‘Reasonable Doubt’ by Ray Cates

I knew Gene, and if anything was missing in our third grade class, the teacher searched Gene.  Searched his desk, locker and his socks and pockets.  Once she found a ring in his mouth, right before he swallowed, she made him spit it out.

Gene always, totally denied stealing anything in 3rd grade.  He said, “People hate me and stick stuff in my locker.” He said that and  things were found in his locker:

A  special 4 ink pen,

A five dollar bill with writing on Abraham Lincoln’s face that said, ‘Happy Birthday Dolly’,

A tube of Real Jell hair cream,

Two circus tickets,

An almost new catchers mit.

Every time Gene was caught he blamed other students.

There were people who disliked Gene.  Others don’t like thieves, and Gene earned that label in school.

In school Gene got smarter in his stealing.  Gene prospered in high school, and became rather wealthy as a young adult.

People lost stuff all around where Gene lived.

Neighbors lost cars.

Some wives ran away from their husbands, and were found with Gene.

According to tax rolls some people just gave Gene their homes, farms and businesses, then mysteriously disappeared.

The police thought it was all very queer.

Funny how people got LOST after being around Gene, and gave him their stuff.

Gene was a mystery except for some of us who were in his 3rd grade.

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Written by Ray Cates  rcates2@cox.net

For stories and links to other writing  go to: http://unsightlyteeth.wordpress.com

Jack Carter and Women http://jacksticks.wordpress.com

It was always a mystery to me how women can get screwed and seem to like it.  Now I’m glad they enjoy it, but having something rammed inside you and twisted and jerked as we men do it, proving and enforcing our superiority, doesn’t seem like a win-win situation for the ‘weaker sex’.

I’ve never been a woman, as far as I can remember.  Mostly I’ve been a male something.  If it ever happened i would be happy to remember for understandings sake.

Placement of 16 Year Old Test Failures by Ray Cates

As you observe the Placement Center business as it is practiced you see that the aim of operations is to end life.  Cleva calls it a ‘Daily Birthday Party’.  What it is adds up as a party that gathers death together.

The lucky, but small part of the selected ‘best’ sixteen year olds will be bought by someone in his or her own country as a house servant or sex slave.  If the absence of life is death, being a tool of someone else for your whole life is maybe a dreadful death in itself.

In the placement collection centers they beat up a small defective group of EXAMPLES, so that the others will hear the screams, and watch the horror of whippings, branding and rape, and learn to obey quickly.  They pin large cards to the ears of the examples, like meat in a supermarket is labeled.  Like corpses in a morgue are pinned with over large safety pins to separate the dead from the living.  Death comes but once, but the living can be in states that are not really different.  Being not able to have your purpose in your life is slavery, and slavery is a type of death on two feet with a heart still pumping.

Principal Pratmore http://opahunaka.wordpress.com

When I had slapped his ass cheeks and looked at his teeth dad said, “Show Brad your gun.”  Of course guns were absolutely not allowed even near a school, unless you owned the school.  I pulled back my coat and jerked out my little twelve shot.  I put it out close to his face.

“So what did i tell you about guns son?”

“That I should shoot anyone who needed shooting.  But I think I can use Brad here at school as my slave.”

“He’s sort of old Henry.  Lots of younger people would do anything to have such a plum job like this.”

“I’ll do anything master!” Brad said, “please don’t shoot me.”  I still had my gun out on his desk.

“Tell Henry about your family slave.  You know how boys are at age 14, you know, about sex.”

“My family is ignorant master about Cunninghams and our position here as your slaves.”

“Ignorant, innocent, whatever?  Henry wants to know what women he owns at the house we have let you live in.”

“My wife Sandra is age 45.  My 2nd wife Nancy is 29 — she has twin girls age 4.  My oldest girl is a senior this year.”

“I think she’s a cheerleader, Connie Pratmore?”  I said.

“Yes master.”

“I also have a girl 12 and one 11 and a boy 10.”

“Perfect,” dad said, “and to reinforce what is said here Brad I’m going to ask my son a question that I want him to answer truthfully.”

“What is it dad?”

