Category Archives: Train of Thought

Laurum Hills, Part 4: The Unwalking Old Man


(previous chapter can be found here: http://thejohnrillos.wordpress.com/2012/09/17/laurum-hills-part-3-the-eggenning/)

“Hello most decrepit and foreboding gentleman of small stature and startling, crippled appearance,” little Giuseppe Gustavio Jr. cried with glee upon gazing at the wheelchair-ridden stranger behind the heavy oaken door, “Please do wheel yourself in, we would be most grateful to make acquaintance with someone so advanced in age and misfortune as you. You look ill sir, and perhaps a tag angry, would you like me to fetch you some water, or perhaps a bottle of peppermint schnapps? We aren’t quite sure what it is, seeing as we are nothing more than a ragtag conglomerate of less than well-fed, bathed, civil, or even remotely endearing orphans. But we do have an excess of this schnapps stuff if you happened to…”

And at that very moment, the wheelchair-ed mister scooted his way into the orphanage. Silence fell upon the impoverished entourage, as the highly vocative Giuseppe Jr. fell to the floor in a fit of deranged sputterings and spasms in a manner most similar to his older namesake. The unwalking old man, or Unwalking Old Man as he will soon be called, or the Old Man for short, or The Old Man if you are fond of capitalization, slowly crept forward, eyeing the blue onions. The multitude of orphans made not a peep.

After the lengthy persistence of an agonizing silence, apart from the raspy whisp of a breath that barely extended past the lips of the Old Man, and the muffled sobs of a now-seizing Giuseppe, The Old Man spoke.

“Your dwelling place is most quaint, most quaint indeed. However. You must leave. At once. You must come with me, it is time.” 

The words seemed to float from the Unwalking Old Man’s mouth, they were soft, but empty like a less-than-perfectly inflated air mattress. The words seemed to drift throughout the interior of the orphanage, grazing the walls in slow motion. The air gently hummed as the words touched it, or rather, it shuddered. His voice was one of great authority, but more like the authority of a possessing spirit. The way he spoke demanded cooperation, it demanded action, but it crept along your insides like the slender arms of a wraith, chilling and consuming. His voice was that of the cold, and the orphans reacted as such.

“Bring what you can carry, and we will depart at once…” The Old Man remained frozen in place, waiting for the children to respond. There was a slight shift of the crowd, yet the children did not know quite how to respond. They looked to one another, as their minds were slowly enfeebled by the grasping tendrils of a very scary adult’s command. And just as they had almost made up their minds to go gather their less than humble belongings, a tenor ranged male voice piped up, and a boy stepped forward.

“Gee sir,” John Rillos said, “Not that we disrespect your sudden authority in our lives or anything, but isn’t it a bit strange that we should bend to your rule uncompromisingly? I mean, we have done quite well without adult influence in our lives.” He gestured to the rotting walls with blue onions nailed about, the collapsing ceiling, the shallow pools of tears collected in the corners, and little Giuseppe Gustavio Jr. exquisitely convulsing next to his wheelchair. “We have really done well for ourselves. You can’t just expect us to follow your bizarre and unexpected leadership on a whim? How can we trust you, most gracious and aging mister of less than stellar physicality?”

“Perhaps I should show you a magic trick.” The Old Gentleman said, and at the tip of a hat, he tipped his hat, which was previously unmentioned.

A vortex pounced from the darkened underside of his top hat, and consumed little mister Rillos in a flurry of furry white, twisting doom. The child’s scream was only audible for a moment, as it was instantly drowned out by the high-pitched squealing of the twisting doom tornado. John, the child of moderate height and width, was lifted into the air, and crushed as easily as a grape, and the vortex swallowed him up into the depths of the Old Man’s now mentioned magical hat. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the vortex receded. He jovially popped the cap back on his head, gave it a good spin, lifted it back off. With a cartoonish and endearing pop, a tiny head that mildly resembled John, but not quite, popped out and rolled across the floor, followed by the distinct scent of bacon grease and some currently undubbed hot beverage. All of the children applauded, with the exception of John Rillos, who was now quite dead.

“Now pack your things at once children, and we will be off.” The Old Man hoarsely whispered in italics.

The children all obeyed without hesitance, even little Giuseppe Gustavio Jr., who had just slipped the little head of the person who was not quite John into his little pocket. Soon, they would be off.

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Laurum Hills Part 2: The Fire Hydrant, the Floutist, and the Wheelchair


(Previous chapter can be found here: http://thejohnrillos.wordpress.com/2012/09/10/the-tale-of-laurum-hills/)

It was a Saturday afternoon, and little Lucy Lue was lolloping along the street, as she did every Saturday most every once in a while. The sun was hot, and beat on little Lucy’s face like a deranged child playing with a soup can. But little Lucy bowlinskogged along just the same, making her way to God knows where all the same, completely ignorant of the most unfortunate coincidence that was about to befall her.

Lucy played the flute. She would often play whilst prancing around the forest, interacting with all the wonderful and cuddly creatures to be found amongst the trees and shrubbery. Often times a small parade of rabbits would begin to trot along behind her,  but she would always shoo them off, as she was the teensiest bit suspicious of the plausibly diabolical nature of the rabbits. She much preferred chipmunks and raccoons anyways, and even squirrels or small mountain lions.

But today Lucy was not playing the flute, or prancing, or in the forest, or collecting mushrooms. Lucy was shaboinging through the city today, and happened to be rounding the corner where the certain doom of her leg was about to be realized.

As she wangabocked forward, she noticed a bear trap sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, conveniently aligned with a fire hydrant.

