Sometimes you should tell your secrets, for silence isn't always golden.
| In a world far from today's reality, in a dusty corner of forgotten history one of the many dramas of life unfolded. Consider it an adventure, the musings of an entertainer if you will, or if your have a strong soul an instruction manual. A tale of woe and villainy of a dysfunctional family or a menu of intimate companionship displayed among siblings. Naturally there can be other views to this circus, most would be filtered through the lens of personal tale and woe outside the scope of this narrative. Then again, those views that exceed the scope of this theater of words on the stage of electronic paper, may also reveal a deeper truth, not only of the character herein but of the readers soul.
So, let us begin, in government housing in the local of Wiesbaden, Germany. Our characters are siblings the ties of which will be clarified in due course. Our main man, is John Wayne Stone, a lost soul, a traveling thug attempting find a calm island of happiness and some say love, in a dark world. The details omitted, are of scant importance.
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He only spent weekends in town, when his work didn't take him elsewhere or keep him elsewhere. When he was in town, he shacked up with his three sisters, BF, otherwise known as the Bavarian Fox, Slut shortened from Mistress of the Sluttery and the pretty one, Satan. Not that his other sisters were barkers, anything but, however, Satan grew up to be a stunt double for Lady Gaga and a runway model. Decades later, when he watched Gaga's music video where she got thrown off the balcony- he'd stand up and salute as finally Satan got payback. What brought them together in retrospect was the spiritual nature of the universe in the form of random junctions of events to form a conclusion to the seemingly accidental convergence of events.
The four siblings, were bastards in the traditional usage of the word. Most had the same father, but different mothers. Their dad was a rolling stone during the Summer of Love of '67, which for him started in 1966 and ended in 1970. As far as BF went, it didn't matter, she fit right in, she came into John Stone's life straight from an orphanage and had all his bad habits.... Which translated into the same bad habits the other two had. Shacking up was his idea, which at the moment he regretted.
However, at the time it made sense to all of them, since being bastards, they originally were four of nine such types. The Army thought it great propaganda to bring all together in one unit much like the Sullivan Brothers of Navy fame, take a picture of them together in the foreground of the Eiffel Tower for Stars and Stripes. Within weeks, they took casualties, hence it made sense for the survivors to close ranks and really get to know each other.
John Stone got an education in women.
This particular weekend began on Saturday with a kitchenette floor covered in laundry, one straining small washer overhead drier combo stuffed into a closet and with Stone retrieving a beer from BF's small fridge in her bedroom. BF is the youngest at 16, a reservist on active duty as she is a prodigy with languages, she spoke five fluently with no accent or a regional one as required. Secretly, Stone knew her IQ was big enough to shake hands with Albert Einstein, he also knew she kept her true potential as one of many secrets, being that she could actually use massive awe-inspiring intellect, though every time she showed off another talent the Army utilized her. So, she kept that rest of herself secret and acted like what she was, when she wanted, a dizzy sixteen-year-old girl. Who kept a dozen stuffed animals on her Princess Bed, on top of pink silk sheets, John Travolta's Grease poster on the wall, along with a loaded .45 in the dorm size refrigerator behind several six-packs of Budweiser and a carton of Kool brand cigarettes. He wondered what or who the gun was for. Well, as he walked past Slut's bedroom, which resembled a cheap hotel on skid row, he stopped to listen in.
BF, sat with her back against the wall, sticky buns attached to her head ala Princess Lea from Star Wars, shitfaced. Topless. Wearing Daisy Dukes with more hair on her ankles than a Clydesdale. Slut sat on the bed next to her, equally shitfaced, well, she dressed true to her name, undershirt, sandals and nothing in between.
John Stone thought 'Roman Holiday' for murky reasons that were a mystery then and are still a mystery today.
"I have a secret I need to confess," Slut told BF between giggles.
"What? I didn't think you had any secrets," BF burped. "You just let everything hang out..."
Slut just looked her over and smirked.
"Okay...Good point..." BF answered her gaze.
"Well, when you were dating Dick..." Slut wheezed and then asked if she wanted to do shots of Dracula.
"His name was Tom," BF corrected her.
"Tom...Harry...Dick? You broke up with him. Just a memory now...." she chirped. She then slid off the bed, danced around and announced, "Any who I screwed him...That's my secret...I want to share."
