Published March 7, 2009
The Purple Paperclip
There once was a purple paperclip
Despite it’s location, it was quite pleased
To the other utensils
The Paper and Pencils,
It was all they could do not to ‘sneeze’
Then on one cloudy day came a man
He was last seen leaving his sedan
But when he came knocking
The Paperclip went rocking
Until it fell into a can
Paper and cardboard piled on top,
Yet as it grew darker
The Paperclip became a marker
For what was happening atop
It had been twenty-two years since Professor Brodwick Paterson had last set foot on Peruvian soil. As far as his colleagues were concerned the poem he had just read them was something their children could have created, yet, they knew the origin of the verse.
“How’s it going with the luggage?” he turned and shouted to his hired tour guide, Mungo.
“We’re almost nearing the camp, I can take it,” the taller man behind Brodwick replied.
Unlike other tourists, who dreamed of finding lost relics and artifacts deep within some foreign land on this not so foreign planet, Brodwick knew that one could only go so far as his tour guide was willing to go. Hence why he chose Mungo to accompany him. Back in Berlin, Mungo Ackerman was virtually unknown except for a selected small group of criminals who knew him as “deadly”. When Brodwick had placed ads in the local papers, the Internet, and nearby stores facing Paterson Mansion, his estate, Mungo was the only person who replied to him through all three mediums plus word of mouth, as Brodwick found out awkwardly the very first time he decided to use public transit for a change.
“There’s a man at the back, who told me he wants to accompany you on your journey,” the bus driver had said to Brodwick’s blank face. He could still recall the conversation that pursued at his 9’oclock supper.
“What are your qualifications?” he had asked, emphasizing the word ‘are’.
“Well,” the man had responded, hands fidgeting his jackets open zipper near his groin, “I can speak in eight different languages, including violence.”
That was all that had really been needed to be said, as Brodwick appreciated a man, especially a man with a finely tailored jacket, who could defend him during his research, but still regardless of what had been a contempt look on Brodwick’s face, the man had continued.
“I can also run for forty kilometres without stopping for a breath, although I might need a drink….”
The man wasn’t kidding when he made note of his thirst. During his two hour visit, he had consumed three glasses of water, a shot of vodka, and a Shirley Temple, which Paterson’s personal chief provided as Mungo had carefully watched the preparation.
“My Doctor said I had to ease up on the alcohol,” the man had then confessed, before removing a crocodile skin wallet from his breast pocket, revealing the contents to be two pictures of what was apparently a boy on the left and a girl on the right. “That’s Wallace, and that’s Andrea,” he said in a deep voice, as he pointed to each one respectively.
Suddenly Brodwick knew he had found his guide, who knew what else he knew, but any man with a family was less likely to risk doing anything that could jeopardize his return, or his temporary employer.
As they trekked on, it became apparent that some of his colleagues weren’t coping with the extraneous walking to the same level as Mungo.
“Sue, wake up!” he barked as gently as possible as he noticed the tall woman slowing down to the pace of a turtle, that and the fact that one of her eyes were shut as the other remained transfixed on the path ahead.
“Why you yelling at me for!” she snapped back in broken English, as Brodwick manoeuvred his way over a fallen branch. If they were in the frying pan, they were now in the fire. The sheer heat was almost unbearable and he could have sworn that the amount of mosquitoes following them had doubled within the last twelve minutes.
“Shh,” Brodwick then motioned to the two behind him as he saw a low and lengthy figure ahead of them behind the ever-increasing tress and bushes.
“What is it Brodwick?” Mungo whispered behind him as he gently released the load of luggage from his back to the damp, dirt floor.
“I think it’s a jaguar, although you said they don’t usually come out at this time of day?” Brodwick replied maintaining the silent whisper.
“That I am one hundred percent positive about,” his guide answered in the same tone, “although…” there was a brief pause, “…it wouldn’t surprise me if we are approaching a mother’s resting territory and she is now patrolling the area for our scent, casual response for the mother of a diminishing species.”
“Do you have a gun?” Brodwick asked again, this time inching his way closer to the movement in the bushes less than two hundred feet ahead.
“Depends,” Mundo replied, “Do you prefer manual or automatic?”
