deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Great Escape
Hanging dead above the Piazza Loreto in Milan was not Mussolini’s idea of a good time. What a nightmare!
His dreams were becoming increasingly fantastic and his mum was beginning to look at him sideways.
“Mein Kampf. Ha! What a load of shit!” he said to the head in the bathroom mirror. It nodded back in total agreement.
“Breakfast!” wafted the sound of his mother’s voice from the kitchen downstairs.
“Attack Russia in winter? What a moron!”
“Come on Benny, eat. You’ve got a busy day at the office and I’ve made your favourite breakfast- semolina and garlic”.
He stepped back from the mirror admiring his noble bearing. Raising his clenched fist in an imperious salute, he proclaimed with pride, “Il Duce, Caesar, I’ll get you, Schikelgruber”.
“Benny, Benny! Your breakfast’s getting cold!”
Taking another backward step to see more of himself in the mirror, Mussolini unexpectedly found himself teetering on the edge of a rip in the fabric of the space-time continuum which had, inexplicably, replaced most of the bathroom floor.
God plays funny tricks on dictators- if it’s not nosebleed, it’s eczema or Stalingrad, and now this.
“Bloody N..a...z.....i.......s............!”
“Benny?
That’s funny”, remarked his mother, brow furrowed, thoughtfully stroking the hairs on her chin as she explored the empty bathroom. “I could have sworn he was in here...”.
Hurtling towards singularity, Mussolini’s pupils contracted to pin points.
Turning left at the quasar Alberquerque, the wormhole looped round the Magellanic Cloud, until an almighty cosmic peristalsis dumped Il Duce in King Street Newtown, Sydney Australia, some 55 years later. It was 10.05 pm, February 21. Conan the Accountant O'Brien, who was holidaying down under, was interviewing Darryl Reanney about a new future for human consciousness, live, outside Club Dub.
About to ask a profound question on von Neumann machines, an incredulous O'Brien was heard to say, live on ABC Radio National, that a fat bald man appeared out of nowhere and landed on his ass, on the footpath, there, right in front of him!
Reanney reviewed what he thought about God. O'Brien resonated with a sense of the numinous. A crowd of startled late night shoppers clapped, and threw coins.
Hardly a feather on the breath of God, Il Duce rubbed his rump as he stood up, and, in the manner of the best paranoiacs, surveyed the terrain for threat and escape.
Coins continued to fall. He looked longingly at O'Brien's fez before disappearing into the tidal crowd.
Across the world 55 years ago, a gaggle of Italian partisans broke down the front door of villa Mussolini, sequestered the mother and demanded to know Il Duce’s whereabouts.
“The last I knew he was in the bathroom,” she ventured.
“Oh come on Signora, we’ve checked the bathroom. Next you’ll be telling us he’s been swallowed by a black hole, not that such things exist,” said Ariosto, the leader of the pack as he nervously crossed himself.
“What’s this?” asked a rotund partisan from Padua, pointing to a bowl of cold, congealed semolina, sprinkled liberally with crushed garlic.
“Il Duce’s favourite breakfast,” she replied with indignation.
“You’re not serious!” they cried in disbelief.
“Well it’s not mine. I wouldn’t eat that shit if the Madonna begged me.”
Feeling nauseous, Ariosto opened a window. In the garden next door, lying in the morning sun, he saw a fat, bald man chasing a tan. Ariosto’s eyes narrowed.
“Comrades! To arms!” he yelled. “Il Duce is next door!”
“Next door?” queried the mother.
As one they turned, pushing her to the floor without manners or apology, and rushed headlong down the back steps, out the door, jumped the fence, and burst into Monsieur Foucault (Snr’s) backyard. They menaced him with guns.
“But Mussolini lives next door!” protested Foucault in his French accent. “I’m not even Italian, you stupid pastrycooks.”
“Who cares, you’ll do,” answered Ariosto who was, in fact a pastrycook before joining the underground. “No-one will give a shit when you’re hanging upside down above the Piazza Loreto in Milan, deader than a stale profiterole.”
“But, verisimilitude is not truth!” protested Foucault Snr. as they shot him.
“Fuck the truth,” snarled the partisan Bonaventura, a francophobe with a sense of humour. “It’s an evil French invention anyway.”
As he died, in the luminous wormhole we call a near death experience, Foucault Snr. reluctantly agreed.
Published 4th Feb 2014
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Interesting and fast paced action scenes. Cool concept but it reminds me a lot of the new 'Dr. who'. Which is not a bad thing, given your own spin of the concept of time travel. You're very descriptive with a blend of dry humor that hinges on a lot of coincidences. Firstly, with Ariosto mentioning him being swallowed up by a black hole and the mentioning also, of that being his 'favorite' breakfast. I'm not convinced he would actually think that specifically.
