Fantasy is a phenomenon that affects all of us more than we consciously recognize. Are we not constantly daydreaming or dreaming of the future-pondering our wishes and desires? Or, do too many people accept things as they are-readily to concede all appearances as gospel? Stranger Than Fantasy is a collection of forty fantasy short stories. Each story should be taken for what it is-for the most part, an entertaining excursion of fiction that challenges one's thoughts, one's acceptance of reality. Hopefully, after reading my stories, the readers will look at their lives, their life situations a little differently and finally stand up and exclaim, "That which is, is not and that which is not , is! And if that happens, then I think the world will be a little bit better off today than it was yesterday. George Mauro

Stranger than Fantasy

By George J. Mauro, Jr.

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 George J. Mauro, Jr.
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-1873-0

Contents

Author's Foreword.......................................xiIntroduction............................................xiiiI "Strange Occurrence in the O. O.".....................1II "Mother Is Calling"..................................7III "He Sang for His Life"..............................11IV "Old Is Old and Young Is Young"......................17V "Fried Fred Frittle"..................................23VI "Zeus's Creation"....................................31VII "Allhallows Even"...................................35VIII "The Man Who Never Complained".....................43IX "Manmaid"............................................51X "Eat at Joe's"........................................57XI "Century Chasers"....................................63XII "Hail to The Robot".................................71XIII "Gobble, Gobble"...................................79XIV "He Almost Had It All"..............................85XV "Take The Low Road to China".........................91XVI "Plain Disaster"....................................95XVII "Time Is On His Side"..............................103XVIII "Mister TV".......................................109XIX "I'm In Heaven".....................................115XX "On Comet"...........................................123XXI "Point of View".....................................127XXII "It's Just Routine"................................133XXIII "The Professional"................................139XXIV "Which Way Is Up?".................................145XXV "Paperpusher".......................................153XXVI "Double Jeopardy"..................................159XXVII "A Discussion With God"...........................165XXVIII "A Caddy and His Golfer".........................171XXIX "Once Upon a Time".................................177XXX "The Voice".........................................183XXXI "Monster Party"....................................187XXXII "He Knows The Score"..............................193XXXIII "When I Was Young"...............................203XXXIV "You're The Boss".................................209XXXV "Whose Idea Was It Anyway?"........................215XXXVI "The Execution"...................................221XXXVII "Another World"..................................225XXXVIII "The Assembly Line".............................231XXXIX "The Tables Are Turned"...........................239XL "It's Alive".........................................249

Chapter One

"Strange Occurrence in the O. O."

Landslide, it was a landslide. President Denton Taylor, conservative Republican from the great State of Kansas, had won sixty percent of the plebiscite over his main liberal rival, Senator Ben Kingsley, who had only managed to get thirty-three percent of the vote.

It was a day President Taylor would not likely forget as he thought to himself while sitting on his throne in the Oval Office. It was January 20, 1993, two hours after the Chief Justice had sworn him in as the forty-second President of the United States.

President Taylor remarked to Connors, his Chief of Staff, "You know, this is an awesome responsibility-getting elected President."

Connors replied, "Well you better get used to the feeling, sir. Just think of the power you can now wield. After all, it was this power that you've been searching for ever since you entered this crazy game of politics."

"Yeah, this investiture is humbling. Just imagine the history that has taken place right here within these hallowed walls. If only the walls could talk."

Connors smiled. "Yeah, you almost get the feeling that they are observing you as they did past Presidents-one by one, conversing with each other and judging you as they judged the others trying to predict if you will be a strong or weak President."

"I can tell you this, Connors, as well as these walls that no tougher President will ever occupy this office."

"I hope, Mr. President, that the Soviets get the same message."

"You better believe they will. That's what we're here for."

"Sir?"

"To kick the crap out of those Russian commies!"

"You know I'm behind you, Mr. President, and at least sixty percent of the American electorate supports you as well."

* * *

As Connors walked into the Oval Office, he wished the President good morning and remarked, "It sure is a beautiful day for March. Kinda warm for this time of year."

The President, unfazed, replied, "Even more beautiful than the weather, Connors, listen to this. I was just informed by our chief scientists working on the top secret Pentagon Project that success has been achieved."

