zero plus nothing equals - 23. human interest

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-three of 31

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dawn was breaking over the city. bunky stood on the corner looking sadly at the side of the building which no longer showed the message “bunky is smiling”. bunky was crestfallen. after all the years of being forgotten by his old friend warren hastings, who, since they had last been together, had gone on to become the third richets man in the world, he had thought for one brief shining moment that they might be pals again. but apparently it was not to be. why so sad, brad? someone said behind hum. bunky turned and beheld the aspiring journalist and photographer debbie willis johnson, wearing her trademark ratty fur coat that she had inherited from her grandmother on her mother’s side. i am sad because life is sad, bunky replied. that is a good answer. thank you. i use it all the time. if you do not my asking, debbie continued, was there something about the building you seemed to be gazing so soulfully at, that particulary attracted your attention? why do you wish to know? are you some kind of nosey parker? nosey parker. that is not an expression you hear much nowadays. i do not keep up with the latest expressions. be that as it may, in response to your inquiry, i am an aspiring journalist and photographer, and i am always on the lookout for snippets, or even whole multigenerational sagas, oh human interest. bunky considered debbie’s straightforward assertion . his whole life flashed before his eyes. will you buy me a cup of coffee? bunky asked. yes, i will. i will buy you a donut too, or a danish pastry or a croissant. thank you. that is very kind of you, bunky replied gallabtly. just at that moment, harrison walker, mr warren hastings’s personal assistant, arrived at the building. he was early, as he had been summoned by gorgeous george mathews, mr hasting’s chief of staff, on what george described as a matter of the utmost urgency. although highly skeptical of george's description, harrison had dutifully arrived on time. he dismissed the limo driver and headed for the entrance to the building, taking no notice whatsoever of bunky and debbie. next

zero plus nothing equals - 22. melancholy

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-two of 31

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after heaving his melancholy sigh, the man in the maroon smoking jacket started to rise from the dark purple couch, but changed his mind about doing so and subsided back onto the couch. his name was edward st bonaventure, but his acquaintances called him ed, or sometimes big ed. he was the kind of guy who was called big ed. he wore maron smoking jackets indoors, and heavy tan overcoats outside, unless the weather was very warm. when the weather was warm, he wore light blue seersucker suits. he favored wide, dark blue ties, somewhat loosely knotted. that was the kind of guy big ed was. tonight big ed was in a quandry. the woman in the green dress, who had put on a pale blur coat with a pink hood before stepping outside, had issued him an ultimatum. one he could neither ignore nor easily comply with. she had given him twenty-three hours to responf. and he had already spent twenty-two minutes of it sitting on the dark purple couch and sighing. the name of the woman in the green dress was nushi li. she was an unknown quantity, especially to big ed. but she had clearly meant business. and her business was out in the street. in today’s world, almost all business is out in the street. just ask nushi li’s former associate mr jesse james. nushi and jesse had painted the town red white and blue. but there had not been hell to pay. in fact they had got away clean. but that was small consolation to big ed. who continued to sit on the dark blue couch wringing his hands as the night wore on. and the first light of dawn appeared in the sky. meanwhile nushi li had proceeded briskly down the dark street. a long black limousine pulled up beside her. she got into it. and rode away. the driver of the long black limousine was named styling bump. and he was quite a guy. he and nushi went back a long way. styling felt he would have no trouble handling big ed. next

zero plus nothing equals - 21. the job

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-one of 31

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it was a cold morning. the heat from the sidewalks seemed to be less than 100 percent. jose waited for the van, which as usual was late. and looked out at the endless plain of tall buildings that contained the living quarters of the citizens. jose was not a citizen, but one of the last workers. one of the 2.3 percent of the human population that still had a job.. he took pride in the fact but was careful not to show it. and always nodded enthusiastically at union meetings when assured that the goal of 100 percent citizenship was on the horizon. and that jose and his fellows, the last workers, would finally be rewarded for their heroism. the bus arrived, a little less late than usual. there were usually two other persons on the van when jose got on it. zambo the gutwrencher, and howard johnson. zambo was jose’s best friend, and jose hated him. is that not always the way? jose suspected zambo of being an informer for the union. zambo was always making little remarks hinting, only hinting, that maybe 100 percent unworkerhood was not such a great idea after all. of course zambo always stopped short of advocating outright wilsonism. at any rate, zambo was not on the van on this particular chilly morning. but howard johnson was. howard was a great guy, and everybody liked him and wanted to be just like him. jose wished with all his heart and soul that howard, and not zambo, could be his best friend. but the union, in its infinite wisdom, had decreed otherwise. jose nodded to howard, before taking his assigned seat. seat number 33, out of 68. the bus chugged away, leaning the drone residences behind. out on to the desert , where the work building stood low and lonely. another day, another something or other. jose coud never remember what the other something was. next

