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MAN VS NATURE- A SHORT STORY by PEPPZ

MAN VS. NATURE


By Peppz

I ran onwards as the light began to fade. There I was, just a black silhouette against a background of reds and oranges- like I always
wanted to be. The dust kicked up above my sneakers, my breathing was becoming labored, my form slowly getting worse. Up
ahead of me were miles and miles of trees, corn fields and quiet country roads. I passed barns why are they always falling apart?,
rickety wooden fences and the rotting carcasses of roadkill. There was hardly a sound to be heard on this quiet Sunday afternoon
save the sound of the wind passing through the trees and against the crops in the field. Every once in awhile a car would wheeze
past me, but it would quickly be gone. I dont know how many miles I had gone at this point, and I didnt care. I dont know what
time it was, and I didnt care. I didnt want to care because I didnt want it to matter. Tomorrow, after Im finished with this little bit
of running, its back to the world of rushing. Rushing to work, rushing to finish the work you have to do at work, rushing to get back
home. And then you rush to do all the things you wanted to do during the day but couldnt do because you were at work. I was past
that, I was in another planet as far as I was concerned. Here there was no sound of phones ringing, of elevators beeping as they go
from one floor to another, of coffee machines filling Styrofoam cups.

Well yeah out there in the country as I was, running from one place to another for no good reason, there is no 9 to 5, no 1 pm lunch
break so the rest of the day goes fast. But time does go by my friend out here. Now the sun setting was a beautiful thing to witness
but as it did, so went my visibility. I took out my map while there was still light in the sky and started to trace where I think I had
ran on this beautiful day. But as I was reading it, droplets of rain started to fall on the map. Then some more. Then some more.
Then I saw what was left of the sun quickly disappear now, to be replaced with ominous looking dark clouds. And it all happened
that fast. Just as quick was the thunder. Now the rain was falling hard, making the map all wet and soggy. Damn I should have
gotten a laminated copy. So it was now dark and my map was soggy and being rained upon. I wish I had a flashlight but in my hurry
to go out and see the beautiful countryside I had neglected to bring basic items like an umbrella and flashlight in my little bag. I
couldnt read the damn thing and it was becoming unreadable anyway. Where the hell was I? What state was I in?

Call the cell phone? Not here, my friends. Maybe some of you fellow city folk didnt know this, but there ARE parts of the country
without cell phone service. So that was futile in helping me get back to my weekend country home. Anybody to ask for assistance
out here? Hey, you hardly saw any people out here when the sun was out, what makes you think youll see anyone now. Uggh, it was
getting cold because the bad weather had caused the temperature to drop a good 10 to 20 degrees. The rain and the cold weather
made my hair wet and my body shiver. The rain in my hair pushed down the sweat that had been on my forehead into my mouth
and I tasted it. As darkness and rain surrounded me I grew more nervous, which made me shiver more. I felt I had no choice but to
keep walking because if I stopped, I would only grow colder. Maybe I would stumble upon a town or a grocery store or a house,
something that could help me get out of here. Because that was my first response to this situation- not how do I deal with this, but
how do I get out.

There were now basically no lights at all ahead of me. Just vegetation of some kind or another. My God, these fields, which I had
wished only a few hours ago to go on forever in some kind of earthy beauty, now just seemed to go on forever. Where is the farm
house? Where does anyone live around here? The wind was now growing stronger and strong gusts were bending trees. I was so
wrapped up in getting out of here that I didnt even notice a large tractor-trailer was right behind me. I quickly ran off to the
shoulder and resumed my journey back to civilization. All of a sudden there was light- but not the kind I wanted. It was just
lightning quickly illuminating the whole landscape like a strobe light in a nightclub. I would quickly see the road ahead, the trees
and the corn husks in a cold white light against a black sky. My clothes were all soaked now and I just wished I could call a cab and
tell the driver where I was going. ****, I cant even use my cell phone.

