Monday, July 29, 2013
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Installment 26 of F. Scott Sinclair's Novel "The Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America"
QUOTE:
Copyright © 2007 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.
Warning: If you are easily shocked with regard to contrary
points of view, conspiracy theories, offensive language, political
correctness, sex, or anything else that may offend your
sensibilities or lack of open-mindedness, or if you're a minor
(but by no means limited to the aforementioned), please do
not read this novel. It's not for you...
Note: This is a work of fiction. The events described here are
imaginary: the settings, events and characters are fictitious,
and/or are the product of the author's imagination or used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Copyright (C) 2007 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.
Scene 26 of "The Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America"
CIA Case Officer Julia Duffy
The compartment I was being held captive in was beginning
to close in. As the dinky quarters of the submarine began to
turn around, I instantly knew that I had an inner ear infection.
All I could do to stop the walls from turning was to close my
eyes. By squeezing my eyelids together, clinching my teeth,
and burying my head into the mildewed stench of the stained
pillow I was provided, I somehow forestalled the nauseous
feeling that was attempting to engulf my entire being.
I slowly began to open my left eye to see if the world was still
spinning. The room seemed to stand still, but the Russian
language written on the wall to tell the occupant to turn off the
lights to conserve energy--amongst other warnings--still made
me woozy. Sure wished that they'd thought about saving
energy before they chose to leave the torturous naked bulb on
24 hours a day. Christ almightly, why aren't torturers given
briefings on energy savings, anyway?
Before I could finish my next thought, the compartment door
swung open. A lanky Russian officer with a greying beard stepped
in with his underling in tow. I tried to turn away, but the shackles
and irons prevented me from huddling against the bulkhead with
my back turned to the intruders.
The Russian officer said, "Good morning, Ms. Duffy, how are
you today?"
I couldn't pass up the pun, and said, "Tied up, as usual..."
"Busy are we...? Well, that's too bad, Julie. And we were just about
ready to free you, too. What a shame, my dear," he conveyed,
loosening his tie.
"It's a bit stuffy in here, comrade. It is all right to refer to you as
comrade, isn't it?" His bushy eyebrows raised as though wings
had replaced his eyebrows at the mention of those words. Before
his eyebrow-like wings made one revolution, he yanked the ankle
chain, and in doing so, the iron shackle pierced the skin of my
tender ankle.
"My God...! Christ, can't you leave a girl alone?" I said, pushing my
ankle toward the Russian officer in order to release the tension.
"Perhaps, you're wondering why you keep getting different
interrogators. Well, the answer's quite simple. Until you act as
though you like one of us...and trust one of us, you'll no doubt
meet the whole crew of this fine submarine before you arrive
at your final destination," he hinted, touching my shoulder with
his yucky paw.
Glibly, I inquired, "And where might that be...?"
"You'll learn soon enough, I'm afraid."
"Is that a threat, or a promise?"
The back of his hand stung as I felt my jaw crack and separate.
Had he broken my jaw? My jaw felt numb, and the stainless
steel bunk with no mattress felt like I'd been sitting on a pile of
rocks. And the stainless toilet was too far away to rest on
comfortably. My butt was about a foot too short. But thank the
Lord for small favors: the diaper they so graciously provided
me with, made me feel at home--as though I was having a
period. What a bloody thought...
There was a knock at the door, and the subservient one
opened the cabin door and retrieved a tray of food, and said,
"Here. Take it."
"Gladly," I said. "Oh, I'm shocked. Not the usual cockroaches
and ants?"
The no name Russian officer replied, wiping his bird nose,
"We're trying to fatten you up."
"For the kill, I suppose, huh?"
With a smirk, he drops the tray in my lap, and says, "Enjoy...
You and your friend, Mr. Kendall, will be transferred from
our custody to that of the International Criminal Court in
a couple of days, my dear. We wouldn't want anyone to
think we've been feeding you cockroaches, now would we?
But, you must admit, us Russians have some of the finest
cockroaches in the world. Isn't that right?"
Not wanting to appear too ungrateful, I said, "If you say so..."
"Care to enlighten us further on your activities in Venezuela?"
"Well, after being starved, waterboarded, half frozen to
death, and you name it, I think you've got enough information
on tape to hang the Crown Prince of Crawford--if that's
your intention--at the Hague," I said with a wink of the eye.
With his receding hairline leaning towards the steel deck,
and his mischievious eyes tilted in my direction, he says through
tense lips, "Very perceptive... Now, eat this shit we've provided
before my partner here changes your diaper. Doesn't it feel
great to return to your childhood days, sitting in a stinking
diaper all day while your mother watched soap operas to her
heart's content?"
"Speak for yourself, yah little anal fixated bastard!"
