Orson's Life Purpose
Orson took the sneaker in his hands and lifted it up to his face. A blindfold was tied tightly around his eyes. Slowly, methodically he stuck out his tongue and tasted the side of the shoe. Having done this he spent a silent moment in deep thought. Not that he needed it.
You see, Orson was very gifted young man and he was gifted in a very unique way.
“A fat man wore this shoe,” declared Orson. “He’s about 6’3”, has thinning blond hair, and is standing right… there!”
He pointed through the crowd with and outstretched arm. They let out a corporate gasp and then began to applaud. Orson removed his blindfold and flashed a winning smile. A man matching Orson’s description stepped up and retrieved the shoe.
Four and a quarter hours later Orson stepped out into a dark alley behind the hotel where he had done his performance. He looked heavenward but the flickering of a near-by neon light obscured the stars from view. A cold wind whipped down the alley sending pieces of garbage tumbling across the cement. Orson pulled his collar tight around his face and headed on down the alley.
Orson felt a dark cloud of depression descend upon him. He hated his life. What was he doing it all for anyway. Every time it was the same. He would perform and people would applaud. They loved him. He didn’t.
He gave some change to a derelict homeless man and found out where he could find a dealer. Soon he found himself at the described location. He looked around fruitlessly and was beginning to doubt his informant when a gaunt figure slipped out of the shadows. He looked like a character that had been dragged out of a horror film.
“Hey man,” he said in a voice like a serpent, “you looking for a deal?”
Orson avoided eye contact and handed the man a fifty dollar bill.
The man took the money with a sinister smile. Stepping up to an upside-down, wooden crate he removed a stack of playing cards from his pocket and began dealing them facedown in a row of seven diminishing piles. When he finished he stepped back and leaned against the brick wall behind him. Orson crouched down and began to play.
Playing cards had been made illegal in 2011. It happened as a direct result of the technological revolution. As more and more people began to play solitaire on their computers a horrible statistic arose. It seemed that the international homicide rate had risen staggeringly in the past several years.
Researchers soon discovered that this increase was in fact due to the card game: solitaire. It seemed that since it was a game that many people knew how to play they all considered themselves to be experts with welcomed opinions. When someone engaged in the game it was guaranteed that some helpful idiot would come up behind him or her and offer advice. In high-stress office conditions it is no surprise that this lead to more murders.
As a result solitaire was made illegal. All of the electronic versions had to be deleted. All playing cards, because they had become associated with the game, had to be burned. And playing the game was very, very bad.
Orson had developed an addiction to the game when he was a teenager. (The cool kids he wanted to hang out with were all playing it.) Now that he was grown he tried to avoid it but often fell back into it during times of stress.
He woke up several hours later face down on a park bench with a horrible head-ache. Playing always left him feeling this way. He sat up considered what to do next.
Just then a robot fell out of the sky and landed in the grass in front of Orson. It lay motionless for four and a quarter minutes and then sat up suddenly.
“Orson Pouler?” asked the robot in a metallicy sort of voice that you would expect a robot to have.
Orson nodded.
“I’m you’re robot of destiny. I’m here to tell you why you’re unhappy.”
Orson stared blankly.
“You’re unhappy because you’ve been given a gift and instead of doing what you were meant to do with it you’re using it to glorify yourself. You’re selfish and conceited. Happiness will come for you when you find your true purpose.”
“So… what’s my true purpose?”
“To discover that you must embark on a journey to find your lost soul! But first you have to learn how your gift was meant to be used.”
“How do I learn that?”
“Opportunities will arise, but you must be willing to take them.”
“Ok… uh… thank you.”
“That will be five-hundred dollars.”
“What?”
“This service has been provided by Destiny-Corp. and the cost for this services amount to five-hundred dollars. If you refuse to pay, this unit will self-destruct in your general vicinity.”
Orson paid the robot and it promptly flew off into the air.
A moment later, as Orson sat evaluating the incident, he heard the sound of crying children. He turned and saw two small children holding a leash and crying.
“Did you kids lose your doggy?” Orson asked.
The children nodded.
“Well, let me see that leash.”
A lick later the doggy had been found and Orson had discovered his life purpose. He looked up at the clear blue sky and smiled.
“Thank you crazy Destiny-Corp. robot. Thank you very much.”
