My Adventures As An Obscure Writer

My Adventures As An Obscure Writer

A Story by Willys Watson

My Adventures As An Obscure Writer

1. Just Another Typical Poker Night For Me

While sitting around a campfire near the bank of a muddy river I was playing Poker with some of the woodland creatures I’ve made friends with. On my left was an Alligator. Perched on his head was a Mockingbird. On my right was an Elk. Next to him sat the mythical Bigfoot. Across for me was a Mudcat Catfish.

I won the first hand, which was Seven Card Stud, with three Aces.

The Alligator stared at me a moment, then winked.

“Nice hand for someone I consider so very edible,” he replied with a sly grin.

“Nice hand for someone I consider so very edible,” repeated the Mockingbird.

“I don’t care who wins because I’m a myth anyway. But if you keep winning I’ll start breaking some bones in you head,” Bigfoot told me in a way I wasn’t sure was a joke.”

“Just hurry up and finish our Poker game because you all know I can’t stay out of water too long,” screamed at us.

“Everyone slow down because I know what I’m having for dinner tomorrow,” I told my other friends while looking at the Mudcat. This scared Mr. Michael Mudcat so much he dove into the water and started swimming away as fast as he could.

While we were laughing a Mermaid came out of the water and sat, as best as she could considering her long tail, where the Mudcat had been sitting.

“Can I join your Poker game?” she asked, then flashed a tempting smile.

All we could do was gawk and nod our heads as she won every hand. She won because, except for her, the rest of us are male and we kept staring at her bare chest.

2. Again, Just Another Typical Poker Night For Me

The day after the poker game Ernie The Elk stopped by my cabin to inform me he was leaving for two months because Hunting Season was about to begin and he needed to get into the nearby National Park to be safe. Then asked me to tell the others. I understood and certainly didn’t want my friend to get shot. And as we said goodby we made a hand to hoof handshake

The word was spread around the area and we decided to get together the day before we usually play to discuss still getting together to play Friday night Poker. So, once at our usual place, we started another campfire by the riverbank and sat while waiting for someone to finally speak.

“It doesn’t look like Michael The Mudcat is coming back,” Bigfoot said. “I guess he took us threatening him seriously, huh?”

“Mick The Mockingbird kept following the river and spotted him about eighty miles North of here and still swimming North,” Andy The Alligator replied.

“Mick The Mockingbird kept following the river and - ” Mick started to say before Bigfoot screamed at him.

“You finish that sentence and I’m going to pluck you,” Bigfoot warned him, then wondered aloud, “With just the four of us I’ve been thinking perhaps we should wait for Ernie to return.”

“Well. I’ve already invited a new player I found in my garbage can and he should be here soon.”

As he finished speaking Rocky The Raccoon showed up to take Michael The Mudcat’s place.

Bart The Bigfoot, Andy The Alligator, Mick The Mockingbird and I stared at him a moment.

“Rocky! You Skunk wannabee, you’ve put on a lot of new pounds, huh?,” Andy asked his old friend teasingly.

“How can you trust this weird looking Cat,” Bigfoot asked us.  “He’s wearing a mask.”

“Raccoons all look that way. It’s just their DNA,” I told them. “Besides, would you rather have a Raccoon or a Skunk joining us?”

“Better chose me and I’m pretty good at poker, and I never cheat,” Rocky answered in reply to Bigfoot, then told us, “But I don’t have any money, Does this mean I can’t play?”

“We don’t play for real money, not after we got cheated by that Mermaid.  We wager whatever we think the other would want to own, like with Andy The Alligator when I offer him meat bones.”

“I can offer leftover edible food I find in the trash cans,” Rocky suggested.

“From the looks of your pudgy belly you never have leftover food,” Bigfoot replied with a smirk.

Rocky stood up as if he were about to attack Bigfoot when suddenly a Swamp Unicorn appeared.

“Can I play Poker with you guys?” she asked.

“Just what we need is another mythical player,” Bigfoot replied while trying not to disguise his misgivings.

“But I already know the rules and I can offer you all something you really want,” she replied with self-confidence. “I can offer you wishes that come true.

The Alligator, Mockingbird, now perched on the Alligator’s head again, the Raccoon and Bigfoot turned to me.

“Well, that’s what the legend says. So if it’s okay you guys I’ll say she can play.” I assured them.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, but I can only play poker tonight, because I need to head back to the Swamp tomorrow.

And so the Friday Night Poker game began a day early.

3. A Possible Prophecy 

The Swamp Unicorn won the first hand and we other poker players watched in amazement as she stood upright and quickly transformed herself into a real woman, one dressed in a modern gown and now she had long, flowing Brunet hair and Green eyes.

