246 — From The Beautiful People, Admissions Dept.
For Labor Day, Monday, September 2, Day 246 of the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge
It was finally coming, the long-awaited response from my application to The Beautiful People.
It's a high bar, but if accepted, becoming one of The Beautiful People is my ticket to media darling-ship (darlings-hip), clickbait, and the new raison d'être, influencing. Likes and reposts. I'd matter.
I watched through the window for the mailman, like every day. He wasn't one of the Beautiful People, but that's OK; not everyone can be.
I saw Miriam, a nurse at our local hospital, walking her dog. The dog, she had told me, was a rescue. That's so sweet, but I thought that interesting because her two children had been adopted by her and her husband, a special-ed teacher. Neither of them, by the way, are considered to be the Beautiful People, but they seem happy enough.
I watched for the mailman.
I dreamed of life as one of the Beautiful People. No more waiting in line at the club. No need for reservations. Free upgrades everywhere. And best of all, rubbing elbows with rest of the Beautiful People. It'd be a dream come true. Where's that mailman? He's late. Not one of the Beautiful People, indeed! No wonder!
I see Bruce driving past in an EMS van. He waves; I wave back. For now. When I'm one of the Beautiful People I'll have to reassign my social interactions more appropriately. All first responders will respond to me!
Finally, I saw the mail scooter and mailman. I said a little prayer, but soon I won't have to pray to anyone.
He got closer. He looked right at me. He stopped! Just far enough away. What was he doing? What was he up to?
"Hey!" I hollered. He looked up and regarded me with a wry smile. He restarted his vehicle and crawled toward me. "Can you go any slower?" I shouted. Was he laughing at me? Me? "You won't be, you little pissant!"
"Mail," he announced. One lone envelope. I checked the sender—it was the one! The one that counted.
"It's about time!" I seethed. "No wonder you're not one of the Beautiful People." That's when I noticed the envelope was unsealed.
"Neither are you," he said, then drove off.
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AUTHOR'S NOTES:
For Monday, September 2, Day 246 of the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge
366 WORDS (without A/N)
Accompaniment photos were AI-generated but the beautiful people were not. (We know who we are.)
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THIS CHALLENGE BEGS ON, 366 BEGGARS AT A TIME.
There are currently three surviving, living, breathing, breathy, warm-blooded Vocal beauties still asking for attention and "likes" in the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge:
• L.C. Schäfer, (Influencer)
• Rachel Deeming (Fluencer)
• Gerard DiLeo (Irreverencer)
About the Creator
Gerard DiLeo
Retired, not tired. Hippocampus, behave!
Make me rich! https://www.amazon.com/Gerard-DiLeo/e/B00JE6LL2W/
My substrack at https://substack.com/@drdileo
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245 Spare Change
A child no older than six or seven, her legs were folded under each other unnaturally. It was obvious she had been born this way. She didn't speak. She only held out a tin cup for the tourists who were checking off another must-see on their Rome adventures.
By Gerard DiLeoabout a year ago in Fiction
The Inferno Elixir: A Legacy of Blood
1. The Sinister Stillness of the Village My grandfather had always been an enigmatic man, but in the last three years, his eccentricity had crossed into something far more unsettling. He lived alone in a secluded house far from the city’s clamor, tucked away in a village perpetually choked by mist. We assumed he was merely grieving the loss of my grandmother and his lifelong friend, but his gaze hid something deeper than sorrow—a secret that was slowly devouring his soul. During my last visit, I was struck by the sight of his refrigerator; it was grotesquely overstuffed with heaps of raw meat. He claimed with a cold detachment that it was for the poor, but his face betrayed the lie. Even more disturbing was the reinforced steel door he had installed in the basement, from which a foul stench seeped through the cracks—a smell like a carcass that refused to stay buried. 2. A Descent into the Abyss Late that night, I took advantage of my grandfather’s heavy sleep. With trembling fingers, I pilfered a modern, sophisticated key from his cabinet. I descended the decaying stairs into the basement, my flashlight cutting through the oppressive gloom. The air there didn't just smell of rot; it smelled like a slaughterhouse. Dry bloodstains smeared the walls, and in the corners lay bleached-white human skeletons. I approached the reinforced room and peered through a tiny peephole. The blood froze in my veins. A gaunt creature, its bones protruding obscenely from its skin, stood there. Its hair was so long it trailed behind it like a shroud. It moved on all fours with a demonic fluidity. Suddenly, its eyes—completely white—locked onto the hole. It wasn't looking at me; it was scenting me. 3. The Bitter Truth Before I could flee, I felt the sharp sting of a needle in my neck. The world dissolved into darkness. I awoke inside a hermetically sealed glass chamber. My grandfather stood on the other side of the glass, weeping bitterly as he recounted the catastrophe: > "Three years ago, your grandmother was on the brink of death. A stranger with non-human features knocked on my door and gave me a dark red elixir, claiming it was the salvation. I injected her, but she transformed into this ravenous monster. I killed my oldest friend and fed him to her just to protect her secret. I love her, Alex, and I cannot let you leave to expose the truth of her 'death' to the world." > 4. The Banquet of Blood The glass barrier began to rise slowly, and the monstrosity crouched, ready to pounce. Suddenly, a scream pierced the silence. My younger brother, Thomas, had followed me. With a heavy blow from a sharp tool, he struck our grandfather, sending him sprawling into the room. In a moment of primal madness, the creature lunged at my grandfather, tearing into his flesh with unspeakable ferocity. Thomas and I fled, the screams echoing behind us, until the police arrived and ended the nightmare with a hail of bullets into the body of what was once my grandmother. 5. The Vicious Cycle A year has passed since that night, and I thought I had survived. But fate plays a cruel game. It is now the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, and my brother Thomas is wasting away from a rare, terminal illness. Last night, amidst the darkness, a stranger knocked on my door—matching the exact description my grandfather once gave. He placed a small box in my hand containing a vial of dark red liquid and hissed into my ear: "This is the only cure for your brother." The stranger vanished as if he never existed. I analyzed the liquid in a lab, and the results were bone-chilling: "A substance extracted from an unknown biological entity, non-existent in any natural record." I hold the vial in my hand now, looking at my pale brother, hearing the echo of my grandfather’s voice in my head. Do I repeat the tragedy? Do I begin a new massacre in the name of love? The elixir is before me, and hell is waiting just behind the door. Would you like me to create a "Book Cover" style description for this story, or perhaps suggest a sequel?
By Mayar Younesabout 11 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
Hahahahahhahahaha omgggggg this was sooo funnyyyyyy!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
Rachel did not get her envelope, but I didn’t even apply! Hilarious story, Gerard! Loved Cathy’s response!
I started laughing with the very first sentence. It escalated into a loud guffaw with the final sentence. Loved this one in particular, Gerard. Such a wonderful perspective of he who thinks he rises above all others.
Eff the beautiful people. I prefer the real ones.
Great satire. My envelope never arrived.
At the start this reminded me of How to Lose Friends & Alienate People, but by the end it reminded me of Nosedive (that episode of Black Mirror with Bryce Dallas Howard).