Tag Archives: Joshua Ryan

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 14

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 14: Your Every Moment Will Be Filled with Meaning

When you’re a freshman slappie you wake up at dawn, and if you’re a new and potentially uncontrolled slappie, you lie in your rack until the boss comes by to unlock your shackle.  Then you herd into the latrine to do your business.  The smell of piss and shit from 100 slappies—that wasn’t one of the attractions of the King George Hotel.  The hotel had slappies, but they did it someplace else.  Mornings are chilly on St. Bevons, and the steam goes up from the shit holes.  You march to the chow hall in your big boots and your little slappie suit, and you feel like the cold breeze is drowning you.  Chow is something like oatmeal and something like coffee.  No croissants.  No marmalade.  No fresh fruits offered for your selection.  No one to suggest that the gentleman might wish to try the special breakfast of the day.  Then you’re marched out on the slab for exercise.  You strip down to your y-fronts, and you’re ready for your session of mens nulla in corpore sano.

Continue reading Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 14

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 13

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 13: But You Don’t Have to Pay Any Rent

I edged inside and he slammed the door.  “Well,” he said, looking down at me from the height of six feet three. “I seen you before, boy.  Guess you here cuz you got some more questions bout thee Program, right?  Guess thee best answers gonna come from what thee Major calls experience.  Doan you agree, boy?”

A chorus of laughs told me that the room, once empty except for the boss, was now filled with slappies.  The same slappies I’d been watching two days before were sitting in the Scrum or leaning on their bunks, and they were all watching me.

“He doan know boss!” one of them shouted.

“Teach em boss!”

“Give em some sperience boss!”

“At least ten inches boss!”

“Shut thee fuck up,” the boss said, pleasantly.  He was still looking down at me.

“Now you livin thee slappie life, boy.  You know that?”

“Yes . . . I mean yes boss.”

“Awright.  Time to get you gear.”

He unlocked a closet, pulled out some large bulky brown objects, and dropped them on the floor.  “That you blanket,” he said.  “An that you mattress.  Pick em up.”

Continue reading Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 13

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 12

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 12: This Season, Brown Is Trending

They let me loose and I fell back, panting.  Automatically, my hands went up to my neck.  But it wasn’t my neck anymore; it was a thing wearing a collar.  “Yeh mon,” Malcolm said, “you a slappie now.”  I twisted, holding my stomach, trying to get my breath.  My eyes were level with their waists, and I saw that their shorts were tented.

“OK slappie, straighten up,” Jojo said, kicking a chair in my direction.  “Sit on it,” Malcolm said.  My balls slumped down on the wooden seat.  “Keep still,” Jojo said.  “This doan take long.”  He plugged a shaver into the wall, and in two minutes he had shaved me bald.

“Get up,” Malcolm ordered.  “See that wall?  Stan’ there.  This is a camera, slap boy.  Hol’ still, gonna take you picture.  I said hol’ still.  An look pretty—this is you audition, dude.  I mean it—how you think I get this great job?  You keep lookin unhappy, dude, this gonna last all night.  OK, that’s better.  Now turn left.  Turn right.  Lemme see you butt.”  So now my white naked body and my white bald head were fully recorded.  “Through that door,” he told me, pointing.

Continue reading Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 12

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 11

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 11: Gettin Fixed

I did what I guess everybody does, the first time he’s put in a cage.  I stood at the bars and wondered how to get out.

I needed help!  But who could help me?  My brother?  Not interested—except, undoubtedly, to cash in on my property.  Major Timmons?  I’d seen how that turned out.  Roger?  I didn’t even know his full name.  And there was no way to reach him, even if I did.  And when you thought about it . . . .  To hear him talk, he had contacts everywhere.  He knew all about St. Bevons.  He knew Major Timmons.  He had a reason—not a good reason, but a reason–to get back at me: I’d stiffed him on his plan to take this wonderful vacation together.  Fuck!  Did he have some connection with all of this?  Was it possible?  But if he had . . . If he had, what could I do about it?

“Nice shirt!” somebody said.  It was a young white slappie.  He was sweeping the walk, and he’d got as far as my cage.  Next to him was a young black slappie, doing the same.  They stopped and leaned on their brooms. “Nice shoes too,” the black guy said.  “Pret’ soon, though,” said the white guy, “he look like us.”  The black guy gave me a thoughtful glance.  “You fucked, dude,” he said.  They started sweeping again, laughing.  After a while, they got to a corner and turned and were out of sight.