“I want to thank all of you for finally being able to break a centuries old curse placed on me by jealous, wacked out Greek Gods. I tried everything in the world to break the curse but, by pure accident, you guys did. Now, while I still have a little magic left in me I need to tell you all a few things about yourselves you need to hear.”

“Such as?” Andy wondered aloud.

“Starting with you, Mr. Andy The Alligator, cherish your friends and don’t eat them and don’t even joke about doing so. And you, Mr. Mick The Mockingbird, you don’t have to repeat everything you hear. Seek your own voice. And you, Mr. Rocky The Raccoon, your mate, who you haven't met yet, will want you to eat less and re-gain your mating drive because she wants to have children. But you can get to brag to your children you were named after a song written and sung by a famous British rock band, And you, Mr. Bigfoot, you’re not the only Bigfoot and a female Bigfoot lives close to you. And you, Mr. Writer, just keep writing and trust the good Karma you’ve built up. And for all of you I want to thank you for accepting natural diversity.”

When she started to revert to a Swamp Unicorn again she suddenly vanished, and we stared at each other for a few minutes, until finally Bigfoot rose up.

“Well, on the weird scale that’s near the top. So, is she a nutcase or a blessing?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Dude” Mick responded. “But maybe she’s just been drinking too much Swamp water Moonshine?”

“Or sniffing magic mushrooms,” I added. 

“What difference does it make what she said, she’s just a myth,” Andy told us, then looked up at Bigfoot, “Just like you.”

“So, our regular poker game is still on, right?” I asked the tall myth standing beside me..

“Of course!” he told me, then glared at Andy, “And you, you slime covered lizard, I can prove I’m not a myth because I’ve got a large collection of copies of fake photos claiming to be of me.”

“And you, Mr. Writer, why don’t you invite that guy Roswell, the Alien you’ve talked about? Bigfoot asked me.

“Why not? It’s time to take weird to a higher plateau,” I told my fellow poker players.

4. Jill And Bart

As Bigfoot came close to the stone cabin he build himself, from out of the bushes the female Bigfoot appeared, perhaps his age or a little younger, and she seemed embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I got lost heading to the National Park nearby,” she told him, then continued, “because I got distracted when this cute little pony thing darted across my path.”

“Did it have a horn like a Unicorn?”

“I don’t know, but it seemed to have a small one on it’s head. And it was getting dark outside. But the weirdest thing is it seemed to wink at me. And so careless of me, but I should introduced myself. Like you, I suppose we get called a lot of names, but I picked Jill as my name.

“Yes, we get called a lot of things,” Bigfoot assured her, “but right now I’m calling myself Bart.”

“I like that name.” 

“Thank you, but right now it’s not a good idea this time of year the go into that National Park because too many tourist with too many cameras will be there.”

“Oh! Well, I suppose I should try to find my way back to my stone house now.”

“Of course, but it gets so dark here when the Moon isn’t out. So why not hang around here for awhile? I’ve got a cabin and I’ll respect your privacy. And it will have internet service soon, Jill. Besides, this late at night you might get lost again.”

“I, uh, I’ll have to think about it.”

“I’m just wondering if you play Poker?”

“Oh, no! Not with my luck lately. But I love to watch the strategy good Poker players use. And especially the odd, unique ones.”

“Well, we’ve certainly got some oddball players, like an Alligator, a Mockingbird, a crazy Raccoon and a human named George and we’ve got a game of Poker coming up,” he smiled warmly at her. “And we’ve had a weird Swamp Unicorn and Mermaid who created and won’t be invited back. There always seems to be some odd creature showing in our protected forest.” 

“Okay, Bart, I’ll stay awhile,” Jill replied.

“The game is a few nights from now but, if it’s okay with you, I would like you to meet some of my friends.”

“I, uh, you know our, uh reasons for, uh ... not getting too involved with, uh ... humans”

“Yes, I know, but I trust there guys. And these six hundred acres of woodlands are privately owned by an obscure writer friend of mine, a guy who has an outer space Alien friend, and he certainly wants to keep our small group private and he’s a human I trust,” Bart assured her.

5. Roswell The Alien Shows Up

Word spread quickly that Bigfoot met a female Bigfoot and wanted to introduce her to us. They also decided they wanted to meet at my cabin because it had a deep, wide front porch. 

Because they know not to bother me before 10:00 AM, and Andy The Alligator wasn’t going to show up because he never wants to roam too far from the river, the rest of my friends respected my do not disturb until after 10:00 AM wishes. And, except Andy, the rest of my woodlands friends started showing up within the half-hour after 10:00 AM. Rocky first, then Mick The Mockingbird, who parched on Rocky’s head, then Bigfoot arrived with the female. We already knew our Bigfoot, when needed, went by the name Bart and he introduced her as Jill.

