The Teacher's Tale
By Zackary Keegan
Note: This was for my English class, after reading "The Canterbury Tales." We had to create a character from 2003 to go on a pilgrimage and then the story s/he would tell. This is the story. It was about 3-4 pages double- spaced, so not long at all.
There once was a man in a place, not unlike this one, who went by the name of Rodrig Dalloway. A man of meaty limbs, long legs, and broad shoulders, he towered over others. A tad intimidating he was at first glance, but his eyes resembling snowflakes and his boyish good looks melted all frets of him and possible, traumatic, and over exaggerated plans that his voyeurs may have produced in their minds. A married man and father of three, he was a distinguished man in appearance and manner; highly sophisticated and proper. He was always out cruising around the town in his shiny, blue Dodge Neon and stopping by all of his friends' homes-to deliver anchovies and peppers for $7.50. Yes, you heard me; Rodrig was the pizza deliveryman.
One rainy, Friday evening, while Rodrig was on his rounds, he stopped at 57 Dogwood Terrace. He knocked on the door, pizza box balanced on his left hand, and was pleasantly surprised by the vivacious and beautiful Vivian Rowe. Sporting a black silk gown with flowing locks of red garnishing her shoulders, she smiled coyly.
"Why howdy-ye-do," she said, a sparkle in her chartreuse eyes. Rodrig coughed slightly, tugging at his collar with his right hand.
"Did you order extra pepperoni?" he asked, his voice cracking. She grinned.
"You better bring that in and take cover from the rain," she softly.
"Oh, I couldn't-" he objected immediately, but found himself being taken by her and his own legs eager to enter the home of the beautiful cherub. He placed his offering on the small, round table in the kitchen, and, before he knew what was happening, he was in the arms of Vivian, making passionate love on her oriental rug.
Weeks passed. Spring turned to summer, and summer to fall. Rodrig made regular "deliveries" to Vivian, and Vivian made sure always to keep her carpet clean before Rodrig arrived. One evening Rodrig was feeling low after a bout with his wife, Heidi, and, looking for a pick-me-up, drove his car to 57 Dogwood Terrace to see his sultry plaything. After taking his frustration out on her (a couple of times even), they terminated their enervating enjoyment and relaxed upon her feathered sofa. Sly as always, Vivian reached behind her armrest and conjured a bottle of wine.
"Would you enjoy some bubbly?" she asked, giggling like an elf.
"You know it, sweet thang," he agreed, and they drank their heart's content. Hours passed, bottles of champagne littered their precious oriental rug, and, after another round of releasing frustration, they were too woozy and exhausted to think straight, yet, as fools, they did it anyways.
"I was thinking.this is a good thing, here-me and you.ya know?" Rodrig asked, his speech slurred from liquor. Vivian agreed and nodded, but, finding that it made her a tad nauseous, she ended up just pointing and leaning forward a tad.
"Mmhmm," she agreed. She hiccupped and put her slender hand to her mouth, giggling profusely afterwards. Rodrig grinned stupidly.
"Yeeaaaah." He wiped his brow with his arm and then sat up and drew nearer to Vivian. "So I was thinking, what if.we, you know, got married?"
"What?" Vivian asked, "Aren't you married already?"
"Oh," Rodrig said, realizing she was right, "Yeah. Heh." They were both quiet for a moment, listening to the soft pitter-patter of rain beating against the roof of Vivian's home, and then, suddenly, Rodrig thought of the most brilliant idea he ever had in his entire life.
"Why don't we kill her?" he asked. Vivian, who had been downing more champagne, spit it out all over their sacred, matted carpeting.
"What? Kill who?" she asked, obviously a tad forgetful in her drunken daze.
"You know, my wife," Rodrig said.
"What? Why?" Vivian asked.
"Because, it's the only way we can be together!" he said, raising himself to his feet. Vivian made a skeptical face and turned her head towards the floor.
"I don't know..." she said.
"Awww, come on- don't be such a wimp!" he taunted. Then, "She's even home alone now! The kids are at my sister's! Let's go!"
"I.alright, if we must, let's get going, darling," she agreed. Rodrig took Vivian by the wrist and journeyed to his humble Neon, chauffeuring her all the way with his Dominos roof-sign lit up the entire way and playing Nelly's musical masterpiece "Hot in Herre" at full blast, Romeo-style.
When they arrived at Rodrig's crib, they seemed to have it all planned out. Rod would walk in, leaving the door slightly ajar, and distract his wife, Heidi, while Vivian sneaked inside. Then, moments later, Rodrig would lead Heidi into the kitchen, where Vivian would be waiting for her lover's soul mate, a paring knife with her name on it in hand.
Well, things didn't progress as planned-Rodrig forgot to leave the door open for one and Vivian climbed in through the living room window instead, but in the end their intended purpose, the murder of Heidi, was successful. After their excursion, both man and mistress fell unconscious on the floor.
The next morning, overcome with headache, Vivian awoke from the marbled kitchen floor, bearing a lovely hangover.
"Where am I?" she asked herself, and looked towards the pool of blood before her. In it laid the body of Heidi Dalloway, grotesquely misshaped and stabbed. Vivian gasped, and then looked down at her own blood-encrusted hands. Shocked at what she had just committed, she then took the knife in her own hands and jammed it into her stomach. With no one to hear her but her woe-be-gone lover who lay in the other room, she moaned and died where she resided.
Once Rodrig awoke, he strode into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, and stumbled upon the remains of his wife and mistress. Realizing what they were, he put his face in his hands and wept, realizing what he had and took for granted, and what he toyed with he destroyed with his foolish lust.