"That's unbelievable!"

"Not anymore, Connors. Do you know what this means?"

The incredulous Chief of Staff simply uttered, "Oh my God!"

"That's right, Connors. With this new S.O.I. program, we now have the capability to render internecine nuclear war obsolete. We can destroy Russia and all her allies with our nuclear missiles and not even fear the remote threat of one retaliatory missile getting through our defense system."

"But, is it foolproof, really foolproof, Mr. President?"

"Yes, Connors, yes. I feel sure except for that one eccentric Democratic scientist, whom I was forced for political reasons to put on the S.O.I scientific team, who keeps telling me that S.O.I. is a canard, that the technology isn't fail-safe. Out of a commission of twenty members, this leftist scientist and Nobel Prize winner, notwithstanding, is the only expert who feels that S.O.I. won't work. Hell, I've got six other Nobel Prize winners telling me he is dead wrong. And Connors, six against one is a majority in my book. In fact, I question his loyalty to the principles of this country."

"Sir, are you referring to Dr. Rothchild's testimony that was given before Senator Tom McNulty's famous Red Scare witchhunt committee? Wasn't Rothchild exonerated?"

"So what, I think he was guilty of being a practicing Communist and so did the majority of the American people at the time. It is still maintained by many that Rothchild got off because he won the Nobel Prize for curing arthritis with the advances he made in laser beam technology. Public opinion was behind him."

"Especially the senior citizens, right Mr. President?"

"Very funny, you always did have a wit about you, Connors."

Connors proudly replied, "It's in the blood, sir."

President Taylor rose from behind his desk with a newfound fire in his eyes. "Yes, Connors, I'm going to give the Soviets and their allies an ultimatum that they surrender to me. And if they do not surrender, I will blow them all to kingdom come. They'll have no choice. If they try to launch a nuclear missile attack against either the United States or our allies, our satellites will just blow their missiles easily out of the sky. Heck, it would be like picking cherries."

"Think of it, Mr. President. Finally, America has the leverage it needs to eradicate the fetid and parasitic ideology called communism from the face of the earth."

"Right Connors, but it's one thing to have this power and another thing for a president to use it. And Connors, my boy, are we going to let down the sixty percent of the people who voted for me? Hell no! Either Russia capitulates to my will, or I'll never give those Russian bastards the choice again."

* * *

Now, President Taylor came to the moment of truth. He had sent his ultimatum to the Soviet Foreign Minister and had received the response from First Secretary Susilov. It simply read, "Nyet."

President Taylor, who knew now, with destiny in his hands, that he would be the one to conquer communism, got up from his desk and walked over to the little black box or the "football," as it is affectionately known within the White House. All he had to do was press the little red button and total and categorical victory would belong to the United States and the rest of the God-fearing Free World.

The President took maybe five steps. It was then that the Oval Office started to shake and the walls started to rattle.

"My God," thought the President, "an earthquake!" No sooner had the idea come into his mind when the walls crashed in on him.

It was about a minute later, when Connors came walking into the Oval Office. There on the floor was an immobile President, lying in the center of the most famous administrative office in the world.

Connors bent down to listen to the President's heart. It was then that his deep fear became reality. The President was dead. Connors thought to himself, "How can this be? The President is a virile forty-five year old, too young, most likely, to have a heart attack." He looked around the office for a possible sign of a struggle that the President might have had with a potential assassin. Everything in the Oval Office was neat and in its place.

Connors immediately called for an ambulance and then proceeded to call the Vice-President and the Chief Justice so that the new President could be sworn in.

* * *

In their inexorable home in the Oval Office, the right wall addressed the left wall, "Mr. Left, that guy sure was a nut."

"You said it, Mr. Right. I think he was the craziest President who ever occupied the White House."

"Your're not kidding. He was nuttier than old Woodrow Wilson. Remember when Woody wanted to usurp the constitutional power of the Congress because the Senate wouldn't ratify his League of Nations idea?"

"Yeah, I remember. He was even going to call out the military under the pretext of martial law to arrest the entire Congress."