“You’re the only one in our group who has internet service now,” Bart said as he turned to me, “So where is this Alien friend you have you call Roswell?”

“I really don’t know. I usually have to wait until he reads one of my posts on that social media site Real People.”

“He’s likely just another myth,” Rocky replied with a smirk.

Suddenly Roswell appeared in a cloud of vapor.

“I’m a myth, huh? What about that Swamp Unicorn and Mermaid?” he asked Rocky.

You’ve been reading my posts again, huh?” I asked Roswell

“Only when I’m bored. And these two, Bart and Jill, are not myths.”

“Oh, dear God Aardvark, a myth saying another myth isn’t a myth?” Rocky laughed. “And you can prove this, Mr. Big Eyes And Green Skin?”

“Of course,”  Roswell assured him while he transformed his skin into a tan flesh color and narrowed his eyes to almost normal. “I often appear as people expect me to.”

“Works for me,” Rocky laughed.

“And you two,” Roswell began as he looked at Bart and Jill, “My people have studied the long history of your people and understand why you avoid most humans.”

“Because?” Mick The Mockingbird wondered.

“Later, you natural mimic, but first I want to experience in person you guys playing this game you call Poker. I also want to help George finish setting up internet service for Bart.”

We all sat on the porch talking to each other. By sitting, this still didn’t include the Mockingbird who hopped from his perch on Rocky’s head and perched on Roswell’s head.

“You poop on me, little bird, and I’ll have you for supper,” he warned Mick The Mockingbird.

“Fat chance, Green Boy,” Mick replied as he tried to fly away.

He was suspended in mid-air for a few seconds, then he flopped to the ground.

“Okay, okay, okay, no pooping, you magical mystic,” Mick told him as he looked up. When he, and the rest of us, laughed Mick added,“Just please don’t summon a Leprechaun, Mr. Roswell, because I’ve have enough weird to last a lifetime!”

Suddenly a Leprechaun came running out of the woods and headed up to Rocky.

6. Sean The Leprechaun

“What’s with the shenanigans, you tie-dyed Skunk? I’m not a myth, Never have been and never will be. And Bigfoot isn’t a myth.” he told Rocky with conviction. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“You see me, don’t you?” So I’m very real or you’re crazy or on drugs,” he told Rocky and waited for a response that didn’t come. “What is a myth is we never have Pots Of Gold. We don’t even have Pots OF Pot.”

“I agree with you, but aren’t you miles from home?” I asked him.

“And Roswell isn’t,” Rocky wondered.

“Someone please muzzle that Skunk,” Sean told everyone, then answered my question. “I left for personal reasons I’m not telling you. Anyway, when I left Ireland I decided to travel. And I’m in no hurry because we live almost as long as a Bigfoot does. But, perhaps I’ll find a place where kith and kin will accept a less than tall man with a long bread and big feet?” 

“We’ve got plenty of Garden Gnomes to keep you company during your trip,” Rocky suggested to tease him.

“And I’ve got a spells that will make you never want to eat again,” was the Leprechaun’s retort.

“Don’t mind him, because his mother kept dropping him on his head when he was a baby,” I assured the Leprechaun. “And you can stay here as long as you like.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I might just spend the night, making my bed over in that tall Grass a few meters away, but suddenly he noticed Roswell and seemed puzzled.

“Don’t you recognize me, you wanker? Roswell asked.

“Ros, you’ve buffed up again?”

“You want to muck around or share some pints,” Roswell teased him.

“What you got, Green Man? And don’t be acting the maggot on me!”

“George has some Draft Beer on ice,” Roswell offered him, “Or, as you call it, Drought Beer?”

“Keep it on ice and meet me ten meters West of here after you’re through mucking around with this strange lot,” Sean told him, “So meet me to the West of here. And, BTW, Mr. And Ms. Bigfoot, you’re feet ain’t so big compared to mine.”

We all watched while Sean The Leprechaun trotted away.

7. Back To Our Version Of Reality

“What now? Dragons and a T-Rex show up,” Rocky asked.

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Roswell informed him, then turned to me “I’m not conjuring these things up, you are. And if a Cyclops shows up you should fire your editor.”

Right after Roswell said this a pint-sized Cyclops pushed his or her way through the thick under brush and walked up to me.

“So, you’re ready to hire me?” it asked me.

“Can you put your imagination on hold for awhile, George?” Jill wondered aloud.

“Don’t mind her, my friend. We all like to josh after drinking too many pints,” I assured this unexpected guest.

“So do I, but I’m still wondering if you’re ready to hire me?” the Cyclops asked again.

