This is a sample story from Obfuscations. Click here to go to the main sight: www.geocities.com/fhunn88

Sequel
by Sean Lewis

". . . butter butter butter . . .," Fred continued reading silently to himself. He was reading Donald Barthelme: ". . . butter butter butter butter . . ." Fred glanced to the beginning of the story. It was called "Eugénie Grandet." Fred found his place and continued reading, ". . . butter butter butter butter . . ."
June came by and sat on the grass next to Fred. She said, "Hi" to Fred. He smiled happily--he couldn't help it. Unfortunately, she had distracted Fred. He reread, ". . . butter butter . . .," and then read, ". . .butter butter butter butter
. . ." The last butter somehow looked different. It reminded Fred of margarine.
June asked, "Watcha reading?"
"A story by Barthelme." The story continued, "butter butter butter." That last part seemed familiar. Fred wondered if he was rereading the same line. Fred wondered if he was rereading the same line. He decided he wasn't. Yet, he was more interested in June. He looked at her. She sat with him in the sun, on the edge of a grassy area in the middle of their college campus. Fred found June attractive, although she only came in various shades of brown--her eyes and hair a matching brown. Fred asked, "So, how are you doing?"
"I'm fine."
Fred considered that statement as somewhat misleading. June always had something to complain about. Of course, he enjoyed listening to her, and he made worse conversation. He always told June about the strangest things, such as about alchemy, fractals, etymology, paradoxes, and melted cheese. He said clumsily, "June, are we friends?"
"I hope so."
"I mean, are we more than friends?"
June looked to the ground. "I don't know."
"Well, uh, you see . . .. I don't want to stop you. I want to help you."
"Why are you always saying you want to help me?" Her voice harshened. The pain of a few weeks ago had not gone far away. Fred worried that their friendship would end again, especially as June growled, "Do I look that insecure?"
"No, no. I . . . I want to be your friend June--"
"You are my friend."
"So, I don't want to stop you from, uh, being happy."
"I'm happy." June spoke sincerely, but Fred still worried.
"Let me try a different approach: Do you see that gal over there?" He pointed towards a pudgy bleached blond sitting next to a tree. She laughed as a thin guy next to her spoke.
"Who? That fat one?"
"Uh, well sorta yeah. The one in red."
"You like her?"
"Well, uh, yeah."
"I understand." June turned her head to watch other people.
"But I like you, too."
"Don't let me hold you back. We're just friends."
"Yeah. I mean, I like you as a friend, and I like Shelly as more than a friend. I just want you to know how I feel."
"Okay."
Fred felt that the conversation had gone exceedingly well. Either they were highly compatible, or they didn't understand each other at all.
"Of course," Fred said, "I'm not going to do anything about Shelly--'cause of Dave there."
"You afraid of him?"
"No. I just think they'll be happier together."
"I didn't know guys respected other people's relationships."
"I wouldn't know either."
Fred looked at the grass and tugged at it--too gently to actually pull it out. He still felt like he hadn't told June what he meant to say. Maybe he had nothing to say. He said, "Well, I just wanted to let you know what's going on."
"That's fine."
"'Cause I feel like you're a daughter to me--not that I'm trying to put you down. But what I'm saying is I love my wife, even if she left me for another man. And, in fact, since my wife acted as a mother to me--I guess it's an Oedipal thing--then that makes my daughter like a sister to me, but I'm still not into incest, you understand. As my daughter outgrows me and I become the child I am, my daughter becomes my mother, and I'm my own grandpa."
June seemed perplexed. Silence rushed abruptly between them. She put it to the side, asking, "Are you all right?"
"Uh, well yeah."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, actually . . . recently, I've really done a lot of doting, in both senses of the words, that is: `show excessive or foolish fondness or affection' and `exhibit mental decline of or like that of old age.' (Thanks Webster.) I guess the first meaning can be justified by certain hormonal imbalances that usually hit males around my age. Yet, the latter meaning I consider most unfortunate. I barely feel as if I finished my youth, yet I've already begun old age."
June pondered what Fred had said. Fred wondered if he should tell her that he also exhibited symptoms of an "anal retentive conversion personality." Suddenly, June said, "No, that's not your problem."
"Then what is it?"
"You have an ego problem."
"I do?"
"Yeah, but I'm not sure whether you're too vain, or if your self-esteem is too low."

A different day, as Fred headed towards the library, June's soul passed in front of his vision. She spoke with her friend Kathy. June smiled and laughed. She had never been that happy when near Fred. He looked to the ground. The cement flew under his feet.

