A Symphony unto Oneself

Chapter 5

The Story The Authors

From his slyconcealment behind a potted palm in the lobby of Gertrude Thurberger's Home for Indigent Men Officer Pencilmoustache jotted a note to himself on his trusty pad. Mr Tickles did it on the front stoop with a shovel. "Ah," he commented to himself, "Der Meisterplot thickens likegood gravy."
his work finished Mr Tickles turned and once again entered the building. Lanark

He stood in the foyer, turning off all the lights. Darkness. Alone and unaware of the world outside. For the first time in his life, he did not feel lonely. He had set everything in motion. He was no longer needed. He knew the events would follow without any further interaction on his part. Tickles sat down on the darkness. There was no sound. He removed all his clothes, putting them to one side, very carefully. He was enjoying every single minute of this silence. He smiled and thought it was stupid, since nobody could see his expressions. Taking out the note, he signed it. As he pulled the gun he had been hiding all along, he started laughing. Hard. Harder. He had never been a funny man, and in spite of his last name, Mr. Tickles hardly ever laughed when he had to make a crucial decission. Carefully, he aimed at the side of his temple. "Maybe," he thought "if there IS a God he would understand the irony." Two seconds later, he pulled the trigger. The following day, the investigators remained puzzled, when they found out the naked dead corpse of Mr Temple, lying on one side of his favorite armchair, his mouth wide open, dried tears coming out from his closed eyes, but seeming to have enjoyed each and every last second of his life. They say nobody knows what goes on thru a person's mind the last minutes before dying. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe, he was not. But the puzzling inscription on the note said: "Mr Tickles did it on the front stoop with a shovel. Signed, Mr Tickles" Gonzalo Garramuno

Or at least that's what Mr Tickles wanted the cops to think after he dragged the bloody corpses of Little Socco and Marie into Madam Stretch's front parlor. He aranged the bodies as carefully as he could to appear as a simple murder/suicide. The cops would have more important things to do than look much deeper. Lanark

As Mr. Tickles started to leave the house, he accidentally bumped a shelf and broke an expensive antique vase. He gathered up all the pieces he could and put them in his bag. Rushing out of the door, he then sped away in his BMW. Mr. TEA

AS he reached the main highway, Mr. Tickles saw 3 police cars headed toward the crime scene. He nervously drove home to dispose of any evidence he may have on him. At home, he bagged up the bloody clothes he was wearing and the shards of the broken vase and threw them in the dumpster, as he knew it would be disposed of early that morning. Mr. TEA

Unfortunately, he did not realize the trail of blood from his car leading directly to his home. Soon the cops found him. When he tried to get away one of th cops shot him and the dogs tore all of his flesh off. The cops left him for dead and left to enjoy some coffee and donuts from the local shop. Circe

The cops wondered about the previous happenings. Thinking aloud one of the cops asked the other "Is everyone in this freaking town Jewish" the other cop, who is also a man and a Buddhist replied "Would you go to bed with me?" Frightened by this odd question the first cop pulled out his gun and killed his partner. Then he went home where his wife told him she just became a Jewish rabbi. Suddenly a loud buzzing noise was heard, the cop turned around and to his shock he was lying in his bed everything had been a horrible nightmare. Circe

As dawn slowly broke over the miasmal swamp of Woodchuck, New Jersey, Mr. Tickles closed the door of the bedroom where his brother Jake tossed and turned fitfully in his sleep. The idiot had not only opened the Christmas box of foil-wrapped Electric-Blue Dextroid suppositories he'd sent him, but had left them right out on top of his dresser. Well, "here's lookin' at you kid!", Tickles chuckled to himself, holding the dozen or so suppositories he had filched aloft in a toast to his own cleverness! He entered the warm little bathroom and dropped trou. Ah, truly! There WAS no place quite like "home"! His left hand groped to the rear for the puckered love connection. Ah,to sleep, perchance to dream. These little dextroids were the stuff that dreams are made of! Of that he had no doubt. Tom L.

