Antonio

contributions by:

Rose J.
Anna M.
Sarah C.
Nick B.
Bronwyn M.
Emma M.T.
Julia H.
Erin R.
Charlotte G.

4/29/05

One day there was a dreadlock sitting quietly on Antonio's head. He flinched, as there was an elephant on his foot, and the dreadlock bounced gleefully. Luckily, it was a fairly small elephant, of the One-Foot-Tall variety, but it still hurt when it landed on his foot from above. Antonio looked skyward expectantly, but all he saw were pearly clouds. Suddenly, BOOM! he saw an elephant-sized and shaped cloud in the sky. It stomped and stamped and curled its trunk and trumpeted, and suddenly a gush of little elephants came down out of the cloud. It was raining elephants! Like in that tornado in Turkey!

"Good lord!" exclaimed Antonio in awe. "It's the final elephantine apocalypse!"

As he watched in shock, he was gradually noticing other animals in the clouds: for example, reindeer and unicorns and bicorns. Tumbling and screeching they came, as the plains of the Kalahari reached up to receive them.

"Aaaaaaahh!!" Antonio screeched, as tears came to his violet eyes. This screech killed a nearby bat, which plummeted into a pond out of which the love of his life later drank, who promptly died of bat-transmitted rabies. This terrible tragedy cut to Antonio's very core, and he collapsed in a fit of violent grief, tearing his hair and letting out great sobs.

But for now, Antonio was simply looking at the sky and the falling elephants, with tears in his violet eyes, heart throbbing at the beauty of the sky. And it spoke to him.

It said, "Hello, Antonio of the violet eyes. I seeee youuu!!! And you are a terrible person!"

"What?" replied Antonio.

"Ok, actually, I was just kidding. Hehe. But now -- I have a quest for you."

Antonio gasped gleefully and fell to one knee. "A quest? Oh how fabulous! May I wear a suit of armour? May I have a steed??? May I be shining and chivalrous?"

"Uh...sure," the sky replied. "But only because you are so insanely good looking and gorgeous (not to mention brilliant, sensitive, righteous, and all-round wonderful)."

4/30/05

Antonio did a double take. "I am?" He pulled out a mirror and gazed at himself in amazement until the sky cleared its throat and began to speak again.

"See, I told you so," said the sky. "You should think about becoming a model or something."

"Wow, you're right!" exclaimed Antonio. "I'm just, like, really really ridiculously good looking!" He grinned. "Hot stuff, eh?"

"Definitely," replied the sky. "Anyway, about the quest. There are two tasks; the first: you must, to the best of your ridiculously good-looking abilities increase the popularity of asparagus; the second: you must again to the best of your ridiculously good-looking abilities, pour sand on my foot!"

Antonio gasped in horror. "But...that is impossible!"

The sky winked at him. "But of course."

Antonio stood agape for several seconds, until he came to his sense. "Any other tasks for me?"

5/2/05

"Well, if you could make me some coffee that would be nice..."

"Ummm... yes, of course," replied Antonio.

And so Antonio set off tomake the sky some coffee. He traveled long and far to find a coffee machine (he was in the middle of the Kalahari after all), and came back many days later, coffee in hand. 5/3/05 The sky was duly grateful, but it still insisted on having sand poured on its foot. Antonio decided to be direct.

"How? I mean, you don't have a foot."

"Hmm... I guess that would be a problem..." the sky replied. "But I cannot take back my quest. You must find a way."

"What if I made you a foot?" pondered Antonio.

"I like the way you think!" said the sky. "That is surely an excellent plan. I think I would like to have a foot made for me...perhaps a nicely shaped one, with a little henna around the ankle. Yes, go on."

So Antonio once again set out. He created a foot of great magnificence for the sky, taking many days, and when he returned with the foot, he had a great long beard.

"Shave off that beard this instant!" bellowed the sky. "You are definitely not good-looking with that thing."

5/4/05

"Oh, well," replied Antonio. "I thought it was rather rugged. Anyway, here's the foot, it's made of clay, so I'm afraid there's a few cracks." He held the clay foot in his outstretched hands, plopped it on the ground, and proceeded to scoop and handful of warm sand onto it.

5/11/05

The sky chuckled with pleasure. "Oh yes, that is nice. Ooh. Heeheehee."