Finally in the distance I saw a farmhouse by the side of the road. Well, maybe it wasnt a farm house but to me any house out here
was. I walked past dilapidated and abandoned produce stands by the rows of corn and then quickened my pace as the house grew
near. Well, there was no lights on inside, but anything dry was good now. I walked up the wooden porch with its old boards and
peeling green paint. The boards creaked under the sound of my footsteps. I approached the door and started first knocking, then
trying what looked like a doorbell. Nothing. Then I tried again, this time a little more frantically. Nothing. Then all of a sudden, as I
was about to give up and walk away I heard the sound of a dog inside. It was barking loudly. So I guessed the owners are either
asleep or on vacation. But that also meant the house wasnt abandoned so I couldnt go in there either. Not like Id want to-
probably inside there is the ghost of Aaron Burr or Leatherhead. I didnt want to stay right there on the porch, even though there
was an awning and it was dry. What if the owners saw me there? All these folks got guns out here, right? So I set off for their barn in
the distance. I walked past what looked like soy plants and a few abandoned threshers or some such farm equipment. My sneakers
were now filled with mud and it became hard to walk with the ground so wet. Under the barns awning was an old wooden bench. I
decided then and there that would be where I would lay myself down for the time being until the rain cleared up. Then I would
resume my search to find a way out of here.

And I gotta tell you, right about then, that old bench felt like a mattress with silk sheets. After running for hours in the sunlight and
then being cold and panicky, my body just started to shut down. The last sounds I heard were crickets and an owl hooting. As my
eyes closed, I saw the silhouettes of cows and, further away, the abandoned farm house.

The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and looking out a beautiful rural landscape. The sun was now shining- holy **** I had
spent the whole night and morning here. It definitely looked to be about 12 in the afternoon. It was now hot and my clothes were
much drier. I got up and looked around for a second to see if anyone was here. There was not anyone to be found. I started walking
back towards the road. As I approached an old tractor, a female figure emerged behind it. In a second, she caught sight of me,
checked for signs of recognizance and then screamed. The screaming set me back to panic mode and I started now to run faster
towards the road. The womans husband or brother must have heard her, for he ran out of the farmhouse and towards her to see
what was going on. The woman still screaming, pointed to me (who was now a small speck on their horizon). The man started
running towards me but I was now too far gone and in any case, the adrenaline was pumping. I just ran and ran as fast as my
adrenaline rush could take me.

Finally, after getting some directions from a passerby, I got into a small town where I sat down for some very welcome lunch at a
diner. In the bathroom of the diner I saw myself and, hell, I dont blame that woman for screaming. I was now unshaven, my shirt
and shoes were filthy with mud and all torn up. My hair was unkempt and messy. I asked the waitress where I could make a phone
call. She said I could use the phone right there in the diner. So I did and got the number of a local car service that could take me
back to my country home many miles away. The price was high, obviously, but I just wanted to be back so I agreed to it. So I
arranged for the car service to pick me up in this town. Ok, I said to the rep on the phone. What time will you guys be here? I
wanted to get back. ****.

