Absurd Elderly Semicolons

Two storys, about some strange habits or actions of elderly people, with a stipulation that every paragraph should contain a semicolon.

Lion's

The Broach and the Pigeon

It was the day that she had lost the broach that her uncle had given her for graduation; it was a large half pearl, set in white gold, with two small diamonds: one above the pearl and one below. This day, on the bus home from work, she saw an old man that she recognized from her childhood sitting up front, in a horizontal seat. She passes him and walked to the back, finding her seat.
The bus was open. There was a little kid - a girl - sitting next the old man. He was wearing the same brown knitted scarf that he had worn on walks around the neighborhood that the broachless woman grew up in. The scarf wound around three times before the ends hung, one in front one in back. Today was a warm day; the sun shined.
She put her head in a book. The world outside hummed by in a freeway blur: only things in the distance didn’t move and everything up close scattered. Her book was written by a motivational speaker, the universe inside you and all that. She loved it; to think that what you think will be, and what is is a representation of what you think – The essence of control.
She looked up with a smile from the passage reading “Let your thoughts and feelings be true; act in accordance with them and a universe of endless possibilities will build itself around you.” Smiling, she though of the broach.
The old man at the front of the bus saw her smile. He recognized her – smiles rarely change - and smiled back. He was in the middle of what looked like a magic trick. One hand waiving over a closed one, and once the waiving was done the one below opened empty. “Magic” the kid thought; the universe the broachless woman thought.
The old man turned, faced foreword; he pretended nothing happened. No prestige. “Hey; where did my dollar go mister?” the kid asked.
“Calm down. It’s been sent up into the feet of a pigeon on the top of the May D. and F Tower; it will fly to your house and give that dollar back to you.”
“But I need it now” the kid said.
The man shrugged and looked at the kid; his eyes asked you really want it now kid? The kid looked back and didn’t look away. So the old man started. He loosened his fingers in random movements waiving them in the direction of the kid. He opened his eyes wide, his hands now shaking. The kid moved back. The old man clapped, threw one hand up, and with the other, in a flash, grabbed a pigeon from under his scarf and put it into the kid’s hands. The kid, confused, threw her hands up, turned her head in fear, and the pigeon flew free in the bus. The old man laughed pulled the chain for a stop and got off at the next stop. The broachless woman, not wanting to stay on a bus with a dirty bird, got off too.
“How are your parents?” He asked; the space between the front and rear exits between them.
She was waiting for the next bus, standing on the curb; shoulders straight, she turned her head. “Better than that little girl and the pigeon. That’s got to be the worse magic trick I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, I guess you get what you wish forr-r-r.” and choking on that last r he went into a coughing fit. He grabbed his throat, and started to gurgle. Sounds of dry heaves, and spitting up blood. The broachless woman ran over to the old man and started to pat him on the back. He looked up with wide open eyes; his hands were shaking around his throat. He pointed behind him. Taking the queue, the woman started the Heimlich: his hands were still shaking around his neck; blood around his mouth; and his face stop-red. Then, with a cough, vomit and blood spewed and the shiny thing that was lodged in his throat flew into the street. She checked to see if he was okay. His eyes were still wide open, and he was coughing trying to gain composure from the embarrassment. He was, all in all, fine. One of the other people waiting for the bus brought over the dislodged article. In a napkin it lay there: the broach, with particles a food and a pink hew, a large half pearl with two diamonds, one above the pearl and one below it. The old neighbors looked at it.
“That’s my broach; I lost it and here and…Magic” she said.“This is one crazy universe” he said.

Ceahorse's

Through the Glass Doors.

