"Blanche On The Water"
Numerous summer raindrops fell staccato-like on dory-fleet heiress Blanche Diaphanous, of the Newport Beach Diaphanouses, not the ones from Fullerton, and on the pier she was standing on. Her spewing tears mingled splatteringly with the precipitation, for she was suddenly overwhelmed by both Ramon's insensitivity and the allegedly criminal injustice of it all: the rain, the pain, her ring finger's green stain.* ...Her bitterness towards Ramon grew with intensity until she almost spat. Yet, somehow, she could not; that kind of action was not fitting of a Diaphanous. "That bastard, Ramon!" shrieked Blanche. That felt good, so she did it again. "That bastard, Ramon!" He was never the right man for her; besides, he never could say "Diaphanous" correctly. His pronunciation resembled the pronunciation of "Diaphanous," but the ones from Fullerton instead.
As she mentally thought about Ramon's mispronunciations, another thought began to grow. "I must get rid of that growing thought," she thought. The growing thought did not stop because it was a very important thought and the thought knew that it was important. Here is what that thought was: she was very wet. She let this thought sink in because it was a very heavy thought. The wetness made her think of rust, which led her to think about another bad thing about Ramon. She hated the fact that he had given her a ring which was not really gold and it made her finger green, much as her love for him was.
It was at this point that Blanche realized that she did not know Ramon's last name. It did not matter. If she knew his last name, it would just make her think of other things that would make her sad and she would cry more. Goodness knows, she didn't need to cry any more; she was flooding out the pier.
Why was she on the pier? This question was not important to her. She did not need to know. Surely, it had something to do with Ramon. "Ramon, Ramon, Ramon," she thought. She did not know why she thought "Ramon, Ramon, Ramon," but she figured that the author of her story knew why she did. In any case, it was better than the screaming he made her do before. She did not like the screaming because it made her think of those blasted Diaphanouses of Fullerton. She never liked them very much; they did not like roses and she loved roses. "Perhaps Ramon was a Diaphanous from Fullerton and that was why he mispronounced 'Diaphanous' and why are there so many semi-colons in my thoughts?" she thought.
Regardless, things were adding up. She wasn't sure what the things were, but they were sure adding up. Surely it was the rain that was adding up. She could hardly move for the rain had filled up her clothes so much. She knew that she could not be a Diaphanous if she was wet, so she knew that she must take a new identity. Yes! That was it! From now on, she would be "Como Estas." She would begin her life anew, like the roses she liked so much which the Diaphanouses of Fullerton disliked so much, but she was no longer a Diaphanous, so it did not matter. Satisfied that there was a massive run-on near the end of her story, Blanche, er- Como decided to start over.
Somehow, she felt that "I Am Woman" would be an appropriate song to hear at this moment. By the time she realized this, the moment had passed so the song was no longer appropriate. Besides, Blanche, no - Como, had always been given to gender-bending, so she decided that "Macho Man" would be a much better song to hear. Feeling refreshed and self-assured, Como walked off the pier and into the wide blue yonder. She wound up missing the wide blue yonder, hitting the green one instead. It was fine with her since any yonder, regardless of color, would be fine so long as Ramon was not in it. Given that he was not in any yonder, green or otherwise, Como decided to end the story, mercifully, before anyone else has a gag reflex.
La Fin
* - The introduction was given by Orange Coast Magazine as the opening paragraph for their "Deadly Poets Society" contest - their annual contest for intentionally bad writing. The story following that paragraph (with the exception of the last paragraph) was my entry. Did I win? Not even a honorable mention. Ah, to be appreciated in one's own lifetime...
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