He tried to motivate himself through a series of optimistic phrases.
You can do it. Nothing it stopping you. You are your only obstacle. One step forward, 1000 miles. You're the best that you've got.
He tried to encourage himself with this in phrases, but after so much repetition, it was merely battology, and he could no longer feel any truth in the message.
Drew awkwardly laughed and tried to change the subject. Steven fell silent and took a long swig of his drink. It had been several years since the parties ended for us, and the bond wore away. Now, they were respectable members of society with jobs, families, front lawns. I was still just an errant soul, unchecked. I never felt so much an isolato at that moment.
Ma'laae'wa'wa'laae'wa, the overly sensitive 16 year old prince sneered at the man approaching him. It had been a long day - breakfast was undercooked, his sparring trainer refused to do anything but monotonous drills, the bathing area was almost chilly and bereft of female flesh. On top of that, there seemed to be an overwhelming commotion on his island nation that was distracting everyone's attention.
Sean John the Shark Tamer gave the prince a customary bow. Keeping his voice even, he tried to relay the true gravity of the situation. "your grace. It has been dozens of generations since this island has been placed under a threat such as this. Wa'magom, the Monster of Myth, who spewed forth from the volcanic -"
The prince interrupted, sneering. "Yes, yes, spare me the history lesson. I'm a native of this island, I don't need to be lectured by a foreigner."
Sean John tried to remain calm, but he knew he couldn't. With a mordacious tone, he spat back at the prince. "I care about what happens to you and everyone here just as much as any family member on this island!"
The literature of the region has its elements of predictability. There's the universal themes : the trickster, the religious man of morals, the greedy man, etc... But in addition to the normal motifs, there is one very unique topos that appears in the culture's stories with such frequency that its significance can not be ignored.
The house walls were covered in brick patterning. Though Sheryl would have preferred actual brick, this skeuomorph would be acceptable for her.
It had been one whole month without rain, and the crops were threatened. Depressed citizens shuffled around town, hands clasped, mumbling prayers of rain. They were a group steadfastly bound in theurgy, and felt that the drought was an indication that their religious devotion habits were not enough to please the deities.
Sean John the shark tamer was in unfriendly territory. Walking down the village's main road, he passed at least 3 pasquinades publicly posted. The posters depicted him, with an oversized nosed and forehead, wrestling with a cartoonish shark in a questionable way. The caption of the drawing was just as unflattering as it was unimaginative.
"Sean John the shark fucker".
Sean John looked around at those around him. A one eyed midget. A peg legged man on stilts. A woman with balloon wings hooked to her body. Several pairs of siamese twins in differing states of attachment. A smattering of self proclaimed amphibious people.
They were an odd lot. This was the consortium that Sean John would lead to thwart Dr. Pantigal's plan.
Although Stephen hated working in the underwater mineral mines, the pay was astounding. After just one week, he had already made a monza.
Sean John buttoned up his collar and twisted his neck around to glance at the beautiful native islander, half covered with a light sheet. These people had accepted him as an equal, graced him with all the gifts within their power, and welcomed him everywhere. He did not look forward to sharing the news of his latest research.
The sacred rocks of the island - the foundation of their religious worship and their ancestral pride - were not from this continent. The minerals were allocthonous. They were formed on a continent halfway around the world, not on their homeland. This news would directly contradict their religious myths.
Sean John looked at the woman once more, her long, dark leg dangling. He exited the hut.
It was a dangerous mission, requiring foot travel through the night time hours all week. Each man would be battling most just there enemy, but their own natural circadian rhythms- the body's biological imperative to rest when the days is done.
The inside of the office lay doused in paint of myriad different colors. Pictures in broken frames hung slanted on the wall. Magazines from ages ago rested in shreds on uneventful coffee stables.
Sitting in this waiting room, I began to wonder if this was a real doctor, or just some untrustworthy quacksalver.
The property was like a winery, but with bee hives. The melliferrous farm had a higher honey output than any other in the country. As I sampled the sweet nectar, I couldn't help but lean over and kiss the most melliferous thing in my life, the woman I'd never want to live without.
She rolled like clouds over the blue sky, a flawless path through evenly rowed crop fields, a perfectly aligned swishing of limbs and hips. It was more than just her innate feminacy that allowed her to so effortlessly perform this poetry in motion, though. Afterwards, she revealed to the visiting children that she practices hours per day, and encouraged anyone who wishes to improve themselves to apply the same strict regimen to their life.
Sean John stared at the battleground and wept. What was supposed to be a flawless plan for a bloodless coup had become a scene of death. The whole situation had turned into a tragic and fatal snafu.
The winds kicked up to hazardous speeds. With all the debris swirling around in the vicious air, there is bound to be plenty of aeolian damage discovered tomorrow.
Sean John was given the seat of honor. From the dais at the front of the banquet room, his high angle afforded him an unobstructed view of all the dining guests in the cavernous hall.
. Maliliwa, the haberdasher whose home lay just at the edge of the tide line that Sean John prevented from encroaching any farther, walked up to praise Sean John. When Maliliwa reached the start of the dais, Sean John got up out of his seat and leapt off the platform to accept the man's visit on level ground.
The members of the governing party couldn't agree on the precise way to respond to the enemy's threats. Whether to choose firm and forceful language, or neutral and conciliatory verbage, the debate was voracious. A logomachy was underway in the town hall.
With only 10 seconds left before the detonation, it all came down to this one final toss. Sean John looked into the water and saw Marvin's hunched dorsal fin slice through the surface. The shark broke the surface in a blink, guiding the basketball expertly with its nose, up and into the air. Marvin's body jerked, bounced the ball towards the net. It was a perfect shot. It landed sprang in the middle of the basket. 2 points. Sean John's aquatic accomplices won the game. The bomb was immediately deactivated. The island nation was saved.
Joseph hit the punchline to his joke. And waited.
Time stood still as he watched the faces of the executives around the board room table. Their faces were scrunching into a canvas of confusion - not the reaction he was going for as the climax to his presentation. He cursed his droll sense of humor. Why couldn't his humor be more universal?
In the year 2029,the population finally get fed up with bad news. All media outlets convert to reporting saccharine stories to keep viewer's spirits up, and the ratings high.
There was only 1 day to prepare the city defenses. Soon, the enemy would arrive in full force. In their haste, the defenders were forced to enlist every man to perform the needed duties. Even the youngest ones, the polliwogs who knew how to swim but nothing of the outside world.
