Tag: history

Let my people go

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Moses felt his heart lurch as he watched Pharaoh carry his lifeless son to Anubis’ statue.
“Will you let my people go now?” asked Moses.
“No,” said Pharaoh.
“No?” asked Moses. “But…your son…”
“He was my eldest, sure,” said Pharaoh. “But I have dozens more, just as ready to take my throne. Insurance against assassination, or enemy gods.”
Moses’ heart sank, and he returned to his people.
“Did it work?” asked Herschel.
“No,” said Moses.
The community agreed. “We need more plagues,” said Herschel.
It took sixteen more to convince Pharaoh.
They edited those out of The Bible, of course.

Salacis

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Prince Salacis was wise, beloved to the people, but loathed by his own advisers.
Fearful of his unchecked power, they stabbed him in the throat with a dagger.
But Salacis survived. Much to the advisors’ regret, I must say. They were all hung and left to rot.
The royal surgeons could not remove the dagger from his neck, so they wrapped it with gold foil and encrusted it with jewels.
For forty more years, Salacis presided over the land, commanding all with a raspy voice. Brilliantly, too.
When he needed advice, he consulted the rotted-away corpses, swaying in the breeze.

Zorro

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Every society has its zorro, a man who rises up and fights for the people.
In Zambia, he is known as Paktuku, Defender of the Wells, and he is armed with a golden spear.
In Estonia, he is Gabt, a mighty one-armed woodsman with a gnarled axehandle.
In Paraguay, the zorro has no name that is spoken aloud, but the people hint of “He who glides like a feather.”
But compared to all the other zorros of the world, I like the sissy in the black cloak and sword the best. Maybe it’s the big black horse he rides around.

Ulysses With A Sneer

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They left the gates open, and the guards all stayed home.
The mansion had never been a home. It always felt like a hideout, although the drugs sometimes made it feel like a slide under the world’s microscope.
Or a prison.
“Welcome home,” he muttered.
He’d been gone for almost 30 years, but his key still fit in the lock.
Maybe they switched the old lock back in the door, just for him.
He wandered around the mansion, which had become a sterile museum. Signs everywhere, saying what he’d done, where and when.
But never why.
He shrugged and left.

The Flowers

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No matter how hard Frederick tried to keep them from covering his hill, the flowers always managed to grow.
The first message they spelled was “FREDERICK SUCKS.”
Frederick thought it was a prank, so he tore up the flowers and watched the hill.
When he woke the next morning, the flowers returned: “FREDERICK KILLED JENNY.”
Frederick panicked. “Demons!” he shouted.
Frederick tore up the flowers again, and hired some locals to guard the hill in shifts in case he fell asleep.
Which, of course, he did.
“Now he’s paying us,” said a guard. “Sweet. So, what shall we spell now?”

The Adventures of Mustard Man – Chapter 18

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Why did I follow that star to Bethlehem?
I packed a sampler of the finest the Mustard Man Company has to offer, and the next thing I know I’m watching Jesus’ birth.
You say there’s only three Wise Men? Well, let’s see…
Gaspar brought gold. Not a bad present at all.
Bartholomew brought myrrh. Not sure why. That stuff stinks.
What’s-his-name brought frankincense. It stinks worse than the myrrh.
And then there’s me. I brought mustard.
I never did find the star back. So I crawled in a cave and slept 2,000 years.
What? I’m not in the book?
Crap.

More Coffee, Boy!

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“More coffee, boy!” shouts Galileo from the tower.
It’s always the same. My master shouts More Coffee, I run down to Pizaro’s to fetch it, and then run back up to the tower while he does his stupid experiments.
“More coffee, boy!”
“I have a name!” I shout.
“Yes, ” says Galileo. “It is More Coffee Boy. Now fetch more coffee, boy!”
As I walk out the door, I hear Galileo shout.
I look up.
A brown cloud, tumbling… turning… spreading… a searing rain on my face…
My eyes! My eyes!
And then I’m covered with a pound of feathers.

Squaring the Round Table

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“History shall remember us as the Knights of the Round Table!” bellowed Arthur.
“Guenievere isn’t a knight,” mumbled Gawain. “But she’s sitting at our table.”
“She’s my wife,” said Arthur.
“Can I bring my wife?” said Tristan.
“No,” said Arthur. “I hereby declare Guenievere to be special authorized personnel.”
“I used that same exact argument for myself and you said no,” said Merlin. He vanished in a puff of smoke.
“I don’t mind her being at the table at all,” said Lancelot.
Arthur felt something rub against his armor.
“Stop that, ” said Arthur. “Go sit on the opposite side.”

No room at the inn

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As Joseph and Mary made their way back home, Joseph seethed at the memory of all those innkeepers turning them away.
He had begged and pleaded, but none raised a finger to help in their time of need.
“I will have my revenge,” growled Joseph.
In modern days, hotels and inns have sprinkler systems and smoke detectors, but two thousand years ago? Not a chance.
Just as the Star of Bethlehem led the wise men to the manger, the trail of mysterious inn fires led back to Joseph’s pasture.
Years later, Jesus forgave him for it.
Such a good boy.

Children of the corn

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Contrary to popular belief, the Tree Of Knowledge was no tree at all, but a cornfield.
The snake was no snake, but a massive scarecrow placed to drive all living creatures from the cornfield, including the pair of humans God had recently created.
Eve tempted Adam with the corn, but he did not find the husk-covered vegetable to be all that appetizing.
Only when Eve shucked it, boiled it in a nearby hot spring, and smothered it with salt and butter did Adam finally take a bite.
Upon their banishment from Paradise and discovering their nakedness, Adam created a corn-bib.