Odd-yssey – TIME2024

   The alluring aroma wafted from the kitchen to the living room. Pungent onions, sweet carrots and aromatic celery, married in a mirepoix for the soul. Penelope was preparing her legendary minestrone soup; a cosseting treat as autumn chills swiftly followed in the wake of summer’s waning warmth.

   Following on the coattails of the savoury bouquet, Penelope’s earnest appeal arrived, “Honey, sorry, we’re out of, of, … thingy.” After thirty years together, I instinctively knew what she meant; more importantly, I anticipated what my next mission was to be. “Ok, darling, shall I pop down to the supermarket? How much time do I have?”

   “Yes please, Ulysses!”, she confirmed sweetly, but added sternly, “Don’t get distracted, time is of the essence; you’ve got an hour before the soup is ready.” Without hesitating, I put on my jacket, grabbed my keys and wallet, and headed for the door; confirming my itinerary, “Ok, I’m going. The 121 bus should be along shortly I’ll be as quick as I can, don’t start without me!” In the rush to catch the bus, I forgot my phone. No matter, it wasn't going to take long.

   Unfortunately, we didn’t own a car, so we were at the mercy of public transport. The nearest supermarket was in Enfield Town, about seven miles away. I had memorised the bus schedule, so I hoped it would be on time, considering it was early evening and past the rush-hour madness. Sure enough, I was right and along trundled my blessed and cursed 121 bus.

   The bus was practically empty, so I sat in my favourite seat, the one right next to the fan heater. I settled down for the ten-minute ride. Unfortunately, the swaying of the bus, the warmth and my weariness combined to lull me into a deep slumber, like a baby rocked in a cradle.

   I awoke abruptly as the bus jolted to a stop. Where was I? How long had I slept? I was completely lost, but my main concern was that Penelope was going to kill me. To make matters worse, my watch had stopped working.

   The bus driver announced our arrival at terminus, bellowing with a cavernous Italian accent, “Grazie for riding with Italbus, this-a-is our stop finale.” I asked him how I could get beck to Enfield. His instructions, helped by the accompanying gesticulations, were clear. We were at Piazza San Pietro in Rome; I had to walk across Saint Peter’s Square and catch the 121 bus going back the other way. How the hell was I in Rome?!... I didn’t even have my passport with me!

   There wasn’t time to question how, when and why, nor to analyse my own sanity; my only goal was to get back home, even if Penelope was going to kill me.

   As I walked across the enormous empty piazza, I felt my feet sinking into the ground. It was already dark, and only moonlight revealed the horror. Looking down, and as far as the piazza extended, was a sea of bubbling, stringy mozzarella! Mamma mia!

   Acting before thinking saved me from being devoured by the molten cheese… I scarpered out of there, aiming for the crispier brown patches, all the while, feeling the heat beginning to cook my soles. I got to the other side, evading death by cheese; caught my breath and scurried to the bus stop. I wondered if the bus schedule had any relevance here. Sure enough, I was right and along lumbered my blessed and cursed 121 bus.

   My shoes still dragging some stringy cheese, I haltingly climbed aboard the bus. This time I was determined to not fall asleep again. I asked the driver how long it would take to get to Enfield. She replied in a sensuous French accent, “Bon soir, ce bus n’arrive pas à Enfield. Excuse mon anglais, you must descend at the fork in the road and marcher a droit. Le N121 bus nocturne will take you maison.” Great, so I had to change buses at the next fork in the road… It was getting so late; Penelope was surely going to kill me.

   After a few miles, the lady driver stopped and told me to get off, repeating her instructions to go right and catch the N121 bus that did the night service. I jumped off, turned around and couldn’t believe my eyes, rubbing them with my knuckles to be sure of what I was seeing. Before me stood a twenty-foot tall metal fork, complete with four prongs anchored to the ground.

   In all honesty, I didn’t have the foggiest idea as to where I was; I scanned high and low for clues. Then a road sign caught my eye… Parc du Champ-de-Mars. Bloody hell, I was in Paris! I recognised the area… nearby there must have been… yep, The Eiffel Tower!

   As I moved fifty yards to my right, there she was in all her glory; yet, something wasn’t right. She wasn’t the usual marron glacé colour, but a more yellowish hue. Suddenly she lit up; the hourly LED glimmering spectacle for Parisians. At that moment I could see clearly that her wrought-iron lattice framework was actually made of… giant French Fries! Sacrebleu! What was this monstrosity?

   Again, no time to contemplate this strangeness; I just wanted to get home. Recalling the bus driver’s advice, I looked to the right of the giant fork and saw the bus stop off in the distance. I quickened my pace, I sensed the bus was en route; sure enough, I was right and along galumphed my blessed and cursed N121 bus.

   This time, no mistakes. I grilled the driver, I was determined to reach my destination. He replied in a frenzied Greek accent, “Kaliméra, no worry, I will get you home fast.” He wasn’t kidding either; I didn’t even know the bus could go so fast. My night had been a disaster, so it wasn’t totally unexpected that even this last stage of my odd Odyssey, should still reserve some excitement.

   As the driver skirted the edges of the road, the right front tyre blew out; the bus rumbled to a dead stop. I already knew what the driver was going to say, but I let him speak, “Me bad, bus broke, you walk thata way, under big building and straight, home… five minutes.”

   So, another trek… I couldn’t even imagine how late it was; what I could imagine was how mad Penelope would be, and what method she would employ to kill me.

   In the distance I saw the large building the burly Greek driver had mentioned. As I approached, I realised it wasn’t a building at all, but a temple… a massive one. The closer I got, the more I began to notice it’s ancient architecture. It was on a giant rectangular base, surrounded by columns supporting the remnants of a triangular roof.

