Nemeses

That was the last I saw of Gene.

Plunging into the dark abyss, screaming and flailing, Gene quickly faded into obscurity both in the literal and figurative sense.  

And that was that.  I had defeated my nemesis.  Finding the cave had been simple, (google was an amazing tool), and luring him here had proved even easier; Gene had always quietly assumed his virtue could overcome any evil which led to a near... well, a fatal lack of forethought.  Nancy nagged him about it during poker games on the weekends but he laughed it off as just being true to himself.  I will miss those games. 

It was not my fault, you see.  We were just playing out the cards we were dealt.  I had won this hand, and all of them as it turned out. 

The setup, I think, had something to do with orphans.  Where... oh yes, already in the abyss.  Gene was a sucker for orphans having been one himself.  He liked kittens too, but so did I.  Still do in fact, I'm not the total monster the media makes me out to be.  The orphans Gene tried to save were cleverly disguised cave bats. The look on his face was priceless, it was the same look he gave when I beat his full house with... but I digress.

So yes, to answer your question I was there when your dad died.  I am accepting applications for a new nemesis as well. I look forward to seeing how much you've grown, Gene Jr.  Do you play poker?  Write soon.

Sincerely,

Terry.  (The Maniaclor)

What Jimmi did

       Jimmi walked through the door.  This would not have been as alarming had he walked through merely the doorway, but there I stood stunned and as an afterthought impressed having just witnessed the miracle of intangibility.  We had both wanted the ice cream to be sure, and yes, I had not expected Baskin Robbins to be open at this hour but something had drawn me out into the rain this evening with my brother Jimmi besides the arm of my brother Jimmi.

       I watched through the store window as he reached through the impotent sentry glass into the pail of Tiger below and scooped up a handful.  Would it... no, the ice cream came through the glass with his hand.  It could still be a hallucination or dream, but at least the idea of my brother being dead was checked off of the myriad of possibilities reeling through my mind.  I should have been more concerned with those and less with the idea of eating ice-cream Jimmi had handled.  We made eye contact and, in a rare moment of compassion he grabbed a scoop with his clean hand, reached through the glass with it and scooped a nice ball of vanilla into a bowl.  His went into another.  Before leaving the store, he grabbed a 10 from his pocket and left it on the counter.  A pointless gesture I noted, as whoever opened would probably just pocket it but it was the price of an easy conscience.

     Now, as we walk home I try to phrase the obvious question.  This may be damn good ice cream but clearly the ends did not justify the means.