“Have I ever told you it’s OK to shoot someone before?”

“No never dad.”

“So you really think it would be OK to shoot Brad,  if you wanted to, really no problem?”

“Sure dad I’ve seen you shoot five or six men and a couple of women.  One guy you shot between the legs, that was a mess.”

“Why didn’t you pop our principal here in the head?”

“Well dad I thought he was humble enough and I might find him useful in school.  I told you at the basketball game that, ‘I don’t really like basketball, but I like to watch Connie Pratmore twist around so I can see her white panties.’

I figured this is your way of giving me Connie Pratmore as a present.”

SMOKE GOD http://smokegod.wordpress.com

What mother said about God was, “I was damn well minding my own business sitting in bed reading a novel written by the ancient author Stephen King.  It was entertaining, and about good and evil.  The name of the damnable thing was The Stand  and then this spirit just went under my quilt.  I saw it and it was without form, like dark brown smoke

My father and mother were downstairs and I screamed for them as the smoke went into my pee hole.  It felt like about 3 finger stuck in me Elmer.  I could not pull it out.  It was just in there moving like a washing machine cleaning clothes.  It didn’t feel bad, but at first it hurt.  It scared the bejeebers out of me.  I was just a fifteen year old girl.”

“Could it have been a dream mother?”  I usually asked when she told the story.  I asked it right then in the story.

“”I would have liked to believe that very thing, and my parents also tried ot believe that it was smoke that blew up inside me, until you began to grow inside me.”

BUDDY http://excel9.wordpress.com

As the dwarf’s slave I had my head shaved, and was dressed as a monkey, a pet monkey.  Sam and I had bells around our necks, and were forbidden to talk.  He threatened to cut our tongues if we said anything.  That will keep you silent.  He had golden leashes for us, and wanted us to cavort around him as monkeys would.

The midget laughed a lot.  Everything was funny to him.  Sam was younger than me and made a better monkey than I did.  I was forty when the dwarf acquired me.  At first Sam was a rather dangerous monkey, and I thought he was going to try to kill the dwarf, thus get us both killed.  I stopped him several times over the years.  The midget was smart and caught Sam in some things.  Sam got electric treatments, and extensive whippings.  Sam was castrated, and I think much later really became a monkey.  He finally had a real monkey mind.  He may have forgotten how to talk.  We put our faces in our pet bowls, and Sam did forget how to eat with his fingers.

ALMOST FREE http://roscoe10.wordpress.com

I didn’t feel so sympathetic for Buddy when I found out that he had cut the nuts of the watch repairers.  The slave girls behind the counters saw me leading Buddy and Sam around on a leash and assumed they belonged to me now.  Women may say nothing, but they give off non-verbal signals.  Buddy was not as old a guy as me, but he was short and dumpy.  He and Sam Lacerno had given up their freedom and gotten down on their knees without a fight, or even a bit of wrestling.

When I became a slave it was a real fight, and then in chains I had to know I would be killed before I begged for someone to buy me in the slave store.  Big difference in me and the jewelery shop guys who bowed their heads and maybe had a tear or two trickle down their faces.

I had to know death was certain, and coming quick before I decided being the midget’s slave was better.  If I wasn’t sold then there was a piece of wire that was wrapped around your neck and pulled tight.  I had seen other slaves get that treatment, and knew it was beg hard to be someones slave, or that was just certain.

MURDER WED. http://justice9.wordpress.com

In the early morning, daybreak, in chilly air of December North Florida I had the naked slaves brought out for group sales, and individual bidding.  That day about 200 were sold early on.

Then as 3 bands from local high schools, and the Gator band played school football tunes the first criminals were brought out.  Their crimes were read, and the doomed were adjusted in various oak made electric chairs.  My chairs were not set to kill quickly, there is no drama in quick death.  Their purpose was first pain, and then to set each prisoner afire.  We plugged the chairs, by extension cords into regular wall sockets.  As the chairs actually caught fire, we gave the kids marshmallows to roast them over the burning corpses.  If it was a big fellow and the electricity didn’t kill him, then an ax would be sent over to sever his head.

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