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November 15, 2005

Best taggy-thing ever

Now this is a blogging tag-up deal I can get behind: One takes the fifth sentence of one's 23rd ever blog entry and uses it as the first sentence of a short fiction-type thinger. Thanks to Kate for tagging me.

Now, unfortunately, my 23rd post isn't really a post at all, and it doesn't even have five sentences. So I flipped a coin — heads would be the 22nd post, tails the 24th. It came up heads. Enjoy. (While I'm here, I hereby tag Messrs Deep Fried Gold, Nugget, Nestruck, Wells, and Urban Refugee.)

OPERATION NEPTUNE: FINAL REPORT (EXCERPTS)

Day 6 — 1825 hours
"They are placed in an orphanage."

I looked at Trang, confused. "You mean they have been placed in an orphanage?"

"Indeed," he said, picking the shrimp out of his Pad Thai. I had ordered shrimp at lunch myself, and they weren't sitting right. Avoid the shrimp in Ban Ting Rai.

"But why?"

Trang pushed his bowl away in disgust and folded his hands on the desk. "Because they have no parents."

I nodded in feigned agreement — Samuel and Eliza were no orphans — and just then a single bead of sweat rolled off the end of my nose. Trang followed it with his good eye until it landed on my right Birkenstock, and an almost imperceptible smirk curled one corner of his mouth. My God, I thought. That shrimp is coming out one way or the other.

"Where is this orphanage?" I asked, urgently.

"It is on Orphan Island."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"It's actually called Orphan Island?"

I was escorted out of Trang's quarters by one of his men. "I need a boat," I told him.

"No boats in Ban Ting Rai," he said.

He was lying. I had arrived by boat. These people were starting to piss me off.

Day 6 — 1850 hours
The guy at the internet café would have none of it. "One hour minimum to use WC!" he bellowed. Fine, I thought. It's like eleven Canadian cents. It'll cost more than that for the water to fill the hose he'll need to clean the place up once I'm done with these accursed shrimp.

Day 6 — 1852 hours
Jesus Christ, a squatter. Those kids are going to pay.

Day 7 — 0925 hours
Having slept little, I left Ban Ting Rai by outrigger canoe for Orphan Island. At last, the end of my mission was in sight. After paying the man with the canoe, I waded ashore and tried to blend in. I was spotted immediately. The Hawaiian print shirt had been a grave error.

"Why are you here?" asked a fat nun.

I was unprepared for this question and panicked. "I wish to purchase a child," I said. Damn, I thought. Now I'll have to kill her. But the fat nun only nodded and led me towards the unmistakable sound of orphans at hard, thankless work.

My eyes met Samuel's across the central courtyard. The children were building what appeared to be a crafts hut, for which Samuel was chopping two-by-fours to measure with his bare hands. No ordinary eleven-year-old was he. No ordinary orphanage was this.

My eyes darted to and fro — where was Eliza? Only one way to find out. Fingering the ivory handle of the antique Enfield revolver in my pocket, I approached the new crafts hut. It really was breathtaking. Samuel turned to face me, unarmed and supremely confident. There were these sharp little pebbles in my Birkenstocks.

At that moment, the man with the outrigger canoe sprinted past us, shrieking. An awkward silence ensued.

"You've come for my sister, I imagine," Samuel finally said, a very perceptible smirk curling one corner of his mouth. "What in the hell took you so long?" He cracked his knuckles and advanced, ready to wage our epic battle right there in front of the new crafts hut — man versus boy-machine. I reached for my Enfield and his eyes widened. His stance lost most of its supreme confidence. This was going to be easier than I thought.

"I'm afraid the worm has turned, my boy," I chuckled.

And that's when the tsunami hit.

Posted by Chris Selley at November 15, 2005 08:19 PM

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Posted by: Kate at November 19, 2005 12:04 AM

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