First Annual John Kerry Fan Fiction Contest
-Christmas '68-
The fog was thick as pea soup as we made our way across the border, but it muffled the sounds of the boat as we entered Cambodia. That was good, because our business there was anything but good.
"I wish you'd take that damn blindfold off." I whispered to the skipper.
"I learned to sail this way, hombre." He replied. His parrot sat silently on his shoulder. The bird spoke three languages but was not using any of them now.
"That bird makes me nervous" told him "if he spouts off in any of those three languages I'll..."
"Four languages." He said, still wearing the blindfold, piloting the river on pure instinct, nerves of steel. "English, French, Italian, and 'bird' - you probably forgot bird." He cut the engine, pulled the mask off. "He's disciplined. He wont squawk. And this is as far as we go. I'm not risking my crew. Or my bird"
"Fair enough, far enough." I said, slipping over the side. Kurtz didn't know it but his time was running short.
"Hey..." the skip whispered as I came up for air, "you forgot your hat."
"Keep it." I said, and pushed for shore.
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The Mudville Gazette is pleased to announce the First Annual John Kerry Fan Fiction Contest. |