Antonio regarded the foot warily, then looked once again at the sky. "Well?"

Still trying to contain its giggles, the sky looked Antonio in the eye, one eyebrow cocked (even though it deson't exactly have...a face..). "What do you mean, 'Well?'" it inquired.

Antonio sighed. "I mean, is there anything else I must do? Or may I go about my business? My dreadlocks need tending to."

"Why, you must still complete my second quest!" the sky excalimed. "The livelihood of asparagus needs tending to!! Off with you now!"

"This is preposterous," said Antonio. "Once again, an impossible task. Asparagus doesn't grow in the Kalahari."

"Whoever said anything about the Kalahari?" the sky murmured. Suddenly, there was a small popping sound, a bright flash, and everything disappeared. Antonio blinked, stumbled, looked about himself, and vaguely realized that he was on the top of a skyscrapy in the middle of New York. ???, Antonio thought. But the sky was the same; bright and shimmering, and maybe just a little too clean to be over New York.

"Here we are," said the sky. "Go find some asparagus to tend to."

"But..." replied Antonio. "Wouldn't an asparagus-farm be more logical?"

"No, of course not!" the sky cried, thinking Antonio was much too good-looking for his intelligence. It puffed up a bit of a breeze,and watched Antonio's hair stir quite sexily in the wind. It was beginning to regret giving him such easy tasks; Antonio would soon be gone, and the sky would miss him. Antonio, however, was not thinking such romantic thoughts. He was beginning to get quite vexed with the sky, and decided to do something about it.

A roof, he thought. I need to shut it out, with a roof and four walls. Antonio looked around. Where can I find walls and a roof big enough? Then he noticed that the answer was literally right under his feet. He grinned mischievously. There was, luckily, a trapdoor in the roof, just to his left. He pushed on it, and it fell open. "Yes!" he whispered. "Unlocked!" He snuck into the building, quiet as a fish. This wasn't quite enough for the sky not to notice though, and it crept down the trapdoor behind Antonio.

He crept into an elevator, and pushed the button to go down to the ground floor. Surprisingly, he didn't meet anyone on the way, even with the sky lingering behind him, just out of his sight. (Actually, this wasn't surprising, because Antonio and the sky were the only ones in the building.) The elevator hit ground floot, and Antonio stepped out.

Night Shift

If you got a job working the night shift, 11-7, what would you do during the day?

4/25/05

Nigel pulled his cap from his sweaty head and turned off his flashlight. 6:57 a.m. Three more cold, wet, dark minutes to go. Tick, tick went the clock. Nigel wiped his nose with a handkerchief and pulled off his thick gloves. A glance at the clock: 6:59. He cleaned up quickly and pulled on his wool jacket, pushed open the small gate, careful to lock it behind him. He pulled a ring of keys from his jacket pocket and inserted one into the ignition of his vehicle of choice: a second-hand red motorcycle. Vroom, vroom, puttputtputt went the engine, before Nigel rode off into the rising sun.

When he got home, the first birds were chirping and a few of the nieghbours' curtains were being opened. Nigel parked his bike and went into his house.

Nigel lived alone, in a two-storey house with a pool in the back yard. Guarding bridges doesn't make much money, but raising crocodiles in your pool and selling their skin on the black market sure does! Not that Nigel would do that. That's just gross. He's actually -- well, I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually. But he does own a gun. A few guns. Including a tranquilizer. And some grenades. And infrared goggles and a wetsuit and a tuxedo. And twine. And he makes quite a good deal of money on his day job. Enough so that he doesn't need a job on the night shift as a bridge keeper. I wonder what on Earth he might be up to? Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say.

He also has several fake passports and can speak English, French, German, Russian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Danish.

Right now though, Nigel shut the door quietly behind him and hung his jacket on a hook. He pushed off his sturdy boots and padded to his kitchen for a glass of orange juice. Pull out the jug of orange juice from the fridge, close the fridge, put the jug on the spotted green counter, get a glass out from a cupboard, pour orange juice into the glass, put the jug back into the fridge. Nigel grasped the glass in his left hand, and raised it to his lips.

Suddenly, his hand started shaking.