“Of course I do, and will and I’ll pay you a good wage. But right now, this story is nearing the twelve page limit my publisher insists on.” I informed him or her, then watched the poor Cyclops blink it’s one eye several times and turn to head back into the bushes. So I stood up and called to it, “You’ll be in my next story, I promise.”

It grinned and disappeared into the thick underbrush.

“Roz, you’re mind-thinking these weird characters to appear, aren’t you?” Jill asked Roswell.

“Oh, no. My imagination isn’t that vivid, So ask George.

When they turned to me I shook my head no.

“Well, somebody is,” Roswell stated as he looked at me. “Just don’t conjure up a Phoenix. When that thing crashes and burns it could sat your whole forest on fire.”

As we sat on the porch sipping the Draft Beer we weren’t supposed to have, Bart grinned at me and I knew he was going to come up with a weird twist to this story.

“Couldn’t you come up with more interesting, less stereotypical myths,” Bart asked me.

“Maybe after a few more Beers,” was my whimsical reply. A reply that brought laughter from them.

8. Exploring George’s Property 

By the time I opened my cabin door the Leprechaun was gone. So, because Bart lived perhaps forty yards North of my cabin, I asked him, Jill and Roswell to take a brief tour of my property. Jill because she likely didn’t live on my property and would feel more comfortable with Bart here. I asked Roswell because I never post my personal information on the internet sites I used and knew he would ask questions.

And during the tour we talked as we walked.

“I know you have questions, my friend” I told Roswell and we watched as he transformed into his natural appearance, 

“You no longer live in that nice, comfortable house with it’s central air and heat? Why?”

“Yes, about six months out of the year I do. But up here when it starts to get cold, and it does, I move back before the first Snowfall.”

“Okay, Buddy, but I know you’ve got electrical power and internet service now, so how can you afford this place as an obscure writer?” he honestly wondered.

“Define obscure? You can be deemed obscure it you use a pseudonym. Or maybe I’ve done well buying stocks and have money in the bank. Or maybe I suddenly got enough money by selling the rights to a concept I came up with.”

“Which is?”

“A Rubber Duck with a built-in voice that translates forty languages when you rub it’s belly?”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry I asked,” Roswell said while shaking his head and grinning. “I know you like to play cryptic mind games, but what kind of security does your property have? Enough to keep out trespassers, especially those with cameras?”

“Eighty percent of the property has barbed wire fencing with ‘No Trespassing Signs’ posted every fifty feet,” I assured him.

“And the other twenty percent?”

“High, steep and rocky hillsides that most humans wouldn’t dare to climb,” Bart informed Roswell. “But, of course, we can.”

“Good enough for me,” Roswell conceded, “But what about all the colorful, weird friends and other beings that find there way into your property? Are you creating them with your imagination or are they figments of your imagination?”

“What do you think?” I asked Jill and Bart.

“If we’re figments and Roswell sees us, too, I suggest Roswell needs to seek serious therapy.” she replied, followed by a snicker.

“I like this woman, George,” he told me, “But what if we’re all real, all of them and us, and you’re just a figment of our imagination?” 

“How the hell do I know?” I reassured Roswell, “But none of us created that Leprechaun or asked him to show up.”

This brought a soft laugh from Roswell as we turned to head back to my cabin.

9. Once Again Back To Our Version Of Realty

When we got back to my cabin Sean The Leprechaun was still there because, apparently, he and the rest of my strange friends had raided my supply of Draft Beer. Thankfully, at least to me, there wasn’t enough beer to share for any of them to get drunk on. Perhaps Mick, but not the others.

And instead of saying hello or asking how the tour went, Rocky stood up and smiled at me.

“You got enough gas in your Jeep to drive to town, buy us more beer, and return soon?” he asked me.

“You Skunk pretender, I’m not driving 40 miles into town and back so you can get drunk.”

“What a wimp!” Rocky snickered. “So, what about Sean or Roswell using their magical powers to simply make a few cases of ice cold beer appear on your porch?”

“If I could do that, I would have left you strange creatures an hour ago,” Sean told him. “So try Roswell.”

“Without the right formula that’s not going to happen.”

“I’ve got my case waiting for me forty meters West, so goodby,” Sean The Leprechaun replied and trotted away quickly.

Rocky sat down again on the front porch, joining the rest of us.

“That didn’t go as planned,” Mick The Mockingbird said with a deep sigh. Then he turned to Roswell. “I’m actually beginning to like you, you weird, but funny, Alien. So, how long are you going to hand around to pester us?”

“I really don’t know if I have the time.”

