Date: Mon, 9 Sep 1996 23:16:44 -0500 From: Carolyn Price Subject: ERICA: (1/1) Will the Real Lucien Lacroix please wake up I originally gave this story to Ron the Enforcer. Perhaps he won't mind too much if I borrow a copy of it? It *is* for a worthy cause... Best wishes, erica. Be well! ;) Disclaimer: Just a little WAR-inspired whimsy. Hope you like it. Lacroix "belongs" to Jim Parriott (though I'm certain LC would *not* appreciate that comment). I am only borrowing him for a little while, and will return him unharmed. In my own good time... # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # Will the Real Lucien LaCroix please wake up by Cousin Cp He sat at the breakfast table with his cup of steaming java and the Sunday funnies. He was a general, now retired, and filled his time as he pleased. Chatter from wifey in the kitchen; he paid it no mind. "OH, THE KIDS ARE COMING OVER LATER" from the kitchen broke in on his placidity. That was loud enough he couldn't avoid acknowledging it. "Fine," he replied, and turned another page, took another sip. <> But he couldn't quite remember what. His thoughts turned to the possibility of that golf game. But with whom? His usual group of chums had been growing smaller and smaller due to infirmity or even death. <> That comic about the perpetual private and his escapades with his perpetual sergeant caught his eye. Something about it...vaguely reminiscent...he couldn'tquite think of it. He put down the comics and made for the kitchen to refill his cup. Some quiet time before the invasion, that's what he required. Chatter from wifey was a dull drone as he made his way to the urn of steaming coffee. Perhaps he could take a thermal jug with him down to the workshop so he wouldn't have to come back up? Too obvious? She was a good woman, only she could be quite ... annoying ... at times. And that incessant chatter was maddening. Sohe did the only appropriate thing: tuned it out. "I-thought-we-could-grill-some-hotdogs-and-burgers-and-such-when-the-kids arrive-Won't-that-be-nice-Could-you-get-the-grill-ready-and-start-a-fire- Around-eleven-I-think-That-should-be-plenty-of-time..." It never really ended. How *did* she manage to breathe? He was amazed sometimes. He took the steaming cup and headed out the back door. Best investment he ever made was to build this Workshop. His sanctum sanctorum. This was HIS place and his alone. She never came out here. There might be spiders ... or ... Worse. He had toyed with various hobbies since retirement. Fly fishing was first. He had tied his own flies, of course. Everything *must* be done properly, to his specifications. There, covered in a few years of dust, was what remained of that hobby. He had, of course, grown quite good at it. As he did everything well, so had he excelled in his hobby. But standing in a stream flipping a lure tied on light weight rope-like substance had not thrilled him. And then there were the fish... Disgusting! It sounded like a good idea, but the reality of it was less than satisfying. So he had moved on ... to other things. Woodworking was next. He saw in the far corner the dust-covered remnants of that good-idea-at-the-time. He had been making a coffee table, and there was the lathe and the 2"x2"x2-foot boards that would become the legs of the table. He picked up one of the spikes that he had already turned. Beautiful wood ...nicely tapered ... almost to a point. Holding it in his hands he felt a wave of ... something ... he couldn't quite determine what. Revulsion? Fear? How could he, who had fought in so many campaigns, led so many men to glorious victories, fear a slightly pointed piece of wood. Utter nonsense! And yet there was something .. some vague memory ... aching to be remembered. But it couldn't burst forth into his full consciousness. He saw mental flashes of ... another time? ... another place? It wouldn't come to him. He moved on. His current project involved kicking back into his old favorite recliner (which had been exiled when wifey remodeled last year) with any book not too mentally challenging. He would plod through a few pages and then, if lucky, drift off to a peaceful sleep and his dreams could take him to a better time and place. He could be young and vital again, leading the troops, or dancing in the officers' club, drinking champagne with beautiful, shapely young women who would beg him to take them home and then... As he drifted into sleep, he recalled days such as those. And nights without restriction. The glorious nights when he would have one, two ... or more ... exquisite, enticing women or even men. And they would be his, to do with as he pleased. And it pleased him to ... Do what? In his cloud-like sleep state, he suddenly saw himself on a pier with a light fog surrounding him and the lady-of-the-moment in his arms. She looked up into his eyes. She was completely under his spell. Captivated. His. In his dream he saw himself as if watching a film. He caressed her hair, brushed his lips across hers ever so lightly, then bent his head to nuzzle her neck. But then what was this he saw? His eyes changed, went wild, beast-like! And his mouth opened wide in a gaping grimace showing ... fangs?! His mouth came down hard on her neck. She winced and then moaned with the pain and pleasure of his piercing. He took all she had to give. She clutched at his coat as if to pull him closer, as if she wanted to offer him more, to ask from him more than he could give. And then she went limp. He was giddy from the blood; he had drained her dry. He tossed her body in the bay, touched a kerchief to his lips to clean away any traces, and then turned back toward the lights of the city and to all it had to offer him, which was whatever he wanted to take. ********************************* The General woke from his dream with a start. Remnants of the visions haunted the edges of his consciousness. It deeply troubled him to see what might have been. To see that other man, in that other time and place. How could anyone endure such unspeakable horror! He felt utter revulsion at the thought, and offered up this prayer as a talisman. <> ********************************* And which is the horrible dream, Gentle Reader? Which the reality? You decide.... #Finis# Cousin Cp "Life is a gift...as sweet as the freshest peach" LC/LK