Toilet Paper Novels

Nortahn Antivilus found himself in the situation several times a month. His psychiatrist has tried to help with therapy and medications but to no avail. He had used the restroom just before leaving the house but found that he now had to use the restroom again. In this particular case he would have to sit, which of course he could not do because he was terrified of touching anything others had touched. He wasn't just afraid of germs, he was afraid of everything, obsessive compulsive to the core. He didn't like the idea that there could be scracthes on the seat that could be hiding extra germs.

Nortahn pulled off about 25 sheets of brown rolled paper towels from the dispenser walked to the stall, he pulled on his latex gloves and began the long process of locking the door, unlocking, and locking it several times. Methodically he folded the paper towels and laid them across the seat making sure to cover any possible area that could contact his skin including the very front where his thighs and legs could touch.

He took one last paper towel for entertainment as he would be here for an hour of more. He began folding the brown paper as he'd learned through his training in oragami. This time he choose to fold and a tear and turned it into a small booklet. For the first time it occured to him that a book with no words just wouldn't do for a meticulas man such as himself. He took a pen and carefully began to write. His doctor had advised he write about his life so he could work through his troubles. He finished penning his story about his odd childhood, and being locked in the closet when he forgot to pick up his room and his loss of his mother at 5 and his father at 10. He explored his days at prep school during his post middle school years. Much better, here, no more closets, only strange kids who he had no problem pretending he wouldn't like to know. He never made a friend. Truth be told, nobody would have noticed if he disapeared.

He placed the booklet into his inside coat pocket and doned another pair of gloves to comlete his task at hand. He hated the fact that some new grunt store employee would have to clean up after him since the 20 some odd towels would not properly flush along with two pairs of plastic gloves, but he also could not override his compulsive need to flush it all either. He quickly left ingnoring the knowing stair of a long time manager.
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Plunger

In the grimy forgotten corner of a restroom, resting against the tile, was a white handle, nicked and dinged from use. At the bottom of the handle was a black rubber base, now turned green from age or use one couldn't tell. The grout had turned a brownish black over the years. The water ran a steady slow stream from a faucet in disrepair. The restroom, like the store, was a forgotten area. Used daily but never really tended to.

This particular restroom was located in the back of...
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Paper

He stood before an audience of 3,000. He took out a blank notebook and slowly, ceremoniously, ripped out a piece of paper. The sound carried across the auditorium through his lapel mic. He never tired of this demonstration. He held out this paper over his head. Walking down passed the first 100 seat section, he stopped in near a disinterested young man in his late teens. “Excuse me, young man,” He prodded. “could you tell me what this is?” The teen looked up as he handed him the paper. “It’s a piece of paper” The young man replied un-amused. “It is?” the speaker replied. The speaker prodded further, “Is that all it is? Is that all you see?” The teen looked it over, and turned it around a few times. “A blank piece of paper?” The teen asked as if he wasn’t getting the question.

“Does anybody else see anything differently?” the speaker took the paper back and held it up again. He waited a beat before moving on. “I don’t see a blank piece of paper. I see money!” The teen must have thought it an interesting thing to say as he sat up a little straighter and leaned forward. He removed his hood to reveal a snake tattoo rotating around from his ear around his neck to the opposite shoulder and large holes in his ears.

“Potential” the speaker began to expound. “All things big or small begin as potential. This paper could be a battle plan for an expert tactician, a play in the play book of a head coach, or a new hit song or popular novel. This paper could just as easily…” he began to rip strips of paper off and crumple it before tossing it over his shoulder to the floor behind. “…be trash. Yesterday’s big ideas. How many people ever envisioned something only to see it on the market later. How many writers considered small electronic handheld devices that could carry a voice and images over distance to other hand held devices before the first cell phones hit the markets? Ideas are not enough. They must be carried out.” He held one last strip “This is a new invention” and he crumpled it u and flicked it at the teen. “Young man..” he turned. “Please examine that”

He waited as the teen turned it over a few times. “Would you like to keep it or toss it?” The speaker asked with a wink. “The teen was not appreciating the attention and threw it at the speakers chest. “Toss it!” the teen replied. The paper hit his chest and landed on the floor in front of him. “OK, the young man doesn’t want to be an inventor. Anyone else care to examine the trashed idea?” A few moments of expectant silence followed. Finally a young girl, about ten, stepped into the aisle a few rows back. “I would” she said. Her mother motioned her back but the speaker had already motioned her forward and she was stepping up to the paper, smiling. She looked at the wad of paper as though at any moment it might explode into fireworks or some great magic.

