I have been reading a lot of short stories by Mark Twain and Oscar Wilde; I may be falling under a bit of influence... influence to let go and write what I want to write and refrain from self censorship.
Start Fiction:
Billy Junge was a sore sort of fella. He wasn't blessed with more than a dash of looks, a sprinkle of smarts and a pinch or less of personality. Billy was a tall, slender and gangly man with short, greasy flat hair. He wore stained overalls everyday, as everyday was a workday; Billy had no need for fancy clothes, not even on Sunday.
One could see why he was sore; but for such a fella, he was abundantly blessed with success, family and financial security. The Junge family owned the local fruit & vegetable market; a very popular market. What Billy lacked, his twin sister, Bethany, had in abundance. His parents, Herb and Barb, were, well, let's just say they were a little off, but kind, gentle and hard working folk. They, like Bethany, loved to sing, dance and laugh. A lot.
The Junge's had farmed this lot of land for four generations now. It all started when young Jebidiah Junge bought the land with his inheritance from a distant uncle who chose Jebidiah to spite his family. It worked, and Jebediah's purchase was salt in their wounds. He turned that land in to a productive farm in merely two seasons; and in the third, he married and started his family. His great grandson, Herb, had kept the farm successful and the next generation was a big part of that success.
The Junge's worked well together, even with Billy's shortcomings. Luckily, Bethany dealt with the customers, Herb and Barb dealt with the suppliers and Billy dealt with the crops. What Billy lacked elsewhere he made up for in managing the crops and delivering an abundant harvest. The crops didn't mind he was sore. It was a perfect situation for everyone. For the time being, at least.
The rooster bellowed as the dawn began to crack. Billy was already in the barn, hooking up his tractor, getting ready for the day's rounds. He walked to the barn door and gave the rooster a stern look. The rooster ceased; the goats tiptoed to the back of the barnyard, squeezing out the sheep. Billy could be that sore.
"Brother, let him sing," Bethany said as she stepped off the porch. Billy was rarely sore with his twin sister, she had that effect on him. Even though he was slow witted compared to most, he believed that in many ways she was his better half and always gave way to her wisdom. "For me, please?" Billy said nothing as he looked as his smiling, wide eyed sister. That was his way of smiling; no flared nostrils, no furrowed brow, just a plain, blank stare of acknowledgment. Billy could be just that sore.
Now, Bethany loved her brother dearly and wished for him to be happy. Although she often doubted he would, or even could, be happy, she thought about ways to make him happy. Nothing seemed more pleasing to Billy than working in the field, alone; or would he like some company from time to time. Bethany felt this was worth figuring out and walked into the barn where Billy was working.
"Maybe I could help you in the fields today," she said as she began to climb on Billy's tractor. He just ignored her, minding his task. "You work so hard, all by yourself, all day, everyday," Bethany went on, sitting on the driver's seat.
"We all work hard, sister," Billy mumbled, "that's the kinda folk we is." He stood up and walked to the tractor, looking at Bethany. "I don't think you'd make it all day in the fields, sister." He pushed his hat back, leaned on the tractor wheel.
"My goodness," Bethany said. "Did you just make a joke, Billy Junge?" She smiled wide and let out a bellow of a laugh; a laugh that echoed through the barn, startling the sparrows from their perch and sending them in a fluttering fury out the barn door. "Maybe there is hope for you yet, dear brother."
And there was.
End Fiction.
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