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  • COMMITTEE Posted in: Short Stories - COMMITTEE By MJ Politis (NOT a committee) mjpolitis@yahoo.com copyrighted, April 17, 2011 The room was as clean as it was sterile, the distinction between those two states being unknown to the people who walked into it. As was their habit, profession and passion, they procedurally took their seats at the table. The red carpet was warmer than usual, the air a bit denser with fog, but then again, it was August. The reason for the gathering was not planned by any of the committee members, a cause of disturbance to most, a „challenge‟ to the chairman. Mr. King was a rebel, having worn a suit only on austere occassions such as funerals, readings of Wills, or weddings. “Wild William” King was a grey slacks and blue blazer kind of guy, who appended that „rebel wear‟ with mildy wide ties of various, non-offensive colors. Calm and collected, he took his seat at the head of the table and waited for the other members of the committee to take their places. “Before we get started,” he reminded everyone, “we have to remember that it is about the process not the product. And our job is a assess rather than go ahead and…
  • CANINUS ORALIS Posted in: Short Stories - CHAPTER ONE---Who I be, and why should you care? Hey there! My name is Maayrly, with an extra a and a y of course. The humanoids who gave me that name insisted on it being spelt that way, and of course are so stupid that think that I‟m too dumb to be able to handle a name with more than two syllables in it. And thought I didn‟t know who they were talking about when they spell it out…incorrectly or course, even according to the idiot who named me. Why is it that humanoids are so ignorant? Suppose it makes it easier for them to be assholes. Ignorance, after all, is the most essential ingredient for cruelty. Intelligence, when it is balanced and well informed by intuition and heart, is the seed for the inevitable fruit of Enlightenment, which in its blooming stage is called Love, by some anyway. Of course, being a dog, I‟m not supposed to be intelligent and have been assigned the job of being „blissfully ignorant‟, content only with the soul-satisfying jobs of stuffing my face with food, licking my balls with my tongue, „going potty‟ (since I‟m not intelligent enough to enjoy the pleasures of…
  • SUBMULOC Posted in: Short Stories - SUBMULOC   The tale happened eight hundred winters ago, or eight hundred summers ago, depending on whether the Story Teller in what is now Maine, or perhaps Nova Scotia liked the feel of snow under his feet or mud between her toes.   The story never got onto the screen, but remained in the hearts of the People as deeply as the legend of King Arthur was more fact than fancy in the mind of any Anglo.   Its here was Submuloc, a man with strong arms, trustable eyes and, according to some, a strange mind which frustrated others almost as much as it frustrated himself.   It wasn’t so much that Submuloc was disrespectful of the Elders, but that he knew in his Innermost heart that they were wrong, and that the Elder he trusted most, Dnanidref, said that the Inner Most Heart and must be honored above all things.   Most of his tribe loved to share stories around the campfires about the origins of the Sun. That ball of fire that rose in the East with fresh brilliance which was beyond color and set in the West with a subdued presence that let even his brother, Lazy Eyes, clearly see…
  • IVAN THE…POSSIBLE Posted in: Short Stories - It wasn’t as if Ivan was a lazy man. Indeed, he was as hard working as anyone else in his village. It was just that where he worked couldn’t been seen by other men, women or even his imaginary friends.   His official job was to ride from one village to the next with the mail. His services had been very much valued by those dwellings not yet connected by the iron horse. But to Ivan’s added frustrations, those settlements were in no great hurry to get news about anywhere else except the hear and now.   Today, Ivan’s job was to carry a letter to Tasha Rusmenski.   It smelled of cologne, and he smelled like mare’s sweat.   There were other letters in the satchel Ivan rode into town with of course, but the letter to Tasha seemed most important to him. By its feel it was not about who owed what money to who, or what land belonged to what business, but about someone who cared a lot about her.   Ten miles and two adjustments of horse shoes back he gave into the temptation of reading the letter by the golden glow of sunlight that shone through the page. It…
