Chapter 1
"There whispered through the tiny thrush, a song amidst an autumn blush,
that caused the insect breasts' to hush, as all sized feet did cease their rush,
and down fell such a mighty crush, that all eyes fell betwixt the brush,
where lay the thrush in her final pose, knowing what life will come to know,
as feathers, as petals, fell off the rose, the forest life collapsed in woe,
and running out the pecking nose, the thickening, sickening ice did grow,
as the frost that came to claim warm hearts, removed the thrush's song..."
The fall seemed to cry, "Last call!", as I gathered the remaining barrels off of the ol' truck, and carried them readily into the morning crowd. These farmer's markets were taking a turn away from local farmers goods, and were now more about local arts and crafts. At the helm were capitalist hippies, and the not-so-local politicians of the town, seizing "creative" control over all events that could carry the title "ORGANIC" in any capacity.
Here she came, gallivanting through our midst as if she ran this kingdom with the sorcery of her glare: The Lady Vonbloome. What a putrid being. The silver streaks over her ears remained the only untouched truth to her age, and I applaud the fact that she allowed this to be seen. I also knew, however, that it was her cunning way of rubbing it in all the pink-nippled, wispy-haired, earthen beauties' faces, which abounded the market, that her remodeled cunt could devour any of their men at any time.
I watch her little back-handed royal wave greeting everyone with xanax-smiles, and I want to insert every vegetable on my table, one by one, down her throat and up her tight prestigious ass until they collide. This mental banter, and the fact that as soon as she sees me that smile will droop down and scurry away to wherever it came from, is the only thing that keeps me coming back bi-monthly. The spite trumped the profit almost a year ago. Benny told me of a better market back at that time. "Only seven miles from where you normally go," he had said. "This is my market," I had told him, "This is where my people are."
This wasn't even true anymore. Not since these hippies came in to turn the market into another one of their festivals. I never could have predicted the carnival this place would become. And wouldn't you know, laughing all the way, twirling her cane like a ring-leading baton, Mrs. Vonbloome carried these clowns. Now, more than ever, I realized that moving would be pointless. They would take over all of the markets eventually. There were never any means of escape; just an illusory notion of heavenly freedom from scumbags that don't have a clue as to what being human is truly all about.
I knew I was an endangered species from a very early age. That is essentially why I lived reclusively out here in the first place. There was a need to be away from all that mankind had developed into. It's not that I didn't agree with growth and science. Held high in my mind was the intimate knowledge that all had been developed incorrectly by impatient idealists, whom were brilliant, but, nevertheless, toying with the natural order of peace between habitat and inhabitant. These pro-human supervisors and superiors had taught this animal many tricks, almost to the point of making it believe that it itself was in fact "human" and thereby "civilized", but my animal spirit was too strong. It planned an escape, succeeded, and now lived humbly in the proper way.
"Well, there you are!" she belted with a southern drawl towards our local councilman, Jacob Cass, whom eyes her now making her steps whimsical and fanciful closer to his bloated open hand which beckons her.
"Sharon, delighted as always," councilman Cass beamed through his hanging jowls, as jolly as a hog in heat.
"You didn't tell me you were gonna make it out today," she offensively giggles, shamelessly showing her neon teeth parading out of the raging red slit at the bottom of her despicable face.
"I don't have to tell you every little thing, now do I?" he laughs his obese android laugh, and waves of nausea begin to dance through the air.
This is why I hide away. This is why I stay on my property. This is why I cannot get a date to save my life. Know any women into reclusive farmer poets? I don't even know that I'd want to! Ha!
Just as those thoughts passed, I noticed it happen. Dammit. My peripherals let me know she had spotted me. That twisted grimacing face was floating ever closer to my booth. If I just started throwing these fruits and veggies at her, what would happen? Would I be arrested for throwing produce at an elderly woman? I think I could live with that on my record. I am compromising the integrity of the apple in my fist.
"Thomas Jordan, is it?" VonBloome scowled with an odoriferous glare.
"Miss," I tipped my hat, and began wiping the apple drippings from my palm with a handkerchief.
"Am I to understand that you will be in possession of a permit next week? The law is the law, you know? I cannot simply let you slide on account of your boundless supply of, albeit delicious, apricots," she faked a smile here to show that she was concerned for me, and not being a grade A bitch.
"Yes, that's right on the money, miss. Just half a barrel left to sell to make that permit affordable. I have been trying. It's not an easy living, but it is a swell one, isn't it?" I remained as charming as possible.
Her voice went low here, "Very much so, yes. Well, just see that you do. Good day, Mr. Jordan," and with that she turned away to leave.
"Oh, miss!" I yelled.
She turned quickly around, just quickly enough, in fact, to see it coming at her. I could see her eyes bulge. And with every single neuron firing in her, she managed to catch the apricot.
"On the house!" I winked.
She pulled her grimace upwards as hard as she could, bowed in thankfulness, and walked away in that hazy confusion elitists so often suffer from.
"Monster pig," I thought out loud, trying to forget that she ever approached me.
And in that moment, a moment of hazy hate and isolated consciousness, there came a fog over all that was animated.
The sounds became muddy, and the ground became a cool breeze underneath the crates at my feet.
Time was distorted.
Though, existing, time had been split between my perception and the nature of all that was around me.
I could sense this division, and I felt peace in my exclusion.
I close my eyes to feel the warmth of the sun, and breathe in this fraction of happy solitude that so rarely manifests itself in life.
I had made my money today, and that was all that mattered; being able to gas up the truck, buy a few provisions, and a little tobacco, before heading back to the homestead. And so that's how it went, before I got here.
HOME.