Lights out...! I thought, just before the blur of the Russian
officer's fist smacked me upside the head.
Copyright © 2007 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.
Warning: If you are easily shocked with regard to contrary
points of view, conspiracy theories, offensive language, political
correctness, sex, or anything else that may offend your
sensibilities or lack of open-mindedness, or if you're a minor
(but by no means limited to the aforementioned), please do
not read this novel. It's not for you...
Note: This is a work of fiction. The events described here are
imaginary: the settings, events and characters are fictitious,
and/or are the product of the author's imagination or used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Copyright (C) 2007 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.
Scene 26 of "The Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America"
CIA Case Officer Julia Duffy
The compartment I was being held captive in was beginning
to close in. As the dinky quarters of the submarine began to
turn around, I instantly knew that I had an inner ear infection.
All I could do to stop the walls from turning was to close my
eyes. By squeezing my eyelids together, clinching my teeth,
and burying my head into the mildewed stench of the stained
pillow I was provided, I somehow forestalled the nauseous
feeling that was attempting to engulf my entire being.
I slowly began to open my left eye to see if the world was still
spinning. The room seemed to stand still, but the Russian
language written on the wall to tell the occupant to turn off the
lights to conserve energy--amongst other warnings--still made
me woozy. Sure wished that they'd thought about saving
energy before they chose to leave the torturous naked bulb on
24 hours a day. Christ almightly, why aren't torturers given
briefings on energy savings, anyway?
Before I could finish my next thought, the compartment door
swung open. A lanky Russian officer with a greying beard stepped
in with his underling in tow. I tried to turn away, but the shackles
and irons prevented me from huddling against the bulkhead with
my back turned to the intruders.
The Russian officer said, "Good morning, Ms. Duffy, how are
you today?"
I couldn't pass up the pun, and said, "Tied up, as usual..."
"Busy are we...? Well, that's too bad, Julie. And we were just about
ready to free you, too. What a shame, my dear," he conveyed,
loosening his tie.
"It's a bit stuffy in here, comrade. It is all right to refer to you as
comrade, isn't it?" His bushy eyebrows raised as though wings
had replaced his eyebrows at the mention of those words. Before
his eyebrow-like wings made one revolution, he yanked the ankle
chain, and in doing so, the iron shackle pierced the skin of my
tender ankle.
"My God...! Christ, can't you leave a girl alone?" I said, pushing my
ankle toward the Russian officer in order to release the tension.
"Perhaps, you're wondering why you keep getting different
interrogators. Well, the answer's quite simple. Until you act as
though you like one of us...and trust one of us, you'll no doubt
meet the whole crew of this fine submarine before you arrive
at your final destination," he hinted, touching my shoulder with
his yucky paw.
Glibly, I inquired, "And where might that be...?"
"You'll learn soon enough, I'm afraid."
"Is that a threat, or a promise?"
The back of his hand stung as I felt my jaw crack and separate.
Had he broken my jaw? My jaw felt numb, and the stainless
steel bunk with no mattress felt like I'd been sitting on a pile of
rocks. And the stainless toilet was too far away to rest on
comfortably. My butt was about a foot too short. But thank the
Lord for small favors: the diaper they so graciously provided
me with, made me feel at home--as though I was having a
period. What a bloody thought...
There was a knock at the door, and the subservient one
opened the cabin door and retrieved a tray of food, and said,
"Here. Take it."
"Gladly," I said. "Oh, I'm shocked. Not the usual cockroaches
and ants?"
The no name Russian officer replied, wiping his bird nose,
"We're trying to fatten you up."
"For the kill, I suppose, huh?"
With a smirk, he drops the tray in my lap, and says, "Enjoy...
You and your friend, Mr. Kendall, will be transferred from
our custody to that of the International Criminal Court in
a couple of days, my dear. We wouldn't want anyone to
think we've been feeding you cockroaches, now would we?
But, you must admit, us Russians have some of the finest
cockroaches in the world. Isn't that right?"
Not wanting to appear too ungrateful, I said, "If you say so..."
"Care to enlighten us further on your activities in Venezuela?"
"Well, after being starved, waterboarded, half frozen to
death, and you name it, I think you've got enough information
on tape to hang the Crown Prince of Crawford--if that's
your intention--at the Hague," I said with a wink of the eye.
With his receding hairline leaning towards the steel deck,
and his mischievious eyes tilted in my direction, he says through
tense lips, "Very perceptive... Now, eat this shit we've provided
before my partner here changes your diaper. Doesn't it feel
great to return to your childhood days, sitting in a stinking
diaper all day while your mother watched soap operas to her
heart's content?"
"Speak for yourself, yah little anal fixated bastard!"
Lights out...! I thought, just before the blur of the Russian
officer's fist smacked me upside the head.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
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