I’m sitting at my desk again, pouring over the books not really getting anywhere; I am not good with numbers. No matter how I add things up, I just can’t get out of the red. I start to brush my fingers through my hair when they get caught in a light knot; I end up pulling my face along with my eyes up. As my eyes are up I notice her.
She’s the lady that lives across the street in a home that seems densely populated; a mother and father; as children - two young sons, the most bored children I've seen, and an infant; what appears to be an uncle; and her, the grandmother.
She has the most peculiar habits. She rarely stays in the house, preferring the fresh air of our smog ridden street, I assume. She likes to walk up and down her side of the street never leaving the panorama of my sliding glass doors. We don’t have any sidewalks; all the houses are built up to the edge of the road to make the most of the real-estate so she walks along the edge of the road. After she finishes with her light cardio, she then proceeds to cross the street. Standing on my side, less then a foot away from my glass doors, she inspects her house’s face.
In order to get a clear picture one should be aware of the types of houses found in my neighbourhood; I don’t live in the western world.
I live on a straight street, T-branched off of a high traffic road which connects my town center to a smaller town to the north. Along the sides of the road nearly every piece of land is occupied with a home; the houses are even built touching one another. The only breaks in the line of buildings are; the two, even smaller, side roads cutting through; and the small park with the two benches and a jungle gym donated by the municipality and an array of used wooden couches left by people of the neighbourhood; and a caged in basketball court; hoops without meshes.
So here I am, stressed to the max, wondering what in the hell, this “crazy” old lady is doing. I start to wonder if she knows the effect she has on me; she must of saw I was sitting in here. It starts to make me look forward to the golden years, the years when your age becomes a legitimate excuse for any absurd behaviour. The time in one’s life when grabbing a stranger’s butt won’t yield a slap in the face or even a good scolding. The end of a life of desires, and whims kept at bay, but finally release unto the world, with a single thought. “I am old but I am normal; I’m just no longer hiding it”

Cracker Jacks

Two storys, somehow related to Cracker Jacks, with the stipulation that a comma cannot appear anywhere within.

Ceahorse's

Taste-less Joy

Mom gave me a shiny Loonie. I wanted to buy something special with it. I racked my brain for what would be worth the loss of my new dollar. I’d need more then candy. I’d need more then a toy. I’d need candy and a toy. Cracker Jacks was the answer.
I tossed on my shoes and hit the streets. Cool but pleasant. I walked up St. Peter St with my coin in hand. Flipping it and catching it. I got to Mr. Wong’s convenience. Coin in hand. I had only dropped it twice.
I went in the door. Pull to enter. Mr. Wong stood behind his counter. Expressionless. I nodded but received nothing. I walked the aisles. Last minute hesitation. Box on the counter. Coin spinning to a stop beside it.
I thanked Mr. Wong and didn’t even get a smile. I hugged my treat and collected my change. No receipt.
Push to exit. I left the store and trotted home. I thought of eating my snack there on his stoop but I didn’t want to spill any of it. It was safer at my dinning room table.
Anxiousness. I swung my front door open. The door knob hit the wall. Father still hadn’t installed the spring door stop. Shoes sprawled and jacket on the floor.
I found my way to the dinning room table. I sat in my chair. We all had our spots. I carefully peeled open the box top. It was full to the brim. I began.
Each bite a single piece of heaven. The sweet coating. The crispy crunch. As I progressed though each piece I went further into a dream state. Ecstasy.
My body was soon eating by itself. The robot that was dreaming.
The dream ended with an empty box. I looked in. Nothing.
“Where was my toy?”
Panic. I ran to the telephone. Billy's phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Billy! I got an empty box.”
“Huh?”
“Cracker Jack. I ate it all and no toy.”
“Ahh!”
“What do I do?”
“Maybe you ate the toy!”
“Gotta go. Bye”
“See ya!”
I ran to the bathroom. Bottles and tubes falling and landing in the sink and on the floor. Found it. Ex-lax tablets. Three in my hand. Glass of water drained to wash them down. Waiting. Moping.
I waited for what seemed like a whole year. But it came. Gushing and flowing. Slight regret. Hands getting slimy. Worse regret. Dry heaves and inevitable vomit. Regret and no toy.
I found mother. She would know what to do. She would make them pay!!
“Mom”
“What’s that smell?”
“I didn’t get my toy.”
“What toy? Is that vomit?”
“Nah. My Cracker Jack toy!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I bought Cracker jack but there was no toy in it!”
“So?”
“There has to be a toy! That’s why I bought it”
“Did you like the candy?”
“Yea!”
“Did you eat it all?”
“Yea!”
“That’s life son. Sometimes we buy things and they aren’t what we expected. We have to try to learn…
Riding my bike.


