“Oh great!” Billbert grumbled, folding his arms and slouching down on the sofa. “You want to just trade away my happiness for your feeling of safety?”
His mother nodded her head slowly and sighed. “The same could be said for you, Billbert. Do you want to trade our safety, perhaps our lives, for a friendship which will most likely fade away before high school?”
Billbert looked to his father for support, but he only picked at his fingernails. “Will I be able to text Linoliamanda or send her emails?”
His mother began to speak, but then only shook her head.
I’ve been trading my soul with other’s to endlessly escape and outwit Death.
I’d leave one body when there was a little time left, and that body would die soon after. I leave before they wake. Pretty sure the existing soul went to wherever it would have gone anyways.
Something is wrong with this body. It should have had more time, but now I have a bullet hole in my chest.
Who…? You’re a hired a contractor and you followed the trail of confused dead people? You want me to meet someone? Can they fix this wound?
Oh, hello, Reaper.
Fun While It Lasted
I need a new job. The last four years where way cool. I sent my resume to
a mess of department in the gov. I thought I’d get a job in Department of
Ed, 25 years in the class. No, they had a quite different plan for me.
Trade Minister to Nigeria. One minute I’m in Oakland, the next Africa.
Very cool. A major part of my mission was to administer the email of the
Prince of Nigeria. Not only did I get a hefty pay check from the gov, I
got a percent of what the Prince racked in.
Contract killing is a trade like any other: You put in the hours, you get paid at the end of the day, and you take a pride in your job.
Just like any other profession, things don’t always run smoothly. There’s disputes over payments, unfair clauses in contracts and you never know when you might need legal assistance.
Which is why we formed a trade union.
We have our members’ interests at heart and will ensure your rights are protected, for a small monthly fee.
So why not join us?
Alternatively, you can suffer the consequences.
Know what I mean?
“College is bullshit! What you need to do is find a good trade school. Learn something useful.”
That’s the wisdom my father tried to impart on me. I never took his advice. Now I need help with everything. I take my car in for simple repairs. I call a plumber for clogged toilets. I even had to hire a gardener to cut the grass. A driver takes me to work, a team of writers provide me with words to say, and a director shows me which camera to look at. My father says I need to get a real job.
Trading vintage posters had become quite the busy activity.
John had a bunch of them hanging on the walls of his study.
He dusted them and created a website to sell them. Trading was for retards.
The phone rang a few days later.
A man was interested. And John was happy.
They met and John opened the trunk of his car.
The man sneered and walked away.
The man waved dismissively.
John went back home, updated the website, traded a bunch of posters for different ones.
Yup, John, just go with the flow. It’ll be less painful.
A great deal
“It’s a fair trade”
The Bedouin grunted a smile and shook my hand.
I was now the proud owner of three camels and a goat, whilst he in return, got custody of my wife.
I’d been trying to offload the old bat for years, and I thought the deal I’d managed to strike over several glasses of mint tea and a leisurely puff of fragrant apple tobacco, was definitely the best I’d ever made.
Getting them onto the flight through customs was surprisingly easy.
I just dressed them up in the wife’s clothes.
They were still more attractive than her!
After the war ended between Bondag and Griv, trade between the two kingdoms resumed.
Textiles and food from Griv, ores and machinery from Bondag.
Along with countless other resources and materials.
Oh, and elvish slaves.
I mean, those ores didn’t mine themselves, you know.
The Forest of Ool had plenty of elves for Griv to capture and send to Bondag to mine the ore.
To turn into the machinery to send to Griv.
Every now and then, the slaves would revolt.
Bondag soldiers putting down the rebellion.
Accusing Griv of starting it. War breaks out.
And the cycle begins anew.