Viral: Sixteen Stories

By Gilbert Cheron

A collection of short stories/snippets written mostly in the first person where the protagonist is either employed as a fixer upper of sorts who doesn't always obtain a desirable result for his clients or a self-imposed loner dealing with his current state of mind and affairs and his place in this modern digital environment.

The stories are mostly about comedies of errors/horrors fashioned either consciously or subliminally, sometimes through no fault of their own, by the people experiencing them and are written in the style of comedy fiction/dark humour genre and should be read as such.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922565310

Book preview

Ruins

The ghost writer

I’m a ghost writer in my 60th year of living on this planet, unrecognisable; physically and psychologically, from any photos of me in my 40’s, let alone in my teenage years. My job is to review, and if necessary, add the finishing touches to someone’s story, which is most of the time.

They come in from all walks of life, with all styles of stories, wanting to share them with the world. Some come in with ideas set out in point forms and a summary of each chapter. Others have the whole kit and kaboodle, ready for review and slight changes.

You’d be amazed at the number of people wanting their stories to be published with the hope of becoming famous as a result.

I charge $2000 flat, per book, whether it is fully developed or still in its early stages. I average around fifty clients a year, some of which are repeat clients. The stories, in and of themselves, are justified as far as every story goes.

Writers will use various styles and genres to basically tell the same story about human emotions. It’s a broad throwaway line, I know, and all too obvious.

Some will try and be clever by adding subplots within subplots, written in a certain style to make it all seem desirable to their audiences. Punters are happy reading the same ploy(t)/story over and over again as long as they can relate to them and are taken away from their routine. So, from that view point every story is validated.

I never judge a story; I never advise against publishing it; I suggest various scenarios, plots and subplots and leave it to the writer to decide. I sometimes unashamedly take ideas from other stories I have read or edited and sneak them into another story I’m editing; slightly altered, of course, to protect the guilty; me.

*

I’m sitting in this bright, echo-filled, bustling café facing the dreary wet day outside. It’s been like this for four days straight.

Everyone complains that we need rain but of course a soon as it lasts more than a day, we complain that it is depressing and pray for the sun to shine and take that blasted rain and wind away.

Nothing like a dark dreary wet day to force you to regather those thoughts you so desperately threw away on your way to the Here and Now. Regrets, I’ve had a few but then again, too few to mention. The thing is, would you have done anything differently, if you didn’t know what you know now. Probably not.

The café is a large rectangular open area with a kids area to the left of the entrance, where sofas and arm chairs are placed around a coffee table with children’s books and toys on a large book shelf.

The L-shaped serving counter is further along; the width faces the entrance and the length, the main seating area. The kitchen is behind the wall on which the specials of the day are displayed in different coloured chalks. Tables are scattered everywhere in the seating area, which also includes additional lounge chairs and smaller tables creating a more casual layout.

The café is full of assorted people chatting about their lives. It’s a meeting place of sorts; a lure to those who feel the need to be sharing their meaningful and significant lives with friends and foes alike.

Young mothers, with their demanding screaming kids, sit there with a patient loving glow encircling them; like working bees sprayed with pacifying smoke; like those lionesses you see, with far away eyes, lounging considerately while their cubs run a riot in the security of their mother’s undying love and devotion.

Uniformed workers full of purpose and justification, rightly or wrongly, going about their lives, living the dream the best way they can.

What they don’t understand is that you gotta assess the situation as it comes. Earthy Aussie type announces.

Well, that’s right. Too much paperwork and too many details. Practical Doer agrees

Yeah, got the gear but no idea. Jokerman pipes up.

Ha ha! So anyway, I told the guy, I said listen, mate. I don’t reckon it’ll work, if you do it that way… Earthy Aussie type confirms.

What was his reply? Jokerman enquires

He kinda left it to me to work something out and get back to him."

That’s okay then.

we’ll see.

Old women with painted manicured nails and short grey coiffed hairstyle discuss the changing times, trying their hardest to fit in with these modern times.

Things have changed, that’s for sure.

Manners? Whatever happened to good manners?

I blame it on the parents of today. They think their dear little children can do no wrong.

It’s that sense of entitlement raising its ugly head again.

So how was your holiday?

It was really lovely. Here, I have some photos. The grandchildren just loved it

Oh lovely.

Oh, I’m going to need my glasses if I’m to see them on the phone.

Yes, it is rather hard isn’t it… ha ha ha.

Went to see the Impressionist exhibition the other week.

Ohhh that’s wonderful. We saw it the last time it was here.

Yes, so did we but we enjoyed it so much, we decided to see it again. I never tire of it.

They’re so full of life and colour aren’t they?

And it’s a great day out too.

