Mr. Monde and I

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
"Mr. Monde and I" is a short story about a man who just does not care enough. Will he overcome his disability, or prove to be unworthy?

Submitted: January 26, 2014

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Submitted: January 26, 2014

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Mr. Monde and I

BEEP BEEP BEEP. The alarm blared. Mr. Monde banged his fist on the table missing the clock entirely. Mr. Monde let out a cry of pure anguish, in his old age it was hard for these wounds to heal, and therefore he was rather bemused to be hurt. So it wasn't for the pain that he cried out. It was the thought of the pain to come. He tried again, and this time was succesful. Mrs Monde rolled over in bed.
"Are you okay, Honey?"
"I'm fine" He said gruffly.
He made his way to the closet and unhooked a Pepper and Salt suit from the rack. He dug out a fresh pair of underwear and socks. He slipped on his clothes and headed down to the kitchen, his hand throbbing. 
He attempted to pick up the spatula with his left hand, for that was the hand with which he did most of his important things, but in picking it up his hand hurt so much that he was forced to drop the spatula. He was now back to where he started originally. He picked it up with is opposing hand this time and began the process. 
Some eggs, a pinch of salt and a pinch of pepper, like his suit. Milk, and some butter for the pan. He greased up the pan, and added the ingredients. 
"Scrambled Eggs" He sighed contentedly.
He flipped the egg onto a plate and sat down in a chair. The small piece of furniture groaned under his large mass. His wife came down the stairs.
"Honey, I told you not to use the wooden chairs, those are decorative!" She said.
"Well they don't look all that decorating to me"
All the same ,however, he moved to the metal stool. He finished up the last bit of egg and slucked down a glass of milk. He walked out the front door of his small house and hopped in his Beatle car. 
He turned on the radio only to hear some un-welcome news about people robbbing delivery trucks. He switched it off. Mr. Monde rounded a bend in the road and entered New York City. He drove on, only stopping for the traffic lights. Finally Mr. Monde turned down a road called Wall St. He proceded by turning into an alleyway and switching off his car. He got out and stretched his legs. He opened the alley door to his office and took the elevator up to the very top floor.
"Monde!" said a familiar voice "How are ya?"
"I'm okay, Frederick" replied Monde. "My hand is a little hurt."
Monde sat down at his desk. He typed in a few numbers, made a few dollars. That was life here on Wall St. I can't say it was exactly like that but it's close enough.
When it came the time that Mr. Monde's lunch was normally at, Mr. Monde was already making his way to his favorite restaurant. He sat down and ordered something of little to no importance. He then proceeded to eat it in a manner that enraptured the other customers. 
He went back to the office. Made a sum I believe was bordering on twenty thousand grand. He then promptly left, drove home, ate dinner, then slept.
In the morning, it was a Saturday. So he walked down the stairs in his pajamas. He saw Mrs. Monde flipping bacon. Mr. Monde whished he wasn't here, he could be fighting an exciting and honorable battle or something like that, far off. Mrs. Monde flipped the bacon.

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Their mission was vital. If they failed thousands would die. They slept in tiny cots, shoulder to shoulder. This was their bunk room of course. It led into the kitchen, where the chef slept. They barely had room to breath. Coporal J.R. Sandburg stood in the middle of the pack. "How were they going to sleep?" He thought. The booms of the mortars, however,  must have become like a lullaby song to them, for that was all they heard. 
The Corporal jerked awake and he realized that since yesterday's incident involving some chef limbs and a mortar. He was in charge of the meal. All they had was bacon. "I guess that's not all bad." he said aloud. Then again thats what they had been living off of since the Taliban had boxed them in. J.R wasn't entirely sure they were going to live anyways but he should try to keep the other men's spirit's up. "What it would be nice to be home right now, enjoying some bacon that I'm not sick of." Unfortunately war is war, and the guts, and stale bacon are what I believe is called "an occupational hazard." You may say I'm taking this lightly, however I assure you this is how the Corporal thought. He was half crazed by the notion that if he died no one would remember him. He didn't have any family left, and he hadn't told anyone he was going to war. He flipped the bacon.
A message blinked on the computer to the Corporal's left. He clicked on the screen and a page of type appeared. His emotions went from surprise, to bewilderment, to a very unbecoming soberness that swept through him and gnawed at his bones. He deleted the page. He suddenly felt the death, the hurt, and the loss of war. All bearing down on him. He could no longer hold up his own body, so he sank into a chair.
§The men were informed they were ready. Sad, but ready. It was a suicide mission. They weren't cowards, however. The men hoisted the bomb onto the Corporal's shoulders and surrounded him in a closely packed formation. Making it very difficult for the enemies to shoot him. 
Without a further word they sprinted up the ramp leading out of the trench, and charged toward the Taliban's forward base. Shots were fired, men dropped all around the Corporal. More and more bodies piled up. And there was one. One sole soldier left alone to defend his leader. He too was shot. Sandburg grabbed a dead body with one hand to fend off the bullets. The barrage lightened for a moment. Reloading. Fifteen feet away. J.R. charged. This was it. A bullet skimmed across his thigh. The Corporal stumbled but ran on. He dove into the base pushing the detonate button. He didn't even get a funeral. Mrs. Monde flipped the bacon. 