  • CRYPTOSPORIDIA Posted in: Short Stories - CRYPTOSPORIDIA By MJ Politis There were three things that Cryptospordia didn’t ‘get’ about the Intelligent Life force which, by all accounts, was her Master, and friend. First, why was it that her Provider, and Protector, didn’t appreciate the value of a good dump, or as was called above her whenever she stopped to tried to take it, ‘shit’. Second, why did the more Intelligent species consider what came out of her so vial, and filled with the kind of bacteria that didn’t come out of ‘His’ ass. Third, why was she named ‘Cryptosporidia’, a beautiful name for a bug that probably looked very attractive under the microscope but did so many ugly things to people, and horses. Finally, why and Who decided that her Master could get to capitalize the letters that described everything about Him, and him,?   She was a ‘good girl’ when she obeyed his will, a ‘bitch’ or worse when she didn’t, ‘old girl’ when she was tired of feeling her real biological age.   But there was a higher hand than the Master on her back, or rather a Higher Hoof’s will that Leonard, her ‘master’ was the one who was the boss and she, as his…
  • DOC STEW Posted in: Short Stories - DOC STEW STORY: A Baptist in Baton Rouge since birth, the family genius at Tulane University since early acceptance at 16, and a born-again cynic after trying to treat his first Cancer patient at 24, Stewart Williams, III, MD believed in two things. Results, and procedure. Both were well worked into the program at the Klajburg Nursing home, the last resting place for Long Island elders who had outlived their usefulness to their ‘youngers’, and overqualified physicians who had outlived their usefulness to themselves.   The pay was good, the hours short, the schedule reliable, and the patients were ‘manageable’ unless you objected to the smell of urine or had problems dealing with patients who were not themselves. Indeed, the patients who were their ‘younger’ selves were, all things considered, not so bad off.   Though the calendar said it was 2005, four years after 9/11, a decade or less away from the next and perhaps final crash on Wall Street, to most of the white haired, or no-haired, patients at Klajburg it was the Roaring Twenties, the golden homecoming months after V-J day, or those quietly-prosperous times when Elvis was King and Marilyn Monroe was queen. Even to the Mr. Weinstein…
  • MANERVA Posted in: Short Stories - MANERVA STORY: It was a rather peaceful Sunday afternoon when Manerva finally did what she wanted to. The sun was shining with a rather warmish glow that somehow only she could feel. The other members of the family, and even hr friends, were dining in the Main House with Papa. It was his birthday, and Thanksgiving. Both on the same day. And she was always his favorite girl.   No, not in the ways that the other girls never talked about with their mouths, but always with their eyes, but in the ways that really mattered, as Manerva was special. She learned to read a year earlier than all of her brothers and sisters, and learned to write very soon afterwards. The kind of books that she would never be able to read, according to Papa.   He looked happy, and sad, at the head of the table, his big eyes, bushy beard and bald head, the hair along the side of his head worn like it was still on top. He looked old, and young, both at the same instant, so it seemed to Manerva. So, why was she not in the house, by his side, and why was…
  • MECHANOS Posted in: Short Stories - MECHANOS It started out as just another day of making inch-thick rope lift thousand pound rock.   Another day of the fires from the depths of the earth blasting through the sun baked ground under the temple floor. Another day the sacrifices of the people of Alexandria might invoke the favor of the goddess Athena, her ‘boss’ Zuez, or perhaps even the most human of all the gods, Prometheus. Another day humanity’s needs perhaps would correspond with the gods’ wants, and whims. Another day Telikos would gather the offerings of livestock, jewels and coin and place it into the temple chest, promising the people that what they would get in return would be worth so much more.   Another day that commoner and Priest would bring the best they had to the table of the gods, hoping that something divine would happen, a flicker of wisdom, perhaps. And another day of Athena showing herself to the people below, her body perfectly shaped, her eyes fixed on ‘Constancy’, the goddess of beauty’s hand extended to the common and most often ugly people giving them hope that their outer lives, and inner Souls, may indeed become as Beautiful as she was. And another day…
  • The Telenkovian Experiment Posted in: Novels -
  • Texan Splitfire Posted in: Novels -

MJ Politis, Ph.D., D.V.M., H.B.A.R.P. (human being, aspiring Rennaisance person)

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