Man vs himself
Charlie Fish
The Man Who Married Himself

'Why not?'
With those two words, my good friend Reverend Zatarga changed the course of my life. When he said them to me, he had just spent two hours on the telephone
with Bishop Fleming discussing various sections of the Bible in excruciatingly fine detail. He pointed out that Leviticus warns Christians not to marry their sister,
aunt, mother, mother-in-law, daughter or even their granddaughter (should they be tempted). But nowhere in the good book is there a rule against marrying oneself.
So when I told Reverend Zatarga that was exactly what I wanted to do, he eventually conceded those two fateful words:
'Why not?'
Of course, the Bible also neglects to forbid anyone from marrying great-grandmothers, tables or pet fish. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Bishop Fleming
ended up marrying his beloved French poodle as a result of all this. Or his blanket - after all he's been sleeping with it for years. Anyway, once I convinced the good
Reverend to let me marry the man of my dreams, I had to convince my mother and father. I'd have to say that between an international religion, firmly established
for two millennia, and my own humble parents, my parents were far more difficult to persuade.
My mother just wouldn't take it seriously at first. OK, very few people took it seriously, but I needed her to know I meant it. She kept asking me silly things like
'Why marry - you can just live with yourself?' or 'What will you wear for the wedding?'
And sadly, it drove my father quite mad. Literally. For years after the wedding he spent days typing up articles for a wide variety of news journals, record books
and space administration newsletters claiming that he was the first person to have had sex in space. He seemed quite convinced, despite the fact that the closest
he had come to space was the big button on his computer keyboard. When asked who he had allegedly had sex with, he would usually pause briefly for dramatic
effect, turn his wild eyes towards you and yell shrilly: 'Myself!'
I would have hoped that I could trust my best friends to be sympathetic towards my cause, but I think it was all a bit of a joke for them. They were often
supportive, but after the wedding they just spent a lot of time making fun of me. Some of the wedding presents I received from them were quite demeaning:
pornographic magazines, silk gloves, even a ceiling mirror. And I'm disappointed in them for not stifling their mirth when Reverend Zatarga recited the marriage
vows: 'Will you keep yourself as a husband, to live as one in marriage? Will you love and comfort yourself, obey and honour yourself in sickness and in health, and
be faithful to yourself as long as you shall live?' I swear one of my friends wet himself laughing.
I had a great honeymoon in Las Vegas, gambling away all my savings with nobody to nag me about how much money I was spending. I had a penthouse suite in
the Luxor hotel for the night of consummation . . .
I had many reasons for getting married when I did, apart from the tax benefits of course (trying to make the tax inspector understand that I was my own spouse
was hell, though). Ever since I understood the concept of wedlock, I longed for a partner that I could trust. I wanted to have someone with me always, to whom I
could tell all my deepest, darkest secrets without having them laugh at me. Unfortunately, although getting girlfriends was usually not too big a problem for me, I
tended to have excruciatingly bad taste. Then I realised that my perfect partner was closer to home than anyone could have realised.
Altogether, I think the marriage was a great success for the most part. I rarely argued with my spouse; in fact I found myself to be the best conversation holder
around. The few times that I did argue, I always won. And the sex was, well - it was whatever I made of it. There was some media intrusion of course, lots of cheap
journalists trying to cash in on this unusual union. I found some of their articles amusing, and others quite offensive, especially the ones dubbing me the most
conceited and/or narcissistic man in the world. I don't think I'm such an egotist, I just happen to enjoy my company.
I suppose it was a hormonal thing, a stage of life or something, that made me suddenly crave a child. The cliche is that I realised I was mortal, and I therefore
wanted to pass on my genes. So after many days weighing up the pros and cons I decided to split up from my husband in order to find a wife. I had a chat with
Reverend Zatarga, and he informed me that I couldn't just file for a divorce on a moment's notice. I had to have legitimate justification. Curiously, wanting a baby
wasn't on the list of good reasons to divorce.
As the good Reverend explained, I could only divorce if I had been living apart from my spouse for at least a year which would be difficult without major surgery
or if my spouse had treated me cruelly or been imprisoned for at least a year. I wasn't particularly willing to beat myself up a bit or lounge around in prison just so I
could divorce myself. That left one option: Adultery. I just had to have sex with someone other than myself; normal, straight, human sex, and I could be free from
the bonds of marriage.
And so it was that I reluctantly removed my wedding ring and started searching for a mate. My friends were cruel about it, saying that I was separating to stop
myself from going blind. I think my mother was relieved when I told her that my relationship with myself was coming to an end. My father just paused for dramatic
effect, turned his wild eyes towards me and yelled shrilly: 'Myself!' Maybe he really is on another world.
I expected it to take me quite a while to find someone who was both willing to sleep with me and who hadn't read the newspapers enough to know that I was
already married, but I soon found a plain-faced Malaysian girl who was relatively easy to seduce. The sex was, to be honest, rather disappointing. It seemed that
she knew almost nothing of what turns a man on, whereas by that point I myself had become quite an expert. I suppose it wasn't great for her either - I wasn't
practised in pleasuring members of the fairer sex.
The divorce was easy after that. It seemed that the church was keen to split me apart, as if my marriage had been a big mistake. I felt quite lonely for several
months after the break-up. At least the local psychiatrist (specialising in multiple personality disorders) stopped sending me his damned business cards every
week.
It took me nearly a decade to find a good wife who didn't think she'd be marrying into a threesome. Most of that time was just waiting for the media to forget
about 'The Man Who Married Himself'. Meanwhile, I wrote an autobiography with that very title. Included in the book was a detailed account of my marriage to
myself, including the ups and downs of living with myself, how I dealt with everyone's criticism of me and my husband, and some intimate details of my
relationship. I think it was these sections that made the book a real success when it was published some years later. People were just curious to read about the
implications of such an unusual marriage. I suppose it made people think. They would read my book and ask themselves: 'Am I easy to live with? If I had to live
with me, could I do it?' They all stopped searching for their Mister or Little Miss Right for just a moment to ask themselves if they would ever make a good spouse
for anyone.
I didn't hear of any copycat self-marriages, which probably either means the media lost interest or the church is determined not to let it happen again. Anyway,
that's all behind me now. My wife and I have just moved into a new home, big enough to accommodate our new child when he is born. I am happy now. In fact, right
now I can't wipe the smile off my face. You see, our next door neighbours are Bishop Fleming and his lovely wife, the French poodle.

