The Joy of Edmund Frost----Intro?

More of an intro really. in line with my whole symbolism and allusion bend the double usage of some words, symbolism of apples and transmission of them, and the anagrams interlaced will come into play and significance later hopefully....Truthfully, I've

        "Stand back before you make me vulgar"--Me

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        "Life is death, actually"--Me---when I was older than I am now

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        "I'd give you my word but I have none to give"--Oh...Me

 

 

 

        It had been a long, long time since anyone had seen Edmund Frost.

       "I wasn't always like this you know!"  Mr. Frost exclaimed...."I was happy once too - decent, enjoyable, affable.  I've lived and loved...well you get the point" he went on to say in hopes of attaining the satisfaction of the curiosity of this insufferable brat who stood beside him at the counter of the General Store.  No one was in the store other than the clerk, Mr. Frost, and the boy, and just as Mr. Frost, Edmund as he was once called, completed his purchase and turned towards the exit, it came.  It seemed as if an angel sailing through the clouds had dropped an anvil from its stratus lair aimed intently at Edmunds skull, and as the cold steel shattered the top of Edmund's head, leaving his hearing somehow intact, he heard the stupid, stupid question...."So what was it Mr. Frost?" the boy said feigning curiosity as if he felt he owed it to Edmund at least in a passing air of deferance.  "What was what?" Edmund replied sharply in hopes of dissuading the young nuissance from any further attempt of pursuing him with his verbage of ignorance. "What was it about life and love and all the other things you alluded to that made you want to leave it so badly?" 

        Though he tried, the amalgamated look of shock, disdain, vitriol, and violation was hard to guise, too hard for a man of Edmund Frost's ilk.  A man well removed from the confines of etiquette and other meaningless social graces.  If ever there were an alien among us, surely, it was a man such as Edmund Frost.  For Edmund ripened young and just prior to the consumption by the mouth that belonged to the eye of which his apple belonged, he was plucked.  Mr. Frost was of rare type...a tree whose fruits, once born, pluck themselves.

        "Can't a man just come into town every decade or so and buy some supplies?" Edmund howled down into the boy's face.  Edmund flung his open hand down towards the counter where his recent purchase lye and upon grasping the brown paper bag that contained his purchase of three apples and a bottle of whiskey, and placing neath his left arm and breast, the boy replied "Uhm...no, well yes, technically, but no one has seen you in years."  Just then the clerk behind the counter lifted his heavy roguish eyes upon the two of them and grumbled, almost under his breath, "No loitering!" and just then the sacred and powerful mantra F**k you, you F*****g F**k  began to bounce around the inside of Mr. Frost's cranium, or what was left of it post-angelic cruelty.  It bounced around like a uranium-depleted anti-tank shell bounces round in the belly of its quarry until the milli-second prior to its crashing into the stores of ammo......Edmund opted to make his exit from the store rather than to allow the explosion with the boy now hot in pursuit.

        "Lad"  said Mr. Edmund Frost,  "How old are you anyways?" "Sixteen!" he fired back in prideful extollment.  Edmund thought to himself that if indeed, the boy really wanted to know how and why he'd left the world behind then perhaps he'd tell him.  He's certainly old enough to formulate his own opinions and to decide his own path.  Edmund even thought that maybe he could enlighten him on the few, few benefits of hermitage and of reclusion.  Maybe, just maybe, the young man is old enough to hear of such mature concepts as absence of faith, the strange dichotimy of self-reliance and self-loathing...that G-d is in fact dead, Romantics should be, and that people are in fact by their very nature...lame.

       "What's your name?" asked Edmund Frost in a tone that he hoped would only imply he was asking as a mateer of course rather than curiosity or interest.  As Edmund turned his head to the right and down several inches and stared through the young man's youthful and innocent eyes hoping to detect any sign of mal-intent or want of mockery, the young man answered Edmund's question, "Well they call me Ed Daim but..."

       "Good..good, well I suppose if you wish you may accompany me on my walk home and I'll tell you my tale but it is quite long" warned Edmund.  "The story or the walk?" the young man asked in a tone that reminded Edmund of humor and of sunshine.  "Both!"  Edmund proclaimed.  "They're both long and both interesting I can assure you".

       "Well it sounds like they are and I needn't be home til supper so tell me...tell me why you live like an ogre in the hills venturing into town once every score of years?  You know my mother said that you were once quite normal.  That you were a jovial, amiable guy who dressed to the T.  "Did She?" asked Edmund feigning curiosity.

       "Yeah, she said you were quite popular with the ladies too, that upon entering a room, any room, your presence illuminated the open spaces between where all present dwelt".  

      "Well I suppose I did" Edmund replied mildly,  "Now rather than "loiter" here in front of the store like imbecils and incur the wrath of the F*****g F**k, let's embark.  I have much to tell...do me a favor, could you hold one of these apples?"  Edmund asked and just as his hand reached into the depths of the brown paper bag, Ed Daim asked with bewilderment, "Just one?"..."Just one!" replied Edmund Frost......      

Author's Note

There may be type-o's..grammatical errors..I don't know? Eventually I hope for this story to transition to a first person recollection and via the journey/walk to Edmunds lair they will both trans-mutate if you will...i dont know it's hard to explain. This is experimental writing...I jokingly call it's style/philosophy Sarcastic Abandonism, so we'll see how it works out.

Reviews

[Dizzy-Izzy]

I want to know what happens when one riles the wrath of the "F*****g F**k!" Are we verbally or physically assualted? Perhaps cursed, oh that would be the worst!

For someone who prefers non-fiction, historical reading, you sure write fiction well. I am ready for the rest of the story...