Nigel was very surprised. Why would he be shaking? A closer inspection revealed that not only was his hand shaking, but so was the glass in his hand and the orange juice in the glass. But of course the glass would be shaking. It was connected to his hand, which was definitely shaking. Quite a bit.

Nigel blinking. Ah, he wasn't just going dumb or something horrible where all your mind decides to shut off on you. The whole house was shaking.

He blinked again. But that's a bad thing! his brain slowly realized. One more blink and Nigel leapt into action. He yanked a small revolver from his belt, and crouched low to minimize the amount of target he presented. He quickly scanned the room for an intruder or alien object. He sniffed, scrunching up his nose like a rabbit. He took a deep breath of air through his mouth and held it. Absolute silence. Nothing.

Keeing as low and as quiet as possible, holding his gun ahead of him, Nigel crept to first his dining room and then his living room. No one anywhere.

Nigel quickly inspected the rest of his house and still discovered nothing. But there was an itch in his skin, he could tell there was something wrong. Something there. But what? And where?

As soon as Nigel returned to the kitchen from his circuit around the house, he immediately relaxed and went back to his orange juice. He put the gun on the counter, still in his reach, and chugged down the juice, laid-back and confident that his house was secure. Or at least he looked that way.

While guzzling his juice, out of the corner of his eye, Nigel saw a shadow. Just as he had thought he would. 4/27/05 He kept his posture for just a moment more, brain already racing. When the intruder moved next, Nigel was ready.

The man was dressed in dark clothing, face half-covered by a piece of cloth. He had cloths over his boots to muffle the sound, and a long, pointy knife in his right hand. His left hand was clutched around some small object, foreign to Nigel. Nigel slid his hand around the gun, gripped it, and flug it around to face the intruder. All in the space of a few milliseconds.

His Most Prized Possessions

4/25/05

The pianist who played during the lunch buffet the Saturday I saw Arsenic and Old Lace. He values his piano, of course - the one he has at home, I mean. And he should! It cost him more than $30,000!

He also holds dear to his heart an old Cliff Richard record given to him when he was 12 years old by 'Santa Claus.' Sir Richard was his idol, and he had become a pianist solely from his influence.

He lives in a modest abode with his wife and teenage son. He's fairly quiet, and enjoys a good glass of scotch once in a while on the back porch. He loves watching cricket, owns a cricket bat, but never plays.

When he was in his 20's, just beginning his career as a background pianist, he had had a cat. A grey tabby with loads of fluffy, soft hair, the most gentle creature imaginable. When the poor wee kitty died, the pianist had had it stuffed. Kind of gross, but this was his most prized possession, if a cat can ever be possessed.

Run-On Sentence

4/21/05

I am a run-on sentence that doesn't seem to want to be bothered to stop and just keeps going and going and going just because that's what I do and I might like to stop sometime but I just can't, I can't, and now I'm tumbling down, I'm tumbing, tumbling, might never stop, I begin to wonder if I'll survive this massive run-on sentence that I am and have become and I am falling, tumbling, tripping down onto the ground the cement floor and scrape my hypothetical knees made of words but no periods, oh no, no periods, because there can be none of those in a run-on sentence until the end, the very end, when the reader can finally, finally take a breath, relieve themselves or maybe just die or collapse or suffocate, faint because you're so emptied of air, and maybe you'll hit your head upon the cement floor which I so ineloquently scraped my knees upon, and your head hits that concrete so hard that you get a concussion and maybe you never will wake up from that concussion, so you will die, and all from having read me, the one-page-long run-on sentence, which you read (or tried to read) all in one breath; because your grade 5 teacher told you that you should be able to read a sentence, any sentence, in just one breath.

Seamus the Magician, Take 4

3/17/05

"I told you not to let him go!" It was the prince. He did not appear happy. "He may yet have valuable information we have not squeezed out of him."

I shuddered.

"My lord, we have had him in custody for four months. He should be returned to Speck-Land, where he belongs. He can tell us no more." His Royal's Royal Advisor.

"No!" the prince hissed. "We cannot let him go back! They will find us, and destroy us! We are not yet ready for war against the Specks!"

The guard behind me shifted uncomfortably.

"My lord, he will not tell them about us. He has been sworn to secrecy. If he speaks, he will choke on his inflated tongue. Wizard Grishnam has worked his spells upon him."

