Hot Masala/Introduction

From All The Fallen Stories
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Hot Masala

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Introduction

A short parody that really has nothing to do with the story but will serve as an introduction.

If you have ever experienced the notion that planting flowers in your garden, to make it more and attractive and give it a little colour, was a worthwhile pursuit that you would like to do yourself; banish the thought. It is bone crunching, dirty, filthy, grimy work that should be left to a professional.

For some reason, I thought it would be an enjoyable task, but after a few weeks, I was ready to call in a ’real’ gardener. I believe it was the massive amount of rocks that I encountered, plus the buried rubbish that soured me. Did I mention rocks? There were tons of them. So many in fact, I was able to construct a monument. You could call it a monument because it had certain character to it that was almost artistic. Perhaps character is the wrong word to use. I couldn’t call it art or sculpture either. Well, let’s say it was a bit of an organized heap of rocks.

Then, there was the rubbish. I know that rubbish tips weren’t always with us and our predecessors produced quite a bit of garbage they needed to dispose of, but why did they bury it in my garden? There were lots and lots and almost as many bones as rocks; quite a large pile of them developed. I decided to dispense with them rather than create another monument. In fact, I believe I should hire out to have the rocks cleared along with the bones.

There were some interesting finds, but not many. I found a ‘alf-penny coin that was well over a hundred years old. Some of them are quite dear now so I’ll have it appraised. Then, there was the clay pipe. However, I was so happy I almost pissed myself when I dug up a metal box. My first thoughts were that someone hid a large wedge of cash and didn’t retrieve it. You can imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be a stack of papers.

Upon closer examination, I found them to be quite interesting. Not all that old but after I read them, I can imagine the author not wanting the misses or anyone else to read them. Here’s a copy for your reading pleasure:

End Introduction

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