"You screwed my boyfriend?" BF glared.
Their brother remained aghast in the hallway. No, not aghast, he'd say that later for effect, what he did think is 'Damn sissy...You stepped in it.' He then winced as BF leaped from the bed, and launching a rotational fist straight from the hip, knocking Slut off her feet.
"Why'd you do that! You broke up with him!" Slut screamed through a cascade of tears and a swelling shut left eye. "You broke up with him last week!"
"Well, I mailed that to you three weeks ago then. The post office was slow in getting to you..." BF explained looking her dead in her one good eye, hands on her hips. She then goggled her head around on a swivel.
"But I wanted to share! I never had sisters before! I was an only child until last year!" Slut sobbed. "I thought I could tell my sisters everything? OH man! I'm so confused!"
"I'm out of here," John muttered as he quietly left them hugging and crying with each other. They loudly proclaimed themselves Best Friends Forever and never to do that to each other again.
Once in the kitchenette, he took a dry load from the top dryer, put the now done wet load in the top, stuffed another load in the washer and began folding. As he folded his sister's laundry, he wondered how that happened. They trained him to do their laundry, he then realized he was thinking about what he was making for dinner as it was his turn to cook. After a few minutes of deep rumination on the turn of events, namely how his sisters managed to henpeck him, the answer almost beginning to materialize, it went from weird to bad.
The door to the living room flew open and drew in a wake of sulfur and brimstone. Satan arrived with a vengeance, she stormed in dragging her duffle bag, perfectly strack in her BDU's, with the host of Hell in tow. She stomped to the kitchenette and overhead threw her duffle bag to the back of the line.
"Lighten up on the starch in my underwear this time, my kitty is getting a rash from it..." she politely mentioned to her brother.
"Yes dear," John meekly replied.
"Thank you, so where is my dear sister, that Slut?" Satan demanded, holding back Biblical furry.
John sheepishly nodded toward the bedroom.
Satan stormed off walked into the bedroom and yelled "You bitch! You screwed my boyfriend!"
"Et tu Brutus?" BF remarked.
Satan then smacked Slut with a southpaw roundhouse to the right eye, knocking her off her feet, again.
"That's for pilfering my boyfriend...Your real trailer park trash. How'd we get related?"
"You broke up with Dick last month!" Slut wailed as she got up, wobbly, but still able to stand.
"His name was Harry!" Satan screamed. "Not Dick!"
"Well, you weren't sexual with him! He told me! Why? Small John Thomas?" Slut pleaded.
"He was too nice," Satan shrugged.
"Too nice? I liked him," BF mused.
"Should've said something, I would've given him to you," Satan casually answered.
"So, why'd you hit me? I have two black eyes and a bloody nose now!" Slut demanded.
"That was for not asking..." Satan commanded. "We good now?"
"You like getting your ass kicked or something?" BF asked goggling her head.
"No, it's just easier for me to find men that way!" Slut cried, tears streaming from her swelling eyes. "I know you're just playing with them and I don't want to waste my time on the dating circuit!"
"Damn...Didn't think you had it in you, impressive," Satan casually observed.
Spontaneously they made up and swore oaths of loyalty and allegiance forever to each other. Then group hugged. After twenty minutes of giggling, laughing and tittering John worked up the nerve to walk in and commandeer Slut's bottle of Dracula and announce he was baking a roast for dinner. Yes, he'd hand mash the potatoes and make sure the roasted onions weren't over done this time.
Then fate intervened on his behalf. Just as he folded up BF's laundry, got Satan's started and began oiling the bread dough he mixed from last night (all ready to go, the oven was heating up) Capt. Bonnie Ann Clyde arrived. She looked over the scene and asked, upon seeing a row of combat boots on the floor if he polished them too.
"No, that's where I draw the line..." he growled.
"You'll make some lucky divine goddess a great subby someday," Bonnie observed with a condescending ear to ear grim.
John stared through her coldly.
"You know what that means?" Bonnie chuckled.
"You say it like that's a bad thing...What do you want?" John barked.
"We have a problem in El Salvador," Bonnie answered flatly. "We'd like you to handle it."
"Right now," she answered. She then laughed, not even bothering to hold it back, "Do you need to ask your mistresses permission? I could do that for you if you're afraid to chance their displeasure..."
