Ground Breaking Novels

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Houdini

Well-Known Member
Aug 15, 2014
295
1,412
USA
#1
He paused exhausted. His genitals convulsed. The cold steel rod upon which they were impaled froze his spine. He shouted louder and louder. “Save me! I am hurt badly! I can be saved, I can – save me before it’s too late!” But the cries went no farther than his own ears. The icy wet concrete reached his chin. His heart was appalled. “In a few seconds I shall be entombed. If I can only breathe, they will reach me. Surely they will!” His face was quickly covered, its flesh yielding to the solid, sharp-cut stones. “Air! Air!” screamed his lungs as he was completely sealed.
Christ In Concrete by Pietro di Donato

Houdini in Omaha
 
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Walter Oobleck

keeps coming back...or going, and going, and going
Mar 6, 2013
11,749
34,773
#4
Reminds me of this bricklayer I knew...master bricklayer, he was, figured each job to the brick not a one left over, ever. Get your foot off it! he scolded Brad this once, Brad's tennie whipping back from the...thingy...that area in front of the fireplace a kind of shelf built up off the floor high enough, almost, to sit on without eating your knees but not quite? Every job, not a brick leftover. Never. Ever. And then one day he was doing a fireplace chimney (ever read Melville's chimney story? do so.)...anyway, Toivo was doing another fireplace, Toivo Rigatoni was his name...and...he had one brick left over. Do you know what he did with it?
he threw it away!
 

Walter Oobleck

keeps coming back...or going, and going, and going
Mar 6, 2013
11,749
34,773
#5
There was this once, waiting on the bus, Transbay Transit Terminal, the bus comes, get on with others, one a guard heading to Treasure Island, Smokey the Bear hat, shiny boots, unlit cigar...black shades you know the drill. Also on the bus is a white-haired man, perhaps an idiot returning to the motherland...small dog in his hands. We embark. Head across the bridge. Put that thing out! I'm amidships watching the white-haired man...and the guard turns his head slowly to regard the older man. I'm not smoking it, he replies. Escalation. Only natural, nessy pas? I don't care! I don't want my air space contaminated! Truly and verily. I repeat! I'm not smoking it!
See! See! Pointing now, the man, the dog, heads turn, notice the red and white lettering, "no smoking" posted clearly on the bulkhead above the driver's head. It also says no pets! We have reached the exit ramp to Yueba Buena Island, the natural island to which the man-made Treasure Island was affixed...we stop...both men are standing, the driver is turned in his seat, face palm. They declare a detente. The bus proceeds. Suddenly! the older man grabs the unlit cigar, slides the window open, tosses it out, and makes a declaration for the motherland! The guard, not to be undone, grabs the dog...tosses it from the window. All heads turn to look back as the older man cries passionately about his beloved pet...and lo and behold...lo and behold...the dog comes running up...and

do you know what the dog possessed in his mouth?
one brick! with the words, Free Laika! in white splotchy paint.
 
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