The speaker winked at her and smiled, he kicked it with his toe at her and turned to walk away. The young girl stepped up to it and picked it up from the floor. “I think” she began, and the speaker stopped and looked back over his shoulder, “I see a cave” she said finally. “Really?” the speaker turned all the way back to her. “And?” Her small face contorted into an exaggerated look of concentration. “Inside” she began again “ see a Dragon. He is a tall Dragon, stately looking, but with a broken wing. He is green and he is hiding from a man in the cave.”

The speaker then pressed her further, “Is the man in the cave or the Dragon?” To which the girl replied “The Dragon of course.” She smiled. “I DO believe this young girl may be the smarted person in the whole room today!” he exclaimed. He waited a moment to let the rooms attention build. He turned back to her, egging her on to produce more details and finally he yelled as though we really were on a mission to protect this very real Dragon… “HURRY! Enter the cave! He must be protected at all costs!” It was now he and she in the room. He treated the rest of the room as though they didn’t exist for the moment. The girls expression was dramatic and excited she opened the wad and stopped suddenly. The whole audience was enraptured with the scene.

She examined the wad as she pulled out from it’s crevices a small bit of green. “We have found the dragon!” he said triumphantly. It too was paper and she revealed it to the audience as she unfolded it. A $100 bill. “That” he said softly over his mic, “is for having a vision my young girl. Go find your dragon and get me the rest of that story.”

15 years later

25 year old Victoria De La Corazon sat huddled over a desk, cheek pasted to her notebook. The other cheek was lighted softly by the blue hue of her computer monitor. She was still wearing her sever uniform from Denny’s, she didn’t bother changing when she got home because she wanted to get to her desk immediately, back to her dragon. She had fallen asleep as fire was clashing against shield. The first signs of morning now showing against her far wall, Vicky as they called her, began to stir. She grabbed her notebook and loaded her school bags and rushed for a quick shower and change.

She had spent 7 years working on her degree from the local State University. She had to attend part time, as she worked full time to pay for school and apartment. One week from now she would graduate. She already had 5 major publishers giving firm offers for well paying jobs as an editor and book reviewer, due in no small part to her dear professor Charles Stanfield. She was among his best and brightest students. She could still recall the day she met him, in an auditorium full of people. It wasn’t the $100 that sparked her love for him, it was his belief in her. Now she was studying under him. As images of street signs and store fronts passed her through the window of the public bus she rode to school each morning, her thoughts drifted to another world, full of mystery and dragons and fighting for survival.

--
Professor Charles, now President of the “Creative Writing Guild” and Head Dean for the school of fiction authors at the university, was now reclining in his dungeon.



















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Driving

Erik Liechter was driving the family home from a long day out and about. They had worked there way so far into the other side of the metroplex that it would now take an hour to get home, he was on the final stretch of that hour and getting quite tired. Wife and kids were asleep a half hour ago.

Erik was distracted by many thoughts about things he wanted to do in life but hadn't, and things he intended to do but never got around to, and duties of tomorrow morning. He tried not to bring work home with him, but nevertheless, he did.

It was somewhere in those thoughts that he found himself drifting into a sea of emotions and images and when he began seeing a images of flying people and impossible things happening all around him... The bumping and jarring of the vehicles snapped him into reality and he realized he'd been dreaming. The next few moments were like slow motion. His heart full of rushing incoming adrenaline began to pump faster and his mind pulled out of the sluggish haze it had succumbed to. Through his blurred vision he could see that he had veered off the road into the overgrown side fields, he glanced around to see his whole family still asleep, and all this happened within fractions of a second. He turned forward just in time to see the car headed towards a tree and realized that he wasn't even holding on the wheel. He tried to grasp for the wheel but it was too late the tree was coming and he put his hands up preparing for impact, he let out a quick "Please GOD! NO!" before the moment came he closed his eyes... nothing, darkness, dreams, void.

