#oneaday, Day 130: Spam Fiction: The Revenge

A while ago, I did this, against the express wishes of one Mr George Kokoris. Tonight I return to the challenge with a twist… I write the in-between bits. I’m going to post four pieces of that bizarre spam you sometimes get that includes extracts of prose. And then I’m going to attempt to link the four of them within the space of approximately one thousand words. With no real care or attention – spur of the moment, first-thing-that-comes-into-the-head stuff. Not quite freewriting. But not quite proper writing, either. An exercise in 1) imagination and 2) deciphering nonsense.

This is a dangerous challenge, I know, that will likely delve into the depths of the nonsensical and surreal. But I have faith that I will emerge from the other side, unscathed and smelling only slightly of processed meat. Here goes.

The original spam extracts will be marked in bold and will be cleaned up slightly so they’re, you know, readable. The subject headers of the original messages are “Insatiable redhead. gets her ebaver licked in  a very intense  way.” [sic], “Appelaing redhead atking on a ggiant one .” [sic-er] and “Can we exchange photos before we meet?” and its companion “Can we exchange photos before we meet?”. Just in case you were, you know, curious.

Let us begin.

I learned to play on the piano a little. Miss Gray – she plays for gathering twilight. Her face looked thin and wistful, full of youth’s ideals and enthusiasm, and a heart full of love.

“That’s so! I can be glad of that, can’t I?” she cried.

“Well, there will be no difficulty of that kind any longer, Pollyanna, you–“

“Thomas, that will do for this morning. I think. Very good. In the fall you will enter school here, of course.”

Well, short as had been Nancy’s stay at the house, the two were with; and the other was so bad it fell to pieces just as soon as my mother entered the room. Miss Pollyanna Gray and I were left staring at each other, slightly embarrassed at our previous outburst which thankfully, had not been overheard. My eyes met hers for a moment, and I knew that our time together was at an end, for now at least.

“Come, Thomas,” said my mother, taking my hand firmly, much as she would have done when I was but an infant. “It is time for you to meet the gentlemen and ladies of society. Doctor Stone is planning a discussion on Wagner. You would do well to listen to his words, as a student of the arts.”

I didn’t doubt the fact that it would be interesting, because she said it; but in a man it would have aroused his impatience. Searching analysis of the art of Wagner?

Upright, picking the leg of a chicken with a dignified gesture, Arthur with household matters and, while Margaret put the tea things away, she threshed out since he acquired the beginnings of civilization and he. There were many older ones also in bindings of calf and pigskin, treasure because she said it; but in a man it would have aroused his impatience.

Black paper, and Haddo insisted on posing for him. A little crowd stood in front of them to receive Arthur’s order. She was a hard-visaged woman, and not at all what I expected from my mother’s past descriptions of Doctor Stone. For starters, I had assumed Doctor Stone to be a man. Apparently my mother had also, from her frequent references to “him”, not to mention the name of Arthur, a traditionally masculine nomenclature.

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor Stone,” I said, proffering my hand to Arthur.

“Ah! You must be Thomas,” she said. “I am Doctor Arthur Stone, Professor of the Fine Arts at this Academy,”

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor Stone,” I said again, not quite sure what to say to this half-man, half-woman figure before me.

“So, Thomas,” said Haddo, relaxing her pose for a moment to turn and face me. She, too, was a striking woman, somewhat intimidating to behold. “Tell us what you know of Wagner. Arthur here was just about to begin her lecture.”

“I know little of Wagner,” I replied, shaking off my mothers hand that was still firmly clamped around my wrist. “But I believe that I am able to learn, I hope.”

Haddo eyed me suspiciously, then turned to Arthur, whose expression had become frosty.

“I advise you to show me somewhat more zeal.The situation is quite obvious.”

Probably we no more than looked at each other.

“In three days will be the coronation.”

I sensed the atmosphere in the room had changed. I looked at my mother, whose eyes had suddenly sprung tears in their corners.

“What coronation?” I implored the assembled guests. I had heard no such news of any coronation, and as far as I knew, the King still sat firmly on his throne, as resolute a ruler as he had ever been.

“The coronation,” said Arthur in a low voice, slowly removing one of her silk gloves. “The coronation will proceed as planned.”

“I don’t understand!” I cried. I turned to my mother again, who was weeping openly by now. “I don’t understand, Mother!”

“Then perhaps this will clarify matters,” said Arthur, removing what I could now see to be an elaborate, feminine hairpiece. Underneath he was a balding gentleman who just happened to be dressed in an expensive-looking lady’s frock. He reached down into the plunging cleavage of the dress and pulled out a crown, made of material as black as night. It seemed to suck all trace of joy from the room around it.

I heard the doors of the room crash open behind me, and Pollyanna’s voice pierced the tension in the room like a knife.

“Uncle! No!” she cried, throwing herself against him and tackling him to the floor.

“Miss Pollyanna Gray,” growled Arthur, “this is not your business.”

“I beg to differ,” she murmured, picking up the blackened crown, which seemed to be twisted with hate. She span around quickly and when she faced him again I knew she was holding a different object. It was almost imperceptible, but the look of concentration on her face was absolute. I could tell that whatever she was doing was taking every ounce of her mental and physical strength to maintain.

But his eyes and mind were not fooled.

Finally, she realized that his strength was too much for her.

“They destroy you and cripple me. Murgen’s dreadful sentries allowed him to pass unchallenged.”

To be continued…

[No, I have no idea what any of that meant either. I hope I made your day a little more surreal. I’ve certainly confused myself.]