“Hmm, this is most peculiar.” Lucy said to herself in italics, and proceeded to disarm the bear trap, place it in the nearest government regulated bear trap recycling unit, and continued to dundwing forward, past the completely harmless fire hydrant and the extremely sinister Lollypop Livery.

However, the lies of the previous third person narrator (who has just been replaced by a far more intelligent, hardworking sort) became immediately apparent when the previously mentioned fire hydrant rocketed out of the ground in an extremely harmful manner, its red tippity pippity aimed directly at Little Lucy Lue’s sternum.

In the flash of an eye, in the blink of a wrist, in the knee of a bear, Lucy completed a perfectly executed double reverse aerial somersault (complete with a bow-tie and a side of waffle fries) over the death rocket fire hydrant, and proceeded to vaporize it with a well aimed burst of her laser vision.

A moment should probably be taken to explain what made this seemingly ridiculous, obscure, random, and unexpected manuveur possible. Little Lucy Lue, the flute-playing-soon-to-be-dismembered-protagonist-of-this-story, is the youngest of a culturally nondescript family of particularly notable mutants. She is gifted with superb reflexes, laser vision, inhuman flexibility, telepathy, flouting prowess, and infinitely regular bowel movements. Her stunning wit and perfect physical form make it possible for her to accomplish less than possible feats, such as conjuring waffle fries and bow ties whenst carrying out highly complicated, plausibly fictional acrobatic maneuvers.

Lucy fell back to the sidewalk with a majestic twirl, sticking the landing and bringing tears to the eyes of the untold masses who witnessed her spectacularly, which happened to be 13 people. She turned to face her gaping audience, taking several bows and accepting their praise and monetary benefits as she reveled in her own glory, completely unaware of the seismic anomaly occurring directly beneath her left leg.

With a single satisfied gulp, the earth beneath her swallowed up both of her legs, and with a single whimsical chomp, crushed her bones into oblivion, and other sorts of tiny particles.

Even though this situation already appears to be most horrible, her horror had only just begun (even though it would shortly end.) A fountain of rabbits began to pour from the gap in the earth, where her now totally destroyed left and right legs both rested. (Note:The previous, now deceased narrator failed to mention that Little Lucy Lue in actuality would lose both legs while loping ‘longside the Lollipop Livery.)

The furry mass slithered all across her as tens, hundreds, thousands, sevens of rabbits poured from the salsa gap in the earth. She was pelted by the pelts of an unending torrent of carrot devouring creatures who, assumedly, had just risen up from the depths of hell.

Lucy contemplated letting out a dramatic scream, as to express her displeasure in losing two of her limbs, but decided not to as her neck snapped in two due to an unrelated happening. A man in a wheelchair finished his trek across her now totally jacked up corpse, one wheel lumping over her disconnected head.

“One step closer to It, my children,”He said in a raspy, dissonant monotone, “One step closer.”

(Go on, read the next chapter: http://thejohnrillos.wordpress.com/2012/09/17/laurum-hills-part-3-the-eggenning/)


Train of Thought #2


Caution: wet floor.
The sign says that, says to be cautious of a wet floor.
It does not say why to be cautious though.
I guess why is one of those things you just learn from experience.
Like why not to touch the toaster when its on.
I did that once.
I was little.
My mom said not to touch it.
So I did.
Burnt the crap out of my fingers.
Curiousity killed the cat I suppose.
I don’t like cats very much.
They never sit on command, and they aren’t very fun.
Too moody, Meh
I’m tired.
Tired of working mornings.
I’m tired of 30 minute breaks and 8 hour shifts.
I’m tired of… The repetitive motions of my life I guess.
It’s alright though.
Could be a lot worse
Or better.
I don’t know.
My eyes feel heavy, and my mind drifts to poetry.
I want to write something, but I don’t know what.
It’s a maddening feeling.
I could continue my story, but I don’t really want to.
Have to clock in soon. Ugh.
Wow. I just noticed something.
The floor tiles are all squares, save ONE ROW. One row is divided asymmetrically, by a random black line.. its weird.
This is thouroughly disinteresting.
If anyone reads this, please comment on how totally lame it is.
My thoughts are very lame today.
So I’ll stop.
Peace.


Train of Thought #1


I think I want to start this now.
I don’t know what to write, so instead ill train of thought.
Here it goes:

I’m at work right now.
I work at McDonald’s
It’s a pretty trashy job.
I just took a break and ate.
I’m working a lot this summer.
I feel the food sitting in my stomach like concrete.
It’s gross.
The floor needs to be sweeped.
But I’m not gonna do that.
We just got dipped cones, like Dairy Queen.
I love the Dairy Queen commercial with the cloud that goes yeah.
But their blizzards always turn chocolate cuz they rape their M&Ms
I always pronounce M&Ms “mahnums”
I started that a year or 2 ago.
I’m going to be a senior.
It’s weird, I’m old.
I wish I had my trumpet right now, I want to practice
I love my brass horn.
It is ancient and basic, like 60+ years old,
But the Lacquer is stripped and it feels so mellow and just… Pretty.
It’s easy to control and its very light.
Its like comfort food, makes me feel good.
It gets lonely in the drive thru.
But I like it, makes time fly…
My summer is half gone.
It’s been…. Poor.
Things… Always complicate.
I think the summer is very pretty.
So many colors and what not, its very amusing to look at.
I hate when people say Kansas is boring.
Boredom is not derived from geography, only a lack of psychological aptitude.
I’m rarely bored.
I need to go to the chiropractor, I go tomorrow.
I better go clock in… Bye.


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