Lion's

Bottom of the 4th

I was at a baseball game and got some crackerjacks. They’re no good. The caramel just sticks to your teeth. You also get those little kernel remnants stuck in your gums The worst part of popcorn. I just bought them for the prize. It’s a ritual.
I remember hearing stories of women being proposed to with a ring from a Cracker Jack box. I wonder if they put a ring in the box. If it was just the toy ring. Like the one on Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Audrey Hepburn is my dream girl. Anyway. Those proposals must have been a long time ago. The only prizes you get in a Cracker Jack box nowadays are little cartoons or fake tickets. Free admission to an ape parade. Free admission to Mt Everest.
If you were to propose a Cracker Jack ring now you’d have to make it yourself. A folded cartoon or ticket.
I got my cracker jacks in the bottom of the third. Matt Holiday was up to bat. That’s how I remember. He had popped out before and struck out before that. I opened the box and gave it to my kid. She was only seven at the time. She loved the stuff. I guess I did too when I was a kid.
I always ate them at the movies though. My sister took me to them I was a kid. She’s the one that started me on the Audrey Hepburn daze. I hate her and love for that. My first wife looked just like Audrey. Only fifteen years later. But she was a wild one. My kids are beautiful and crazy.
I’ve been with my girlfriend for over four years now. May Webster. She’s no Audrey Hepburn. She’s beautiful though. Luckily she’s not crazy. I love her. My kids do too.
My daughter gave me the “prize” from the bottom. I tore the plastic wrapper off. It was a ticket for a trip around the sun and to the moon. I read it to my daughter. “I don’t want that.” I kept it in my hands. By the bottom of the fourth it was in the shape of a ring. I looked at my girlfriend. May smiled. “Would you?” I held out the ring. She smiled again. “For how long?” “Till the sun doesn’t shine on the moon.” “I’d love to.” And I put the my ring on her finger. I smiled. My kids smiled. It was bottom of the fourth.

Unorderly Days

Two stories with stipulation that they must be about a person whose routine has gone amiss.

Lion's

Morning Wake

He wasn’t normally like this, maybe there was a higher power intervening. The late start was followed up with his coffee maker being prevented from its duties, a fresh filter and beans weren’t put in last night. So, this morning the only thing he got was the hollow buzz of the grinder and hot water. For him, that was the pits because his early morning bathroom break didn’t have any; well you get the point. All stopped up. That pretty much sums up the morning.
It wasn’t just that his coffee maker lacked coffee; the alarm fell under similar circumstances. The alarm loaded for 6:30 A.M, he was expected to appear at 8:00 A.M., didn’t go off. Tired before bed because of all that had been happening; he set the time rather then the alarm. Awake at 7:30A.M., the morning session of habitual activities to activate life went missing.
He would normally pour some coffee in a Hoosier mug reading “Bobbie is MY Knight.” And read an article or two out of the Economist, and take his trip into the commode and S.S.S. Eat breakfast afterwards, nude ― air drying — and suit up. Today he got through the bathroom routine minus one S., used a towel to dry, but left his house unfurled and flat.
Down the stairs and out at 7:45. He walked two blocks up, past the intersection with no stop signs, kids, and past the other with the convenience store, kids. His car was at the end of this block: not tagged or stolen — booted. All stopped up. He looked up at sky, or maybe the sky looked down at him, and they both smiled. He walked back to the convenience store and called a cab. Now, 8:00A.M.
He got to the church and everyone was leaving, sad looking and throwing disappointed looks at him. He walked up the stairs in the front through depressed dispersing crowd. At about the third pew in the attendees were few and he made his way freely to the front. He looked into the casket and grabbed the painted and wrinkled hand of his father and said, “You just wanted to get some alone time, eh, Dad?”