“That’s Bull Dung, and you know it, Roz,” I reminded him. “Time to you guys is hardly the same as time on Earth. You guys can bend time, alter the concept of time and possibly go back in time.”

“Is that really true? Mick asked me. When I nodded my head, he looked at Roswell again. “At least hang around to play a little Poker with us.”

“First, George, my people can’t go bavk in time. But we can go into the near future and Roswell, I don’t know what Poker is. Is it like some primitive, silly game you people play?”

“Don’t worry about that, Roz. We’ll teach you. Okay?” Rocky assured him. 

“Of course we will. And the object of the game is to lose as quickly as you can.” Mick said with a poker face. “The real winner is the one who loses first.”

“Okay, I’m staying and playing.”

With this said, Mick flew away and Rocky ambled back to his hidden den.

After they were out of site Bart turned to Roswell.

“You said you people have studied us and our history, right? And what can you tell us.”

“Well, this may take a half-hour, in your time, but I’ll do so after I got inside and bring out a six-pack of cold Draft Beer.”

“But there isn’t any Beer left.”

“There certainly is, but I created the illusion there wasn’t.” Roswell told him.

10. The Real History Of Bigfoot

Again Jill, Bart, Roswell and I were sitting on my front porch sipping cold Draft Beer. After several minutes Bart turned to face Roswell.

“I’ll begin about what we know about the history of the specific, unique species of Earth humans known as Bigfoot. The people on my planet have had the advanced technology to monitor life forms on planets that support life forms and this technology dates back to fish forms on Earth starting to live out of water,” Roz began, then went silent as he finished his Beer.

“And?” Jill prompted him.

“I know this dude, so just let him play out his drama game first,” I offered her.

“Not drama, you goof ball, but distraction,” Roswell replied while looking at me. “As much as I love drinking the concoction you call Beer, I always wondered how I would react if alcohol actually effected me enough to get drunk. It never affects anyone on my planet.”

“Roz, you act metaphorically drunk sometimes. Isn’t that enough?” I teased him because I now really consider him a good friend.”

“Okay, we think of your species as the real so-called missing link,” Roz started, after grinning at me and again and focusing on Bart and Jill. “But first I’ll add my retort! You’re far more advanced than George will ever metaphorically be! So anyway, we know you could speak coherently and could write and do basic math long before other early human. What became the serious problem with your advanced thinking abilities was that, during the evolution stage, as other early humans started having less body hair your species retained theirs. And other early humans started fearing you, considering you a bad omen, though they didn’t really understand the concept of a bad omen. Within several hundred years they started hunting you as if you were an animal with hair.”

“So we went into hiding and avoided contact with other early humans to protect ourselves? This part we already knew,” Bart told Roswell.

“Exactly,” Roswell agreed. “And for your own safety you scattered, migrated to areas with less other early humans.”

“Of course,” Jill assured Roz. “But by doing so staying in contact with other groups of us became difficult to the point where we lost contact with most of those groups.

“Yep. But we knew a lot of you migrated to what is now known as Canada and to the Northwestern United State. Some of you, like you and Bart, ventured into the middle states that still had heathy forested lands, almost always protected as National Parks. And you always traveled at night.”

“So you really do understand their history,” I asked Roswell.

“Not all of it, of course, because after they scattered for their protection it became harder to follow their paths, but I doubt if Jill and Bart know that some of their species ended up in Southeast Asia.”

“Yeti?” I instantly replied.

“Give this goof ball a box of cigars.”

Jill, Bart and I laughed at Roswell’s clever choice of American slang. 

“But Roz mentioned you had a system of writing. If so, how come none of it was ever found in caves or anywhere else?” I wondered.

“Evidence we destroyed it all as we migrated. Our ‘writing’ we do now is in the form of finger gestures.”

And we all opened another bottle of Draft Beer. While sipping our beer suddenly Mick The Mockingbird flew in with a female Macaw by his side. They landed in front of my porch.

“I just came by to announce that I’ve finally met my soul mate,” Mich told as us he smiled up at us. “This is Mavis The Macaw.”

“A perfect match,” we relied almost in unison.

Mavis and Mick tipped their left wings at us and flew away together.

“I don’t even want to think about their ... never mind.” Bart started to say.

9. Our Unique Family Expands

The next morning Roswell and I were sitting again on my front porch, this time drinking Coffee and listening to classical music coming from the stereo inside my cabin. By the time we had started on our second cup Jill and Bart came up the pathway and took a seat besides us.

“Jill has decided to move into our protected woodlands,” Bart began.

“And we’ll be living together and, if it’s not asking the impossible, we’re hoping you two will help us expand Bart’s cabin,” Jill informed us.