When he came to himself there was light warming his cheek and he stirred. At first he thought he must be at home but then images of last night came to his mind and he didn't want to open his eyes to see what carnage awaited. He couldn't feel anything broken and he sat forward and rubbed his eyes and opened them, the bright light around him stung and blinded him so he closed them again. As his vision returned he found himself not in the drivers seat of a Lexus SUV but on the ground in a sleeping bag. He turned to see his family around him, also in sleeping bags. The material made of old, musty cloth.

His mind was still processing and confused, he turned around all about him, no car, no road, just his Wagon and Horses and campfire... Wagon and Horses?!? He felt srongly that these were his, but had no idea why. Just then his son, Kenny age 6, stirred and sat up, he must have had the same reactions by the looks that went through his face in just moments. His wife and younger son and daughter still slept. Kenny stood up, "Where's the car Dad? What happened?" Erik shrugged, "I have no idea what's going on here son, but stay close." The two stood up and looked all around. No car, no road, nothing that smelled of civilization. That's when they noticed each others clothes. They each looked like something out of a Mid-Evil Times Show. Nothing made sense. It wasn't funny but out of nervousness they both laughed...
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Full Circle

Fashion. Couture. Money. These summed up the life of Jacques Sose'. The fact that he was born "Bobby Joe Smithe" in the backwaters of a Louisiana swamp to a deep Cajun family was known to very, very few. His own family, those that still lived, didn't know he was still alive and wouldn't recognize him if he walked in the house with all the changes he'd undergone in the last 10 years. Among the few who did know about his origins were his lawyer, who assisted with the new identity and kept it well hidden, his sister, Emma, who also left her past behind, and his partner Lazo Kalrian, who didn't know the details only that he had left some things behind.

It was on the road between airports and meetings on the few occasions that he could find no travel with him that the memories of those days came back. Today he is driving from LAX to a GALA show in Palm Springs, CA. A beeping sound was a welcome intruder to the flash backs, accept that the beeping came from the gas indicator showing well into E. Jay, as his close friends called him, pulled off the road somewhere past San Bernardino.His mind was still full of visions of a history that he'd paid good money to supress. Apparently he'd fogotten to check the gas gauge at the last major city.

This area gave him the chills. It wasn't quite the cajun swamp lands, but it still smelled of trailer parks, lucky strikes, and bud light. It took all the strength he had to put his highly paid Psychiatric medication to work in order to pull into the gas station. He pretended to be fishing for something in the car as a pan handler passed by asking for change. The man nearly knocked on Jay's window before being interupted by someone offering money accross the way.

Shivering, from the filth not from the cold, he stood at the machine and threw a small fit when his card would not work. "Please see attendant" may as well have said "Go see swim with hungry sharks". "OK... OK..." Jay got a hold of himself "This isn't the gladiator ring in Rome this is just a gas station. You can do this. Just walk in, and pay, pump and go." He quickly strode accross the parking lot to the store to "see the attendant", chiding himself for neglecting to notify his bank of this trip to prevent his card from being declined.

Jay stood in line behind a woman with a pink monster truck T-top and her two fighting kids and in front of a man with a tattered hoody that smelled like a sewage tank. He paid his for his pump in cash and rushed back to the car. He pumped, returned the nozzel, and got in. Filling out his milleage and gas log for his tax preparer Jay was suddenly distracted by a commotion in the store. The hoody wearer was flailing his arms about yelling at the attendant... gun in hand. The scene shocked him so much that he couldn't move. The man ran outside, glanced over the parking lot and headed... straight for Jay's car! Before he could think to put the car in gear and go the hoody had gotten into the backseat. "Drive!"

At first Jay didn't move but at the sound of the round entering the chamber, he put the car in gear. It had been 10 years since he'd heard that sound. Cajun people all use and carry guns. He could probably still take one apart and put it back together blindfolded like his uncle used to make him do. "Where to sir?" Jay asked. "Anwhere else! Move it!" so they headed out and onto the highway toward Palm Springs. Maybe he could still make his meeting and the man could have this nice car afterward...
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About Me

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Hi! My name is Darrell G. Wolfe. I am a wealth of random information and I make complicated things simple at DarrellWolfe.com.

I have a knack for absorbing information, breaking it down to its root elements, and teaching it to others.

Most importantly, I help purpose-driven people to understand their place in His-Story and provide them the tools they need to fulfill their unique position of opportunity and influence in this world (their Topos).

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