After four years, Antaná could take it no more. She had daily been tormented my the hubris of the individual which stood before her. Long hours of combovers and fake tan application became too much for her to endure. Yes, after thirty years of dedicated service in the executive washroom, Antaná Klasi ended it all.
Robert Hilyard was far from the most likely pirate. He was the captain of the schooner Lilly Margaret and costal trade had been hard of late. It was owing to this that he decided to try his hand at being a Buccaneer.
He consulted his men, and they too were up for the enterprise, and with the two small defensive cannon on board they decided that they needed to up their firepower. After hard work on small jobs afloat and ashore, they managed to scrape together sufficient funds for a ten-pounder to augment the ship’s two six-pounders.
When all was ready the Lilly Margaret sailed from Philadelphia in search of prey. She sited a cargo vessel off of Cape Hatteras and set out in pursuit. As she was drawing near, a massive fog bank swallowed the two ships, but the relentless Hilyard carried onwards. At first he could see its running lights, but soon after he lost track of his quarry.
As the sun rose higher, the fog began to break up and the Lilly Margaret caught glimpse of a vessel ahead of her to starboard. The crew rolled out the guns and prepared to call for the ship to prepare to be boarded.
Hilyard grabbed his long-hailer and announced his presence. “Ahoy, vessel – this is the Black Lilly.”
Before he could continue his demand a voice came from the fog, “Ahoy vessel this is the US Frigate Essex.”
Hilyard gulped and quickly responded, “Hallo Essex, can you tell us how far it is to Charleston?”
Dewidesmal had become rather adept at finding mis-shelved volumes and getting them to the right place. It was a great way to spend an evening after the library closed. It was only the larger tomes that gave her any problem; that and avoiding being seen by the night cleaners.
Her favourite place was the children’s section with its bright colours and pretty illustrations, but she did find much of the writing brain-numbing and would drift over to the young readers’ shelves for something a little more stimulating.
Oh, I have neglected to tell you that Dewi was a Stack Brownie and she lived in a central library in a major city in the American South. Her life was happy, but far more lonely since her sister, Overdolia got married and moved to a university library with her husband, Quartlyjurnal.
Her uncle, Notfurcirculation had recently moved in, after the closure of his small country library, but he kept mostly to himself in the basement storage.
Anyway, one evening after Dewi had lugged an 811 back to 821 where it belonged, she was stunned to see a barcode on a book left on a table. What made it worse was it didn’t have a shelving label. This will never do, she thought. My job is hard enough without having to deal with thirteen digits. There was only thing to do, the offending piece of literature would have to live with Uncle Notfur. There was no way such a thing was going to live in her stacks!
First it was those Lincolnite Republican Carpetbaggers and Scalawags; but now there was going to be a new invasion of Democratic Fannypackers and Leftists.
How could Dixie survive a second wave of ideological upheaval?
Well for Rick Lee Thomas there was only one answer. He was going to ignore the border wall and head into Mexico. Yes, Mexico would be a start, but maybe if the South was going to rise again it would need to really be the South. In fact, Argentina sounded promising.
Would such a fictional individual be considered an political exile or a refugee? Or is this the next step in manifest destiny? There is no political malice in this post, just I find some of the rhetoric disturbing and wonder what will be the social results.
It is said that she has such a bubbly personality. Well that true if what you mean is that her personality is marked by her prolific consumption of champagne. Once she gets a few glasses of the bubbly stuff into her, she is the life of the party.
While that might seem a good thing, it does cause a little bit of concern at the parties she frequents. You see, Barbara Wright, aka Bubbles the Clown is a children’s entertainer.
“So did you find her or not?” the tycoon demanded.
“Yes Sir, I have” the investigator replied.
“Where is she then?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t that what I paid you for?”
“Not exactly, Sir. What you hired me to do – was quote -‘Find her and see if she is all right’. I can confirm that your wife has been found, and that she is as far as I can surmise not only well but happy.”
“And I’m to take your word for it? Do you think I got to where I am by just accepting people’s word for things? Where is the evidence?” the businessman challenged.
“Sir, I do have photographs, but I really think you don’t want to see them.”
Henry was a born diplomat. Well, he thought he was anyway. He had as a child been able to pacify his siblings by coming up with novel compromises, like television channel trade-offs on alternating days.
In high school and university, he continued the trend and became a member of the Student Council where he was often able to mediate between various interest groups.
Upon graduation he got a job for an NGO where he became a skilled negotiator. He was so skilled, in fact, that he became known as “The Pacifier.”
News of his talents spread, and he was ultimately recruited to take part in talks on the international stage. It was here that he met his match.
Henry was assigned to quell a rather bitter dispute between a weak government, and an ultra-right wing faction that wanted to secede and align themselves with a neighbouring state with similar views.
Well the Pacifier got to work and seemed to smooth things over, but the treaty he managed to forge played directly into the hands of the neighbouring state. The British representative seemed to capture the situation well when he noted that his American colleague, “the Pacifier,” had lived up to his name. He further noted that in England a pacifier is called a dummy.