"You know...I just consider myself flexible and talented," answered her mocking gaze. He then turned to the hallway and yelled "Hey my wonderful, lovely sisters who I adore and worship...Duty calls! Catch up with you later!"
"What?" Satan replied sharply.
Seconds later, all three and to Stone's relief Slut is now wearing shorts, stood in the hallway to the bedrooms. BF had her arms across her chest and smiled passively. Satan looked scared. He explained the situation, Bonnie supported him, while trying to hold back, successfully, her desire to titter like a schoolgirl sharing juicy gossip. After a short series of deadly sober goodbye's with Slut complaining that the last time her brother might see her is with two black eyes, Stone walked with Bonnie down the hallway to the elevator. Once inside the elevator, Bonnie struck.
"You know when you come back you could paint my toe nails..." Bonnie noted, this time any vestiges of humor gone.
Stone stared at her with a mild contempt and a fair amount of question.
"Neck's sore," she then said goggling her head around while rubbing it melodramatically. "Help a girl out?"
"Never with someone I work with," he replied watching the numbers on the scoreboard count down.
"Why not?" Bonnie asked as she exited the elevator following him. "You do it for your sisters."
"You're not my sister," Stone grinned ear to ear seeing the game is afoot.
"Why not I can be," she replied with cigarette sexy inflections.
"Assholes get laid, nice guys don't," he replied. "Now about EL Salvador?"
"In my office," she answered after a pause. She then snorted, "Hey you're negging me! Using reverse psychology to get my attention! That's so...So childish!"
"And it's working great!" Stone laughed.
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Stone a weekend later stormed into his sister's flat dragging his duffle bag, threw it against the wall in the kitchenette and screamed. He then realized he was there seemingly alone, and for a moment, the silence stunned him. He was saying to himself 'glad nobody saw that' when Slut walked out of the back and handed him a Budweiser and said she'd make shrimp scampi for him. He cracked the beer, drained it and asked where the other two were. After making small talk, she convinced him to sit with her in the living room watching Steinlitz on East German TV. He mentioned if anyone found out she disabled the frequency discriminator, a black box between the television and rabbit ear antenna, it tuned out 'enemy broadcasts', she'd end up in jail. She didn't care.
"What happened in EL Salvador?" she gently prodded. "I thought you'd only be gone two three days..."
"Where's Satan and BF?" Stone replied as she got him another beer.
"Satan's running operations for something, been over at HQ since Thursday. BF went to the field...FTX...What happened?"
"I'll keep feeding you beer until you talk..." she smiled.
"I'll become an alcoholic first," he burped.
"I know you came back Monday morning..."
"Had to stop by my hide unit...Keep up my cover story..."
"You can't keep this pace up," Slut went on leaning into him. "You will become an alcoholic...Then die young. Now what happened in El Salvador? Bonnie said you got decorated."
"Got three of them medals already," he shrugged.
"Want to talk about it?"
"You're just a pig-headed bastard!" Slut growled, stood up and went to the kitchen. "You keep holding all that in and you'll have head problems later in life! It will do you a treat! Seen that in other men all around the trailer park I grew up in!"
"Why does BF have a gun in her refrigerator?" Stone then said turning the conversation.
"What?" Slut chirped. By the pitch of her voice, surprise is in evidence.
"Pistol, 1911-A1, U.S. Issue, .45 acp caliber. In a zip-lock bag behind the beer."
"You know about that?"
"Her favorite stuffed animal is the retarded looking dog named Floppsie."
"How do you know all that?" Slut wheezed.
"My job is to know. Knowledge is power."
"She has problems with Satan...Sometimes I think she's suicidal..." Slut answered.
"Who her or Satan?"
"Both," Slut shrugged.
"Think about talking about that with somebody? Maybe Bonnie, she's a psychologist."
"Bonnie is a fraud... The only reason she's in the Army is because she couldn't make it on the outside. You know she likes you?"
"Figured it out on both counts. What you'd do about it? The gun I mean."
"Unloaded it," Slut smirked. "Now about El Salvador..."
He said nothing and remained silent. A one-sided argument ensued that resulted in Slut storming away crying yelling that she hated him. For him, remaining silent in an ocean of storm provided him an excuse. The excuse is he didn't want to scare her, that in that deafening void of silence where the quiet rustling of dried leaves thunders, he protected her. Truth is he in Slut's words, 'Built his own prison brick by brick.'