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Jeremy 2.0
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Dayton, Ohio
Dec 2002
time: 00:24
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“Your papers, please!”
To Morimoto, waiting at a crosswalk and balancing an overstuffed grocery bag, the voice seemed to knife through the noonday street sounds. It shot past the drifting guitar of a street musician, the idling engines of taxis waiting at a light, and the shouts from an open-air market nearby.
He turned toward the voice, nearly losing his grip on the bag. Behind him on the sidewalk stood a trim man in a gray uniform, hands clasped behind his back. His cap was cocked at a sharp angle and his black boots were polished to an extraordinary shine. Two other men in similar if not plainer dress stood not far behind. Both carried heavy automatic rifles.
“Pardon me?” Morimoto said.
The man approached him with deliberate slow steps, stopping just a few feet away with a sharp click of his boot heels. He produced a silver badge from his pants pocket and flashed it in Morimoto’s face. “Corporal Shinji, S.S.S.” he said. “Your papers,” he repeated.
“Papers?” Morimoto stammered.
“Please,” Shinji said without hint of emotion.
“Look, I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Morimoto said. “I’m two blocks from home. I just left the market over there.” He pointed across the street toward a brownstone with a fading red sign. “I just needed some milk for my cat. Then I saw a couple other things I needed and, well, you know how it is.”
He bounced the grocery sack in the crook of his arm. “Never go shopping on an empty stomach, isn’t that what they say? I mean, I bought a big jar of olives on sale and I don’t even like them all that much.”
Shinji inhaled slowly.
“Did I jaywalk or something?” Morimoto asked. “If I did, well, I’m sorry. I couldn’t see the crosswalk sign over the bag.”
“The Secret Security Squad is not interested in jaywalkers,” Shinji said. “We are charged with uncovering spies and their ilk in this country. So unless you know of any jaywalking spies…”
“Why would a spy jaywalk?”
Shinji’s eyes opened wide. “Suppose you tell me!”
“What?” Morimoto said, looking around. Several passersby who had stopped to watch averted their eyes and scurried away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just out for a little grocery shopping and that’s it. I just want to go home and feed my cat.”
“A convenient and likely story. The bit about the cat is particularly intriguing,” Corporal Shinji said. “Code, is it? I wonder what the countersign is.” Shinji began to circle Morimoto slowly. “I also find it interesting how you continue to push the burden of proof upon myself, all the while failing to produce your identification.”
Morimoto shifted his groceries to one arm and dug for his wallet with the other. “Fine, fine. I’ll see what I’ve got – but I can’t believe this is happening.” He flipped through a brown billfold with one hand while Shinji watched closely. “You know, you can’t just go around asking people for their identification. This is a democracy,” Morimoto said.
“Not as of this morning. We have shifted control of the government to a Fascist state. You will see many changes in the coming days.”
“Wow, that was fast,” Morimoto said, handing over a white card.
“Religious nations are like that,” Shinji said examining the card. “Not that religion in any form will be tolerated from this day forward.” He regarded Morimoto carefully. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Morimoto shrugged. “I guess my grandmother will have to find something else to watch on TV.”
Shinji turned his attention to the card. He turned it over in his hand several times and ran a finger along its edge. He held it to his nose and sniffed twice, never taking his eyes off Morimoto.
“You papers are not in order,” he announced suddenly.
“It’s a library card; how can that be out of order?” Morimoto demanded.
“It says here your card expired last June. What do you have to say to that?”
“So I need a new card,” Morimoto said. “Can I go now?”
Shinji stared at Morimoto for an uncomfortable period of time before handing back the card.
“You will apply for a new card as soon as the library is open, yes?”
“Sure,” Morimoto said. “Whatever you say.”
Shinji nodded. “Go now, Mr. Morimoto. And remember to report anything suspicious to the S.S.S.”
He tapped the grip of the pistol strapped to his waist. “This is not a request.”
“Absolutely,” Morimoto said quickly.
Later that evening, Morimoto poured a saucer of milk for his cat and two fingers of scotch for himself. He checked the view from his apartment window before sinking into the cushions of his living room couch. He would have preferred to go right to bed but he still had work to do.