At this point, the Writer noticed a "Second Act Lag." The Writer stepped out for a moment and permitted Fred to tell his thoughts:
I think the important thing to consider here is Dave. I mean, it's not like I want to "replace" Dave. I want the best for Shelly, just like June, and in this case, that seems to be Dave. Unfortunately, there seems to be some sort of error on the part of the Writer. I mean, I'm a redundant character. I don't serve any purpose for anyone. It's like I'm a highly imperfect representation of Dave--possibly a practice character sketch which hasn't been thrown out.
On the other hand, everything that is written in a story should have a purpose. Certainly the Writer that created all other writers had some idea what She was doing. (The Writer's probably a woman since women are better at manipulating relationships.) Perhaps the imperfect Dave (i.e., me) was meant for an imperfect Shelly (re: ?). While I gain the desperation necessary to realize this relationship, I pass time by helping those who engage in the Collective Shelly Unconscious.

The Writer isn't back yet? I really don't like this story much, so let me start you on a new one:
Fred heard a "beep" emit from his left arm, where a LED light implanted in his skin flashed yellow. That meant a daughter was approaching. Fred stood up and entered his Virtually Reality box, which resembled a telephone booth. Inside, Fred found June. She was wearing her nineteenth century body. He recognized her because she always kept the same face.
He said, "Hey, June, how ya doin'?"
She replied, "I'm fine. How 'bout yourself?"
"I'm okay."
June opened a window to look into a mirror. She placed her hands on her hips. She said, "I'm too sexy."
"Right," said Fred. He laughed with post-modern self-consciousness.
An old man with a beard hobbled towards them from the distance.
"We'd better leave," June said.
"Why?" Fred asked.
"That's Michelangelo. He carries a deadly virus." June disrupted the time space continuum and disappeared.

Or no, wait. I got it:
A Very Long Title That Tells You Virtually Nothing About What The Story Is Supposed To Be About And, Perhaps, Causes Apathy

By S. F. L.

EPIGRAPH A quotation an author places at the beginning of a literary work that often suggests its THEME.
--Ann Charters
The Story and Its Writer

Well, by now, i guess You've figured that You're reading metafiction. If You didn't know what metafiction was before, maybe You can figure it out now.
There's really no need to go on about the protagonist, his conflict with the antagonist, and the complications which slow down the arrival of the climax. So, i'll simply tell You:

THE END























The Writer thought, Did I miss anything?
The Writer continued telling the story:

A sunny day:
Fred and June strolled the familiar route from the class they had together. He noticed a chunky girl with two diamond shapes sewn on the back of her dress. Another girl passed by. He noted how her spandex tights glistened. He watched another lady's shirt billow in the breeze. He checked out a gold crucifix. He admired a pump. He frowned at a high heel. He ogled a silk brassiere strap that had slipped out from under a tank top. He turned to June. She was frowning.
Fred heard a jingle and instantly looked at it. A lady, who was probably vain (she held her head too high while she frowned), held her car keys in her hand--JINGLE JINGLE. Their metal sparkled in the sunlight.
June suddenly giggled. "You're just like a dog."
"Why do you say that?" Fred asked, after putting his tongue back in his mouth. He heard the jingle of the keys and glanced at them again.
"Oh, I don't know."
A ball rolled by. Fred felt the urge to chase it, but he stopped himself. The owner of the ball passed them.
Fred said, "I hope you like dogs."
"They're okay."

A cloudy day:
Fred and June traveled the same route, as usual. Clouds crowded the sky, forming a grey ceiling. Fred examined the sky, smiling. He asked, "Do you think it will rain?"
"They said it would."
"They?"
Fred and June giggled. They had already begun forming a set of stupid inside jokes. She explained, "Those forecaster people."
"Do you like the rain?"
June shrugged. "It's okay. I don't hate it."
"That's good. I like the rain."
"Why?"
"It's the connection between the earth and the sky. The rain from the sky leads to all the life on earth. It's like . . . like they're making love."
"Hm."
"And, I'm an earth sign, while you're an air sign--"
"Are you sure I'm an air sign?"
"Uh huh. So it's like, well, uh . . ."
"It's like what?"
"Never mind."

A fairly meaningless resolution:
Fred and June walked side by side as the wind blew in their hair. They saw Shelly and Dave approaching from the opposite direction. Fred stared at Shelly and Dave very intensely, with Fred's eyes shifting back and forth from one pair of eyes to the other. Dave noticed Fred and Shelly did, too. Their smiles broadened and their pace slowed to an easy stroll.
Shelly yelled, "Hi, Fred."
Dave mimicked, "Hi, Fred."
Fred said, "Hello." Shelly and Dave shifted to a peppy step. Fred realized that he and June formed a perverted reflection of the perfect couple passing them. June took Fred's left hand in her right hand, giving his hand a light tug, to pull him in closer. Like an obedient dog, Fred happily obeyed the unspoken command. They smiled at each other.

This was a sample story from Obfuscations. Click here to go to the main sight: www.geocities.com/fhunn88