14 of 79

Write now Article Tools

Belcher of Blades

"Ginger ale is a well-known household remedy for minor stomach ailments", is what my doctor told me when I went into his office for the fourth time that week. He said that there was nothing 'conclusively wrong' with me except maybe being a "chronic hypochondriac", and even though the doctor sounded like he was joking, any type of chronic whatever-its-called sounds pretty bad to me, so I went home and worried about it until it was about time for me to be getting to work. I polished my swords and packed them away and placed them in the passenger seat of my 93 Cavalier - still looking like it's new I'll have you know - and I stopped off at the nearest Amoco to pick up a case of Canada Dry because even though the doc might've been smiling and laughing when he told me his prognosis I knew that his education ain't no joke, and that the man didn't spend a good ten years of his life or so in medical school to be cracking his wit at my expense, or at the possible risk of my life, and so I filled up my tank with that thought marinating in my brain juices.

And right then I started to feel a bit queasy, maybe it was the smell of the gasoline or maybe it was some bug in my stomach, but right there I popped open a can of soda and chugged it and just like that, I felt better, and I figured that my faith in the doc was well-placed enough to keep me feeling healthy so I gunned the engine and tore out of that gas station like a bat out of hell, sipping on another ginger ale for good measure in case my stomach had a mind to make itself queasy again - sometimes it's like your body parts just don't know what's good for them - and the next thing I knew I was in a parking garage, case of soda cans under one arm and my bag of swords slung over the other shoulder, car keys jingling in my pocket and I took the steps two at a time into the N station, and took the train to Stillwell Ave, Coney Island.

When I got there I approached the leftmost of the four small tents that surround the main one at the Magic Renaissance Carnival, eyes glued to the ground, listening to dead grass crunching beneath my shoes, wondering how long it'll take for the crowd to show up tonight but knowing that its size has been slowly dwindling even since I started working here in the 80's when Humphrey the midget said, "Kid, you chose the wrong field, carnivals are on their way out," and then I wonder if one day the crowds will just stop coming and I'll be stuck swallowing swords at birthday parties

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Humor: Fantasy?
We want to hear your view. Write now!