By Zackary Keegan
Note: This was for my English class, after reading "The Canterbury Tales." We had to create a character from 2003 to go on a pilgrimage and then the story s/he would tell. This is the story. It was about 3-4 pages double- spaced, so not long at all.
There once was a man in a place, not unlike this one, who went by the name of Rodrig Dalloway. A man of meaty limbs, long legs, and broad shoulders, he towered over others. A tad intimidating he was at first glance, but his eyes resembling snowflakes and his boyish good looks melted all frets of him and possible, traumatic, and over exaggerated plans that his voyeurs may have produced in their minds. A married man and father of three, he was a distinguished man in appearance and manner; highly sophisticated and proper. He was always out cruising around the town in his shiny, blue Dodge Neon and stopping by all of his friends' homes-to deliver anchovies and peppers for $7.50. Yes, you heard me; Rodrig was the pizza deliveryman.
One rainy, Friday evening, while Rodrig was on his rounds, he stopped at 57 Dogwood Terrace. He knocked on the door, pizza box balanced on his left hand, and was pleasantly surprised by the vivacious and beautiful Vivian Rowe. Sporting a black silk gown with flowing locks of red garnishing her shoulders, she smiled coyly.
"Why howdy-ye-do," she said, a sparkle in her chartreuse eyes. Rodrig coughed slightly, tugging at his collar with his right hand.
"Did you order extra pepperoni?" he asked, his voice cracking. She grinned.
"You better bring that in and take cover from the rain," she softly.
"Oh, I couldn't-" he objected immediately, but found himself being taken by her and his own legs eager to enter the home of the beautiful cherub. He placed his offering on the small, round table in the kitchen, and, before he knew what was happening, he was in the arms of Vivian, making passionate love on her oriental rug.
Weeks passed. Spring turned to summer, and summer to fall. Rodrig made regular "deliveries" to Vivian, and Vivian made sure always to keep her carpet clean before Rodrig arrived. One evening Rodrig was feeling low after a bout with his wife, Heidi, and, looking for a pick-me-up, drove his car to 57 Dogwood Terrace to see his sultry plaything. After taking his frustration out on her (a couple of times even), they terminated their enervating enjoyment and relaxed upon her feathered sofa. Sly as always, Vivian reached behind her armrest and conjured a bottle of wine.
"Would you enjoy some bubbly?" she asked, giggling like an elf.
"You know it, sweet thang," he agreed, and they drank their heart's content. Hours passed, bottles of champagne littered their precious oriental rug, and, after another round of releasing frustration, they were too woozy and exhausted to think straight, yet, as fools, they did it anyways.
"I was thinking.this is a good thing, here-me and you.ya know?" Rodrig asked, his speech slurred from liquor. Vivian agreed and nodded, but, finding that it made her a tad nauseous, she ended up just pointing and leaning forward a tad.
"Mmhmm," she agreed. She hiccupped and put her slender hand to her mouth, giggling profusely afterwards. Rodrig grinned stupidly.
"Yeeaaaah." He wiped his brow with his arm and then sat up and drew nearer to Vivian. "So I was thinking, what if.we, you know, got married?"
"What?" Vivian asked, "Aren't you married already?"
"Oh," Rodrig said, realizing she was right, "Yeah. Heh." They were both quiet for a moment, listening to the soft pitter-patter of rain beating against the roof of Vivian's home, and then, suddenly, Rodrig thought of the most brilliant idea he ever had in his entire life.
"Why don't we kill her?" he asked. Vivian, who had been downing more champagne, spit it out all over their sacred, matted carpeting.
"What? Kill who?" she asked, obviously a tad forgetful in her drunken daze.
"You know, my wife," Rodrig said.
"What? Why?" Vivian asked.
"Because, it's the only way we can be together!" he said, raising himself to his feet. Vivian made a skeptical face and turned her head towards the floor.
"I don't know..." she said.
"Awww, come on- don't be such a wimp!" he taunted. Then, "She's even home alone now! The kids are at my sister's! Let's go!"
"I.alright, if we must, let's get going, darling," she agreed. Rodrig took Vivian by the wrist and journeyed to his humble Neon, chauffeuring her all the way with his Dominos roof-sign lit up the entire way and playing Nelly's musical masterpiece "Hot in Herre" at full blast, Romeo-style.
When they arrived at Rodrig's crib, they seemed to have it all planned out. Rod would walk in, leaving the door slightly ajar, and distract his wife, Heidi, while Vivian sneaked inside. Then, moments later, Rodrig would lead Heidi into the kitchen, where Vivian would be waiting for her lover's soul mate, a paring knife with her name on it in hand.
Well, things didn't progress as planned-Rodrig forgot to leave the door open for one and Vivian climbed in through the living room window instead, but in the end their intended purpose, the murder of Heidi, was successful. After their excursion, both man and mistress fell unconscious on the floor.
The next morning, overcome with headache, Vivian awoke from the marbled kitchen floor, bearing a lovely hangover.
"Where am I?" she asked herself, and looked towards the pool of blood before her. In it laid the body of Heidi Dalloway, grotesquely misshaped and stabbed. Vivian gasped, and then looked down at her own blood-encrusted hands. Shocked at what she had just committed, she then took the knife in her own hands and jammed it into her stomach. With no one to hear her but her woe-be-gone lover who lay in the other room, she moaned and died where she resided.
Once Rodrig awoke, he strode into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, and stumbled upon the remains of his wife and mistress. Realizing what they were, he put his face in his hands and wept, realizing what he had and took for granted, and what he toyed with he destroyed with his foolish lust.