Tom Tomato and Rasy Raspberry

It was a dark and rainy day. Tom Tomato and Rasy Raspberry were sitting on the windowsill watching the raindrops fall.

"Gloomy day, isn't it?" said Tom, attempting to make conversation.

"Yes, it is rather overcast today," replied Rasy. "To make things worse, all of the raspberries are rotting, including me!"

"All of the tomatoes have been eaten except for me," exclaimed Tom. "Maybe tomatoes taste better than raspberries."

Rasy responded in an insulted manner, "Bite your tongue Tom! Are you trying to tell me tomatoes have a better taste than raspberries? Ha, ha, ha! That's a laugh! Do you even know if you're a fruit or a vegetable?"

"Why are you saying all these mean things to me? I was just joking before. I didn't mean..." blubbered Tom.

"Gee, Tom," Rasy spoke with sympathy. "I didn't mean to make you cry. Let's be friends. No more insults, k?"

"Okay," replied Tom all cheered up. "We'll be best buds forever!"

"Hey! Don't push your luck, Tom!" joked Rasy.

After that conversation Tom and Rasy grew closer together and they stayed best buds for the rest of their short lives.

*************

"Do you even KNOW if you're a fruit or a vegetable?" OH BURN. Is all I have to say about that. That tomato just got pwned. (I'm hip with the lingo).


I remember this was an assignment to test our punctuation and grammar in regards to dialogues in our writing... Proper use of quotation marks and that kind of stuff. But let's take a trip down memory lane to when I was a child to find out exactly where Tom and Rasy came from. A quick delve into the psyche of a young child that wanted to save everything including rotten fruits and vegetables and pieces of paper.


I remember being overly concerned about the emotional well-being of "things" that clearly didn't have feelings. If we had to throw out a rotten tomato I'd be upset because it didn't live the life it was supposed to. In my mind a tomato's destiny was to be eaten and enjoyed. If it suffered any other untimely, sad fate I'd be upset for it. I'd imagine it pleading for its life and stuff. "Laura, save me I'm not fulfilling my destiny". 


It gets crazier. Personifying fruits and vegetables doesn't seem that outrageous to me considering the talking fruits and bugs and animals we're all subjected to on TV and in books as children. But I used to attribute human emotion to objects as well. I would get upset if people didn't use their napkin to its fullest potential. You know how sometimes you get those giant napkins that can easily still be used if they were half or even a quarter of their size? Sometimes when you unfold them they're like 2 feet by 2 feet and way too extensive for someone not eating something incredibly messy like ribs. Why? Why do people use those giant napkins? They aren't doing what they were brought to this world to do. Some people just wipe their mouths with them once and then that's it. That napkin was MADE to get dirty and to cleanse the face and hands of messy eaters. How dare the napkins not be allowed to live to their true potentials? It's horrible is what it is.


Don't get me started on the water that's getting wasted when you turn on the hot tap and you're waiting for it to warm up. All those poor little water molecules crying for help. Not being used. It's sad really. That paper that people print 2 lines on and then realize they don't really need. That paper wanted to be PRINTED ON you know? Filled from top to bottom with wonderful ink. And what about not printing on both sides of the paper? What about the other side of the paper? What about that last bit of toilet paper that's stuck to the roll and you can't get off without ripping thus rendering it useless. Those two drops of milk at the bottom of the carton... Such a terrible fate...


By writing this I feel like I've re-acquired this irrational childish idea that objects and fruits and vegetables are sentient beings. I'm going to eat every last grain of rice on my dinner plate tonight because that rice has feelings. 


What a digression, this became a public service announcement about waste. Seriously, eat all your tomatoes and raspberries. Tom and Rasy would thank you (I brought the story back! FULL CIRCLE!)

A Dr. Seuss-y lesson

Dr. Seuss was one of my absolute favorites growing up. I used to know whole books by heart. The really obscure ones too. Sure, I loved the great popular ones like "Green Eggs and Ham", "Hortons Hears a Who" or "The Cat in the Hat"  but one of the best ones to me was "The Butter Battle Book".

One of the main reasons I loved this book was because I thought it was totally ridiculous that my dad ate his toast with the butter side up. Seriously. It's obviously a "grown up" thing because I can't imagine eating bread butter side down at my ripe old age, but as a child it was my thing. Otherwise how do you taste the buttery goodness properly? Anyway, I digress...

The story is about two groups who live separated by a wall. One group eats their bread butter side up and the other butter side down. If I remember correctly the conclusion is open ended because each group is poised to attack the other with metaphorical nuclear weapons due to their not so complicated hatred for one another. All this because of the orientation of buttered bread. Apparently, Dr. Seuss wrote this during the Cold War. Topical. I was obviously just as interested in complex debatable topics even in my youth...

So, naturally, when we were assigned to write a poem in the style of a Dr. Seuss story I went for a metaphor for racial hatred with an easy resolution. I'm no Dr. Seuss. Children's stories with open ended discussion-inducing conclusions were probably something I should try when I was a bit older. 

