Sooner or later somebody writing for the Alt Left was certain to report it, certainly not the most significant person, no one of consequence, in fact. In fact, later the authorities even questioned the reporter’s relationship to the missing person. All the usual sources took immediate offense at such an outrageous disappearance. A million op-eds immediately sprouted, while squadrons of right-winged hawks took roost on their bottom line. All our newsprint suddenly became stained with yellow ink. Some claimed that her disappearance was an invention of fake news. Others disagreed, while still others agreed, but only to disagree. Still others said they had seen her as late as last week. A sheriff in Tennessee claimed to have found her sword and scales in the back seat of a 1964 faded metallic green Buick Skylark convertible with a white top, in a junk yard hidden behind a Memphis motel. As of deadline, her blindfold is still being sought.
It was confirmed by press time on Tuesday that Justice has disappeared.
The last known sighting was outside the Chicago Cook County Criminal Courts building, although the witness may have been confusing the miraculous movement of a statue or was merely blinded by the light. Everyone in the black community insisted that Justice never even existed. She was a myth no more or less real than old Br’er Rabbit or the Tar Baby, or Barack Obama.
One reporter had to flee the country when he FedExed notarized printouts of the lady in compromising pornographic postures with Associate Supreme Court Justice Brett (“I like beer”) Kavanaugh to the Entertainment and Leisure editor of the New York Times.
Even President Trump, in a no doubt jealous fit of piqué over his being eclipsed for nearly two news cycles, fired off a fusillade of angry tweets claiming, “I used to date the chick when she was 15 only she called herself Themis back then. Greek chicks are H-O-T if you get me. They spoil fast though. They’re the first to grow the moustache you know. And that sword. Not my thing. Not a thing with me. Never wanted to have anything to do with her ever since. Loser Themis, I knew you when. Ha ha. Not my thing. Nothing wrong with chicks like that. It’s just not my thing.”
A large encampment of press pusses, cameras, and satellite trucks all smelling of aftershave and ozone, motor oil, and cosmetics set up camp outside her house, rallying into a frenzy at every movement of drape or turn of door knob.
In response to all the press attention, a line began forming, a growing line, composed of representatives from three arms manufacturers, two pharmaceutical company CEOs and their caddies, eight IAPAC lobbyists, a priest, and a used-car salesman. The line snaked ragtaggedly down the sidewalk, each individual awaiting his purchased time with a sordid, corporate-owned talking head or pundit in white face. A quick poof and blush and they will be ready for their “Ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”
“Tell me, General Fogg, how do you think you might respond to rumors that she has been placed in protective custody in an undisclosed CIA location?”
“I’m glad you asked me that, Mr. Wallace. Can I call you Chris, since we’re Satanic bung-hole buddies? Can I?” (clearing throat) “For some time now, I’ve been waiting for just such an opportunity to answer—”
“I don’t mean to break in here, Your Eminence, but it has just been reported by an irredeemable, but accurate, War Department official that that rumor we have been reporting as fact all week is in reality a false flag hoisted on its own petard by bots slaving in an ancient abandoned Russian click-bate mill nestled high in the Urals.”
Snip.
“We report; you decide” is what the Fox say.
Author’s Note: I had a chance to read this “flash fiction” piece at a class reading last week to an enthusiastic audience of friends and families of the students. I grow more excited every time I hear my fellow students read. Their talent is immense. They all come from relatively modest backgrounds. Three of them are ready for prime time now, and they aren’t even out of college. I hope other schools throughout the country are helping cultivate talent the way my own Lincoln University in Jefferson City, Missouri, is doing. Liberal arts are alive and well at multi-racial, culturally diverse Lincoln! I am looking forward to introducing a couple of my fellow students to Moristotle & Co.
| Copyright © 2019 by Bob Boldt |
I had never heard of “IAPAC” before, had to look it up: International Association of Providers of AIDS Care.
ReplyDeleteSimilarly, “flash fiction:”
Flash fiction is a fictional work of extreme brevity that still offers character and plot development. Identified varieties, many of them defined by word count, include the six-word story; the 280-character story (also known as "twitterature"); the "dribble" (also known as the "minisaga," 50 words); the "drabble" (also known as "microfiction," 100 words); "sudden fiction" (750 words); flash fiction (1,000 words); and "micro-story". Some commentators have suggested that flash fiction possesses a unique literary quality in its ability to hint at or imply a larger story. [Wikipedia]
nice, Bob. And especially glad to hear about your local college. Rock on.
ReplyDeleteI like the way the boundary between poetry and fiction is being obliterated. We are entering a whole new era of experimentation. As for me, I would like to branch my fiction and poems further off the page with multimedia.
ReplyDeleteThat is one of the things I love about Morris' editorship. He is so encouraging of my attempts to experiment with my work here. I have been giving him so many accompanying slides that I think we may be on the verge of creating a graphic novel.