   It was The Parthenon, so I was now in Athens, Greece! I’d only ever seen this marvel in pictures, but something was different. I squinted hard to be sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. By Jove, the columns were not of stone, but of meat on giant wooden skewers… souvlaki!

   I ignored my curiosity and my taste buds and marched on, traversing the towering pillars of sizzling meat and straight out the other side. I suddenly began to recognise the sycamore trees and the neighbouring houses… finally homeward bound. I had been tempted to stop to have a bite of shish kebab as I was famished, but I was still hoping Penelope had saved me a few ladles of minestrone… before beating me to death with it.

   P.S.: Note to self, remember to buy grated Parmesan for the soup… and a bicycle!

   The End, La Fine, La Fin, To Télos

a reply to: Encia22

Star and Flag! This is amazing!

The burning cheese is for good health!

Greece it amazing!

a reply to: Encia22



That read like a fever dream! Good stuff Encia22 I thoroughly enjoyed that!

The crazy Greek reminded me of another who was probably my favourite chef, now I want souvlaki!. Filling and satisfying, I hope the protagonist got his soup without too many bumps! Sounds like he had enough for the night.

The best soup comes with lumps and bumps...

a reply to: JJproductions

Cheers, JJ!

Greece is a place I haven't visited yet, but I had many Greek friends back in my school days and I enjoyed their company and culture.

a reply to: Encia22

Good one Encia.

Ah, travel in Europe. Yeah, Greece is fun. The signs with street names all look like algebra problems!

Cheers

a reply to: RAY1990

Thanks for your feedback, RAY1990.

Actually, you're close, it was a lucid dream I had about a month ago, although, I wasn't running a fever. However, it was a very stressful moment in real life and much of the dream reflected that angst. I use public transport daily and some of those scenarios aren't totally fiction. The dream ended in Paris, the rest I filled in.

Also, two bits of trivia:

1) As I said to JJ, as a kid, I had many Greek friends and so that's why I included Greece, trying to honour Homer's epic poem at the same time.

2) The n.121 bus is real. In North London, back in the 80s, I used to commute on it from Southgate to Enfield Town to get to school. The line still exists today and does the same route.

And, finally, you're absolutely right about souvlaki and soup... the chunkier, the better!

a reply to: F2d5thCavv2

Thanks, F2d5thCavv2, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Lol, I can imagine! I find the language fascinating.

Now that you mention algebra, here's another tidbit about my experience with a Greek teacher. I posted this somewhere else on ATS, so just cut & pasting here, too.

He was my maths teacher in secondary school. He was a large Greek who could hardly speak English, kept a bottle of Ouzo in his desk and threw whiteboard markers at us for being dumb. He was one of the few teachers who actually swore at us... the language was very... colourful. However, he was the best teacher I ever had.

a reply to: Encia22

Your tale was an excellent romp in space-time, and finished with a twist! Well done! I really enjoyed this Encia. I am so glad that Penelope eventually got her Parma.

a reply to: argentus

Thank you kindly, Argentus. Your feedback is always appreciated.

I had intended to make this longer, more adventurous and with many stepping stones in different cities. Alas, space was at a premium; I didn't want to overrun into another post.

I also had planned a final confrontation between Penelope and Ulysses. She would have been waiting on the doorstep for him, ladle in hand. Again, there wasn't enough space left for it.

Finally, I left a small, but important clue as to what really happened. His watched had stopped working; in fact, Ulysses never left home. It was all a dream, as was my lucid dream that I adapted for the story.

My dream ended with the Paris stop, so a bit of embellishment was necessary to make it more travailed. And, even though I tried to add some tongue-in-cheek humour, I now recognise the physiological trauma that seeded my dream.

a reply to: Encia22

I think I remember you mentioning a break and I'm glad you're back gracing us with your posts, I've worked dreams through stories and poems in the past and found it very therapeutic, insightful too.

All the best!

a reply to: RAY1990

I’m humbled that you remembered, RAY1990, and I thank you for the encouraging words.

It’s interesting that you are able to tap into your dreams for your creative writing projects. Have you posted any on ATS?

Mine are mostly jumbled and incoherent. However, the rare one I based the story on was as lucid as could be, filled with many different current situations rolled into one, and which made for an easy self-appraisal of my evident state of anxiety.

a reply to: Encia22

thank you

I've only posted the one that I can recall and it was a very lucid dream that I still think about now and then, seems it was a relatively accurate account of that dream especially the ball of light that accompanies the helicopter as we head out to sea. It changed with a pop that I later learned was the sound of exploding head syndrome... Only time it's happened in a dream. Also the sighting mentioned is one I shared here years before writing that story. It was a bit of a trip reading that tbh.

www.abovetopsecret.com...

In a way I guess it fits with this round's theme!

a reply to: RAY1990

Excellent story, Ray! It's even more terrifying knowing it was a dream. I think you wrote it very well, keeping up the suspense, beginning to end.

Bloody hell, I can understand how an experience like that would remain engraved in your psyche. It will remain with me also, especially every time I see, read or hear: teacup.

And yes, that time bubble in which you experienced the extra weirdness, surely fits with the theme of this contest.

By the way, it would be nice if you'd showcase more of your storytelling here with us. I think writer status would be a just recognition... I see an empty space under your username that needs filling!

a reply to: Encia22

Thank you for the kind words!

There's nothing quite like a good cup of tea or a juicy red apple for that matter hehe, it was a trip at the time but I do look back and smile these days. I was having a few weird dreams those days.

I'll do my best to share some writings, I do have a few other dream inspired stories I've never properly wrote out. Thanks for the encouragement!

a reply to: RAY1990

That would be great, the more, the merrier, Ray!

Personally, I like to shield my apples shield against radiation, pollution, tax collectors and tea leaves!



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