put a pause into a heated argument, while the other person tries to figure out just what the heck I just said.

Anyway, I found, on a sheet of paper that's been floating around my desk for a couple of days (and for no good reason...it just popped back into my life recently), this partial story. It's written on the back of a memo that got passed around at a meeting when I worked for the folks at Goodwill. Instead of actually participating in the meeting, and listening to what was being said, I apparently decided to pen this little masterpiece, doing so giving the impression that I was taking notes.

You're warned. It goes no where, and there was no intent in writing it. It's a brief go nowhere narrative with no ending that I came up with off the top of my head in a pointless meeting a couple of years back, to entertain myself after grasping the intent of the meeting in the first couple of minutes, yet having to sit there for another three hours.

I've got nothing to write about otherwise. So. After having made the introduction longer than the work itself, here goes:

Once upon a time, there was a bear named Mark.

Mark the Bear. That's what they called him.

All the other animals at the watering hole would sit around, shooting the bull, and they'd all look up when they heard him coming. They look in the direction of the tromping, and they'd say "Oh! It's probably Mark, or maybe Biff."

They would say this because when Biff (also a bear) would make his way through the forest, the sounds of his rustling in the brush were practically indistuinguishable from Mark's. However, Mark was the bear seen most often at the watering hole by the other animals, so most assumed it was Mark tromping in the woods near the watering hole.

But here's the thing: Nobody knew why he was called "Mark."

To be fair, he never knew for certain. Nor had he ever really cared to ask. He simply figured that Mark was the name of a friend of his parents (also bears, named Lois and Fred), or perhaps the name of a person whom his parents had admired--Mark Twain, for example.

Being named after Mark Twain was unlikely, though. Bears, by and large, are not fans of nineteenth century American writers. With bears, it is writings of the Italian Renaissance, or nothing at all. Next time you're being chased by a bear, start reciting a Petrarchan sonnet, that'll give you some time. Don't mess up, though, and read any of that Elizabethan junk.

At the end of the day, Mark the Bear figured he was named Mark because his bear parents liked the sound of the name.

He rather liked it. Mark was a better name for a bear than something like Aloysius. Or Cecil.

Cecil the Bear. Preposterous!

There were times that Mark wished for another name. These times were rare. Like when Mark had diarrhea, or when he was laboring under the cloak of the post-hibernation blues. These times, while holding his cramped stomach, he wished for a really cool name. Like Abraham. Or Patton. Or Shardik. He had once heard tell of a bear called The Refrigerator, and he'd marvelled at the poetic intimidation that hid within that little title.

One day, in April, Spring sprung. This happened with stunning regularity. Mark often found himself surprised by this occurrence, that seemed to happen every so often.

Mark was wandering aimlessly, having just finished up the post-hibernation pee. It is a little known fact that the post-hibernation pee is the start of what humans call "Spring Thaw." The floods you see on CNN in the spring? They're caused by bears pissing after a four month nap. You think you pee a lot in the morning? Try holding that mess for four months!

In the course of his aimless wander.....

There it ends. It's truncated by either the announcement of lunch, or by something that had actually gotten my attention in the meeting that day. I stuffed it away into a notebook and didn't see it again until recently.

Just thought I'd share.