Monday, August 07, 2006

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Story #368

Note: Thanks Mushroom and Doug for contributing! Everyone, be sure to stop by here tomorrow because I will post some of my experimental prose written when I was 11 years old.


The Mushroom said...

"Where do babies come from?" my 8 year old nephew asked me. I looked around to see if anyone was listening.
"Rather than tell you," I said, "let me show you. But you must promise never to tell anyone what I am about to share."
Eagerly he said "Okay!" Apparently my sibling had been stringing him along for months.

I put him in the car and we drove across town to this old warehouse with a yellow rusting sign that said "Fisher Baby Works - Plant 3" slightly akilter over the door. I put him on my shoulders and told him this was required not only so he could see, but so he wouldn't get lost or hurt because this was an old building. I pried open the door and looked inside, then walked quickly along the wall at our right, moving in and out of the light cast by the series of windows, to the end of a hallway. Where one would think there would be silence in such a decrepit building, there was noise -- with the occasional tiny giggle -- coming from within the walls. Ahead of us were double-doors, and to our left was a wall with some painted-over windows, but a couple of the panes were broken and a light was showing through those fractures.

I whispered: "This is why I've got you on my shoulders: carefully rise to stand, I'll hold your hands, and QUIETLY look through one of the broken windows. I will only be able to hold you for five seconds, then you must sit back down on my shoulders and we'll get out of here before anyone notices us." He stage-whispered "Okay, Uncle" and struggled to get his feet to stand solid on my shoulders. And for a precious handful of seconds he was elevated enough to get a glimpse into the room.

There wasn't a word spoken as we left the building, or on the ride back to the house. We told the rest of the family that we'd gone to the toystore so I could show him what a pogostick looked and felt like, and they took us at our word.

At Christmas that year, when the youth were all tucked away in their beds dreaming of sugar plums and the grown-ups sitting in the livingroom awaiting Santa with libations in hand, the boy's mother said that she saw an odd transformation happen seemingly overnight: she said that he had been asking where babies come from nearly every day until suddenly he didn't seem interested anymore; she cautiously asked him one day when she realized the difference if he still wondered, fearing a schoolmate had told him about what couples do in the dark, and he said "No, you were right -- the stork brings them."

Anonymous said...

both you and doug are on a twilight Zone mode this week. ;0

Unknown said...

Brains! I said Brains! For the Billionth time, not trains, BRAINS!

Indeterminacy said...

Mushroom: Cool story. I almost wanted to write a baby story too but couldnt think of how it should go - too hard. Anyhow I dont know enough about where babies really come from.

Cooper: I've been in the Twilight Zone since elementary school.

Doug: What's wrong with trains?

Unknown said...

Indie, your story reminds me of a joke I heard on NPR, of all places. "If someone sleeps with their clone is it homosexuality or masturbation?"

Indeterminacy said...

Ohmygod. NPR couldn't be spying on me, could they? I thought it was the NSA!

The Mushroom said...

NPR, NSA, they're both on the airwaves disseminating something you need to know but aren't paying attention to...