"The Second Finger" by Talib Talibani, October 2012

Disclaimer: All characters presented here are product of fiction. Any resemblances to real characters are of a pure coincidence. No intention was made to insult anyone for any reason.

AN: This story is an act of fiction. No one should attempt to act in the same manner as described.

AN2: None.

Summary: The boys decide to move a rock from the top of the cliff, to the bottom. They use explosives, and there is exposed a rich vein of galena, a lead and silver ore.

The Second Finger

In Boulder Creek Fishing near Fillmore, California, CIA initiates Project MULTI-ULTRA. This is an eleven year research program designed to produce and test drugs and biological agents that would be used for mind control and behavior modification. Six of the subprojects involved testing the agents on unwitting human beings.

Margaret and Robert Hatcher were strolling leisurely by the stream, enjoying the sound of the rushing water, its efflorescence and the fact that they were breathing fresh air. Or at least that's what they thought …

"Agency day when the figures would dwindle to zero …" Margaret began, conscious of Robert's breath and his masculine arm around her.

"And when there would no more railroads to …" Robert did not finish his thoughts but somehow it didn't really bother Margaret much.

"With their stories of and … the bureau of railway economics was established by the a Washington not in any connection with the government but …", she smiled in some evangelical manner, "… as an inert Institution of the railways organizations …"

"Oh, I see …"

Truth was that Robert didn't really understand his wife Margaret, but … he didn't seem to care either. Just the fact that they were together made him feel, well … "comfortable" … to say at least …

"What was the purpose though?" He suddenly dejected as if remembering that Margaret could talk AND think as well.

"Professedly …", she sighed as they watched the Natives butcher a freshly caught doe that dared to drink some water, "… for the study of transportation problems but apparently to shed tears for the railroad interests issued by this bureau …"

Blood was spurting from an artery and spilling from the veins, smearing the green grass in crimson red. Some non-Native children screamed at the sighting of this apparently inhuman act. Robert grinned towards them and they continued with their pleasant walk.

"They have not given universal credence be-cause …", Margaret had a feeling some men in grey suits were following them, but she could not see them. "They came entirely from a rail road source and because they never pointed but one way …"

"Namely the precipitous and undeviating hillside of the inevitable ruin?" Robert offered on the Earthly dialect.

"Yes." She frowned and then smiled up to him. "How did you know?"

In the other part of the same area, students Lucy Montgomery and Fillmore Durham were getting to know each other, daring for some conversation.

"Did you know that since the death of Senator Thomas Plait …"

"The senator?" Lucy seemed puzzled a bit.

"Yes." Fillmore giggled, staring at her in wonder.

"What about him?"

"He had always been able to ward off able legislation …"

"Lucky him …" Lucy sighed.

Some Natives were fishing on the other side of the stream. Every time they would catch a salmon, they would butcher it and then throw it back into the stream. Water was stained red or pink, depending on the flow.

"But that had not become so annoying when Thomas waxed the helm, you know …" Fillmore continued.

"How about later?"

"Later, however, …", he placed hands into his pockets and sighed as some wounded fish tried desperately to revive their butchered bodies, flowing down the current, "… the post was a living act and the poor express companies were fearing that the days of two and three hundred per cent dividends are forever gone.

"Cruel fate …" Lucy added solemnly as if they were on the graveyard.

"Yes. His followers were actually already discussing the advisability of rutting rates to meet the government's competition."

"Did that affect the oil prices somehow?" Lucy was intrigued.

Some hawks and other predators were already feasting on the dead and half-dead fish.

"Oh, sure. The report of the bureau of railway economics was that the net operating revenue for the October of 1912 was 71 per mile per day which contrasts with the one for October 1911."

"An increase?" Lucy pondered as some shy bear tried to pass them by and feast on an unexpected dinner.

"Yes. An increase. This says the report in an increase per mile of line for the month of … I forgot! Sorry …"

"Never mind."

In yet another area of the same Creek, Paul Woods and Gordon Hensley were eating some French fries, watching some Native Indian children chase non-Native children around. Those that were caught were tied up and then molested as the prisoners of war.

