The Town-A Short Story, Part 1

Will Taft, Author

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Date: #171022, 4th full moon
Greetings dear readers,
I, Henry Potswell, the new writer for the town’s local newspaper, would like to thank you for taking the time to educate yourself on the happenings of the town through this monthly bundle of news, marked with ink and thrown from door to door. The letters on the pages wistfully carry groups of ideas that will entertain you and possibly lengthen your all too short life. But since the paper is only published once a month, any breakthroughs in self-safety will most likely be too late to save us from the unspeakable horrors that plague our oh-so fateful town.
This newspaper was put into order by our wonderful mayor, Sabastian Ushler, at his most recent press meeting when he made one of two major revelations. One was the fact that the town has no form of communication of which to supply press reporters, and two, he was speaking to an empty room. Immediately after realizing this, he made another public announcement; this time to an empty room plus the strange man who seems to be everywhere. The announcement stated that this one newspaper shall be, “Born from the ash of the fires and molded from the salt of the sea!” he yelled, flailing his arms about. And then… well, I guess it just was. I have no memory before the last breath muttered from our wonderful mayor, but back to the news.
Along with this new social network, the mayor also called for the constitution of a pizza parlor, a bowling alley, and a large gleaming pyramid constructed out of gold for, “The younglings of the town to innocently prance around,” as Mr. Ushler said to the one faithful reporter of the newspaper. “They are to be a filler to the void of you helpless bugs, squandering around only to be crushed by the ever so present rule of death over you all, and a distraction from your entirely normal and totally not corrupt government system.” He said, constantly glancing at something behind me with a worried expression. He then said, “Um, I have… business, yes business, to attend to.” He then proceeded to walk through an exit that was not there beforehand. Oh, listen to me! I’m droning on about some silly little press meeting while forgetting to move to our next, most important, announcement!
Next week, the public library will be hosting a concert of our local talent, Pamer Dyksons and his band! He will be performing several of our favorites such as “Help me, I’m dying,” “The loud noises at night are nothing to be afraid of,” and the song that holds our hearts, “Three is a number.” Participants will be required to bring a copy of their birth certificate, several hundred dollars, and all the sing along joy you can hold!
Readers, there is always a lot that goes into making something else, and in this case, paper, ink, printing machines, and protection from the strange man that seems to be everywhere, aren’t cheap. So, I have taken the initiative of finding sponsorships for our public newspaper and boy, does it look good! I have had a long line of businesses calling in to get a spot, and I am glad that so many organizations are willing to support this necessity of our town. So it makes me very proud to introduce our first sponsor of the paper.

Wind blow, high and low
I see you and me
Sitting, sitting
Waiting, waiting
Decaying, decaying
Until the face of human existence
Faces me and speaks,
“Spice up life”
Simple Cinnamon, Spice up life.

With other news, a strange man has been terrorizing our town with large outrageous rants in the streets. He hobbles around, going from doorstep to doorstep and trying to convince anyone who makes eye contact with him that this is a prison, not a town. “Towns have names other than ‘The Town’ and don’t have armed guards stationed everywhere nor barbed wire fence that surrounds the perimeter of the border between civilization and nature! I have seen it with my own eyes!” He yelled before being shut into a large government van to haul him off to the menacing building on the edge of town. Now readers, I understand I’m supposed to be reporting but I can’t help but to be repulsed by the suggestions of this rapscallion! To suggest there being more then what is here is blasphemy. Mayor Ushler has made that obvious on many occasions. I hope that wherever they take that crazed lunatic, his tainted ideas and insane delusions are not spread to the rest of The Town.
With these thoughts I must leave you. Are we real? What is real? Why is anything real? Why are we here? Why is there a here? Why am I making small stains on a piece of paper to send to the rest of the town? More next week and readers, thank you.

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The Town-A Short Story, Part 1