I’m here to be inspired by the ambience and the goings on within the café. I overhear people’s conversation and sometimes shape them into plots of the current stories I’m editing.

Real life conversations often aren’t as dramatic as fictitious ones but you can juxtapose them into some strange situations where they take on different meanings.

Whenever I have to edit/review a book, I try a different café anywhere between the Blue Mountains and the Northern Beaches. I’ll use the same café for the same story/book, which usually takes between two to four days to complete.

*

I’m currently working on a book of short stories by a fellow named Andy Penn, it’s his fourth book and he has emailed me details for review.

A number of his current stories contain a common theme and he’s concerned that the variations of plots and subplots within them might be too similar. As well as that, he feels he’s recycling the same old thoughts.

Everybody does… I told him. …and it’s what people want; something they know they can rely on. They pick an author and expect regularity from that author; that’s why they buy his or her books. People don’t go and see Sting and expect to hear basic hillbilly music.

but nobody seems to relate to my story plots, my subject matter…

…Well, that’s another story, isn’t it? I quipped, he smiled and nodded his head.

He had it in mind that he needed to come up with something new, hence he wanted me to proof read his latest and see if there were any similarities with his previous, as well as his current work.

He was also disappointed in his inability to turn a phrase, using appropriate words in order to create a magical mental illusion.

Sometimes I’ll read my stories and think how great they are and other times I’ll read them and I think they sound so embarrassingly amateurish, to the point where I just want to give up and face the facts that I am not a writer, I’m a wannabee.

Well, maybe you should listen to that critical voice of yours. You either have it or you don’t was what I wanted to tell him in regards to plots and choice of words but instead I chose my words wisely.

First of all, it’s got to be better than lying in bed all day feeling sorry for yourself, don’t you think? I proposed.

He sighed, looked up towards the ceiling; he was obviously seeing something I wasn’t.

Not if you’re walking around like some arrogant prick, thinking you’re better than everyone else because you’re constantly thinking about your stories or how to improve them or whether you should keep at them, but knowing at the back of your head it’s all bullshit; you’re not a writer; you’re a hobbyist, but then realizing that’s all you got; this pretence that you’re some writer you’re not …. this constant tug-of war that gnaws at your psyche 24/7, because that pretence is all you have to make you feel alive and relevant, knowing damn well you’re living a lie…, he took a deep breath, while still looking at the ceiling.

There, again, I wanted to say, ‘that’s another story yet again, something you got to work out for yourself.’ but I didn’t think it was appropriate so I jumped in and injected some sort of positivity.

No, you’re wrong, it is still better than lying about in your bed, feeling sorry for yourself. At least while doing what you do, you’re thinking about your actions and their consequences; that’s how you grow. Anyway, to get back to you re-reading your stories…

He gave me one of those knowing smiles when people know you’re just being nice but appreciate it nevertheless. I carried on regardless.

Second, and I guess it flows on from the first; reading or should I say, reviewing your own stories, has a lot to do with one’s moods, one’s state of mind at the time of reading. And anyway, your stories are more psychological rather than physical or emotional. So, your choice of words have to penetrate the psyche rather than the senses.

He didn’t buy it.

Yes, but you can still employ colourful palpable turn of phrase to describe the situation, instead I sound like a deaf dumb and blind kid, away with the fairies.

It would have been a circular argument, had I persevered with my line of action so I asked him to email me his book.

So, he emailed me the premise of the new book. They’re blog-like short stories and mostly written in the first person.

Some of the narratives focus on various strains of psychological viruses initiated either by the Internet or ‘cultural tradition’ and the impact it causes on the psyche and behaviour of the current generation, as part of the continuing evolution of mankind.

They are told through the eyes of a lone advisor of sorts who is called upon to analyse the cause and effect of the impact of this new way. His mission is to try and solve whatever current problem is being experienced either consciously and willingly or subliminally by various communities either as a result of being impacted by some invisible form, such as some ‘digital parasitic virus’ as in some of his ‘stories’ or as a result of life happenstances.

So, in that sense all his stories do tend to resemble one another; it’s his signature, after all; why fight it?

Very often the protagonist’s clients do not take his theories too seriously but instead humour him and thank him dearly for everything; they are after all just following whatever trend and playing along with the powers that be so as to be seen to be doing something that will show them to be compliant and progressive. They are only in it for the money and nothing else; whatever it takes to keep the money flowing in.

The stories are snippets of life situations that tend to end where most stories usually begin building up intriguing plots and sub plots with a view to take the reader on a roller coaster ride. His tend to end abruptly and fall flat.

I, personally find his approach quite frustrating and annoying and am tempted to add a few more chapters to take it to a more satisfying ending for the reader.