The Story	The Authors
From his slyconcealment behind a potted palm in the lobby of Gertrude Thurberger's Home for Indigent Men Officer Pencilmoustache jotted a note to himself on his trusty pad. Mr Tickles did it on the front stoop with a shovel. "Ah," he commented to himself, "Der Meisterplot thickens likegood gravy." his work finished Mr Tickles turned and once again entered the building.	Lanark
He stood in the foyer, turning off all the lights. Darkness. Alone and unaware of the world outside. For the first time in his life, he did not feel lonely. He had set everything in motion. He was no longer needed. He knew the events would follow without any further interaction on his part. Tickles sat down on the darkness. There was no sound. He removed all his clothes, putting them to one side, very carefully. He was enjoying every single minute of this silence. He smiled and thought it was stupid, since nobody could see his expressions. Taking out the note, he signed it. As he pulled the gun he had been hiding all along, he started laughing. Hard. Harder. He had never been a funny man, and in spite of his last name, Mr. Tickles hardly ever laughed when he had to make a crucial decission. Carefully, he aimed at the side of his temple. "Maybe," he thought "if there IS a God he would understand the irony." Two seconds later, he pulled the trigger. The following day, the investigators remained puzzled, when they found out the naked dead corpse of Mr Temple, lying on one side of his favorite armchair, his mouth wide open, dried tears coming out from his closed eyes, but seeming to have enjoyed each and every last second of his life. They say nobody knows what goes on thru a person's mind the last minutes before dying. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe, he was not. But the puzzling inscription on the note said: "Mr Tickles did it on the front stoop with a shovel. Signed, Mr Tickles"	Gonzalo Garramuno
Or at least that's what Mr Tickles wanted the cops to think after he dragged the bloody corpses of Little Socco and Marie into Madam Stretch's front parlor. He aranged the bodies as carefully as he could to appear as a simple murder/suicide. The cops would have more important things to do than look much deeper.	Lanark
As Mr. Tickles started to leave the house, he accidentally bumped a shelf and broke an expensive antique vase. He gathered up all the pieces he could and put them in his bag. Rushing out of the door, he then sped away in his BMW.	Mr. TEA
AS he reached the main highway, Mr. Tickles saw 3 police cars headed toward the crime scene. He nervously drove home to dispose of any evidence he may have on him. At home, he bagged up the bloody clothes he was wearing and the shards of the broken vase and threw them in the dumpster, as he knew it would be disposed of early that morning.	Mr. TEA
Unfortunately, he did not realize the trail of blood from his car leading directly to his home. Soon the cops found him. When he tried to get away one of th cops shot him and the dogs tore all of his flesh off. The cops left him for dead and left to enjoy some coffee and donuts from the local shop.	Circe
The cops wondered about the previous happenings. Thinking aloud one of the cops asked the other "Is everyone in this freaking town Jewish" the other cop, who is also a man and a Buddhist replied "Would you go to bed with me?" Frightened by this odd question the first cop pulled out his gun and killed his partner. Then he went home where his wife told him she just became a Jewish rabbi. Suddenly a loud buzzing noise was heard, the cop turned around and to his shock he was lying in his bed everything had been a horrible nightmare.	Circe
As dawn slowly broke over the miasmal swamp of Woodchuck, New Jersey, Mr. Tickles closed the door of the bedroom where his brother Jake tossed and turned fitfully in his sleep. The idiot had not only opened the Christmas box of foil-wrapped Electric-Blue Dextroid suppositories he'd sent him, but had left them right out on top of his dresser. Well, "here's lookin' at you kid!", Tickles chuckled to himself, holding the dozen or so suppositories he had filched aloft in a toast to his own cleverness! He entered the warm little bathroom and dropped trou. Ah, truly! There WAS no place quite like "home"! His left hand groped to the rear for the puckered love connection. Ah,to sleep, perchance to dream. These little dextroids were the stuff that dreams are made of! Of that he had no doubt.	Tom L.

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