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141,411 Literary Works • 674,390 Reviews
I agree with the others about the beginning. What bearing does the poem have on the actual story? Why is Bordwick reading it to his colleagues? What field does he work in? Why does he need a guide, and to where? These questions remain unanswered, and the reader tends to lose interest when they can't follow what is happening. your transitions lack smoothness. Other then that, this story is interesting and makes me want to read more! Great job!
Hello!
Ok, right off I am going to say- You are very good at developing your characters. In my opinion, at least, I felt like I knew them! You have created very likable characters here, despite Mungo's 'violent' nature he doesn't seem like too bad of a guy. he reminds me a bit of Butler in the Artemis Fowl series, a lovable thug. The poem confused me a bit, but it was cute. Perhaps clear that up a bit more. All in all, a nice piece. The setting was a breath of fresh air, I am sick of stories that are quite predictable because of their setting. i.e. High School romance pieces. You know the ones. Anyway keep up with your writings, you've got a talent!
I am really impressed with this-it's my cup of tea. I actually like how the poem appears disconnected to the rest of the beginning-it gets the reader wondering about what the relevance is, and adds some mystery.
This is quirky and funny, and also quite intelligent. It's quite polished and mature compared with what I usually see here. Well done!
the story seems incomplete, as if there is something more to come before or after...
and as of yet, I also do not see the connection of the poem with the story, but I assume that with further production, that will become clear,
other than that, the story was okay, but well, as of yet, seems to lack any action, anything really to hook the audience... so well, that's something to work on, and really, I don't get what the stories about... it doesnt seem to go anywhere...
manual or automatic guns?
I don't think guns work like that.
automatic, sure, but I have never heard of a manual gun... semi-auto... one shot... manual? no...
anyhow, it need work.
Peace,
God
Helloooo Elitehusky, are you ready for the edit of your life? Let the edit begin!!!
I liked your little poem at the beginning, it was funny!! But what does that have to do with the story? You talk about Brodwick reading it, but that's it. I was a little confused.
Why didn't you just say Mungo replied? Saying the taller man behind Brodwick is kinda unusual. And you can confuse your readers very easily.
Hang on, why would Brockman put up ads in local papers and around his place when tour guides for Peru normally live in Peru? I really didn't get that. And you said that Mungo was a hired tour guide. So he'd have to at least have a license or something, right?
Okay, first things first. You need to put names. I can hardly understand who you're talking about. Your readers will too. I also saw that you italicised are saying that he emphasized are is there a specific reason why. Read that sentence to yourself and see how it sounds. For me it sounded weird, but you might think different. Also, on jackets you need to put an apostrophe. Jacket's it's a singular possesive noun.
Do you mean he speaks eight languages and knows how to swear? Or trashtalk? What do you mean by violence being a language?
Doctor doesn't need to be capitalized. And you might want to say chest instead of breast. You don't go around saying, "let me get my phone out of my breast pocket." You would say chest./i] and it sounds better.
I think you mean [i]trees?
You shouldn't need a question mark, because you're saying a declarative sentence. You could say, "I think it's a jaguar Mungo. Although, didn't you say that they don't usually come out at this time of the day?"
Just a little thought there.
Congratulations!!!
Your storyline was good, but there were somethings that didn't quite click with me. The title doesn't really match oyur storyline for example. The poem did, but not the story. Think it over.
Thanks for letting me edit your story. I'd be happy to edit any others you have!!!
Have a great day/night whatever time it is!!!
Lucy Pennykettle
Hola, I'm gonna review your piece!
This was funny, I rather liked it! However, your rhyme scheme is inconsistent. You might want to fix that, but if you did that on purpose...power to you! It's enjoyable either way.
Behind who? Brodwick or Mungo? Clarify.
I don't like the repetition of foreign in the first sentence. I don't understand what the ad Brodwick wrote was for...
I don't think the comma is needed after provided.
Why is he showing him pictures? You tell us later that it's his family, but tell us now when you first introduce them in the pictures.
"Barked gently" is contradictory. Take one out, and I don't like the repetition of that in the second clause.
I think you should clarify that Brodwick is speaking.
"Him" not "his" and take out "damp" we know mud is damp.
Don't say silent, it's not silent haha...just say "maintaining a whisper".
Anyways, I hope I helped you in someway!
---Dahlia