Also, I'm left with knowing he escaped, yes, and that's good. Yet, it feels unfinished. Where did he go? Will he get back to his present time? I'm left with a lot of questions. And why were they satisfied with killing the wrong suspect with just the dry humor. You leave me pondering. :)
You're pretty good at showing description. Rather than telling in most parts. I'll touch on that.
A few lines could be cut, in my opinion...
"a francophobe with a sense of humor"
"Hardly a feather on the breath of God,"
"What a nightmare!"
These lines are the narrator's feelings/thoughts,. Which should be thoughts on the character's lines, perhaps. Not the narrators. That second line there is not needed, because you showed us, the fall was hard, with his actions.(although it is an awesome metaphor) This is a little difficult to explain, but I think you'll understand.
In other words, the narrator is not supposed to have internal feelings, but just showing or setting the scene in separate paragraph or lines. You seem to blend narrator and character action within a single sentence.
And, I'm not crazy about the final line. 'died' blended with 'near death' and wormhole, all in one line. Is this the same time travel wormhole? That throws me. I understand the notion of wanting to leave the reader with a kick.
Overall you have a strong piece here with a lot of dialog which I like. One more word 'gaggle' that one I think could be replaced. It reminds me too much of Geese. I can't image the officers being noisy all at the same time.
Last optional advice in showing:
"Reanney reviewed what he thought about God. O'Brien resonated with a sense of the numinous"
These lines are telling not showing. I personally would have like description here. Explain his 'review' about God. Show me his 'resonated' sense of numinous.
All this is just my opinion. I hope I was helpful. I too enjoy writing. Good luck with your future writings.
Also, I'm left with knowing he escaped, yes, and that's good. Yet, it feels unfinished. Where did he go? Will he get back to his present time? I'm left with a lot of questions. And why were they satisfied with killing the wrong suspect with just the dry humor. You leave me pondering. :)
You're pretty good at showing description. Rather than telling in most parts. I'll touch on that.
A few lines could be cut, in my opinion...
"a francophobe with a sense of humor"
"Hardly a feather on the breath of God,"
"What a nightmare!"
These lines are the narrator's feelings/thoughts,. Which should be thoughts on the character's lines, perhaps. Not the narrators. That second line there is not needed, because you showed us, the fall was hard, with his actions.(although it is an awesome metaphor) This is a little difficult to explain, but I think you'll understand.
In other words, the narrator is not supposed to have internal feelings, but just showing or setting the scene in separate paragraph or lines. You seem to blend narrator and character action within a single sentence.
And, I'm not crazy about the final line. 'died' blended with 'near death' and wormhole, all in one line. Is this the same time travel wormhole? That throws me. I understand the notion of wanting to leave the reader with a kick.
Overall you have a strong piece here with a lot of dialog which I like. One more word 'gaggle' that one I think could be replaced. It reminds me too much of Geese. I can't image the officers being noisy all at the same time.
Last optional advice in showing:
"Reanney reviewed what he thought about God. O'Brien resonated with a sense of the numinous"
These lines are telling not showing. I personally would have like description here. Explain his 'review' about God. Show me his 'resonated' sense of numinous.
All this is just my opinion. I hope I was helpful. I too enjoy writing. Good luck with your future writings.
16th Feb 2014 12:51pm
It's so so good to get your constructive, well thought out feedback. So good ... Thank you
This, and my other prose are bits from a book I have been writing for 20 years, and no doubt, will never finish.
At the risk of sounding egotistical, I still manage to laugh at a lot of what I have written, which is driven by my love of the absurd, the ridiculous, the fantastic ... and of course, Monty Python.
I have no pretensions of being a "good" writer. It just feels good, so I do it!
This, and my other prose are bits from a book I have been writing for 20 years, and no doubt, will never finish.
At the risk of sounding egotistical, I still manage to laugh at a lot of what I have written, which is driven by my love of the absurd, the ridiculous, the fantastic ... and of course, Monty Python.
I have no pretensions of being a "good" writer. It just feels good, so I do it!
16th Feb 2014 3:30pm
Well, it's obvious that you are a talented writer. I was just reader over one of my recent flash fictions and noticed my narrator voice entwined on lines with character dialog for adding description. Obviously this is needed in producing imagery through the narrator voice throughout. Writing can be a tricky beast. Experience is the main key to success. Twenty years, gracious. Writing for the personal enjoyment is nice. Your writing is impressive, thought I'd add that in. :)
28th Sep 2014 1:31pm