The lamp on the nearby stand was a disguised radio that broadcast on a frequency beyond the scope of Japanese technology. His superiors in Washington would need to know about the shift in government as soon as possible.
A coded response came two hours later asking him to clarify the threat the new Japanese government posed to American interests. Morimoto sipped his drink and thought of Corporal Shinji.
His was smiling broadly when he typed out his response.
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vovan
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Well, that's ... unexpected. It seemed quite odd of Shinji to be so pushy and arrogant in the beginning, and then let Marimoto go without checking his identification properly after all. Surely, the Corporal knew something was fishy about the guy with no ID, and let him go for now to instill a false sense of security in the spy in order to strike later, catch the man redhanded, and wipe off the filthy smile from the traitors face once and for all with the butt of his government-issue rifle?
Vovan
Last edited by vovan on 14-02-2005 at 09:42
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Jeremy 2.0
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Dayton, Ohio
Dec 2002
time: 00:24
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Imagine walking into a bookstore or library where there aren't any signs. The shelves and tables are crammed with books of all shapes and sizes all mixed together in absolute random order.
You can read the author’s names along the spines of the books and you can read the titles as well, but you have no way of knowing what the story until you actually read it.
Is it horror? Romance? Sci Fi? Gay historical self-help erotica for dummies?
That is one of the larger problems with stories posted in a forum like this. It’s like a box of chocolates, except that now it’s twenty minutes later and you’re still trying to figure out just what the hell it was you ate that you can’t pry loose from your back molars.
By and large you’ll se a lot of straight fiction play out here. There’s been quite a few very obvious comedy as well. I went with something a little more subtle. Too subtle, perhaps. That’s okay. One of the hardest parts of story writing is remembering that while you know how cool the scene is and what’s happening and why people are doing what they do…no one else will unless you actually tell them.
For instance, here’s what is essentially the same story with the parts played a little broader.
“Your papers, please!”
To Morimoto, waiting at a crosswalk and balancing an overstuffed grocery bag, the voice seemed to knife through the noonday street sounds. It shot past the drifting guitar of a street musician, the idling engines of taxis waiting at a light, and the shouts from an open-air market nearby.
He turned toward the voice, nearly losing his grip on the bag. Behind him on the sidewalk stood a small man in a gray uniform covered in what appeared to be enough medals and decorations to deflect an inbound artillery shell. His cap was cocked at a sharp angle and his black boots were polished to an extraordinary shine. A pistol tucked in his belt was likewise brilliant in its shine.
Two other men in similar dress, though without the medals, stood not far behind him. One had a medium build and a face like a sack of Rottweilers while the other was so tall and wide and bulging with muscles that he threatened to produce his own gravitational field.
All three carried automatic rifles.
“Pardon me?” Morimoto said.
The small man approached him with deliberate slow steps, his medals swinging like a convention of pendulums. He stopped just a few feet away with a sharp click of his boot heels and produced a silver badge from his pants pocket. He flashed it in Morimoto’s face. “Corporal Shinji, S.S.S.” he said. “Your papers,” he repeated.
“Papers?” Morimoto stammered.
“Please,” Shinji said without hint of emotion.
“Look, I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Morimoto said. “I’m two blocks from home. I just left the market over there.” He pointed toward a brownstone across the street with a stringer of skinned rodents swinging merrily in the wind. “I just needed some milk for my cat. Then I saw a couple other things I needed and, well, you know how it is.”
He bounced the grocery sack in the crook of his arm. “Never go shopping on an empty stomach, isn’t that what they say? I mean, I bought a big jar of olives on sale and I don’t even like them all that much.”
Shinji inhaled slowly. The men behind him looked menacing but this was not great feat. They were the type of men who would look menacing bottle-feeding a kitten.
“Did I jaywalk or something?” Morimoto asked. “If I did, well, I’m sorry. I couldn’t see the crosswalk sign over the bag.”
“The Secret Security Squad is not interested in jaywalkers,” Shinji said. “We are charged with uncovering spies and their ilk in this country. So unless you know of any jaywalking spies…”
“Why would a spy jaywalk?”
Shinji’s eyes opened wide. “Suppose you tell me!” Bits of matter flew from his lips, and Morimoto became acutely aware of what the man had had for lunch.
