Jim Maijala's Phunk Phiction -- Epilog

From: jmaijala@cox.net
Date: Fri, 21 Jul 2006 23:53:50 -0700
Subject: !GFR/RK! Re: phunk phiction...epiloge

Now for the last Phunk Phiction short story....Epiloge!

The year is 2020.

The nurse looked over at the three elderly gentlemen sitting in their wheelchairs arguing like they always did...

"Dagnabit Mel, will you stop that jabbering about Spartacus", complained Don as he accidently spit out his dentures onto the floor.

"I'll get 'em", chimed in Mark as he rolled his wheel chair over the dentures breaking them on purpose.

"That's it!" shouted the gummy Don as he and Mark began jousting with their chairs and rolled up newspapers.

"I AM SPARTACUS!", hollered Mel to no one in particular.

The nurse got up from behind her desk laughing softly as she moved to intercept the combatants when there suddenly was a blinding flash of blue, red and white light in the middle of the room. As her eyes recovered from the light a strange hooded figure stood in the middle of the room. His majestic purple robes completely hid his face, in fact, she could not see any of the mysterious persons features.

Just then a brightly colored parrot flew into the room and landed gently on the shoulder of the robed figure.

"Grok", said the bird.

Mark, Don and Mel looked at the figure with a strangely familiar gaze, as if waiting for something....

Slowly, the figure raised his arms to the hood and revealed his face to the room.

"DAY!", cried Don.

Mark tried to get up from his chair but he was too weak. Mel covered his face so as to not see their former adversary.

"Yes it is I, Terry Day. But you have nothing to fear from me. You see, Bill the parrot accompanies me.", Day explained.

Just then, Bill the parrot spred his wings and flew three laps around the room. As he flew the room grew darker and darker, except for a small glowing cube in the center of the room, like the three dimensional TV. A head was materializing in the TV right in front of the elderly Phunkers. They recognized it as that of the Monk of Funk.

"Hello my friends", smiled the Monk, "I see you have met our new friend...yes, I know your doubts. But Terry has finally crossed over into the light of Phunkness. He performed a great deed of love that cost him his very life and he has been redeemed!" The Monk went on to tell of a horrible event that occured and when the chips were down Terry had sacrificed himself so others could live.

"I know it's hard to believe", explained Terry, "but I have come back to do a good deed, if you can trust me."

"I don't know about that, Terry", said Mark.

The Monk began to tell a strange tail of triumph and tragedy, of crosses and double crosses and of love and hate. When he was done all three of the Phunkers were standing shakily on their canes. The Monk told them to gather close together in a huddle. Mel almost tripped on Don's dentures.

Terry then stepped forward and produced a small pouch from his cloak. Bill the parrot picked up the pouch and clutching it in his talons he flew up over the elderly musicians and dusted them like a crop duster with the powder in the pouch.

Almost immediately the boys felt the age slipping away from their bodies. They stood straighter, threw down their canes, their skin began to tighten and their voices became stronger. After about two minutes they felt like they were twenty one again.

"This is amazing", clapped Don

"I really am Spartacus", laughed Mel

"Where is my guitar?" , intoned Mark

A smile came over the Monks face and he simply said, "TIme to go guys", and he faded from view as did the magic cube.

"What did he mean by that?" Asked Mel as he and Don started shadow boxing like they did in the old days.

"Okay guys, please grab hold of my cloak", ordered Day.

They guys looked at each other and shruged and touched the cloak. Instantly they were transported back. Back to when they were three complete unknowns. Back into an old rehersal hall in Flint, Michigan. Back into the Winter of 1968. They looked around, smiled, and picked up their instruements. Life was never better.

The End.

The Grand Funk Railroad Web

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