“Basically, an added study with a fireplace and plenty of bookcases for the library of books we hope to inquire and, if possible indoor plumbing,” Bart explained. When I nodded my head yes, Bart continued, “I know you’re both helping with me getting internet service, but the expansion will be more different, requiring a lot of time and effort.”

“Not a problem at all, Bart,” Roswell told him, then smiled at Jill. “Welcome to our unique family.”

“Thank you both, but ‘the not a problem’ part?”

I stood up, when inside, turned off the stereo and came back with two full cups of Coffee for Jill and Bart. Then sat back down again.

“I’ll take care of the electrical wiring and supervise the plumbing part,” I assured them. “And as too my Alien friend, if he’s not in his lazy mood or drunk as a Skunk, the man can move things with his mind, including heavy objects.”

“First off, sometimes George thinks he’s funny and we humor him, but my people can’t get drunk,” Roswell grinned as he looked at me. “Second thing, the important this is, how soon would you like this project finished?”

“If possible by our next Poker game.” 

“We’ll have most of it done by then,” I told Bart and asked Jill if she played Poker.

“I won’t play, but I’ll love to watch you guys,” Jill told us.

As we sat drinking our Coffee, a spot in the sky above us appeared to darken and we looked up to see a Phoenix hovering above us and we, except for Roswell, watched in amazement as it slowly descended until it landed on the lawn in front of the porch.

“Long time, no see, you Pretty Boy of a myth,” Roswell called out to him as he waved his hand. Then he told us, “This is an old friend of mine, Mr. Phil The Phoenix.”

Phil The Phoenix, who was nearly then feet tall, slowly walked up to the porch.

“How long has it been, Roz, perhaps sixty years?” Phil asked as he saluted Roswell with one of his large, colorful wings and looked at the rest of us.”

“I’m really happy for your reunion,” I told them both. “But I have to ask, because I own this property, that you please don’t crash and burn up here. The fire could burn down our whole woodlands.”

“Don’t stress out over such a trivial little thing,” Roswell told me in a whimsical way. “Phil has been retired for over two hundred years.”

“That’s true. And, like a Cat having nine lives, I have many. Probably three hundred of them. But I finally got tired of crashing and burning just to entertain and reaffirm the myth believers.”

“Works for us,” Jill told Phil, then asked him, “Would you like to stay awhile to visit your old friend?”

“I would, but won’t, because I’m touring your country, a country I’ve never visited before.”

“Just avoid high powered electrical lines and military base,” Roswell teased Phil.

“I’ve seen, and love, that movie, Roz, you mental case reject,” was his retort. Then he saluted us all and flew away.

‘Nice, sweet and funny section of dialogue you’ve written here, George,” Jill complemented me.

“Perhaps we need to define funny before George takes your complement seriously,” Roz replied.
“And his ego is already too inflated.”

“He doesn’t believe that, Jill, but Roz is still upset that Rocky won’t ask him out on a date,” was my comeback.

“That’s not bad, funny guy, but crazy, dear Rocky? I’ve grown to like that oddball, And don’t tell him this, but during our next Poker game I going to give him a gift he really longs for.

10. Just Another Typical Poker Game For Me

At our next Poker game I really didn’t expect Michael The Mudcat to show up and doubted if the two lovebirds, Mick and Mavis, would be here. Still, without them I expected the rest of my woodland friends to show up and I wondered how many would want to play. I also felt sorry for my oldest, weirdest friend Roswell if he actually believed the intent of the game was to lose every hand to win the game.

Bart and Jill showed up first, followed by Roswell, then Andy The Alligator, then Mick, who again perched on Andy’s head. Mavis came with Mick to watch and encourage her new boyfriend, and, of course, Rocky showed up. Counting myself, if everyone wanted to play Poker there would be eight of us. As a very good Poker player myself, trying to calculate the odds of me winning would be difficult. I happen to be a ‘card counter’ and the more players, the more the cards are spread and the more difficult it is to calculate the odds, But I was worrying too much because only six of us wanted to play. As she told me, Jill just wanted to watch and Mavis was here only to be with Mick.

So we all sat down, started the traditional campfire and the game began. Bart and Jill sat to my direct right, followed by Andy and, as usual, Mick perching on his head. Mavis, who was much taller and likely weighed twice what her boyfriend did, sat on his right on a five gallon bucket that had been turned downward so she could perch on it. To my left was Roswell and Rocky sat to his left.

Despite my misgivings Roswell won the first three hands.

“You’re going to lose the game if you keep winning! We told you the intent was to lose because the loser was the real winner,” Rocky reminded him with distrust in his voice.

“And I thought you told us you had never heard of the game of Poker and certainly didn’t know how to play it?” Bart said, after shaking his head and grinning.