"The of railway economics has redeemed itself finally by showing itself capable for once at least of submitting an optimistic report to the people of the States." Gordon chewed on. "Since they have proven this …", there was a rifle shot from the Warden and the children dispersed in various directions. Warden tended to the wounds of the unlucky children. "Their figures will be given more attention in the future …"

"I hope they will be able to make more reports of this kind in the future …"

"Oh, for sure." Gordon finished his bag and wiped mouth with a paper napkin, licking the salt from his lips. "It means that we wish the much regulated and perhaps abused, … in some cases …", he paused as the released children grunted and groaned in pain, "… railways of the United States a happy new year and in reused prosperity."

Paul made no comment. He noticed that the Native Indian children only regrouped, waiting for action. Warden called for help over the radio but no one seemed to bother about it.

"Woolleys change does not mean any lighter sympathy with the dry cause."

"Waterloo?" Gordon offered.

"Yes. Waterloo has been hesitating these many years on grapple with the smoke problem presumably a dreaded expense would see in …"

"You have been the inevitable companion merit of any undertaking then? …" Gordon sniggered.

"Yes." Paul agreed and finished his portion, making a paper ball from his waxed bag. "The smoke nuisance has been the popular bait … making the officials admit that smoke consumers …", he sighed as the Native Indian children attacked the lonely law-abiding officer, "… not necessary were at least a help in the desired consumption of smoke."

They watched as the belly-pot man in his fifties struggled against the ever attacking children who stabbed, kicked and beat him as they pleased.

"It is pleasant to learn from the highest official source … therefore …", big guy collapsed, obviously unconscious already, "… that smoke consumers are not only unnecessary but …", those freshly released non-Native children tried to straddle away but the locals were faster, their nativity making them more fit to the environment, "… are inferior to the best natural means of the disposal of smoke."

Paul smiled at Gordon and they moved away from the grisly site.

"According to a late report of the federal of mines an oratory of which was published in the Courier last Friday …", some galloping horses rushed through the woods nearby, "… smoke is best prevented in the first place by smoke."

"Ah! I see your point." More riding Natives followed. "Less furnaces and in the second place by the proper firing of all furnaces, right?"

"That's right."

They watched as some scratched and bloodied administration clerk pleaded for mercy as the true inhabitants of the wilderness surrounded him.

"In a word …", Gordon sighed as the natives executed the jinx, "… smoke can be prevented by giving the coal a proper chance to burn."

Somehow they did not care about them and then proceeded further, hunting others in the Creek.

"It seems apparent therefore that Waterloo might begin the suppression of the smoke nuisance at very little expense." Gordon noticed someone's poodle caught in a wolf-trap. It moaned sadly, looking in all directions for some help. "At least in order to bring about smokeless conditions it would not be necessary for the city to order the wholesale tearing out of furnaces and the purchase of smoke consumers." Finally a fox ended poor poodle misery, feasting on her still warm flesh.

They listened as some naked Caucasian lady tried to evade the Manitou Warriors and their studs.

"But the reform could begin in any way by requiring the installation of proper furnaces in new buildings."

"What would the city do?" Paul hunted with his tongue those small pieces in his mouth that could still offer that fry taste which he relished.

"The city could hire a smoke inspector a few months a year to teach and supervise proper firing in the furnaces already in use."

"What about the Courier?"

"The Courier therefore suggests, or rather urges the city council to consider this matter." Soon moans and groans of the unlucky lady that ventured into the forbidden zone echoed all over the area. "If there be doubters … let them hold their peace until they learn more of the cheapness and practicability of smoke prevention."

"I agree." Paul concurred and they continued with their afternoon walk.

On the edge of the Boulder Creek, Donna MacKay and Natasha Weir watched as some escaped convicts used their .44 caliber guns to defend from the persistent officers of the law. On the hill to their right, a group of Natives were smoking largemouth bass, bluegill and smallmouth bass, laughing at the events below on the agricultural fields.

"And an estimate of the production in 1912 and a comparison with the pro …", Donna paused in the mid sentence as the blue uniforms shot one escapee.

"Go on …", Natasha sighed sadly, wishing they could join the Natives in their fish feast.

"Unfortunately the family financial Millard Fillmore was the 13th president of the United States …"

"What about him?" Natasha murmured, hugging her knees.