Man vs. Society
Rules of the Game
by Amy Tan
Waverly Place Jong is a chess prodigy living in San Franciscos Chinatown with her Chinese immigrant parents. She is
named after Waverly Place, her familys address and, therefore, their claim to the United States. Waverly is
diminutively nicknamed as Meimei (Chinese for little sister), whereas her two brothers have resonant, victorious
namesWinston and Vincent.
Waverly and her mother, Lindo Jong, have an ongoing psychological battle, each surreptitiously trying to gain the upper
hand. Although Waverly was born in the United States, her mother has instilled in her many Chinese rules of conduct.
One important rule is that one must remain silent to win. The storys opening focuses on silence and on how controlling
ones emotions endows one with a secret strength like the wind.
Once when shopping with her mother, the six-year-old Waverly longs for some salted plums. Because she fusses for them,
her mother refuses to buy them. The next time, Waverly keeps her wants silent, and her mother rewards her with plums.
Later, Waverly sets a psychological ambush for her mother. As her hair is being combed painfully by Lindo, Waverly
slyly asks her what Chinese torture is. Lindo knows that Waverly is challenging her pride in Chinese culture. Initially,
Lindo deflects her daughters question about the possibility of Chinese inhumanity, pointing out that Chinese people are
good at business, medicine, and painting. Then Lindos chauvinism overcomes her, and she adds, We do torture. Best
torture.
At a church Christmas party, the Jong children receive gifts, among which is a used chess set. At church, Lindo thanks the
ladies, but at home, she sniffs proudly that they do not want it. Thus she socializes her children to exercise silence and
power over their true feelings; even unwanted gifts must be acknowledged as exceeding what one deserves.
Watching her brothers play chess, Waverly becomes intrigued by the rules of the game. She does not understand these
American rules, but she researches them in the library, learning the moves and the powers of each piece, and then easily
defeats her brothers. When she stumbles on some old Chinese men playing chess in the park, she invites one, Lau Po, to
play. He teaches her more rules and tactics. Waverly soon wins neighborhood exhibition games, and her mother begins to
take pride in her, although she still modestly disclaims that it is luck.
When someone suggests that Waverly play at local chess tournaments, she is eager to participate but overpowers her
desires and demurs, remembering the plums. Lindo lets Waverly play and win repeatedly. Now it is Lindo who wears a
triumphant grin.
With Waverlys victories, Lindo changes the rules in the household. Contrary to Chinese gender roles, Waverly no longer
does dishes. Proclaiming Is new American rules, Lindo relegates such chores to her sons so that Waverly can expend
her energies on chess. At nine years of age, Waverly becomes a national chess champion. Lindo is thrilled as the cover of
Life magazine features her daughter, both challenging traditional male hegemony over chess and testifying that Chinese
people can do anything better.
Sauntering through Chinatown, Lindo announces to everyone that her daughter is Wave-ly Jong, the chess prodigy. To
Lindos Chinese thinking, Waverlys success is their familys success. To Waverlys more American view, her success is
her individual accomplishment, and she resents Lindos appropriating it. Miscommunication between mother and
daughter ensues, with Lindo concluding from Waverlys reticence that she is ashamed of her mother, her family, and her
race.
When Waverly requests less ostentation and more silence from Lindo, Lindo calls her stupid. Waverly angrily runs away
from home for half a day but returns when she realizes that she cannot survive independent of her family. Lindo exercises
her power and gives her daughter the silent treatment, pretending to ignore Waverlys existence.
Waverly retreats to her room and imagines her mothers eyes as two angry, black slits directing the black pieces of a
chessboard and routing Waverlys white pieces. In this waking dream, Waverly feels herself wafted aloft by a wind,
detached from her family, and she remembers Lindos words, Strongest wind cannot be seen. In her terrifying yet
exhilarating impasse, Waverly understands that to be herself she must assert her individuality but that she cannot do so
without isolating herself from her family. Her dilemma is her next move.

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