“My friends, older and newer, I may goof around and act weird sometimes, but I never, ever lie,” Roswell replied. “But on my planet we have a game we’ve played for decades exactly like this one, but we call it ‘Oops!”

“Oops!,” Mick repeated him.

“My friends, except Roswell who will soon not be a friend, it looks like we’ve all been had by this strange, flaky goof ball Alien.” 

Everyone, including Rocky, laughed. And it was a good natured, non-judgmental laugh.

Because we all expected to lose all the next hands, too, we wondered what we could offer Roz that he really needed of wanted..

“I know the real rules of the game and, because you no longer play for money, you offer the winner what you think he needs or wants, right?”

“I know the real rules of the game -“ Mick started to say, then remembered the Swamp Witch telling him to create his own voice. “But I really have to idea what you need or want.”

“You’re lasting friendship and that of your mate and, in Rocky’s case, I can assure him his will appear within days.”

“That’ll work for me,” Rocky replied, followed by a warm, sincere smile.

“And Bart and Jill, should you have a child, girl or boy, the greatest gift to me is not naming the boy or girl Roz or Roswell.”

“You’ve got your wish,” Jill told him. “But, trust us both. because that was not going to happen.” This statement caused us all to laugh again.

“And Andy, your old friend from the muddy river, Michael The Mudcat, will soon show up and thank all of you for scaring him away because he found a female Mudcat to mate with.”

“And Mick and Mavis, I understand well that a Parrot can live to be seventy years old and a Mockingbird has a much shorter life span. So Mick, the gift you could give me is to live as long as Mavis.”

“But - but - how?”

‘Don’t ask me how because I won’t tell you, but we’ve arranged it to happen. You’ll live as long as Mavis does. But here’s the deal! The only thing my people ask of all of you is to never let an outsider know what happens in this protected forest.”

Mick smiled, then flew over to the bucket to hug Mavis.

“And you, George, my Earthbound brother, I already know you don’t want me to try to promote your writing and I won’t do this. But your gift to me, besides our continued friendship, is one I’ve giving you so we can all feel safe on your property from, in the case of the Elk and Andy, hunters and to the rest of you, prying eyes. I’ve donated more that enough money, and don’t ask me how, to The Department Of The Interior, to buy all the land between your property and the National Park and annex it to the National Park. And the head of Interior has accepted the donation and they are in the process of buying the land.”

Even though I knew it would embarrass him, I rose to hug Roswell. While doing so Bart called our names.

“Everything Roz has said is wonderful and remarkable beyond belief, but how do we all know everything Roswell has claimed will happen?”

Roswell smiled, then chuckled, then stepped a few yard away from me.

“George will guarantee this because, obscure of not, he has created a world in this story where we can all feel comfortable being ourselves, including himself. I’ll be leaving soon to return to me own planet. I’ll be back sone enough, but until I do I’m expecting all of you to try to find George a mate who will put up with him, poor woman, and cherish all of you.”

12. A Standard, Cliche Cliffhanger Until Roswell Returns

As Roswell started to vaporize again I called his name.

“What do you mean by ‘poor woman?”

“Joke, silly.” Roswell told me as he paused the vaporizing. Then he  addressed my woodland friends. “If you don’t like how your characters are portrayed or you don’t think you receive enough dialogue, just go on strike. And if this doesn’t work just keep reminding George he didn’t create you. You created him.”

Then Roz waved and vaporized. And I wondered if Poker is a metaphor for real life or is it the other way around?

13. Another Standard, Cliche Cliffhanger As Roswell Returns Without Telling Me

After a coded E-Mail request from Jill, three weeks later Roswell sat on the front porch, along with Bart and Jill, of their newly remodeled cabin. Roswell drank Coffee while Jill and Bart drank fruit juice.

“The E-Mail said you think maybe you know of someone for George. Right?” Roswell began.

“Pretty sure, and she only lives about five miles from here,” she informed her Alien friend, them paused for fifteen seconds.”


“After I’ve drank three cups of Coffee and taking my shower,” Jill responded, then giggled.

“Dude, what’s wrong with her, Bart? Have you been beating her too much again?”

“Hardly, you cosmic fool. I’m never beaten a female. She’s been affected by your bad influence examples.”

“Okay, I deserve that, funny man!”

“Her first name is Sarah and once I saved her life and three times after that she’s hidden me when other humans got too close. And Sarah is a Park Ranger at the National Park next door and I trust her. I hadn’t heard from her for awhile and thought maybe she was transferred, but found her website yesterday.”

“Sounds very promising. Let’s just hope she and George like each other. But, you two, is George writing this into his story?” the cautions Roswell asked.