The prince's eyeballs were popping out. "We cannot release the prisoner!!!" He stomped his foot and huffed. Suddenly, he spotted me, and fixed his glare upon me. I could hear a deep rumble from his throat.

"You called for his release?" the guard whimpered.

The prince's eyeballs popped out more, and his sweaty brown hair was streaked across his forehead. He walked down a set of stairs, across his hall towards us.

"I - most - certainly - did - NOT!" I could feel his spit on my cheek. Ewwww. I flinched.

"Not so HIGH and MIGHTY NOW, are you, EH? Not so powerful now you are in the grasp of CHARMING, EH?"

I frowned, and in a brash move, stuck my hands on my hips and said, "What?"

The prince blinked.

"What's Charming (eh, precious)?"

"My NAME! What do you think, Speck-Land moron!"

"Uhhh..." I gulped.

Seamus the Magician, Take 3

3/10/05

I am in fact a sort of magician. Of course, there is nothing wrong with this, but I have made many enemies while practicing my trade. I find it perfectly harmless and enjoyable, but some, especially the pampered rich, find it foolish, impractical, and offensive.

I have been a magician for many years. I was once told by my dear master that I was in fact born a magician, though not everyone is born into their trades.

My master was Bartholomew the Green (green referring to his favourite colour). I was apprenticed to him at age 10 1/2, until his death, 17 days before my 17th birthday. Then I was left in the world to fend for myself, and try to make a living on magic.

A magician's life is not any easy one. It has constantly surprised me to discover how many people do not like magicians. I really don't know why! I am courteous and fair. My trade is an honest one. Well, maybe it's not all that honest, but whatever. Not the point. Anyway.

So one day I was practicing my trade on the innocent citizens of a small village somewhere. They were a good audience, positive and eager, and gave the correct amount of Ooh!s and Aah!s (not to mention little round bits of metal). They were all peasants, good hardy folk with not much, which suited me just fine. Of all folk on this good earth, they are the least critical and the most believing, because they aren't spoiled rotten, and my tricks are a break for them from actual work.

So, I was practicing my trade, to a good audience of eager serfs, when along came a -clippity clop- sound. I determined it was either a guard or a nobleman on horseback, neither of which was a good thing.

It turned out to be both.

The nobleman, decked out in all his finery, and atop a pompous spottled grey steed, held his head high. He looked down his nose at the scraggly bunch I had gathered to me, deemed us reasonable entertainment, and gave a quick shove on the reins in our direction. The guard followed.

I spared a quick glance his way, but continued my routine. He observed me from a few paces away. When I had finished, he slowly came forward.

Sale at Froozle's!

3/7/05

"What hullaballoo!" I cried as I rushed through the crowd. "What on Earth could have incited them so?"

"Sale at Froozle's," she replied.

"Where?"

"Froozle's! It's a brand-new store that I've just made up that sells knick-knacks and accoutrements and all sorts of paraphernalia."

"You can't just make up a store!" I admonished.

"Of course I can; this is like, the Matrix, right? None of this is real."

She had a point.

I continued shoving my way through the masses aiming for an open double-door of glass. Someone stepped on my foot.

"Ow!" I squawked and tumbled through the door.

Inside, there were sofas.

I turned back to find Lily.

"What is this??"

But I was talking to air. Lily had yet to reappear.

I looked back at the sofas. The store appeared completely deserted.

"WHERE - AM - I?" I yelled with all my strength. My voice came echoing back at me.

"IS ANYONE THERE?" There, there, there...

"HELLOOoooooo...?"

-Wham- -flap- -flap- -flap-

The door had been opened. I spun around eagerly. 4/21/05 Still no one.

"Where am I?" I repeated in desperation.

A man wearing sunglasses and a long leather coat strode out from behind one of the sofas.

"You are in the Matrix, Neo."

Huh? Who did this guy think he was, Morpheus? What was he talking about?

"Who are you?" I said.

"Why, I...am Morpheus," said Morpheus, spreading his hands to both sides and raising his eyebrows.

"What are you doing in Froozle's?" I asked him. What was Morpheus doing anywhere, anyway? Shouldn't he be in Xion or something?

"This is...the Matrix," Morpheus explained with a shrug.

