Aboard My Train Of Thought, Scott C. Endsley [reading comprehension books .TXT] 📗

voices in my head to communicate with him. After a while, he forgot about being just a voice, because I had created an entire world for him in which to interact.

ME: Cool! But, what do I have to do with all of this?

ELMO: He don't get it, Doc...

DR: Let me help a little here. Clyde, YOU are that voice!

ME: Huh?!

ELMO: But that's not the half of it, Clyde.

ME: This is a gag, right, guys? No, maybe I'm delusional right now and you all are all part of it!

DR: No Clyde, I've already told you, you're sane! You're just not real, that's all...

ME: Come on, Doc!

DR: I'm sorry, Clyde...

ME: Well, if what you're saying is true, put him on his meds!

ELMO: No meds!!!

DR: Can't make him do it, Clyde, that would be against the Patient's Bill Of Rights!

ME: Come on, Elmo, please take your meds so I can call your bluff...

ELMO: No Clyde, it's not a joke. It's high time for me to deal with all the trouble you gave me in the past and up to the present; It's your turn to suffer for the next 30 years or so- depending on whether I live that long or not. Doc and I have devised a way to exile you and your "friends" from my conscience psyche, over to my sub-conscience, where you all will live in turmoil and constant vexation, while I will no longer be aware of your constant voices, or your mere existence... Oh, and about this book you've been writing- I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your efforts. It's a great story. However it's no longer yours. You see, Elmo Pigglesworth is just a pseudonym I made up; all your readers will probably pick up on my real name if they check to see who owns the copyright of this book. Yeah, that's right, go ahead and delete the manuscript from your word processor, ha ha. It won't do you any good, Clyde; last night I went through your desktop trash and salvaged several drafts you forgot to empty (hence the title of this little jewel: The "Salvaged" Autobiographical Accounts Of Clyde P. Hipwing). I hope to make a mint! Well Clyde, that's all I have to say- enjoy your new meager existence with your little comrades, I'm sure they'll give you solace. As for me, I may be still crazy- but you're outta my mind; see ya!

DR: So long, Clyde!

ELMO: Yeah, have a nice day!

In the blink of an eye I was no longer in Doc's office, rather sitting up next to the bark of a tree looking down on a lush valley below, as a train whisks through the forest. It was then I was was flooded with a sense of Deja Vu and slowly turned my head, and in a terrific anguish, I sobbed uncontrollably after I read the carved inscription on the large maple tree behind me:

YOU'RE PROBABLY HERE, AGAIN
----------------------------------------------------
(Episode 19)
It's a hot day in July. I just finished reading aloud my double trilogy to my two best buddies (Fortunately, Elmo was kind enough to leave me a copy).
"Matilda, Maggie, what did you think of it? Let's start with you, Maggie."

"Well, good sir, I know you worked bloody hard and suffered much, but I'm afraid it's a bit way out. Nobody's gonna believe any of it!"

"What would you know?" Matilda buts in, "I'm very proud of you, luv!"

"So you like it, Matilda, huh?" I excitedly ask.

"Don't get me wrong, luv, I am proud, but....."

"Bloody little pussy willow," Maggie growls. "You bloomin' felines are so wishy washy, ya know. You're gonna say the same thing, aren't ya?"

"Oh, why don't you just dig up an old bone and....."

"Ok, knock it off, you two," I interrupt. "Ok, Matilda, what's the surprise you promised me earlier?" I question as the doorbell rings, while she and Maggie trade looks at one another, giggling.

"Go ahead, good sir, it's probably for you!"

"Maggie, you know how much I hate surprises," I scold while opening the door, "what in the world?..." There, standing on the deck are the entire cast of the book (Excluding Elmo & Doc, of course). "Hey guys, come in!"

Evidently they had come prepared for a party, as Irol, the Greatest of Greats, brought fresh tea and crumpets, Mrs. McPherson, the little neighbor lady, brought fresh vegetables from her garden, and trailing behind is Mr. Big, the one eyed midget, riding though the ship's cabin door on the back of the Rumpasouraus Rex.

"A smashing pad you've got here!" Professor Endicotsley expounds.

"Oh, thanks, Giles, been wanting to meet you in person! Did you bring your lovely new bride?" I ask.

"Yes, yes, of course, she's bringing in some of the gifts. Bad back, you know."

"Gifts?"

"Oh yes, sweetie, we've a lovely treat planned for you!" Her Greatness smiles.

"What's the occasion?" I ask in puzzlement.

"You gotta be kiddin!" Deputy Doodah laughs, "I can't believe you'd ask such a question."

Then Barry King strolls up, suspenders and all, and puts his arm around my shoulder. "Mr. Author, it was a pleasure being a part of your book!"

"Well, thank you, Barry, I really......"

"Say, where's the professor? I've a few questions to ask him!" Barry announces as he excuses himself. Homer, Strange, and Marty the Mysterious Milkman, are busy sampling all the party treats, as the Merry Calypso Singers treat everyone to barbershop quartet music.

"Gather round, everyone!" one of the singers announces, "Giles Endicotsley will now do the spoons, as Sheriff Bonehead and Ira Stippens will tap dance for us!"

The whole living room is packed as everyone else is either playing cards, watching TV, or reminiscing about the book. Yes, everyone is occupied except for Sheriff Marshall Dumas.

"What's wrong, Sheriff?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing'....I guess. Just that I didn't get much of a part in your book, that's all.... Not even in the second trilogy!" He mopes and looks down at the floor.

Trying to encourage him, I refer back to the few pages in which he was mentioned. "Well, Sheriff, some of us don't get very many pages in this world, but our lives can trigger events that influence the over-all picture."

"Whadya mean?"

"Well, if it hadn't have been for you.... Deputy Doodah wouldn't have..... Uh, let's look at the possibility that..... Well, what I'm trying to say is..."

"Hey, Doofus! What's up?" DooDah buts in.

"Excuse me, everyone!!!" Irol, her Greatness interrupts, trying to get everyone's attention, "Derfbag, hun! Bring the gift we all chipped in to get Mr. Hipwing. Mr. Author, sweetie... I hope this gift gives you many hours of enjoyment and satisfaction in your continuing career.... Go ahead. Open it!"

"Gee, thanks...... Uh, a new word processor? Listen, I have no need for this. I've given up writing, you see..."

"What?! You can't do that!" Everyone gasps.

"....Thanks anyway, Irol, but I'm getting out of the writing thing." I apologize, handing her back the gift.

"Well, I've never been so insulted in my life! Come on, Derf, let's go!"

"Just wait a moment, good lady," Professor Endicotsley intervenes, "now, Mr. Author, what if the author of life were to quit writing? Just think of how many people would never know the joys of friendship... the pain of sorrow, or the hope of another day. There's lots of more stories to be created, sir, and they're just waiting for you to create them."

"Yes, indeed! We all agree with the Professor!" Edith proclaims.

I glance at all the grateful faces in the room, young and old, and become moved by their doting appreciation. We certainly had been through a lot together, me and this kindred I had created. How could I just give it all up? "Ok, Irol. Thanks.... Uh Irol, would you please wrap up the end of this double trilogy for the readers out there?"

"Of course, sweetie! We hope you've enjoyed this useless little piece of writing. You've been such nice boys and girls, and we only ask you to suggest this bit of literary mind twisting to anyone with whom you might have a grudge!"
............................................
Unfortunately, The End


Imprint

Text: Copyright 1999
Publication Date: 07-07-2008

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
For my two wonderful kids, Aaron and Sarah; who lovingly were given endearing nicknames at birth such as: "Oops" and "Oh NO, Not Again!"