“Of course not, you sweet guy,” Jill added. “I met her long before I met Bart or George. But will you be honest and tell us if he already has, or had, a mate.”

“Yes, he had a mate. But I think George should tell you both what happened when he’s ready.”

“Okay, but how would we arrange their meeting?”

“You’ve got internet service. Sarah has her own Real People home page. Let Jill contact her there,” Roswell suggested, then vaporized again.

14. An Almost Standard Ending

I rarely get phone calls because I have an unlisted number and most of the mail I receive is bills. Because of this I only check my mailbox once a week. And today, three days after Roswell, Jill and Bart held their clandestine meeting to advance my love life, was the day. My mailbox, sitting on a post near the county road, was one hundred and twenty yards downhill from my cabin and I really didn’t mind the exercise. 

But as I rounded a bend in the path I noticed a woman, perhaps thirty-five, sitting in a newer Jeep convertible. When she saw me approaching she stepped out of the Jeep and waited just outside the locked gate.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but you can’t enter this property because it’s private property,” I told her without being rude.

“I know that, of course, but I just want to visit Jill and meet her boyfriend,” she replied.

“I’m sorry again, but on one named Jill lives here.”

“Of course she does. And she’s a Bigfoot and her boyfriend, who I haven’t met, is Bart.”

“There’s no Bigfoot here and even if there was I would hardly allow you to capture it and exploit it for money,” I told her firmly.

“But Roswell assured me Jill lives here now,” she countered.


“You know, the Alien who first visited you two years ago and you two became friends.”

“On, that Roswell. But how do you know him?”

“Why don’t we discuss all that as we sat on your porch?”

I was speechless, a rarity for me, as I unlocked the gate and let her on my property. Once she was inside I locked the gate again.

“Aren’t you worried about the Jeep being stolen while we’re sitting on your porch,” she asked. 

“Not with that National Park Ranger sign on the door.” I replied. And we slowly walked the path to my cabin.

15, Because I’ve Finally Figured Out How To End This Story

As we walked she studied me and smiled.

“Please don’t stress out because you didn’t create me as a character for one of your stories,” she teased me again.

“I guess you do know Roswell, because that’s a line he would say,” I teased her back.

We remained silent as she studied the thick foliage along the path to my cabin.

Once we were sitting on the porch I smiled at her.

“I’m George.”

“I know and I’m Sarah the Park Ranger.”

“Nice to meet you Sarah, but if you taught Jill how to brew that foul smelling Coffee I won’t ask you to brew any.”

“Funny, funny.” Sarah chuckled. “And you write Roswell’s lines for him?”

“He lets me think I do,” I replied with a silly grim. “So, how do you know Jill?”

“About a year age, when she was hiding in our deep forest area she saved my life and we became friends. Also, several times afterwards I hid her when humans became too close to her.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You just did,” Sarah teased me again. “Because the Bigfoot has been hunted enough and gone into hiding enough, I wanted to do what I could to protect her. Just like you’re doing with her and Bart.”

“Thank you,” I told her, then added, “If you know Roswell that well then you know he, Jill and Bart are trying to play matchmaker for me. So don’t be hitting on me. I’m just another obscure writer.”

“Ha, you’re simply not my type. I like men who are witty, have scruples and embrace diversity. Buy the way, I don’t play Poker. But I would love to be here for the next game.”

“That’s fine with me. But do you speak Alligator, Mockingbird and Raccoon?”

“I know Rocky well and have met Andy, but I can’t speak their version of animal?”

“Do you drink Beer?”

“Of course, But like cold Draft Beer best,” Sarah told me, then added, “And Roswell told me you’re carrying emotional baggage. Can I ask what it is?”

“My wife and five year old son were killed when a drunk driver slammed into the car my wife was driving.”

“I’m really so sorry to hear that, George.”

“The loss lingers and never really goes away but I learned to cherish our time together. And you Sarah? Emotional baggage?”

“Certainly not as tragic as yours, but I can’t have children. And my ex refused to adopt any. So he fled to find a woman who could.”

“What a b*****d!”

“Of course. But I think, on my next day off,  we should donate our emotional baggage to Goodwill and start over.”

“I need to buy more groceries, so why not do both?”

As I stood up and headed inside to get us some Draft Beer, she called me.”

“George, you really didn’t create me as a character for one of your stories.”

“I know.” I admitted as I looked back at her and smiled.

© 2021 Willys Watson

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Added on October 9, 2021
Last Updated on October 16, 2021
Tags: Humor, Poker, Aliens, Bigfoot, Alligators, Muckenbirds, Diversity


Willys Watson
Willys Watson

Los Angeles, CA

Writer, Artist, Scalawag. more..