By: John Silva – April 2018
The writing club in Sun City Oro Valley was having a meeting, and they were selecting their next topic. Today they were in a particularly feisty mood, and a challenge had been made and accepted. “Let’s do something we’ve never done before.” was the challenge. A variety of topics were discussed, but the topic that kept coming up was Soup! It was not clear why Soup kept coming up, but there it was again, maybe it was because it was getting close to noon. Unwilling to spend any more time on discussion, we accepted the topic of Soup. One member suggested we each write three stories about Soup.
PUPPY LOVE — A tip of the hat to the young
It was both hilarious and touching… with flashbacks in plentiful supply. Kathleen remembered when she was just twelve years old. She, of course, being twelve, had had lots of romantic trists in her life thus far, but none had lasted this long. It had been almost three full days and she was still madly in love with James. None of her previous romances had lasted this long. But, James… ooooh, James… he was different… he was soooooo… perfect.
James was remembering what it felt like to be thirteen years old. She was his first true love, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was just wonderful… her beautiful irish eyes… her smile… the way she wore her hair in a ponytail that bounced when she walked… even her name was beautiful… Kathleen… Kathleeeen… Kathleeeeeeeeeen… she was sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo perfect.
After school, Kathleen and James and some of their friends went over to Alice’s house to celebrate her birthday. They played musical chairs, pin the tail on the donkey, and some other games. However, when Alice’s parents were busy clearing the table of plates, cake and ice cream, they relocated to the other side of the house where they played a game James had never played before.
They all sat on the floor, and they were taking turns spinning a bottle which seemed silly to Jim. When a girl spun the bottle and it pointed to a boy, the two of them would go into the next room and after a while, they would return. Then the boy would spin the bottle until it pointed to a girl and then they would both go into the next room. James noticed the girls and the boys had silly looks on their faces when they rejoined the group.
Now it was Kathleen’s turn to spin the bottle, and when it stopped spinning it was pointing right at James. She walked over to him sporting a mischievous smile and she had a gleam in her eye and she took him into the next room. What happened next sent James into orbit. Kathleen put her arms around James and held her warm wonderful body against his and then she kissed him… on his lips! The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but to James, it seemed like weeks. She felt so warm and soft in his arms.
Their bodies pressing against each other also gave James another wonderful feeling. It excited both of them. But the tour-de-force was the kiss. It blew them away. And, just that quick, they knew who they were going to marry and they were going to be in love with forever and ever.
A couple of weeks later, Kathleen and her family invited James to lunch… alphabet soup and sandwiches were served for lunch. After noodling around for a time, James showed Kathleen his bowl of soup… he had spelled out J-a-m-e-s l-o-ve-s K-a-t-h-l-e-e-n.
The Box
The warden was a sadist! He demanded that everyone in the prison address him with his newly adopted title “My Commandant,” and woe to anyone who forgot or didn’t comply… they would immediately be beaten until they were standing in a puddle of their own blood. Musing a bit, he thought about his new title. He liked it. The title My Commandant was much better than Warden because it made him feel superior to everyone else on this miserable island that also served as the prison from which many never returned, and it gave him a sense of power. The addition of the word My was inserted to make the prisoner or staff feel even more subservient. There was no doubt he was a M.D.F. which was prisoner speak for a Malignant, Diabolical Fiend.
In his mind, the Commandant had sold his soul to the devil, and now he was forever bound to this demon who was also his master. To avoid Satan’s wrath which was quick to appear and difficult to forget, he gave Satan what he wanted most. What was that? What the devil wanted most was for everyone possible to experience the depths of His pain. He could not get the pictures out of his mind of being forcefully removed, dragged, kicking and screaming from heaven, and unceremoniously thrown into the pit of fire that burns forever. Over and over, he visualized the appalling, odious and monstrous act. The images never left him. They were burned into his mind… into his soul.
His path was clear. He would make it his life’s goal to inflict as much pain and terror as possible on all of the prisoners in his charge. Day and night, the screams of the prisoner’s forced themselves through the cracks in the cell walls. He would have them tortured until they could not endure any more and then they would… die. Sometimes, when he was bored, he would administer the torture himself. He especially enjoyed it when the prisoners screamed. The more they screamed the more pain he inflicted. For him, it had a soothing effect.
My Commandant was extremely particular about his dress. Each of his uniforms had to be carefully pressed, and his shirts starched to perfection or the cost would be swift and terrible to the prisoner in charge. His clothing was in stark contrast to the rags the prisoners were forced to wear. In addition to his dress, he exuded a radiant persona which was further enhanced by his beautifully hand carved ebony truncheon which he always carried with him. Ebony was a good choice for this weapon which was greatly feared. The wood was very hard and it didn’t show blood. In addition, several well placed blows could result in the death of the prisoner or simply leave him crippled and in unimaginable pain. He thought to himself… It was nice to have choices. He found it exhilarating to beat a prisoner for the tiniest of infractions… the smaller thee better. It really didn’t matter to him which prisoner he beat or why. He hated them all. It was because of them, he had been sent to administer this foul smelling hole of death.
It was his custom to personally beat three prisoners until they were unconscious everyday. It kept him in shape. The day’s prisoners were chosen from the prison’s general population by the three prisoners he had beaten the day before. It didn’t matter who yesterday’s prisoners picked, he just enjoyed watching the other prisoners pleading and begging their fellow prisoners not to pick them. To him it was just a game, something to do while he waited for a replacement.