The Flies and the Bees

The flies hated the bees

They were sworn enemies

Being big and strong

Only made the bees wrong.

The bees weren't all bad

They were just a big sad

That the flies were mean

And weren't very keen

On letting the bees into their daily routine

So the bees stayed unseen.

The flies wanted their way

They didn't want the bees to stay

So that opened the door

For their racial war.

They didn't like the colours yellow and black

And that was the reason they were going to attack.

The wise old spider watched from afar

He felt a war brewing through his radar

He set off to save the innocent bees 

Who were obviously going to be crushed like fleas.

When the troops formed on the field of battle

All of them heard a peculiar rattle

And down from the skies

Came the spider so wise

To dictate

His lecture so great.

"Beloved flies,"

Said the spider so wise

"What did a bee ever do

To receive such hatred from you?"

The flies thought and thought

But find a reason, they could not.

"Thus the lesson here is without a doubt

To judge from the inside not from the out".

The flies who learned the error of their way

Apologized to the bees on that day

And our dear spider, old and wise,

Got all of the honey from the grateful bees' hives.

Poignant and oh so simple. If only all wars could be prevented by an elderly arachnid who charms us with some clichés, googley eyes and a show-stopping smile.

Les Jeux de l'Esprit

When I was in eleventh grade we had to write a book. Well not really but we had to write a short story in a collection of short stories and have the whole package look like a makeshift book. I'm pretty sure I'm not describing that properly so here's the picture of my "book".

The cover of the book. Beautiful no?

The direct translation of "les jeux de l'esprit" is "the spirit games" which sounds kind of like the Olympics or something but upon re-reading my story I'm pretty sure I meant "mind games". Which makes sense because "esprit" can be used for "mind" as well.


Anyways I realize I've been praising my teenage self for all the wonderful poetry and literature I created but this...this is NOT good. It's actually pretty bad. The artwork, the grammar and spelling mistakes, the arts and crafts aspect. It's just atrocious.


Without further ado I bring you "Les Jeux de l'esprit"


The names of the short stories:

1. Deception; 2. The mysterious Keys (WITH A CAPITAL LETTER. Wish I knew why); 3. Betrayal; 4. The wrong address  (Like the wrong number? I don't know but it's intriguing); 5. Victim; 6. The innocent assassin (HOW? anyways...)

I only had to write the first one though (the rest were made up titles if that wasn't immediately obvious):

kinda blurry

Fourberie

Vincent était très heureux car dans quelques jours il serait libéré. Il y a cinq ans, il avait été un partenaire dans un vol de banque. Ses associés avaient fuit avant que les policiers ne les attrapent. Cependant, Vincent, lui, avait été appréhendé. Ses alliés l’avaient tout simplement délaissé. Il n’oubliera jamais cette dernière trahison.

Le jour arriva et Vincent fut finalement libéré dans les rues de Paris. Ce fut la première fois en cinq ans qu’il respira l’air frais. En marchant sur la rue il entendit des voix familières mais, en semblant de ne pas entendre, il continua sa marche. Tout à coup, Vincent perdit conscience. Quand il réveilla, il se retrouva dans une vieille usine, entouré de quatre hommes habillés comme des bandits. Les hommes se présentèrent à Vincent et il s’aperçut que c’était ses vieux partenaires de crime.

        -  Ronald! Pierre! Jacques! Robert! Comment ça va? Ça fait tellement longtemps!, dit Vincent, essayant de créer un air plus heureux.

        - Arrête les plaisanteries Vincent. Où as-tu mis l’argent? Le demi-million qui t’as mis en prison?, demanda Pierre, le chef des voleurs.

        - Je ne le sais pas. Vous ne l’aviez pas encore trouvé? J’étais en prison pour tellement longtemps que moi, j’ai oublié, déclara Vincent avec un grand sourire à son visage.

Fâchées par cette affirmation, ses alliées commencèrent à le battre. Finalement, Vincent les révéla les lieux où il pensait que l’argent pouvait être. Le lieu principal était sous le plancher de la cuisine de sa vieille maison.

Le lendemain, le gang se précipita vers la vieille maison et chercha sous le plancher de la cuisine mais ils ne trouvèrent rien. Désespérés, ils cherchèrent la maison entière, encore rien. Plus tard, Vincent les conseilla d’aller voir sous le pont de la rue Frontenac.

Les bandits ne trouvèrent rien encore. Vincent pensa, «Peut-être sous la toir Eiffel? », mais encore rien. Vincent les emmena à plusieurs autres places, le zoo, le parc, et encore, zéro. Confus, Vincent se mit à penser à haute voix. Soudainement il commença à murmurer très vite. Ses partenaires sans doute terrifiés de ses agissements étranges le pensèrent fou, et le jeta alors dans une allée et le laissa.

