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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #793
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Hill Picnic"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Trilobyte
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 8/22/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Bob wore jeans. When he wasn't wearing jeans he was wearing
overalls. Under his overalls, or above his jeans, he would wear a plaid
shirt. Sometimes red and blue, sometimes brown, orange and red. Red like
his hair.
Bob liked to look at the trees. Bob liked to follow the leaves with
his eyes as they were moved by the wind.
Sometimes he would picnic out in the woods on a plaid blanket. He
would have a package of sandwiches and chips to eat underneath a tree.
One day Bob found a solitary tree on top of a hill a mile from his
cabin. He had admired the hill before but hadn't thought of what a perfect
place it would be for a picnic. Think of all the crows he could meet.
He went back to his cabin and began to prepare his picnic package.
He had the chips but didn't have any sandwiches, so he rode his motorbike
down the trail from his cabin to the highway. He needed sandwich supplies.
He rode past the highway's lonely shops. "Lenny's Bait and Tackle."
"Marty's Hunt Gear." "Perdue Market." There's Bob's first stop, his
place to get supplies.
He turned his motorbike off the highway and into the parking lot,
where he got off and walked into the store.
"Hi, Bob!" said the shop keeper as Bob walked through the door.
"Hey there, Gene," Bob said, as he continued walking into the store.
"Pretty slow day?"
"Yeah, ain't much action around right now, I suppose. Anything I can
help you with today, Bob?"
"No thanks, Gene. I'm quite dandy looking around here myself."
"OK, Bob. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks," Bob replied, as he had already entered the section of his
desire.
"Knives," the sign read.
Can't make sandwiches without knives.
Bob picked out a few that were to his liking. Long, curved, sharp,
handy. Knives. He brought them up to the counter where Gene was standing,
and Gene looked curious.
"Sandwiches?" Bob asked, with a slight tone of disapproval.
"Yep, found a nice hill by the cabin. Great view, plenty of grass to
spread out on. This is going to be a great picnic, Gene. Want to come
along? Bring Mrs. Perdue?"
Gene chuckled. "No thanks, Bob," he smiled, "I think my schedule's
too full for picnics right now. But I'm sure you'll have some fun."
Bob smiled back. "Yeah, seems like I probably will. Be back with
the payment."
Gene nodded. "Whenever it comes around, Bob. You know." He waved.
"I do," Bob replied with a nod as he headed out the door. "I sure
do."
Out in the sunlight again, Bob packed his knives into a compartment
on his bike, hopped on, and started off onto the highway again, heading
further toward civilization.
Signs blew past. "Torie's Coffee." "Jumper, Blacksmith." Next
stop.
Bob pulled over onto a small patch of gravel and brought his knives
into the small wooden structure known as the blacksmith's shop.
In the opening room there were a dozen children playing in cramped
quarters, scuffing themselves on the dirt and on each other. Their arms
were outstretched, their mouths were open, and they yelled and screamed in
a sombre playfulness as they chased each other around the place.
Bob weaved his way through the hubbub back through a small door into
the main room of the building, a smaller, darker, more personal area. There
rested Al Jumper, Blacksmith.
"Al," Bob said.
No reply.
"Al," Bob repeated, with more insistence.
"Hmm?" said a dark mass spread out against the wall on the floor as
it shuffled.
"Al, it's Bob."
"Hmm. Bob. Yeah, Bob. Bout that time, Bob. Got the knives?" Al
wiped the sleep from his face with his right arm.
"Sure do, Al. Sandwiches."
"Sandwiches," Al replied.
Al stood up and took Bob back into the main room again, where Bob
cupped his palm on the head of one of the children. It was one of the
larger kids, a girl, with a bonnet on her head. She tried to keep running
with the playful mass of children but was restricted by the large force
grabbing onto her scalp. She stopped fussing. Bob's hand led her into the
back room, and this time Al followed, and lit a candle.
A bit more light shone upon the room, showing its bare wooden
structure and the warm comfort of a dirty straw floor. Bob took out the
knives he had bought and handed a few to Al, and they began to cut apart the
child. It quickly stopped showing any signs of livelihood.
Meat was separated from clothing, hair and unwanted parts, all left
in a separate pile. Bob pulled the meat together and stuffed it in a bean
sack he rescued from a dusty corner. He threw the sack over his back and
left the blacksmith to tend to his shop and his new knives.
Back outside, Bob hopped onto his motorbike and headed back down the
highway to his home. He'd take a short rest until early evening, when he
would head out to the hill and have his picnic of chips & sandwiches.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #793 - WRITTEN BY: TRILOBYTE - 8/22/99 ]