The Best Writer In The Universe

Zora Neale Hurston

 

ohhh i like her... she wrote 'The Gilded Six Bits,' an amazing short story... very poignant.

 

Chapter 324

Outside the crumbling abode, Prince Rudolf could see a woman stooped over the cobbled street, frantic with tears. A few seconds ago she had narrowly escaped death when an Imperial carriage sped past her, knocking her down flat. Now she was in a panic to pick up the chickpeas that had burst from the worn sack she was carrying. Obviously there were mouths to feed back at home, and that was the only concern for this wretched woman. The prince gazed like a silent witness. How he would have liked to help this soul, but he knew he wouldn't. Though there was a sense of nobility surging through his veins, there was still... Who was he kidding? These were troubled times for Mother Russia and the prince knew that more than anyone else. The terms of his inheritance clearly stated that he had to get married before he received a single rouble. He could see the twisted smile of his wicked aunt returning to haunt him from her grave.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock on the door. At first he dreaded to open it, in case it was the landlord, but then he remembered that he was still in Kiev.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's us, you idiot! Open up."
It was the brothers Kalashnikov, the last people on earth that he wanted to see, apart from his landlord, but he had no choice.

"About time," said Vladimir Kalasnikov, the taller of the two.
"Yes," added Ivan, his sibling. "Bring the vodka, young man. We know you're hiding it under the floorboards, you miser. My Cossacks are freezing."
"Yes," insisted Vladimir. "His Cossacks are freezing. And so are mine. It is a very cold day outside."
"Yes," continued Ivan. "It is a very cold day outside."

"Here's something to warm up your Cossacks, you bunch of wet nappies!"

They all turned around to see none other than the Czar of Russia standing at the door. His Imperial Highess Nicholas XIII, also known as Mad Ox, had a double gas cylinder strapped to his back. In his hands he held a nozzle that was attached to the peculiar contraption. Before they could react, he incinerated the entire room with his flame-thrower. The screams and the stench of torched flesh spread through the dimly lit street of St. Petersburg, devilishly blended with the tormented laugh of the insane monarch. As he left, the fire spread through the whole infested building, burning alive all its residents and the rats they kept as pets, or sometimes food.

Outside, the czar Mad Ox stared with pity at the poor woman, who stood trembling with wanton fear. To her surprise he helped her pick up what remained of her spillage and placed it in a small wooden crate that had been left by the side. The peasant woman, her eyes moist, thanked her ruler and kissed his hand. As they waved goodbye, Mad Ox also thanked her, by pulling the ring from a fragmentation grenade and slipping it into into her pocket.

The End

Moral of the story: When in Russia, watch your pockets.

 

Maddox is the man. His anger is the thing of legend. I also love when he gets off track because he gets pissed off at something else.