Continue reading Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 11

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 10

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 10: Another Tour Has Been Arranged for You

I hadn’t been given anything to eat or drink, unless you think St. Bevons Mineral Water is a drink.  I guess the idea was to make me easier to break down under questioning—though pretty soon I realized that the “questions” were just accusations that I would not be permitted to deny.  It all showed that I was getting off pretty easy with a nolo contendere.

So that was over, and things were looking up, because just when I realized that I was famished, a man in a white uniform unlocked the door of the room where they were keeping me and handed me some food.  It was a ham sandwich and a glass of mixed juice.  I wondered if these were products of Dominion Fields.

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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 09

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 9:  A Slight Change of Plans

While I was at breakfast—very early, very light–the hotel slaps came to my room and picked up my bags.  I didn’t need to do anything to get them from there to the back of the limo.  The only things I had to carry were the real estate leaflets I’d picked up from the concierge.  There were lots of glossy pictures of “elegant Wellingtons” and “baroque Bee hives,” each with “intimate facilities for family, grand space for entertainment, and bountiful St. Bevons gardens.  Barracks for 5-10 staff.”  The prices were not unreasonable, especially considering the current exchange rate.

When the airport slap opened the door of the limo, I had nothing to do except walk through security; the slappies would see that my bags got through.  It all happened so smoothly, I didn’t think about the backpack until I got to the boarding area.  I guess that’s where you usually remember stuff you forgot.  It would be ridiculous to go back to the hotel to turn the thing in—and who cared about it anyway?  Besides, I didn’t really know where it was.  Probably the hotel slappies had found it in the room and shipped it to the airport along with the other bags.  It was silly, but I had that uneasy feeling I got whenever I thought I’d lost something.  The item might not be important, but loss of control was always disturbing.  It was a tendency I’d been trying to conquer.  The only thing to do was just ignore the “problem.”  I sat near my gate, reading about St, Bevons properties and ignoring the stupid backpack.

Continue reading Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 09

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 08

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 8: Nothing Is Perfect

At the hotel, a nice lunch in the King George Grill, a long nap, another good meal in the Oak Room, and many occasions to consider, while sloshing the liquids in my glass, what it might be like to live here.  And there were a couple of entertaining events.

Cedric, my busboy at dinner, was a slappie I didn’t remember seeing before.  His distinctive attire told me why.  Instead of the standard brown slappie cap, he wore a white, fez-like piece of headgear imprinted with SERVANT IN TRAINING in large black letters.  It was like one of those dunce caps you see in cartoons.  Which was appropriate.  The guy fumbled and bumbled and finally, rushing to clear my table for the dessert course, fell over his boots in a crash of plates and glasses.  Everyone looked up, shocked at the breach of discipline.  A waiter strode out of the kitchen, followed by two large slappies.  The slappies picked up the dishes; the waiter grabbed Servant in Training by the ear and pulled him out of the room.  The guests smiled appreciatively: the King George knew how to handle these things.  The slappie would get the lesson it needed.  After all, it was 40 years old!  Obviously, old enough to know better.

Continue reading Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 08

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 07

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 7: Investing Is Easier Than You Think

The tea and scones were served on a table in the Major’s office, by a young white slappie who did his work deftly and silently.  I always hate it when waiters insist on talking with you.  Once they know what you want, they should bring it and go away.  But this slappie had been well trained.

The Major took some time to discuss the possibility of what he called “a business connection”—the investment idea again—and presented me with a colorful brochure entitled “The Profits of Penology.”  I complimented its appearance and said that I would welcome the opportunity to obtain more information.  He complemented my discernment and we exchanged cards.

That part was a bore, but on the whole it was a pleasant conversation.  The curtains were drawn back, revealing the pretty vines, hung with blossoms, that trailed around the bars outside the window.  Rays of sunlight warmed the room, awakening the incandescent blue of the Major’s uniform, turning the slappie’s necklace into a flash of silver and his short blond hair into a cap of gold.  It was good to see slappies in short sleeves again.  This one had the slightest, most delicate covering of hair on his arms . . . .   If this was life on St. Bevons, maybe it was worth an investment.

Continue reading Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 07