“What?” Morimoto said, looking around. Several passersby who had stopped to watch averted their eyes and scurried away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just out for a little grocery shopping and that’s it. I just want to go home and feed my cat.”
“A convenient and likely story. The bit about the cat is particularly intriguing,” Corporal Shinji said. “Code, is it? I wonder what the countersign is.” Shinji began to circle Morimoto slowly. “I also find it interesting how you continue to push the burden of proof upon myself, all the while failing to produce your identification.”
“This is a joke, right?” Morimoto asked, glancing around. “I’m on television aren’t I?”
“The Secret Security Squad does not joke!” Shinji fumed.
Morimoto shifted his groceries to one arm and dug for his wallet with the other. “Fine, fine. I’ll see what I’ve got – but I can’t believe this is happening.” He flipped through a brown billfold with one hand while Shinji watched closely. “You know, you can’t just go around asking people for their identification. This is a democracy,” Morimoto said.
“Not as of this morning. We have shifted control of the government to a Fascist state. You will see many changes in the coming days.”
“Wow, that was fast,” Morimoto said, handing over a white card.
“Religious nations are like that,” Shinji said examining the card. “Not that religion in any form will be tolerated from this day forward.” He regarded Morimoto carefully. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“I guess my grandmother will have to find something else to watch on TV,” Morimoto said, shrugging. “But what happens to all of the temples and cathedrals?”
“Ah,” Shinji said, eyes brightening. “These places will be spared for their cultural significance but remodeled to serve as factories to produce needed war materials for the Fatherland.”
He paused as a look of confusion crossed his face.
“I mean, Motherland. Yes, the Motherland. No, wait, the…” He turned and said something to the men behind him. They conferred briefly and whispered back to him.
“Yes,” Shinji said. “The Fatherland.”
“Of course,” Morimoto said.
Shinji turned his attention to the card. He turned it over in his hand several times and ran a finger along its edge. He held it to his nose and sniffed twice, never taking his eyes off Morimoto.
“You papers are not in order,” he announced suddenly.
“It’s a library card; how can that be out of order?” Morimoto demanded.
“It says here your card expired last June. What do you have to say to that?”
“So I need a new card,” Morimoto said. “Can I go now?”
Shinji stared at Morimoto for an uncomfortable period of time before handing back the card.
“You will apply for a new card as soon as the library is open, yes?”
“Sure,” Morimoto said. “Whatever you say.”
“Your actions today have been noticed, Mister…uh…”
“Morimoto?”
“If that is your real name,” Shinji said with more than a trace of the sinister.
“Well, it does say that on the card,” Morimoto offered.
Shinji waited several seconds before nodding slowly. The men behind him, perhaps sensing that the opportunity to kill had passed, began to lose interest in the conversation.
“Go now, Mr. Morimoto,” Shinji said. “And remember to report anything suspicious to the S.S.S.”
He tapped the grip of the pistol. “This is not a request.”
Later that evening, Morimoto poured a saucer of milk for his cat and two fingers of scotch for himself. He checked the view from his apartment window before sinking into the cushions of his living room couch. He would have preferred to go right to bed but he still had work to do.
The lamp on the nearby stand was a disguised radio that broadcast on a frequency beyond the scope of Japanese technology. His superiors in Washington would need to know about the shift in government as soon as possible.
A coded response came two hours later asking him to clarify the threat the new Japanese government posed to American interests. Morimoto sipped his drink and thought of Corporal Shinji.
His was smiling broadly when he typed out his response.
Thanks for those who took the time to read this again. I promise to go re-read all your stories, too.
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vovan
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You know, I think my comment may have been somewhat misleading. What I'll say now will either prove me as blunt as a basketball, or... it won't. But honestly, I did get the satire on the brutish "secret" service, and I did appreciate your take on the switch of governments. The reason I made the comment I did was because I felt you wound up the first take rather too abruptly. The second picture you painted is very different. It is not about realism any more. It's satire to the point of caricature. Therefore, the fact that the corporal sniffs the card to determine that it is past its due date and then promptly retreats doesn't bother me one bit. But like you said yourself, you were a good deal more subtle in the first take - much too subtle for an ending like that, I thought.
Maybe I'm just missing a deeper meaning still...
Vovan
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14-02-2005 06:58
thanks
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