A Story Fragment: Mental Calisthenics (Part Two)

 (Originally published on January 20, 2017)

A couple of years ago, I got into a thing where my brane just wanted me to write stuff. Anything. And I ended up with a couple of story fragments (this one, and the first one). These didn't end up going anywhere, and I have no idea what the completed story would eventually look like, if indeed, such a creature even exists.
Still, It was kind of fun to flex my narrative muscles.

* * * * *

       There's a man.

        Oh, there I go. Now, I've done it. I could have just kept to myself and said nothing... or possibly told you a nice story, something with a moral centre, and a happy ending, to lighten your heart and put a spring in your step, but alas. I've done it, and now, there's no turning back.

        So. There's a man; though I should really say men. And to be fair, a few women scattered hither and thither as well, but mostly men. And in the end, mostly A man. I suppose I should give you a name. It would be only polite, and what kind of poor storyteller would I be if I didn't, eh? I tell you there's a man, but not his name. But you see, once you know it, that's it. You're in. And even if you never hear another breath of this story, you'll Always be In. So last chance! No? Yes?

        Very well.

        This man; his name is Monday. Sometimes Mundy, and sometimes Moon, but in the end, it's Always Monday somewhere. And this fellow has a most peculiar vocation: you see, he's the villain. A murderer? Oh yes. A thief? Most definitely and many times over. An arsonist, a pimp, an assassin, a saboteur, a traitor, a pirate? All that and more, and then there are those he employs whose crimes, though he may have been on the far side of the world when they were committed, could no more readily be aimed squarely at him if he were in the room himself, his hand upon the knife.

        I, myself, had the unfortunate habit of entering the arc of the esteemed Mister Monday's irregular, but inexorable orbit due to a small talent I possess, one honed over many, many decades. I am, you see, quite adept at discerning the true and most profound needs of people. These are not day-to-day trifles, or spur-of-the-moment impulses, but the sort of desires that one normally keeps to oneself, as though to reveal it might allow it to escape.

        Once the desire is uncovered, I then set to work in elaborating the circumstances and processes through which it might be obtained. Oh, you should see me at this point. It's quite glorious, if I do say so myself, but then again, humility's never been one of my virtues. No, I take the need into myself, cradling it to my hollow bosom, honing its edge until my heart weeps for the wanting. And then, having driven myself to this ecstasy, I give full rein to my imaginings, elaborating in rapturous detail how the desire should be sated. I should have been in the theatre. However, I've found that my talents tend to wane in front of an audience larger than one.

        With this done, you'd think the next step would be a doddle, but alas, through certain deficiencies of motivation and self-discipline, this is where it all comes to nought. Oh I can come up with a plan, even once that sounds simple, but after all that, I find that I'd rather a lie down and a quiet smoke than going to all the bother of putting it into action. However, I've found rather an ingenious work-around. Once I've gone through all the bother of telling them a lovely story about this thing they desire so, so very terribly, and how I can go about obtaining it for them, I usually find that they're so enraptured in my vision that all I have to do is tell them what to pay me, pocket the cash, and retire to my residence for a much deserved lie-in.

        It's a small gift, but it did to keep me in fine circumstances and pleasant company, and what more could you want, really? Unfortunately, small as it was, it was exactly the gift required for a most particular scheme: an elegant piece of criminal theatre in which I, for my sins, was destined to play a minor, but vital part...

                                                                            * * * * *

Alas, I don't recall if I ever followed up on this, still, you can see how I'm tapping into that weird cloud of thinks and ideas swirling about inside my head.
If you don't, you may want to take a peek here...