you're reading...
Books, Humor, Satire

ONE PERCENT SOLUTION . . . (one page per day) Page 62 of 252

One_Percent_Solution_Cover_for_Kindle  DSC00772_FINAL front page_head_2

A satire of dysfunctional politics and economic disparity.  

Chapter VI: Day/Page 62 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . .  Over the next few minutes the woman excitedly explains something to Sofia, which, of course, she doesn’t understand a word of, but the gist of what the woman is saying is clear—getting a boat is not possible.

(Oh, forget it. This is pointless. Thanks anyway, but I need to go.)

Realizing the futility of the situation, Sofia bows deeply to show her gratitude and prepares to leave, but the woman makes the motion of eating with her hand, and pulls Sofia over to a table in the corner of the room. On the table is a filthy rag covering a mound of something.

“I don’t have much,” the woman says. “But we must all share what we have, I believe. We are all God’s children, which makes us related in some way.” She flips back the soiled rag to reveal a moldy, greenish crust of hard bread, several festering black bananas, some other kind of oozing, mucilaginous-type fruit with dead flies stuck to it, a bowl of something purple and gooey with little white dots, and a pitcher of grubby grey water. (Oh, crap! Not those mushy black tubie things again. And what the hell is that other stuff next to it? Did it just wink at me? Oh… no, never mind, it’s just a dead fly.)

The woman rips the moldy bread in quarters; gives one piece to Sofia, one to her daughter, takes one for herself, and puts the last piece back. She cuts a banana in two and gives half to Sofia and half to her daughter—taking none for herself. Then she pours a half-cup of grey water and covers everything again with the rag.

(This woman has nothing and yet she shares what little she has. And look at her daughter—she’s practically starving. So you eat that mushy black tubie thing and act like you like it, because here stands a person of character—respect it—it’s rare.) Though sickened by the sight and smell of the meager food, Sofia cannot offend the kind woman who possesses nothing but pride; so she washes the moldy bread down with the warm fetid water, and forces down the rotten banana, this time without the blistered black skin, after seeing how the daughter had peeled it. (Well, it’s a bit better without the skin, that’s for sure. Thank you.)

“Thank you,” Sofia says, surprising them both when the words came out. (Hey, that just popped out. But I know what it means. That’s weird.)

She takes the 0.50 coin from her purse again and tries handing it to the woman. (Here… take this please.) But is met with a flurry of hands.

“No. That is more money than I’ve ever seen, or ever will see in my life, I’m sure. But I can’t take your money. You obviously need it too. Please, you don’t owe me anything,” says the woman.

(Too much? How about this one?) Sofia tries handing a 0.10 coin to the woman instead, but is met with the same negative flurry of hands.

Sofia points to the little wasted girl with spindly limbs. . .   TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW. . . .

Available on Amazon , Barnes & NobleKobo, and Smashwords in Digital and Paperback versions.

 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James    All rights reserved


About Gregory James

After 20 years working and living overseas, I returned to the US and was disgusted by how partisan and polarized the country had become. Civility and compromise are now quaint things of the past, replaced by intolerance and the rule of extremes. So I gave up a lucrative career for staring at blank pages and searching for words, in the hope that words might help enact change. Stupid. . . . I know! But after 9 months of labor I birthed forth a book, entitled ONE PERCENT SOLUTION. Reminiscent of Vonnegut, with a dash of Saramago and Fforde, this humorous, satirical, often irreverent romp mocks the absurd we accept to be normal, ridicules the ridiculously low bar we set, and challenges all of us to demand more of ourselves by making light of what is sacred that shackles us.


No comments yet.

Please Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Follow Gregory James on WordPress.com

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

%d bloggers like this: