Blue Dog Days
William Delaney

 

John Gerrick felt he was different from others. Not just physically, but

mentally too. Sure, he was short, four feet eleven inches to be exact, and yeah, he had a

birthmark that looked like some sort of clash between the Star of David and the Holy

Cross, complete with the outline of someone crucified on it. When he was born, the

doctor that delivered him was giving him a good once-over, and noticed the unusual

birthmark. He screamed out in fear, and promptly passed out. This was surprising, but it

was even more surprising when he hit his head on the tile floor and immediately died. John

often bragged this story to anyone and anything that would listen in the Lost Friends

Tavern down the street from him. He would start off by showing the birthmark, and then

laughing crazily as he struggled to get the story out of how he had put "that unfortunate

bastard into eternal sleep when he was just waking". John smoked too much, drank too

much, and spoke out against the world too much. The reason he felt he was emotionally

different from others was because of his feelings, which did not agree with anyone else’s

feelings. For example, one hot day in July, the only thing you could find on television was

reports on the two teenagers that had gone into their high school and killed eighteen

people. That eighteen included themselves. Everybody was expressing their sympathies for

the families of the sixteen murdered. John Gerrick sat in his chair, listening to the

television, and muttering to himself how stupid people were. He laughed, and thought it

was deserved of the sixteen people. The two teenagers had been picked on constantly

within the high school, and supposedly could not take any more. He felt that since the

teens had been pushed past their limits, their reaction was justified. For every action, there

is a consequence, he’d always tell people. Some people would consider John crazy.

Others, a minute few, would find him realistic.

By occupation, John Gerrick was a politician. However, he had not worked in the

last thirteen years of his life, not since he was thirty-one. That was when he fell into a large

sum of money from a relative he had never even met. The old bird dropped dead, and in

the process dropped him about nine million dollars. Before that, he had been Mayor of

Shelbyville. When he was lucky enough to inherit all this money, he promptly quit his job

as Mayor and was quoted in the Shelbyville Times as saying "I could give so little a fuck

about this town and its residents.". Of course the Governor screamed and hollered about

John’s profanity and dishonor towards his community. John just shook it off.

Anyways, to get to the point of this whole story, John’s dramatic change in life

came about in 1995, when he was forty-four. He was still living nicely even thirteen years

after the inheritance. This is when John Gerrick became Stephen Hiltmore, a radical

political writer that was immediately hated by everybody and anybody. He was not in the

business for the money, however. Hell, he thought. I don’t need the money, I’ll just write

my opinions (disguised under the facade of a fictional story) and hope people will support

the ideas (truths) I show them and hopefully they will protest the government. Of course, I

will be called an instigator and a Benedict Arnold, but who cares? Who will know I’m

Stephen Hiltmore? The first book that was published was a nice novel called "Please

Accept My Blue Dog". This story was about American social classes and how they were

constructed. The foundation was based on judgmental thoughts, lies, and greed. The plot

revolved around a man named Louis Clayman who was born into poverty, but tried all his

life to be accepted by the "higher society". When he finally realized he could never be

accepted by this elite group, he gradually lost his mind and commenced to go to a "richie

party" and spike the punch with two hundred kilograms of phenobarbitol, which is an

anticonvulsant and fatal after forty mcg/ml. There were about one hundred people at this

gathering, and the punch was enjoyed by all, mostly because Louis kept on commenting

on how good the punch was. Louis had about one half hour before the phenobarbitol

would work its magic, so he just sat back and relaxed. Then he had a couple glasses of the

wonderful concoction himself. He was finally going to be equal with these people.

The book hit the market on July 6, 1995 and was getting reviews on July 11, 1995.

The New York Times said it was "an atrocious piece of propaganda that should be banned

from all libraries and book retailers.". Stephen Hiltmore was certainly one sick individual,

commented the Washington Post. Siskel and Ebert even gave it "two middle fingers -

pointed directly at Stephen Hiltmore!". John found this hysterical, truly amusing. He

would also comment on how much he hated that Stephen Hiltmore to the regulars at Lost

Friends. Nine months later, another Hiltmore novel emerged from nowhere. This one was

shunned even worse than "Please Accept My Blue Dog" had been. "Love Not For A

Wonder" was an outright attack on organized religion, specifically Christianity. The book

takes place in the jungle, where the mythical god (Stirch Sejus) was being blindly

worshipped by the various animals. A young mouse, Gealis Tiseath, goes on a quest to

find Stirch Sejus. It turns out to be a quest deeper than the Pacific Ocean, uncovering

stories of prejudice, deception, and falsities. In the end, Gealis finds Stirch Sejus, in a birch

tree. He realizes that the bark was the wonderful stories that had blinded the jungle’s

residents for so long. Underneath the bark was the true Stirch Sejus, a fictional character

in a book meant to be found funny, but misunderstood by a few. This few spread these

words (of wisdom?) to every animal in the jungle, telling them there was a better life after

this one. The words went on for generations, and were told to every newborn chick and

fawn. They then told their children the stories, and so on, and so on. Gealis realized this

was all true of a birch tree, even the nature of the tree as it burned. When the tree is old

and dead enough, it emits a sweet, delicious smell. However, if the birch is burned while it

is moist and still partly alive, the smell is not so enticing.

This novel also got horrendous reviews by every big magazine and periodical in the

country. The Boston Globe said this book was "a vicious attack on the greatest thing this

world ever had and will ever have!" USA Today proclaimed it to be "the most complete

mockery and show of disrespect ever encountered!" This time, Siskel and Ebert gave yet

another wonderful review to one of Hiltmore’s books. This time they gave the book "two

swift kicks in the ass!"

John however didn’t give a shit because he was at least accomplishing one of his

missions - he was bothering people with this. There were actually people out there who

could not stop thinking about how evil a person Stephen Hiltmore was. There had been

many editorials written already, people telling how they wished to see Stephen Hiltmore

stand trial in front of the Supreme Court for treason. The only problem was no one had an

inkling of a clue as to who he was, where he lived, or even his age range. One man,

Theodore Gomerson, wrote an editorial to the New York Times in which he said he

 

wished to kill Hiltmore himself. He said the man was an utter disgrace to the United States

of America and "should be shot in the face like the slimy, cowardly worm he is.".

Normally, people would be afraid of a threat like this, however John had no interest in the

editorial or the man. Really nothing much better to do with his time, John thought. Writing

editorials to newspapers did nothing for you really, except get a few people on your side

and get a lot more people on the opposing side. However, he was sure that this editorial

had everybody on ol’ Theo’s side. Over the next two years, John Gerrick a.k.a. Stephen

Hiltmore wrote a few more novels, his favorites being "The Perfect Blend", a novel

denouncing racism and other forms of prejudice, and "Schoolhouse", a book on

Hiltmore’s view of life.

Then, in the year 1999, he saw another editorial, this one in the Washington Post,

by that oh-so-lovable man Theodore Gomerson. Even over almost five years, the flame of

hatred burned brightly within Theodore. Hatred for Stephen Hiltmore. This editorial was

entitled "Love Not For A Traitor" (a playoff of Hiltmore’s book title) and spoke of how

Hiltmore had degraded the country to his full extent, and did not deserve to live here,

unless he was six feet underground. By now, John Gerrick had an amazing collection of

papers written against him, and chuckled lightly while he cut this one out. "That makes

one thousand, five hundred seventy-three articles written in hatred for our dear old friend,

Stephen Hiltmore", John said aloud to himself. "Lord, oh Lord, what will he think?" He

always amused himself while cutting these out and putting them in alphabetical order by

author, in the big file cabinet he kept in his bedroom between the bedpost and the closet.

About once a month, John would skip the Lost Friends Tavern and go out and get himself

a twenty-four pack of Heineken. He would then go home, whip out a bunch of editorials

to amuse him, and start drinking. Since he started writing, he had ceased watching

television, thought of it as a contamination of the mind. He would go through about fifty

editorials, two packs of burners, and three quarters of the twenty-four pack of beer.

The last night he entertained himself in this queer but interesting way was on

September 9, 1998, the night before the night he received the package. The "package"

was addressed to a "Mr. John Gerrick a.k.a. Stephen Hiltmore", explained the FedEx

delivery man. Say, was he the one and only son of a bitch who wrote those dishonorable,

hateful books, the delivery man wanted to know. "No", replied John, nervously laughing.

It was an inside joke between him and a friend, he told the delivery man. For the first time

in a long while, John Gerrick was nervous. Who found out who he was? "I don’t mean to

intrude, but do you think I could trouble you for a glass of water?", the delivery man

asked. "Oh no, come right in", John replied. "Have a seat."John went into the kitchen to

get a glass of water for the man. As he reached for a glass, he noticed he still had the

package in his hand. He was nervous, but extremely curious, so he opened the package,

half-expecting it to blow up in his face at the slightest tear. Finally, drenched in sweat, he

managed to get the package open. Enclosed was a folder. Upon opening it, he found to his

surprise it was a biography of his life. This biography was so complete; it contained

everything, including some incidents that John had even forgotten. He became so absorbed

in the biography that he completely forgot about the FedEx man waiting for his water. He

finally got to the last page and saw something that took his breath away: "Died September

10, 1998". "Excuse me." "Aaah!", John screamed. The FedEx man had come in. "Oh, I’m

sorr-". He saw the nose of the gun....BOOM! He dropped to the floor, and his blood

sprayed on to the biography, on to the author’s name - Theodore Gomerson.

 

 

Copyright © 1999 William Delaney
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"