He was particularly concerned with one story where he wasn’t sure about the subject matter and if some sort of engaging situation involving the protagonist should come into play earlier in the story.

He felt it read more like a document than an engaging story.

*

I was frantically reading the story he was mostly concerned about; it dealt with darkness and light and no in-between….

……… The world had been divided into tribal communities of darkness and light.

Darkness comes in varied tones as does light.

Those basking in the light were seen to be shallow and plastic by those living in the darkness who believed they were organic in every way possible. And, of course, those quivering in the darkness were seen to be damaged and lame by the light loungers.

There were no middle grounds; it was either one or the other and both were as judgmental as one another in their assessments of each other. Everyone liked it that way.

Neither group physically interfered with the other; it was a live and let live situation while each group used the other’s lifestyle as their raison d’etre, hence forming strong emotional connections within the respective group. Each dismissing the ‘other’ as nothing but annoying background noise.

Both groups lived, worked and played in a kind of virtual reality where everything was a performance and proud of the fact that they were hip to it, well, why not!

Opinions and ideas were flung from their Star trek Enterprise Control Rooms into Cyber Space for discussion and execution.

From the Darkness camp the following would be hurled out into Cyber Space:

Blame the Government for their inaction towards so many issues that are now impacting this planet.

They’re playing with our lives like it’s their little toys.

Their inaction will cause undesirable consequences for which we’ll be blamed for.

It’s on their heads what happens next.

Live and let live.

From the Light camp:

They’ll need to take responsibility for their actions and stop blaming everyone else.

We are the victimised majority. Get off your arse and do something instead of pissing and moaning.

I’m sure they’re causing all this trouble so they got something to write and sing about.

Structural discrimination, my arse. There’s a reason for it and it’s because of your sense of entitlement and your inability to adapt and play the game.

You gotta start from the bottom and work your way up.

We don’t need entrepreneurs to run the world.

We want our lifestyle back It’s been usurped by a bunch of bitter twisted lazy good for nothing individuals.

live and let live!

Darkness and light were big business. Corporations throughout the Globe would vie for the best angle to hone in their merchandise. They didn’t want anybody leaving their place of familiarity.

The trick is to provide relevant tools that will keep the punters wanting more of the same; tweak it here and there. Businesses didn’t care who they sold their products to. The same company would design for both darkness and light. The Service industry provided hospitality to both camps. It didn’t really care, long as it kept making money and kept the economy rolling...…

…when a sudden gust of wind blew in some cold air from outside and caused me to lift my head towards the direction it was hailing from.

A ‘young’ mid to late 50’s woman hurried in from the wet, closed the door behind her, shook herself off, wiping her feet on the door mat. She had on a blue grey overcoat fitted to the contour of her rather sturdy and firm body that seemed to enhance her natural pleasant sophistication.

She looked around the café, smiling proudly and pleasingly as though she had been out in the elements on those challenging country walks where it is arduous but satisfying nevertheless as she took off her water-proof overcoat to reveal subtle shades of blue and lilac.

She was average height, average weight, chiseled face smoothed over with makeup, framed by a bob hairdo, even from where I was sitting I could see her beautiful grey eyes encased in the right amount of make-up that gave her face an olive hue; she reminded me of someone else who I couldn’t quite put my finger on; maybe some stranger whom I might have passed somewhere or maybe in some movie that I was half watching while busy thinking about something else.

Her eyes somehow locked into mine and her expression changed from one of elated satisfaction to one of bafflement.

I sheepishly smiled back and turned my gaze back to my laptop, trying hard to regain my focus.

I felt her presence walking towards me and sitting at the table slightly behind on my left, facing the mural of silhouettes sitting outside a café, chit chatting, smiles on their faces, sipping coffee or else eating some delicious pastries. I could sense her presence on the edge of my peripheral vision.

I kept my focus on my laptop.

The waitress came soon afterwards and took her order; Latte and chicken salad and avocado, hold the haloumi. And could she have the Latte after lunch?

I could feel her eyes on me. I could almost hear her thoughts. She was definitely baffled about something to do with me as I continued reading.

*

…. Various ‘Digital psychological’ viruses had subliminally penetrated our psyche, without anyone objecting to the effect, which had created some sort of division amongst the population; in fact, the whole populace was happy to belong to a side they could affiliate with and fight for.

‘Digital psychological’, so coined, in terms of the effect that the digital world has had on our current behaviour.

I might add at this point that the ‘extreme’ behaviour of the populace was also as a result of a ‘Digital’ Virus, hence the rigid division between the Dark and the Light and the inherent fundamentalist behaviour of the opposing sides.

Extreme factionalism ruled the world; there was no