"You know, Mr. Left, that was a great idea of yours to make whisper noises when Woody was working in here alone. He thought he was cracking up, hearing voices when no one else was in the room. It drove him crazy because he couldn't tell anyone he was hearing voices. If he did try to tell anyone, he knew he would be impeached for reason of insanity."

"Yeah, Mr. Right, we drove him so crazy and had him so paranoid that we eventually caused the great statesman to have a heart attack."

"It sure was terrible, Mr. Left, but it had to be done. Like today, that guy would have blown up the world. Rothchild was right you know."

"Yeah, I agree. I have to believe that Rothchild was correct in his summation. S.O.I is just too big of a risk. Well, they're swearing in another one, you know."

"Number forty-three, isn't it?"

"That's correct, Mr. Right. They just keep coming in perpetual fashion."

"Perpetual, just like us."

"Absolutely, like always, Mr. Right."

"Yes, yes indeed, like always, Mr. Left."

Chapter Two

"Mother Is calling"

Joe Trumball was his name, but everybody who breathed oxygen through his lungs on God's earth knew that Joe Trumball was the famous tycoon who had cornered the world's lumber market. "Sir Joseph," as he was reverently called, had the lone distinction of mowing down trees all over the world. In every country you could find Joe Trumball Enterprises whose motto was: "To knock down is to build!"

And, build he did. Because Sir Joseph controlled the world lumber supply, he also controlled the housing and construction industries. If you wanted to build a house, you had to call Joe Trumball Enterprises to get the job done. It was that simple.

Joe Trumball was also doubly rich because by controlling the entire world lumber supply, Sir Joseph was also able to corner all of the world's wood- related industries such as paper, furniture, etc. Well, you get the picture.

The irony of Sir Joseph's wealth, however, is that he also possessed the grandest, the greatest and the most prolific apple tree in the entire world. So great was this apple tree, which sat in the middle of his backyard, that it was one-quarter of a mile high and one and one-half miles wide. It grew apples: red, yellow and green, the size of pumpkins.

It is ironic, in the sense, that the man most responsible for the destruction of the world's foliage, would possess the most august and beautiful fruit- bearing tree in the world.

So, by now, you can see that Joe Trumball, Sir Joseph, was famous for a menagerie of reasons.

It happened one spring afternoon while Joe was residing at his 1,000 acre home in Oklahoma. Joe saw, as he looked out of his private office window, a terrible looking storm which appeared on the horizon. Sir Joseph thought selfishly to himself as he always did, "Thank God, I'm safe and dry instead of being caught outside in nature's wrath."

All of a sudden, as the story goes, a great gust of wind came upon Joe's estate and his great apple tree began to shake violently. Then, as if following a movie director's cue, Joe's great majestic apples, in all their colored splendor, began plummeting to the ground. Joe was distraught. You see, you have to understand, not once had Joe's great apples ever fallen off of his prize tree to rot away on the ground, as all fallen fruit eventually does.

"Is my tree dying?" thought Joe. "Was this storm-my God-a tornado going to uproot my precious tree and take it away forever?"

Joe was now frantic as the wind velocity increased causing innumerable branches to break off and more apples to fall to the ground. Sir Joseph was possessed, possessed with one thought: His tree must not die!

Joe became crazed, as the tree started to uproot itself. When the tornado was about fifty yards from the tree, Joe ran out of the mansion as fast as his fifty-two year old body would allow and grabbed onto the tree, desperately trying to prevent it from blowing away into oblivion. But, it was no use. The mammoth tree was sucked up into the tornado's funnel and blown away along with Sir Joseph, screaming like a maniac.

Those screams were Joe Trumball's last words. No one knows what happened to the tree. But I hear, and these are only rumors mind you, that somewhere in Africa, where anthropologists believe the Garden of Eden once existed, you can find that tree. And through the whistling branches of this royal tree, you can hear, as all of us humans do when the wind blows through the trees, the voice of Mother Nature singing her perpetual tune:

"Slow it is, In Nature's retreat, Revenge, revenge, revenge is sweet."

