The Story of the Backwards Girl; Celine’s Adventures in Ceylon
The sun – smaller than the inconceivably large object just outside the boundaries of our solar system which was approaching with an exponentially increasing rapidity – rose over the doomed planet.
Holly, a young girl with an interest in Ernest Hemingway’s shorter work, took a dusty old tome from the shelf where it had been leaning against Thomas More’s Utopia. The embossed gold print on the burgundy leather spine indicated the name of the book: Erehwon.
It told the story of Jack Vincennes – a smalltime book dealer who never had a chance – and his dealings with a couple of femme fatales: one chick who talked funny and was kind of indescribable, and the other, who was French and a hottie.
Her name was Celine and she was from the Dordogne but spent a lot of time in Ceylon trying to taste tea for a succession of unsuccessful suitors; they were mostly timorous thieves. She was mixed up with a bad lot, is what I’m saying. They were darkly diffident too, and at the worst times, so that Celine was often saddled with the bill at swanky eateries – when her consort slipped away – sans recompense.
Soon broke, she swiftly set sail from Ceylon, saying ‘adieu’ to no one but her trusted maid, who – the years of servitude suddenly lifted from her shoulders – sensed a liberation previously suppressed during her years sewing socks for Celine, and constructed a scale model of a viaduct from matchsticks alone in her Ceylonese cellar.
Celine, on returning to the Paris of her childhood, went into the booktrade and soon became a scion of the scene. However, the siren who spoke in words and sentences of polarity reversed had other plans; plans which didn’t include that slut Celine and her budding business.
Kenny Stetson (a.k.a. Jack Vincennes) a Texan millionaire of infinite wealth, unhealthy girth and unlimited libido, was having it off with both Celine and the backwards girl.
Attending a race, Celine shockingly fell beneath the wheels of a car at Monte Carlo and, dumbfoundingly, died devastatingly.
Many years later, the backwards girl was to give birth to her own mother, who would develop a discreetly discriminating tendency towards Hemingway’s short stories, which she would clandestinely consume in the study of the huge house, beginning at the end and reading each line from right to left until she finally found how each story began.
Holly, a young girl with an interest in Ernest Hemingway’s shorter work, took a dusty old tome from the shelf where it had been leaning against Thomas More’s Utopia. The embossed gold print on the burgundy leather spine indicated the name of the book: Erehwon.
It told the story of Jack Vincennes – a smalltime book dealer who never had a chance – and his dealings with a couple of femme fatales: one chick who talked funny and was kind of indescribable, and the other, who was French and a hottie.
Her name was Celine and she was from the Dordogne but spent a lot of time in Ceylon trying to taste tea for a succession of unsuccessful suitors; they were mostly timorous thieves. She was mixed up with a bad lot, is what I’m saying. They were darkly diffident too, and at the worst times, so that Celine was often saddled with the bill at swanky eateries – when her consort slipped away – sans recompense.
Soon broke, she swiftly set sail from Ceylon, saying ‘adieu’ to no one but her trusted maid, who – the years of servitude suddenly lifted from her shoulders – sensed a liberation previously suppressed during her years sewing socks for Celine, and constructed a scale model of a viaduct from matchsticks alone in her Ceylonese cellar.
Celine, on returning to the Paris of her childhood, went into the booktrade and soon became a scion of the scene. However, the siren who spoke in words and sentences of polarity reversed had other plans; plans which didn’t include that slut Celine and her budding business.
Kenny Stetson (a.k.a. Jack Vincennes) a Texan millionaire of infinite wealth, unhealthy girth and unlimited libido, was having it off with both Celine and the backwards girl.
Attending a race, Celine shockingly fell beneath the wheels of a car at Monte Carlo and, dumbfoundingly, died devastatingly.
Many years later, the backwards girl was to give birth to her own mother, who would develop a discreetly discriminating tendency towards Hemingway’s short stories, which she would clandestinely consume in the study of the huge house, beginning at the end and reading each line from right to left until she finally found how each story began.
posted by Karl | 6:29 PM
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