November 24, 2009

The Painfully Shy Street Performer

Franklin Semproch took Zenobia Snowe to be his lawful wedded wife. His farm was small, but not overly grumpy, and there the couple thrived. In time, they welcomed their son Harlan to the tear (tier, not tare) veil, and the circle of their family was complete.

Twenty years passed, and Harlan, painfully shy, but with perfectly formed knees, longed to be a street-performing mime. His parents, ever ready to fulfill his most trivial whim, did the best they could. In the midst of the north corn field, Franklin built a brick facade of a mercantile emporium three stories high, authentically windowed and signed. He troweled a wonderful cement sidewalk and curb. He installed a lamp post. Zenobia baked 3000 ginger snaps, and the couple mixed these with asphalt and rolled out a fine short segment of street next to the cement sidewalk and in front of the mercantile emporium facade.

Harlan, garbed in lederhosen and wearing white gloves, stood on the sidewalk in front of the mercantile emporium facade. His eyes gleamed out from his painted white face. His little hat with its flower on a wire clutched his head.

“I AM TRAPPED IN THIS BOX!” he shrieked. He moved his hands along the invisible walls. “SEE!! I CAN’T GET OUT! HELP! HELP! FOR GOD’S SAKE, SOMEBODY HELP ME!!”

Harlan’s heart exploded, and he died. His parents buried him a stone’s throw from the nearest silo. A tear (tier, not tare) ran down Zenobia’s worn canvas cheek. A tear (see previous parenthesis) ran down Franklin’s worn corduroy cheek. They hung each other gently in the parlor. The dream was finished.

Moral: A youth and his whims are soon parted

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