Chapter Three

"He Sang for His Life"

Marvis Sinn was his name. Soul music was his life. The "King of Soul," they called him. He could hit notes high and low in perfect synchronicity; a millionaire ten times over, and just as popular as he was rich. Marvis was popular with Whites as he was with his own kind, turning out hit after hit which epitomized the essence of cool for over twenty years.

It has been said, and it is true, that Marvis liked to party and spend money. Yes, Marvis did live the good life and became controversial because of it. He was controversial not only because of his life-style, but because of his music and its sexual connotations and allusions.

Marvis knew Presley, Croce, Holly, Joplin, Chapin; yeah, he knew them all. And like Marvis, they knew how to have a good time. Marvis used to remind me, I was his personal chauffeur, how most of his music superstar friends had died tragic and, seemingly, unnatural premature deaths. It was at this point in his life, back in 1983, that Marvis became preoccupied with self-reflection and death.

You see, Marvis was never the one to get metaphysical, especially about himself. But something at this time in his life was changing his personality, his whole way of thinking.

I can remember one conversation we had while I drove him from his screaming fans after a highly successful comeback concert at Carnegie Hall. It struck me as being very peculiar and out of Marvis's character. Marvis asked me, "Ozzie, why me? Why was I given this talent to make music, to make people happy, and even more, to have for myself all of the material and, in some respects, spiritual happiness that a man can have?"

At first, I was taken back. I mean the philosophical nature of the question could never have come out of the mouth of the hipped Marvis Sinn. It caught me so off guard that I took about thirty seconds to think of a response.

I said, "Marvis, if you believe in God, then you have to believe that God gives a certain amount of talent to every individual. He just gave you more."

Marvis, who had a genuine look of desperation on his face, blurted out, "But why more, Ozzie? You're not telling me nothing, man."

Then, I remember, I answered very stupidly, "But what can I say, man, only God knows."

Half satisfied with my rejoinder, Marvis just stared out through the window with his chin in his hand as his elbow rested on the car's armrest and softly said to himself, thinking I couldn't hear, "Why me?"

This self-reflection increased as the weeks went by, throwing Marvis into fits of rage and alcohol abuse, as he tried to answer his recondite questions and feeling guiltier than ever of his success.

To this day, I cannot understand Marvis's shift from his normal prodigal way of thinking which he demonstrated throughout his whole career and was reflected in his risque music, to a self-conscious, intellectual and moralistic attitude.

Marvis's comeback came to a standstill and every sold-out engagement was cancelled, much to the chagrin of his loyal fans. About three weeks after Marvis had gone into his stupor, I made up my mind to do something to dissuade him from destroying his life.

I drove up to his Beverly Hills mansion firmly convinced that I would not leave until I brought him out of his self-imposed exile. However, when I arrived, much to my surprise, I found Marvis changed-no depression, the horrid look of desperation was completely gone. He was back. I didn't know how he did it; but Marvis was his old normal self-a complete turnaround.

In fact, Marvis's eyes emanated a great look of serenity that I had never seen before, even at his happiest times. What came next shocked the hell out of me. He said, "Ozzie, I'm gonna die, man." Immediately, I thought, he has cancer. That's the reason for the self-reflection and the depression. Now it made sense.

And then, Marvis repeated himself, "I'm gonna die, man, soon. I don't know how or when, but I'm gonna die."

I naturally said, "You're crazy," and laughed it off as a joke, thinking that he was back to his old kidding self.

Marvis then very deliberately said, "Ozzie, I've written my greatest song and I spent the last two days recording it. I've put the tape in an envelope. I don't want you to open it until after I pass away. It will explain everything."

Now, I was getting quite upset and angry and said, "Look, if you're playing a practical joke, its going a little too far."

Marvis just replied, "It's called, `Destiny.'" I responded by placating him and then asked if he wanted to go out for some lunch. He happily agreed.

As I sit in my hospital room, I have to tell you that it wasn't my fault. I never saw the car that went through the stop sign and smashed into Marvis's side of the car which crushed his head and killed him instantly. I, myself, only received a concussion and some broken ribs.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Stranger than Fantasyby George J. Mauro, Jr. Copyright © 2009 by George J. Mauro, Jr. . Excerpted by permission.
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