I poked one of the sofas. Seemed real enough. I began strolling in between them, keeping the distance between myself and 'Morpheus.' "So?"

4/23/05

"None of this is real..." And he disappeared.

I stood, shocked, in between the sofas. Blink, blink. I brushed my hand against one of the sofas again - just to make sure it was still there.

Around me, there were sofas, all the way into the distance, as far as I could see. I strode in between them, quickly, increasing my stride. There must be something else here...somewhere. More products, a salesperson, an end to the store at least. Where was Lily? And if this was really her Froozle's, where was the paraphernalia? I shook my head in disbelief.

Passing sofa after sofa, I suddenly saw a glint in the distance. The shine of a watch? Of glasses? As I hurried closer, I realized it was neither. The shine was from teeth. Crocodile teeth.

Seamus the Magician, Take 2

3/3/05

I want to get out of here.

I've been wandering for days, in a two-dimensional monochrome world. Make it stop!

Around me walk 2-dimensional, monochrome people, with black-and-white TVs, flat houses, and no sense of fun whatsoever. I think I am becoming one of them.

But where is here?

I was practicing my art a few weeks ago in my sweet, real, colourful, 3-D world, when I clicked my heels together, and -poof!- I had been transported to a world of no colour. Trying to adjust to this dramatic change of scenery, I accidentally pressed a button - that turned everything flat. Flatter than flat. Things have no substance!

But it was not only the dimensions that had changed - all of a sudden, I was in a brand new world, full of strange folk who never smile, never laugh, and who you can practically see right through!

I pressed the button again. But nothing happened. I was stuck. And here I have been, living in the streets these past three weeks, trying to find a way out.

Most people I approach know not of a "way out." They think me absurd - and I don't blame them. To them, this 2-D world is real. It is the only world that exists. It's a wonder any of them believe me.

But some do.

I discovered one day a tiny crack of sunshine, the slightest bit of the lightest shade of yellow. So there was colour after all. Later, I returned to this spot, only to discover a barrier, and a sign stating: WARNING! DO NOT CROSS! AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY!

Since this was the only perceptible trace of my world, I considered myself authorized enough to surpass the 2-D barrier. On the other side, there was the speck. But it seemed to me it had grown larger. I touched it with the tip of my finger. It felt warm.

Then I heard the alarm.

Two minutes, 39 seconds later he arrived. 'He' was a government official of some sort, who must have known about the speck.

"Excuse me, sir!" I called.

"State your name and number." He held out an electronic pad and stylus.

"I...uh, actually--"

"Name and number -- now!"

"No, I--"

He tapped his foot.

"Look! I don't have a name and number! This is not my world. I'm trying to get back. To my world." I pointed at the speck in desperation.

The officer blinked. "You're from...Speck-Land?" He slowly lowered his pad and pen.

"Uh...yes. Yes! I...yeah, and I'm trying to get back there. I'm not supposed to be here!"

The officer was slowly nodding, thinking. "Yeah...yeah..." He pointed his finger and started shaking it. Apparently it aided his thought process.

"You're one of them...Speck-Land followers, aren't you?"

"I...--"

"Yeah...Well, it doesn't exist. There's nothing here. Away with you."

I resisted stubbornly, but he shoved me with his tazer, which really hurt, and made me go all limp. Then he put me on the back of his van, and drove off to somewhere...

Seamus the Magician, Take 1

3/3/05

"I think there's something under your nose!" I guffawed and slapped my knee.

"Uh...that's not funny," a young gentleman beside me replied.

"But there is, there is!" He just couldn't see it.

"There is what?"

"There is!" My, he is slow.

"Whose nose?"

"Why, yours!"

"My what?"

"Your nose!" The young man was clearly not convinced, so I pulled out a small mirror and showed him his nose.

"See?" I shouted. I flicked his nose with a finger. "A mouth!" and I continued my laughter.

The man was not impressed. He drew back, nose stuck up in the air in defiance, twirled his cloak at me, turned around, and strode off.

I chuckled, picked up my briefcase, and tapped my heels together. One, two, three...

And everything suddenly turned monochrome; oh no! It was windy. I shook hair out of my face, and looked at my watch. I pushed a button, and accidentally turned everything flat.