Ceahorse's

The day after

I was walking through a field of purple daisies. They touched my heart in ways I could never tell the buddies. I bent over to catch a sniff of one of the larger more vibrant ones when, suddenly, it turned into the face of Metallica’s lead singer, James Hetfield. He stuck out his tongue, in the Kiss fashion, and then started to sing.
Frightened by the abruptness of the transformation and the hideousness of the facial pose, I recoiled back tripping over something and fell. I hit my head and everything went black.
I don’t know how long I was out, but I woke up in a bed. There was the sound of “Unforgiven” pelting out of my alarm clock. I swung my right arm over to turn it off, but I missed. As reality started to become clear, I realized that I was mistaken and that the music was coming from my left. I peered over at the clock. It read 8:04. I tapped the snooze so I could get five more minutes of sleep. I cozied myself back under the blankets and adjusted my head deep into my pillow. My eyes closed by their own will and I was back asleep after the final thought that I didn’t remember changing the clock setting from buzz to radio.
This time I woke up again, on my own, and looked over. The clock read 8:36. I was instantly furious. Why had my snooze failed me? I snatched the clock and peered at the snooze button, but it didn’t say snooze, it had the word “OFF” imbedded in bold black letters.
I put the clock down and slid my feet off the bed: one of my feet went straight into a slipper and the other came up empty. I had put my right foot in my left slipper, and the left foot had to reach over the right foot to find a slipper. Crossing my legs in this manner made me feel like a coquettish widow trying to pretend she didn’t want the pervert to snatch a peak up her mini skirt.
I stood up but it felt strange, I felt like I was standing in a place I had never been before, the same feeling you get when you find you have just walked into the lady’s room. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I looked across the bed to the other side, the side I should be getting up on.
I ran my fingers through my hair in an effort to ease my mind, but what I found was more startling. All I felt was skin. A bald head.
I bolted across the room toward the bathroom. I had to see it with my eyes. I yanked the bathroom door open and went in. I was jammed in the eye by a clothes hanger.
I grasped my watery eye and peered in with the other. I was in the closest. Panic stricken, I scanned the room for another door. As I scanned my panic rose because I began to notice things that were misplaced.
The bed was on the wrong side of my bachelor’s apartment. But it was in the best place considering where the closet was. The sheets on the bed were green, I could’ve sworn that I had blue. There was NO kitchen. And where was my dog. Little Techo was gone, no barks, no wags, not even a whimper to be taken out to piss.
I put my hand against the wall to keep from fainting. Then I noticed the other door. It had to be the bathroom. I staggered over to it and opened it. It was ok. The shower on the left, as it should be. The sink and mirror straight ahead and the toilet nestled between.
I closed the door, locking it. With my back against the door, and my chest gasping for air I sank down to the floor.
“What in the hell is going on?” I repeated out loud several times.
I just couldn’t put my mind on it. What had happened to me, what was with all the changes? Then I fell silent.
DING DONG…DING DONG…
“What the hell?” I yelled. I never had a door bell. Just a knocker, and the door buzzer.
Then I heard the main door open and a voice yell out.
“What the hell, Pete? Where are you?”
I kept silent.
Then I heard the bathroom door knob wiggle.
“Pete? Are you in there? What the hell are you doing? It’s Max. You’re supposed to meet me downstairs.”
Max! I knew Max. He was my buddy. The dude I carpooled with everyday to work. He was my best friend. He was Pete’s best friend. Pete was me. I am Pete. This is my bathroom. This is my home. This is my life. And today is the day after I forgot who I was.