"He was not unlucky for him but it was very unlucky for the twelfth president … General Taylor who died after a year in office thus allowing Fillmore to succeed him." Donna tried to lit her cigarette but failed. She cursed the Providence. " Fillmore was born in New York in 1800 and in 1821 began the study of New York politics in Buffalo where they can still be investigated in all stages of decomposition."

"Sounds boring …", Natasha commented.

"He pursued his studies so successfully that at the age of 32 he was a congressman."

"So?"

"In those days as now it was considered desirable to the New York vote with a nomination for bait and in 1848 the Whigs attached Fillmore to the tail of the ticket where he rode in with considerable elasticity." Donna noticed that the blue uniforms released their vicious dogs which soon caught and then massacred the unlucky convicts. Indians laughed even louder now. "When Fillmore became president …", she glanced at Natasha in some tiresome way, "… the country to be in a condition."

Natasha sighed sadly, realizing that Donna was "corrupt" again.

"However he had the rare wisdom to appoint Daniel Webster secretary of the Black Community and have anyone to help him and the only way to the ride exceeded the expectations." She paused, scratching her buttocks. "Webster ran the country with great skill acquiring California and gracefully to the whenever when retired in 1853." She noticed that crows and other vultures were already gathering for some early evening meal. "He was considered so successful a president that he was First of Cold Compound."

"The First one?" Natasha seemed puzzled as the men in grey suits monitored them from some distance.

"Yes. You can surely end Grippe and break up the most severe cold either in head chest back stomach or with a dose of Panes Cold Compound every two hours until three consecutive doses are taken."

"It is effective?"

"Yes. It promptly relieves the most miserable headache dullness in the head and nose, stuffed up feverishness sneezing sore throat mucous."

"How about 1911 again?" Natasha asked reluctantly, not wishing to offend Donna.

"Well …", she sighed as the vultures already started to tear apart human carcasses, "… In those days as now it was new party which take it easy is duct in 1911."

"Things went right?"

"Yes. To let things go right and left, one would think that for the sake of all the future years would be glad to do this." Donna chuckled, noticing that the Natives made a large bon fire and were dancing around it. "On the contrary … he sees more hope for the cause of temperance through some agency other than the prohibition party."

"Who does?" Natasha felt lonely and desolated.

"Mr. Woolley, of course! In taking this step he was merely bowing to the judgment of hundreds of thousands of others who would put an end to the booze business if they could but who find their efforts in the Prohibition Party ineffective. But … this is not to say that a national temperance organization is not needed, rather that a political party with nominees for the great office of the presidency run upon the lines of the old party is ineffective."

"I see …" Natasha had enough of her nature excursion and wanted to go back.

"After all real winter feels best for people who work fretting because he can riot keep things up as he was used to in California, laving them. I hope you didn't notice how dirty that hall carpet was?"

"No, I did not."

"It frets me every time I venture there." Donna rose up as well, checking for her bag. "Just think how much this man was retarding his recovery by fretting about these things which he cannot help." They proceeded down the path, sun already setting low by now. "Undoubtedly … it is one of the hardest duties of many a gentlemen to school himself not to fret about those things which he has not the time nor strength to do."

"I think that even few women have the strength and leisure to keep their homes as immaculate as they would like to."

"I definitely agree on that."

"I mean … tasks which they know they ought to do and which they would really like to do if they only had the time and vitality are constantly staring them in the face."

They kept quiet for a while, chanting of the Natives growing dim.

"What is your idea of happiness Natasha?"

"Oh, gosh." She snickered shyly. "My idea of happiness … I once heard a housewife say is a place where the days are long enough for me to get all I want to done and I'll have the strength to do it with."

"Sounds so positive. I know that some housewives when confronted with tasks beyond their strength simply rise up and do them whether or not sacrificing on the altar of good housekeeping health and nerves and the rights of husbands and children."

Both girls were oblivious of the men in grey suits that just entered their vehicles with tinted windows.

"Others are not quite insane enough to do this but they are almost as foolish for they waste nearly as much vitality fretting and worrying because they cannot do these things."

"But still …" Natasha grinned at Donna, noticing that horns started to bud out from her forehead. "A few very wise women do what they have strength and time to do …"

Finally they grew wings and then flew away, feeling free and joyful.