Have you ever been turned 2-D? Not a pleasant experience. You are being bent, and stretched, and squashed all at once, and you can't breathe for a few seconds, which makes you panic. That's why I try not to do it too often. But as I said, this was an accident.

2-D and colourless. Not the best way to be. As soon as the flattening process was over, I shook out my newly-formed limbs, and looked around me. I was not in Kansas, as I had first thought. But where was I?

prose poetry

2/3/05

my mind is full of misery I wished I could dream but my dreams were smooshed by my non-existant misery and now I am only left to live no more shall I wander the dilapidated alleyways of lies searching for my electrocuted dog in the time of space one day I shall be free of all this misery and will fly away into forever but for now I wait

* * *
I ponder the existence of negative energy saps away our meaning but necessary for any happiness at all one day I will understand the path of pain to betterment why we torture ourselves for love I do not know but I do it anyway no one loves me we are all individuals but only collectively so one day I will wonder why we bother to die

* * *
fumes of dismay enter through one ear and float on through I am content mellow ready for a surprise which will not come I am full of things but are they full of me? maybe I need to wonder to be able to resist choice is given only to those worthy - those who do not want it then there is no choice do you see the irony in that? I could fly away one day and notice nothing at all because nothing at all would be how I would feel the buzz the motion has fallen throught the depths of time to create nothing but empty particles of nothing around me this is impossible, but everything is possible don't tell me otherwise.

Brett

2/1/05

Outline:

There's this guy who lives in this weird void place. He lives off of all the stuff that pops into his void. (Ok, so it's a really weird void.) And then one day, this huge weird red monster thingey that's all scary and crab-like and many-tentacled pops into the void. It turns out that the monster is this weird spirity/ghost-y thing (but not like those dumb things in Final Fantasy). And obviously the guy can't kill it or eat it or anything, so they strike up a conversation or something, about the world each of them knows(/knew). Then they realize that the void appears to be shrinking. So their weird red monster thingey thinks it might be able to pull them out of the void, to where he came from in the first place. So it tries, and it works -- they're both pulled into its world, a crazy fancy shimmery, golden world, pristine and sparkling and all magical looking. Welcome to the Realm of Dreams(/Dreamers).

Story:

Picture a void. Not easy, is it? Now picture something in the void. It is a piece of bread. Picture something else in the void. It is a man. The man is eating the piece of bread.

How did the man get into the void? Nobody knows. He doesn't know because he can't remember; nobody else knows because there is no one else in the void. So maybe someone somewhere does know, just the man doesn't know. But he is important, and they are not, so his knowledge is the only one that matters.

How did the piece of bread get into the void? Nobody knows that either. Well, the piece of bread might know, but it isn't a 'body,' so it doesn't count, and anyway, it will be gone soon. The only thing about the lifespan of the piece of bread that matters is that it came into the void to nourish the man. A hole just opened up in the void, and -tada- a piece of bread appeared. The man plucked it from its spot in the void and began eating it.

A lot of stuff tended to do this. Appear apparently randomly in the void, that is. And all for the man. Obviously. Because there was no one else there. Strange and mysterious, isn't it?

The man's existence was a fairly dull and simple one. He would use anything that popped into the void to its furthest extent, discard it, and wait for a new toy. Not the best way to spend one's days, but he had no choice. Since he had no idea how he had gotten into the void, he had no idea how he might be able to get out.

Until one day...

* * *
Brett was floating around his void one day (well, not really day. Voids are strange that way. There's no real sense of time. Let's just say he was floating around. Without the 'one day' bit.) wondering what to do with himself, when he saw the familiar sight of strange swirly echoey things, announcing the arrival of some new object or piece of nourishment. It started to grow. Oh good, thought Brett, a new coffee machine! But it continued to grow. Yay, maybe a pet pig! And grow. Or a horse? And grow. ...Maybe...a...hippotamus... And grow. Uh-oh... And grow. I thought dinosaurs were extinct? And grow. Perhaps a new house? ...And grow.

The swirly thing started to open. A skinny red swishy thing appeared. More skinny red swishy thing appeared, except that it was getting fatter. A possibly-an-eyeball appeared. More swishy things, which are actually tentacles, by the way, came out of the hole. The hole started to bulge. It seemed about to burst. It squiggled back and forth disturbingly, then suddenly, the body of the beast surged out.