by: Valentino Incanto
Profferi
©Valentino Incanto Profferi 2009
The story told here is
utterly, fictitious and any resemblance between the characters herein or the
events depicted and any true incident depicted by the Fairy tale is completely coincidental
and unintentional.
Once there was a young Toad named William who was
known to most in his town as Bill and by one elderly dame as Billy. This young chap was quite a clever fellow who
was strapping and rather well liked, he thought. He was in fact a rather similar to the others
in the town and completely unremarkable in any way except to the elderly dame
who had loved him for his own self since she had met him as a child in her schoolhouse. William Toad had grown up to be quite a
fellow of fellows with a good sense and a taste for wearing medium grey sport
suits with no tie and properly shined loafers.
Bill liked to look like how he wished to be, a relaxed and amiable
fellow, an upstanding citizen, and a professional with a life and career.
Five days of
every week were repetitions of each other.
Before the rising of the sun, Bill would be up with a steaming pot of
hot coffee, a plate of buttered toast with jam and a bowl of sliced fruit. Once the breakfast had been polished off and
the dishes put away, it was time for a brisk walk to the park, around the pond
thrice followed by the return to his home at the bottom of
Relieved at the end of each of those days, Bill
would waddle home exhausted. By the end
of each day his head and body ached from the tedium and allotment of his soul
in the service of The Firm. He was happy
to do it for it was a small price to pay for the respect, fortune, and security
that was promised in return. Deep
within, his spirit lay buried beneath the weight of his obese soul. Each night the return home was interrupted by
a visit to Conker’s Bar, which was in walking distance from home. Conkers was the gateway into the quiet and
pretty neighbourhood. Every night his
seat at the bar between Don and Phil was waiting by the far wall of the stuffy,
dark little bar room. In the corner
where the three friends sat, little light reached them. They ate hamburgers piled high with toppings
and condiments with oily fried potato that they dipped in mayo. While they ate, they each consumed four pints
of wheat brew and a whisky sour, which opened their palates and loosened the
tongue.
From their safe vantage point in the obscurity of
relative darkness, the three friends nattered. Over the dames who came and went they remarked
on the greater and lesser qualities of what they could see. For the more significant qualities that the
observed may have had within, there was not a thought. However, for the greater part of the visit at
Conker’s, there was football to watch and to discuss the performance of the
competing teams. After dinner Bill would
find his path home among the littering of invisible obstacles set on the green
lawn flanked sidewalk. Bill was certain
at those times that the city workers had put the obstacles there just for him
to trip and call in a complaint. He was
a nice guy though, which meant that Bill only complained about it to Josh the
barman, Phil and Don. Thank fully, there
was his trusty recliner in the living room before the enormous liquid crystal
display screen where Bill could regain his strength and relax. The news was usually on when the large screen
began resonating at his soul and irradiating his corneas. Bill found that pushing a button and seeing
the world open up before him was comforting and reassuring. Feeling reposed after absorbing the sports
news Bill pushed a button to find himself in a new
world of adventure, excitement, drama, and romance.
On his recliner, relaxed and also aroused with
excitement from the film, Bill Toad would slip into dreams of living the
promised life one day when he retired.
Some hours later he would awake to the disturbing growls of a creature
threatening a maiden. Roused from his
slumber he pushed a button to extinguish the violence. He had been dreaming of conquering as he rose
to become the president of his Firm, which he swiftly put out of his mind. Roger Moro was his only competition at his
level. It was a private joke of Bill’s
with his associates at Conker’s that Moro was short for