zero plus nothing equals - 20. the window

by jeremy witherington

part twenty of 31

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sally was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that she had made herself. with bread she had ordered two days ago. and peanut butter and jelly she had ordered seven days ago. in a room on the fifty-seventh floor of a building. the room was not large. or so she had been told. but it was the only room on the fifty-seventh floor. all of the one hundred and eleven floors of the building had one room of the same size. each of the floors/rooms could only be accessed by its sole occupant. that was the theory, anyway. sally was not so sure. how did you know? she was always expecting a knock on the door. there was only one door. and one window. from the window she could the desolate plain stretching away to the horizon. the room had one table, one chair, one cot with one pillow, and one screen. many things could be seen on the screen. but more things could be seen inside her head. and even more in her dreams. her name was sally johnson. but that was just a name. she could make up a new one any time she wanted. like veronica evans, or linda velaquez, or number 784, or old blood and guts. or queen henrietta xvii, or sacramento annie, or blue star, or see you later. meanwhile she listened for a knock on the door. because how did you know? you do not. next

zero plus nothing equals - 19. falling down

by jeremy witherington

part nineteen of 31

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number ten woke up. they rolled over and went back to sleep. they had a dream in which they were walking down a dark road. they were on a mission. to make amends. with number one. who had been their best friend in school. sort of. it was hard to remember on such a dark road number one and number ten did not really like each other that much. or spend much time together walking down dark roads or otherwise. number ten had tried to be accepted into number twenty-seven’s select circle. but without success. the road got darker and darker. number ten tripped and fell. they could not get up. they lay helpless in the middle of the dark road. the night was silent. they thought they might hear a cow, or an owl, or a fox, or a wolf. or a rooster! suddenly number ten woke up. what an unpleasant dream, they thought. at least it had not been about school. number ten’s phone rang. they hoped it was not from number thirty-eight. please, not number thirty-eight. number one or number twenty-seven, but please please not number thirty-eight. next

zero plus nothing equals - 18. betrayal

by jeremy witherington

part eighteen of 31

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the stranger rode across the desert,. he was bitterly disappointed at not keeping his rendezvous with the queen. he decided to get his revenge. but against whom? against the queen, who had not kept her promise to meet him, no matter what the obstacle? though the heavens turn to ash. and the oceans turn to sand. those had been her words to him. under the old oak tree, on the night before she was to be delivered to the king. accompanied by ten thousand horsemen of her uncle, the great emperor. whose empire had turned into sand. the very sand the stranger was riding across on his strange beast. night fell, and the stranger decided, having put a hundred leagues between himself and the town, which was the only remnant of the empire, to stop for the night. when he fell asleep, the strange beast wandered away in the direction of the great mountain. the stranger slept, blissfully unaware of the beast’s perfidy. everybody had betrayed him. the queen. the beast. and the world. he had a dream in which he was walking down a dark road. he decided to get his vengeance, not against the queen, whom he still loved. not against the beast, whose betrayal he was unaware of. but against the world. against the world. next

zero plus nothing equals - 17. missing!

by jeremy witherington

part seventeen of 31

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i am sorry, doctor, but your protege has not returned. i do not suppose you have any objection to our starting the conference without him? of course not. i warned the headstrong youth of the consequences of his impetuous folly, and now he must suffer them. very well then, everyone else is here. let us begin. our first speaker is doctor dee, also known as number one. algernon was lost. and alone. people flowed past him a kinetic dance of obfuscation, blotting out the doors and windows of the myriad shops and cafes in the endlessly looping streets. just when he thought he recognized a shop from a previous passage, he would be swept past it. not that he wished to enter any of them. all he wanted was to get back to the safety of the hotel. he turned on to a quieter street. surely he had not been on it before. the street sloped up a hill, and seemed occupied not by shops, but by dwellings with curiously small windows. old fashioned automobiles were parked in front of the dwellings, and algernon thought he heard the sound of children shouting, although he could not see any actual children. the street grew narrower, and the buildings and the automobiles and the shouts disappeated. he reached the crest of the hill. and looked down upon a city square, with not too many people walking around it. and there was a movie theater - perhaps the same one he had seen on first leaving the hotel by its side door! but it was not to be. the marquee of the theater did not read “ to be continued”. it read - how will you meet your end? algernon took a deep breath. he resolved to ask one of the passersby where he was, and how to get back to the hotel. he had heretofore refrained from this bold step, fearing the worst. but now there was nothing else for it. excuse me, sir - but his first target went by him unheeding - so far from being daunted, algernon felt a fresh surge of optimism. excuse me, miss - next