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- Albert

My Slate

This story was created using movie titles from the 1950's ;)

The doors of the saloon swung open suddenly, its hinges creaking, interrupting the drowsy atmosphere inside. Patrons - those who were still sober - turned their heads towards the entrance. In the doorway stood a man dressed in black, a giant really. He was probably 6 feet tall, with a burly frame and bushy moustache. The patrons and the barman eyed the intruder nervously.

"Where is Shichinin no samurai?" the man roared. A customer, perceived to be drunk, was stunned sober at the sheer volume and leapt out of the Rear Window in fright. The giant snorted and cast his eyes over the people in the saloon. His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he reassumed his grim expression.

"Tell him, this Shichinin that,"the man paused for effect,"the 12 Angry Men seek him. If he declares himself a man, he will go North by Northwest and face us at Sunset Boulevard. And if he doesn't,"the giant paused again,"we will hunt him down and send him into a Vertigo of such misery that he will regret being born." With those doom-like words, the man left the bar.

The 12 Angry Men were a band of no-good rogues who had been terrorising the townfolk. They pillaged, raped and razed wherever they liked. And hell, they got away by buying the sheriff. The whole bar was silent, thinking of Shichinin's fate. Then the chatter broke out.

"I knew tha' Shichinin had a Touch of Evil ever since he came to our town!"

"That little yellow Jap is bringin' us trouble, I tell ya, Maisie. And we thought he was the handsomest young man we ever laid eyes on. 12 Angry Men, indeed!"

"Tony, where is he?"A miner in overalls asked the barman. The barman shook his bald pate resignedly.

"I don't know, Mo,"he replied. "But wherever he is, he's managed to avoid them and he'll be Singing in the Rain, celebrating his freedom. That Shichinin, he's a slippery one, he is."

Morris the miner raised an eyebrow. "But...the 12 Angry Men! They never let anyone go. Certainly not a yellow," he pronounced the 'yellow' distastefully.

Tony rolled his eyes at his friend's racist attitude and proceeded to tell Morris about the Jap's plan. There was a man, he said, Umberto D, a trickster, who lived on the other side of the hill; a mutual friend of Tony and Shichinin. Shichinin...Shiki would definitely seek refuge with him. Umberto D would help him disguise himself, in fact, change his appearance so well that if any of the 12 Angry Men met him face to face, they'd merely be Strangers on a Train...

... "Weather's terrible, ain't it?"the coarsened fisherman remarked to a smooth-looking young man. The young man smiled.

"It's perfect,"the young man said in heavily accented English. Definitely a foreigner, the fisherman thought. Latin? he wondered. "We don't get as much sun as this in my country," the youth explained.

The fisherman shrugged. "Well, Some Like It Hot." The young man nodded in agreement. "What's a young 'un like you doin' On the Waterfront at High Noon?"the fisherman pressed.

He was waiting for a boat, he explained. A long journey. This area wasn't suitable for him. The fisherman agreed. Dangerous, with outlaws and criminals running about. Thankfully, the 12 Angry Men were no more. The youth looked surprised. So the fisherman told him about The Killing of the twelve bandits. All had been shot cleanly in the throat, a method of execution favoured by the Twelve themselves. Used especially, with great delight on their part, on immigrants in the town. Bigots, the fisherman spat and cursed them. The town was better off without them.

The youth merely listened. Inwardly, he inhaled the Sweet Smell of Success. He would've liked to tell this old fisherman how simple the Anatomy of a Murder was - oh, how easy it was! Yet he could not risk having a Witness for the Prosecution should he get caught one day. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. He knew it was wrong. Those bandits however had destroyed so many lives, including his family. The important thing was that they were gone forever. And of himself? A new life far away, thanks to his friend Umberto D.

The steamer Stalag 17 approached ponderously. He could see the many peoples on the ship. He thanked the old fisherman for a great conversation and bade him farewell. Up, up, up, he walked the gangplank and onto the ship. Shichinin no samurai joined the masses and became A Face in the Crowd.

6 mad rant(s):

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  1. gungrave1988 said...

    Interesting story. I guess that Shichinin no samurai killed the 12 Angry Men out of vengeance & ran away in a train,right?  

  2. Arbitary Juggernaut said...

    Interesting.... and a little funny too.
    If you don't mind i would like to re-write this and submit it to you...

    sorta like an editor...

    I did something similar for a Lay by Jared....
    I wonder whether he liked it....?  

  3. Comrade Cripple said...

    This story should be adapted into a noir film.....

    ~multum in parvo~  

  4. Arbitary Juggernaut said...

    whats a noir??

  5. Maverick said...

    @arbitary juggernaut,

    I didn't mind your interpretation of my poem, but I wish you'd told me about editing it before you put it up. I was under the impression that you would put it up 'as is'. Anyway, thanks for fixing it here and there. The flow's much smoother where you made adjustments.

    Speaking of which, I'm asking for your permission to write a story based on The Cradle. A continuation of sorts. Please? =D

    @comrade cripple,

    Totally agreed. But who'll direct the film?


    Love this story. Very creative, very funny too. I guess your harvest season's just begun. My crops have yet to grow out of their seeds, though... =(

    ~verus rara avis~  

  6. yiwei said...

    thx 4 e comments..yeah he killed them, but ran away on a ship, if u read it again gungrave ;p

    Arbitary juggernaut: yup do re-write it. would love 2 c e spin u can put on my story.

    Comrade: YOU can direct e film =D  


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