138 lines
5.7 KiB
Plaintext
138 lines
5.7 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #793
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "Hill Picnic"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by Trilobyte
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 8/22/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Bob wore jeans. When he wasn't wearing jeans he was wearing
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overalls. Under his overalls, or above his jeans, he would wear a plaid
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shirt. Sometimes red and blue, sometimes brown, orange and red. Red like
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his hair.
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Bob liked to look at the trees. Bob liked to follow the leaves with
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his eyes as they were moved by the wind.
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Sometimes he would picnic out in the woods on a plaid blanket. He
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would have a package of sandwiches and chips to eat underneath a tree.
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One day Bob found a solitary tree on top of a hill a mile from his
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cabin. He had admired the hill before but hadn't thought of what a perfect
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place it would be for a picnic. Think of all the crows he could meet.
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He went back to his cabin and began to prepare his picnic package.
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He had the chips but didn't have any sandwiches, so he rode his motorbike
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down the trail from his cabin to the highway. He needed sandwich supplies.
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He rode past the highway's lonely shops. "Lenny's Bait and Tackle."
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"Marty's Hunt Gear." "Perdue Market." There's Bob's first stop, his
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place to get supplies.
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He turned his motorbike off the highway and into the parking lot,
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where he got off and walked into the store.
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"Hi, Bob!" said the shop keeper as Bob walked through the door.
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"Hey there, Gene," Bob said, as he continued walking into the store.
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"Pretty slow day?"
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"Yeah, ain't much action around right now, I suppose. Anything I can
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help you with today, Bob?"
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"No thanks, Gene. I'm quite dandy looking around here myself."
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"OK, Bob. Let me know if you need anything."
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"Thanks," Bob replied, as he had already entered the section of his
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desire.
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"Knives," the sign read.
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Can't make sandwiches without knives.
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Bob picked out a few that were to his liking. Long, curved, sharp,
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handy. Knives. He brought them up to the counter where Gene was standing,
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and Gene looked curious.
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"Sandwiches?" Bob asked, with a slight tone of disapproval.
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"Yep, found a nice hill by the cabin. Great view, plenty of grass to
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spread out on. This is going to be a great picnic, Gene. Want to come
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along? Bring Mrs. Perdue?"
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Gene chuckled. "No thanks, Bob," he smiled, "I think my schedule's
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too full for picnics right now. But I'm sure you'll have some fun."
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Bob smiled back. "Yeah, seems like I probably will. Be back with
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the payment."
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Gene nodded. "Whenever it comes around, Bob. You know." He waved.
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"I do," Bob replied with a nod as he headed out the door. "I sure
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do."
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Out in the sunlight again, Bob packed his knives into a compartment
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on his bike, hopped on, and started off onto the highway again, heading
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further toward civilization.
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Signs blew past. "Torie's Coffee." "Jumper, Blacksmith." Next
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stop.
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Bob pulled over onto a small patch of gravel and brought his knives
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into the small wooden structure known as the blacksmith's shop.
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In the opening room there were a dozen children playing in cramped
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quarters, scuffing themselves on the dirt and on each other. Their arms
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were outstretched, their mouths were open, and they yelled and screamed in
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a sombre playfulness as they chased each other around the place.
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Bob weaved his way through the hubbub back through a small door into
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the main room of the building, a smaller, darker, more personal area. There
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rested Al Jumper, Blacksmith.
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"Al," Bob said.
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No reply.
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"Al," Bob repeated, with more insistence.
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"Hmm?" said a dark mass spread out against the wall on the floor as
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it shuffled.
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"Al, it's Bob."
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"Hmm. Bob. Yeah, Bob. Bout that time, Bob. Got the knives?" Al
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wiped the sleep from his face with his right arm.
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"Sure do, Al. Sandwiches."
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"Sandwiches," Al replied.
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Al stood up and took Bob back into the main room again, where Bob
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cupped his palm on the head of one of the children. It was one of the
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larger kids, a girl, with a bonnet on her head. She tried to keep running
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with the playful mass of children but was restricted by the large force
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grabbing onto her scalp. She stopped fussing. Bob's hand led her into the
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back room, and this time Al followed, and lit a candle.
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A bit more light shone upon the room, showing its bare wooden
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structure and the warm comfort of a dirty straw floor. Bob took out the
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knives he had bought and handed a few to Al, and they began to cut apart the
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child. It quickly stopped showing any signs of livelihood.
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Meat was separated from clothing, hair and unwanted parts, all left
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in a separate pile. Bob pulled the meat together and stuffed it in a bean
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sack he rescued from a dusty corner. He threw the sack over his back and
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left the blacksmith to tend to his shop and his new knives.
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Back outside, Bob hopped onto his motorbike and headed back down the
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highway to his home. He'd take a short rest until early evening, when he
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would head out to the hill and have his picnic of chips & sandwiches.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #793 - WRITTEN BY: TRILOBYTE - 8/22/99 ]
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