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Mr. Monde entered New York, yet again. This was boring for him. "I'm brave" he thought. "I should go adventuring, fight for what's right." I was the one who encouraged that. I told him that. He rounded a bend.
There around the corner was a thief all dressed in black, robbing a delivery truck full of goods. Under the thief's boot was the driver. Grunting in pain as the thief slammed his boot down onto the man's chest. 
"Open the truck!" The thief yelled.
The man didn't answer. Mr. Monde saw this. His eyes opened wide. I told him to help the man. I tugged as hard as I could. Monde felt the tug. For such a small thing I was pretty strong. He almost obeyed that tug. His hand, however, throbbed. He shifted the car into reverse, and scooted out of the road. Then headed for home.  Behind him he heard a shot. The Driver was dead. A man in a bright yellow shirt and bright green pants watched this happen.
When he arrived at home he found a group of ladies staring at the TV screen.
"I brought the ladies over for Tea, but when we turned on the TV this was on! Were so glad you came home. After all the robbery was on your way to work." Said Mrs. Monde.
"I tried to help the driver, but my hand hurt too much" Mr. Monde replied. 
"That's okay honey, I'm sure you tried your very best.
I'm a little sad. I'm starting to think that no matter how hard I pull, Monde will just keep on flipping bacon. Mr. Monde ran from that fight, and so did his friends.

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Pastor James Thomas ended his Sermon and headed for the Grocery Store. He needed the food and accesories for the week. His family couldn't do without them. His credit card sure could. 
He started to enter the store but stopped short. He saw a man sitting by the side of the road holding a sign. The sign simply read: I'm going to starve. James saw that it was true. 
He hurried over to the man. Thomas asked no questions. He extended his hand and said "Let's find you a job, friend. 
As they exited the office the man jumped for joy.
"Jobs are never that easy to get for me." He said. "How did you do it?" 
"I didn't" Thomas laughed. "God did."
"I'll have to look more into this God of yours." Then the man straightened in shock. "The man said i needed a phone to call and tell my available times!"
So Thomas bought him a prepaid phone. He couldn't get groceries now. I didn't matter anyways was a man starving to death, or his children's stomach's rumbling more important. He was pretty sure he knew the answer. I watched this all with a smile.

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Mr. Monde needed a couch, he didn't like his old one because it wasn't leather. By pure luck he happened to find the couch store. For he wasn't good with directions. In front of the couch store stood a beggar, panhandeling. Mr. Monde looked at him with disgust. The beggar was blind.
Monde entered the store picked out a couch and went up to the desk. When he tried to pay, his credit card malfunctioned. He brought out some bills and realized he was a dime short. I told him not to. I tugged at him. He didn't listen. He did it. He didn't really want to do it, but he did really want the couch. He took a dime from the beggar.
A man in a bright yellow shirt and bright green pants watched this happen.
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A man in a bright yellow shirt and bright green pants hopped in to his bright pink car. He was so conspicuous yet no one saw him. He drove on till he was in front of a nice house. This man's name was Seulement Juste. He didn't really have much of a personality. He was made up of the dead driver, the blind beggar, and everyone else Mr. Monde had spit on. 
Seulement walked up to the house drawing a pistol. He didn't want to kill Mr. Monde. He wasn't even going to kill him really, just sort of make it so that he didn't exist. 
I watched all this, saw all this, everything Mr. Monde had done. I tugged at him. Tried to reform him. So when I saw this man, Seulement Juste, I decided it was for the better. 
There was no resistance, none at all. Mr. Monde was shot and killed and so were his friends. He was not entirely dead, however. I survived.  I'm alive because I am Corporal J.R. Sandburg. I'm alive because I am Pastor James Thomas. I'm alive because I am those of you who do indeed care.éCare, that is why I live. I'm alive because I care. 


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