THE END
You see, Orson was very gifted young man and he was gifted in a very unique way.
“A fat man wore this shoe,” declared Orson. “He’s about 6’3”, has thinning blond hair, and is standing right… there!”
He pointed through the crowd with and outstretched arm. They let out a corporate gasp and then began to applaud. Orson removed his blindfold and flashed a winning smile. A man matching Orson’s description stepped up and retrieved the shoe.
Four and a quarter hours later Orson stepped out into a dark alley behind the hotel where he had done his performance. He looked heavenward but the flickering of a near-by neon light obscured the stars from view. A cold wind whipped down the alley sending pieces of garbage tumbling across the cement. Orson pulled his collar tight around his face and headed on down the alley.
Orson felt a dark cloud of depression descend upon him. He hated his life. What was he doing it all for anyway. Every time it was the same. He would perform and people would applaud. They loved him. He didn’t.
He gave some change to a derelict homeless man and found out where he could find a dealer. Soon he found himself at the described location. He looked around fruitlessly and was beginning to doubt his informant when a gaunt figure slipped out of the shadows. He looked like a character that had been dragged out of a horror film.
“Hey man,” he said in a voice like a serpent, “you looking for a deal?”
Orson avoided eye contact and handed the man a fifty dollar bill.
The man took the money with a sinister smile. Stepping up to an upside-down, wooden crate he removed a stack of playing cards from his pocket and began dealing them facedown in a row of seven diminishing piles. When he finished he stepped back and leaned against the brick wall behind him. Orson crouched down and began to play.
Playing cards had been made illegal in 2011. It happened as a direct result of the technological revolution. As more and more people began to play solitaire on their computers a horrible statistic arose. It seemed that the international homicide rate had risen staggeringly in the past several years.
Researchers soon discovered that this increase was in fact due to the card game: solitaire. It seemed that since it was a game that many people knew how to play they all considered themselves to be experts with welcomed opinions. When someone engaged in the game it was guaranteed that some helpful idiot would come up behind him or her and offer advice. In high-stress office conditions it is no surprise that this lead to more murders.
As a result solitaire was made illegal. All of the electronic versions had to be deleted. All playing cards, because they had become associated with the game, had to be burned. And playing the game was very, very bad.
Orson had developed an addiction to the game when he was a teenager. (The cool kids he wanted to hang out with were all playing it.) Now that he was grown he tried to avoid it but often fell back into it during times of stress.
He woke up several hours later face down on a park bench with a horrible head-ache. Playing always left him feeling this way. He sat up considered what to do next.
Just then a robot fell out of the sky and landed in the grass in front of Orson. It lay motionless for four and a quarter minutes and then sat up suddenly.
“Orson Pouler?” asked the robot in a metallicy sort of voice that you would expect a robot to have.
Orson nodded.
“I’m you’re robot of destiny. I’m here to tell you why you’re unhappy.”
Orson stared blankly.
“You’re unhappy because you’ve been given a gift and instead of doing what you were meant to do with it you’re using it to glorify yourself. You’re selfish and conceited. Happiness will come for you when you find your true purpose.”
“So… what’s my true purpose?”
“To discover that you must embark on a journey to find your lost soul! But first you have to learn how your gift was meant to be used.”
“How do I learn that?”
“Opportunities will arise, but you must be willing to take them.”
“Ok… uh… thank you.”
“That will be five-hundred dollars.”
“What?”
“This service has been provided by Destiny-Corp. and the cost for this services amount to five-hundred dollars. If you refuse to pay, this unit will self-destruct in your general vicinity.”
Orson paid the robot and it promptly flew off into the air.
A moment later, as Orson sat evaluating the incident, he heard the sound of crying children. He turned and saw two small children holding a leash and crying.
“Did you kids lose your doggy?” Orson asked.
The children nodded.
“Well, let me see that leash.”
A lick later the doggy had been found and Orson had discovered his life purpose. He looked up at the clear blue sky and smiled.
“Thank you crazy Destiny-Corp. robot. Thank you very much.”
THE END
posted by the plaid donkey at 4:06 PM
3 Comments:
That is so well written, I love how you write, it never ceases to amaze me. Blessings.
i love that you used the name orson hahaha... reminds me of orson dodman...
I am always amazed by your writing! Are you going to compile all of these into a book of crazy short stories?
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