Les jours passèrent et Vincent, encore pris dans la folie vivait en vagabond dans les rues. Chaque jour, les voleurs lui jetèrent un sui, peut-être cinq pour le fâcher. Mais Vincent restait calme et mettais ces sous de coté afin de s’acheter de la nourriture.

Un jour, plusieurs mois plus tard, les gangsters promenaient quand ils s’aperçurent que Vincent n’était plus là. En croyant que le pauvre était mort, ils réjouirent. Ils ne savaient pas cependant que Vincent était bien vivant. Ils ne savaient pas ses capacités.

Ce matin même, Vincent se leva du lit luxueux de l’hôtel le plus chic en Grèce. 

« Idiots », pensa-t-il, « Ils m’ont cru, je devrais gagner un prix pour ma performance. Ils pensaient que j’étais fou, ils croyaient que j’étais vraiment pauvre et que je vivais sur la rue mais la ruse la plus satisfaisante est qu’ils pensaient que je leur dirais où se situait l’argent. Ils savaient que c’était sous le plancher de ma cuisine mais ce qu’ils ne savaient pas était que ce n’était pas le compartiment sous le plancher mais plutôt celui d'en dessous! »

Oh god oh god oh god it's so awful! It's so awful! AAHHH! Holy mix of verb tenses. Holy passé simple tense explosion and holy weird use of quotation marks and dialogue grammar. Also holy terrible terrible story with total lack of intrigue and let's face it, total lack of mind games. I mean I maybe tried with the mind games but it totally doesn't come across as anything. Oh and holy French names! Vincent, Pierre, Jacques... Really tried to make this thing French guys.  

Rough translation with comments: 


Title: Deception


A gang robs a bank. They all get away except for one of them who goes to jail for years and years. He does his time and finally gets out of prision (on the streets of Paris! Because, you know, French), gets to breathe the air and smell the roses blablabla. Almost immediately gets kidnapped by his former partners in crime and they want him to tell them where the money they stole is because apparently they never found it. Half a million smackaroos people. Now that's MONEY! (I don't understand how he was the one who was able to hide the exorbitant amounts of cash if he was the one who got caught but whatever... PLOT HOLE). Anyway they try to beat it out of him but he's not talking...He doesn't remember or something. Sends them on a wild goose chase around the city. The compartment under the floor of his kitchen which amazingly comes up empty (whattt? something crazy's going on right? That's a PERFECT hiding spot), the zoo (haha the zoo), the Eiffel Tower (hahaHA the Eiffel TOWER?) and so on. Eventually, I assume to escape their wrath, he starts acting like a crazy lunatic and babbling ('cause apparently that's the mark of a crazy person) and the kidnappers are like "Yeah we've been waiting 20 years for this money but this guy's nuts so let's just throw him on the street and annoy him by throwing between one and five cents (and not a penny more!) at his face every time we see him because his prison sentence wasn't punishment enough". But he's a smart guy though and he saves the money for food or something. Because twenty cents is a fortune in Paris. But wait a minute he's rich! He just pulled off the most fantastical MIND GAMES-Y ruse ever! Or something like that. Whatevs.

One fine day we find out about his ruse... he's not on his street corner anymore and the criminals are like "whut?". Cut to some fancy pants hotel in Greece and Vincent, our hero's all "Dude those guys are idiots did they actually think I'd tell them where the money is? I mean DUH there were two compartments under the floor of my kitchen. They were just too stupid to check for the OTHER ONE UNDERNEATH IT! MUAHAHAHAHA half a million dollars is SO MUCH MONEY!" (Half a million dollars? What was I thinking? That's hardly a successful bank robbery).

So you think that story's great? You should read what I wrote on the back of the book. We had to do the stuff that's on regular books, reviews and descriptions of the author and stuff. Man this stuff is rich. Look:

The spacing's all messed up and there's very basic grammar mistakes. It doesn't seem as if I put any effort into this at all. Also hello high school graduation picture!

Translation:

Laura was born October 25th 1984. She started to write in her seventh year of high school [haha what the hell? I guess I meant seventh grade?]. Her career began when she wrote her first collection of short stories called "Des jeux mal joués" [Games played badly? Badly played games? I don't know]. It was translated into eighteen [haha] different languages and has won several literary prizes." Les jeux de l'esprit" [Mind Games] is her second collection of short stories.

Mind Games is a collection of short stories with mind games being the common theme. It's about the moral complexity of people. These intriguing and fascinating stories will captivate you from the very first page.

These stories will seduce you [...] - La Presse

Of a quality and liveliness that cannot be beat. Mind games demonstrates this new Quebec author's amazing literary talents - Le Devoir

Some more pictures of the masterpiece of grade 11 arts and crafts:

Work of art!

Don't worry. I've written some stuff in French that's actually not bad. This was just too amazingly terrible to not share with the world. I mean look at that lightning bolt! Mind games indeed...