“I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees for the trees have no tongues.”and another from Yertle the Turtle:
Dr. Seuss, from The Lorax
"Oh marvelous me. I am the King of all that I see!"also of Dr. Seuss fame, in honor of his birthday: March 2.
Dr. Seuss, or Theodore Seuss Geisel published 46 children's books, but had no children of his own. When asked about that, he was quoted having said "you have them, I'll entertain them." He certainly had a genius's ability to convert current events into anapestic, amphibrachic, and trochaic tetrameter poems, colored heavily with his own moral code. I can't say that I agree with all of his political stances or that I condone his outspoken personal prejudices, but I can say that I am still a fan, looking for the arms race in the Butter Wars and fascist dictators in Yertle the Turtle. Who says adults can't enjoy the subversive text while kids enjoy the silliness of his invented worlds? I dare anyone to find an author who is more dedicated to his craft than Theodore Seuss (pronounced Zoice not Sewce) Geisel was to his.
As for the prompt, I took so long to post my response because I couldn't settle on one story. I have an installment plotted for every one of my characters you've met on my blog, and a few for characters you haven't met here. It's been a while since I was that inspired, when I had a thousand pictures in my mind to write about. I've written close to 5k in words in the last two days, advancing several plot lines in slim margins.
But per the rules, like in the "Highlander", there can be only one.
I've decided that the most complete storyline is the one to post. The winner brings us back to Patience Bannon and her quest to rescue her baby sister. Jeb and she are just about to leave from their overnight stay in Flatwater Bend.
I offer the following in response: Flatwater Departure
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gilroy,” Patience smiled.
Forrest Gilroy kissed her hand, manners that the savage west seemed to have abandoned. He was a bright rose among thorns, with his silk waistcoat and silver buttons shining in the early morning light, and a welcome sight for Patience. His voice carried the distant memory of her Boston as his once-common east-coast accent tickled her ears. She drank his words, giddy. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Bannon.”
Jeb sauntered from the mercantile, the shop-keep’s boy in tow loaded down with their purchased supplies. Patience felt him bristle across the dusty space. “Let’s git a-goin’, Girl,” he interrupted, irritation saturating his tone.
She sighed, broken-hearted. She wanted to ask her new acquaintance about the coast, to reminisce with gentile aristocracy again. Did he ever skate on Jamaica Pond in the winter? Had he ever dined with the Bacons or the Amorys? The settlers here were hardened, base people, with little by way of pleasantries or civilized associations. “My guide is eager to press on. I must beg my leave.”
“Safe travels, Miss Bannon,” his words trailed behind her.
The shop-keep’s boy provisioned their wagon, and departed the livery without speaking while Jeb cinched the tack buckles for his horse. “I should have liked to speak a while longer with Mr. Gilroy,” Patience mused aloud as she climbed onto the driver’s bench. “He might have news from the east.”
Jeb snorted, tethering his horse to the wagon. “I highly doubt that, Girl.”
Of course Mr. Grayson wouldn’t have anything polite to say. “Oh, and what would you know of Mr. Gilroy?”
“I’ve little use for dandies,” he retorted, settling in beside her and taking the reins. With tongue clicks and a snap of the leather, the wagon jolted forward. “Gilroy ain’t got no need bein’ out here. He don’t have the sense God gave a turtle and he flashes his coin like it’s worth somethin’.”
“He comes from civilized society. I would not expect you to understand.”
He shot her a dark look that sent a chill through her spine. “Now I suppose you’re right, Girl. What would I know? I’m justa savage as like to piss on the floor than use a pot.”
Shamed, Patience tried to take her comment back, “I didn’t mean-“
“Didn’t you? You’ve been turnin’ your nose up at everyone since you moved to Brasher, like you’re a queen or somethin'. That attitude might work in Boston, but out here it’s only gonna git you dead.” He spit, then his tone softened. “Hell, you’ll probably git us both dead.”
The wagon jostled them over the rocky path. “What do you know of Mr. Gilroy?” she whispered.
“He uses cocaine and cuts up whores that refuse him service.”
She felt ill. “I wouldn’t have known.”