And, when he got tired of one game, he would invent another one. His current favorite was called Run For Your Life. It was a simple game. The prisoners simply had to run from one side of the exercise yard to the other. Of course, they had to try and avoid the prison’s vicious guard dogs that ran freely in the yard.
Oh my, how he enjoyed his games. He couldn’t wait to try out his newest game. Even the guards wouldn’t believe he could be so cruel. Starvation was another favorite game he used to inflict pain. Sometimes prisoners were just starved to death in their cells with no explanation. This was part of the game. Because they never knew why.
Other times they were put on half rations. Half rations would only keep a prisoner alive for so long. And, not knowing if they would still be alive when their punishment ended was a significant part of the torture and torment they were forced to endure.
As horrible and savage as the games were, the box was even more terrifying. Sometimes, when a prisoner was put in the box they died before the full punishment could be carried out which was unfortunate. The box was made of thick steel plates which were welded together with only a small slot for air. The prisoner was placed in the box in such a way that their eyes were right under the slot making it difficult to avoid the blinding rays of the sun which often permanently burned their retinas causing blindness. The box was placed in the center of the exercise yard’s central circulation path which made it impossible to avoid. As inmates passed by the box, they were required to heap curses on the prisoner in the box. They had to try and trick the prisoner into believing that He himself was the cause of his punishment.
If there was a shortage of prisoners to put in the box, sometimes random prisoners were selected and put into the box for no reason. Not knowing why they were being punished made them scream out in anger and desperation even louder. The other prisoners would have to listen to their screams day and night. Even if sleep could be accomplished, it brought no relief because their nightmares relentlessly ravaged their minds.
Lunch time was a banquet of horror. The prisoners had to stand around the box in the blazing sun eating the rotting vegetables and maggot-infested meat with their hands from a communal bucket which was ironically always beautifully decorated with fresh flowers. The box also served as the camp’s only latrine The urine and feces that was left where it fell made it difficult for the prisoners to keep their lunch down. When they hurled, the pungent odor of their vomit was added to the other gut wrenching odors and stench surrounding the box.
Every prisoner was required to make a visit to the box each day. Prisoners not in the box were required to converse with the prisoner in the box. My Commandant thought it bad manners that the boxed men wouldn’t get visitors. It was all part of the head games designed to destroy the wills of the prisoners in and out of the box. In the summer, the scorching sun beat down on this forgotten and forsaken desert land turning the box into an oven.
It was rumored that if you were left in the box too long on a really hot day your body would be broiled and then eaten. It was also rumored that much of the burnt meat they were served for lunch was from the bodies of prisoners that were cooked alive.
The day after a prisoner was released from the box the box was opened and the next prisoner was forced into the four-foot six inch long by two-foot wide by eight inch high steel box. Prisoners were placed on their backs. Some sideways movement was possible but they could not turn over. Prisoners taller than five feet often had to have their arms or legs dislocated in order to fit them into the box. When the lid was slammed shut, most prisoners hoped death would come quickly. The box turned men into vicious animals with large areas of their bodies burned, their minds eroded by pain, and any human emotions like hope or compassion completely destroyed.
If a prisoner survived the box and was finally released from the box, the Commandant would have the other prisoners that were starving and emaciated stand in a circle around the newly released prisoner who was gorging himself on large bowls of soup thick with meat, chicken, fish, vegetables, and loaves of freshly baked bread thoughtfully provided by the commandant.
Tears
– Inspired by the movie Like Water for Chocolate
Even though Francesca’s heart was broken and her spirit crushed, she continued to cook. She loved to cook… cooking was her life. But, because she was the family’s youngest daughter, tradition held that she could not marry but remain at home and take care of her mother who at times could be very difficult.
And, then there was Roberto. Francesca was madly in love with him, and she could not stop thinking about him. All day long, she thought of him. She loved him so much. How could she go on living without him? What was she to do?
To make matters worse, Roberto had made a great sacrifice. He had married her older sister whom he despised. Why did he do that? It was the only way the two lovers could ever see each other. However, they could never let their secret be discovered or have any kind of a relationship. In the end, the marriage produced no joy for anyone. It was an unfortunate mistake.
A huge celebration was being planned for the coming Spring Festival. It was to be a feast, and of course Franchesca was assigned to do the cooking. Relatives and friends traveled great distances to attend the festival. However, the day of the festival Franchesca was so distraught that she began to openly weep. And, once she started, she couldn’t stop. She wept throughout the day. She was so distressed she could not even welcome their guests.
As she cooked, her tears flowed freely down her face and ended up in the delicious soups she was preparing. As the guests enjoyed their meal they were unaware of the additional ingredient it contained. Later that night, the potent mixture of Franchesca’s tears soaked with her anguish produced a most unhappy result. The guests who for the most part had retired for the night began to experience stomach cramps, bloating, diarrhea, gas, and vomiting.
Their bodies could not contain Francesca’s anguish and despair and all the rich food and drink they had consumed didn’t help. Consequently, it was all expelled, and sometime during the horrific events of that night, her mother died, releasing her from her family obligations. Francesca and Roberto wasted no time and soon married. Shortly after that, they produce a prodigious amount of children who were not subject to any family traditions.