Babes, Elephants, and Beavers

Babes, Elephants, and Beavers

So, I had this dream the other day: I was driving down Lombard St. in San Francisco, the curviest road in America, and then at the bottom of the street my car turned into this big hot tub and then I was cruising Colfax Ave. in Colorado, the longest street in America. The hot tub, the one I was driving, still had a steering wheel and these gold baby daytons. I was crusing around, but it wasn’t enough to have a hot tub on wheels; I needed some passengers. So, I stopped at the liquor store, it was only stocked with sour mash whiskey and dark ale beer, and there were these three women that said they were looking for a hot tub on wheels.
With two bottles of sour mash in one hand and a case of ale in the other, I nodded to point out my metamorphasized ride to the dolls. They, as if like a genie or that witch from those shows in the 60’s the dolls wiggled their nose’s and bopped their heads, and heaven: their bikinis were on. We got in the tub, all suds and warmth, and they started mixin’ drinks. We were playing life, or our dream or whatever, out to a soundtrack of lil’Wyane and the Rolling Stones. The beers were floating in the tub and still cold. All the lights were green as we passed the chili hatch stands, street walkers, Mc Donald’s fast-food, 70’s diners and bums. It’s a funny thing about the bums though; they were well dressed and fed. They had pressed tuxes and a butler with a cart of food following them around, but I could tell they were bums because they still smelled like bums.
Then all of a sudden the girls and I were at Chubbies, this Mexican food restaurant, and we didn’t even have to order. The food was already on our table, on paper plates and in styrofoam bowls. A spread of smothered burritos, Mexican hamburgers and chimichangas all there to eat, and eat we did. The best part was, I ate like six burritos and three Mexican hamburgers, and honestly, like fourteen chimichangas, and get this, I never got full or sick. So, with Mc Jaggier singing “Sweet Virginia” in the back ground we hopped into the tub.
Before we could even pull out of the parking spot, bam we were at a Munich soccer game, at the 20th minute. Then their left wing got hurt and they needed me to fill in, and though I had like 12 whiskeys and 5 beers I was playing like Pele on speed with a side of flying sauce. I was doing bicycle kicks to balls ten feet over head and drilling them in the top corners of the goal. The best part was when I made a corner kick directly in goal, bending it like a Beckham banana.
After the goal things got weird. The crowd was going wild and the cops had to come to settle them down but the cops weren’t normal cops they were beavers. Little river beavers in full police uniform. These little beaver police started chewing on people’s legs, and stuff, to get the crowd to settle down. It didn’t work and then the beavers started to come after me. I jumped out of the stadium, over the stands, and I jumped into one of the hut shaped beaver cop cars. I didn’t know what to do. I new I needed some money. So, I went to a bank and asked her for all of my money and she said I didn’t have any money. So, I asked her for some of her money and she said only if I write her a doctor’s note to get her out of work today, and a little confused I agreed, and she started coughing and gave me twenty bucks. But the twenty dollars was worth like twenty thousand for some reason.
I got the money so I left, but by the time I got out of the bank the beaver brigade was already there, and their hut cars were blocking my escape route. So, I decided to climb a tree and of course the beaver police chewed it down. When I hit the ground I saw an escape hatch in the ground in the middle of the lawn in front of the bank, like a manhole. So, I lifted the lid and went down, and it was an under ground forest, thick with trees. I forgot to cover the hatch. So, the beavers followed me down, and I was ripping out trees while I was running. Then I would throw them, the trees, to block the beavers, but as if they were nothing the beavers exploded through the log piles and were gaining ground.
I came to a clearing and there was a farm and giant cactus plants with spines and leafs, and those plants were so big they were scraping the clouds. So, I picked one and ran up as quick as I could, but once I reached the top a cloud picked me up. I was floating. Floating in the sky and just in time; the cactus fell - the beavers. But I didn’t have to worry about them any more. I was cloud cursing now.
I was all floating and then I saw my little sister at a yellow light, but the yellow light was at the top of one of the cactus that were scraping the sky. She was looking at this elephant with a heart shaped tattoo on it’s bum and kept on saying “Really? Really?” I had no idea what she was talking about then the I woke to the sound of a groan in my bed and a big rump with a heart shaped tattoo, the word “Rico’s” under it, pushing it’s way towards me. I shook my head to try and clear the ache from it but couldn’t. Tripping over bag full of Mexican food wrappers, and a wet over-sized swim suit, I got up. In the bathroom I got some water, and looked in the mirror. An elephant? I asked myself. And in a panic I rushed into the bedroom, luckily - no trunk.

Lion