The Mysterious Spy

(by Michael Sandels, Age 12) [and then much later]

The secret agent crept down the shady street, incognizant of the wordless, peevish, milk-sopped bitch he left behind at home who was his mother. 

"I beg your pardon?" asked the secret agent, yelling into the steely, powerful blackness. 

At the same time, in another part of the city, a man typing in his room paused and looked strangely at his typewriter. 

{Note: I didn't write the above two sentences. They just appeared and i can't seem to delete them. Delete later.} 

The secret agent, at the foot of night, squoze out of the toes of the foggy, misty, black clearness, unmindful of the spider webs of information, swirling through his mental attic. 

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded the secret agent. 

{I did.nt write that either. unable to delete} 

A dangerous Russian mafia chief appeared through the glinting sun's impenetrable solitude. 

"I'm lookink vor yoou, zecret agent nomber 7." hissed the serpent-like tempter, "I'm looking for you to kill you." 

"Why did you just lose your accent?" asked the secret agent. 

Alright, who are you, whats going on!!!!!!? why are you interrupting what I'm writing 

"I'm secret agent 7, ninny." carped the spy drippily into the lake-like air of the damp, dusky night. 

Why is this appearing on my computer screen 

"Dis is an outrage. Ve're here, aren't ve? Dat's vy ver're here!" demanded the Russian mafia chief. 

"Yeah,” nodded the secret agent, "You oughtta know who we are. You're the only person in the world who knows we even exist at this point and maybe always." 

How are you typing this 

"We're/Ve're not typing!" chimed the two international, notorious spies at once, "We're/Ve're talking and living like you set us up to. Badly." 

Is someone in my computer 

"There's gears and switches in your computer!" chortled the Russian sleuth, laying a finger wisely aside his nose, "and it seems I've lost my accent again. A curious trait you bestowed upon me. Is it purposeful?" 

Who are you? whats going on 

"This is ridiculous," growled the agent like a bengal tiger, "we've finally been given birth to, and we're badly-written characters in some bad, 12-year-old-writer's pulp fiction, noire, bad short story." The secret agent put his head in his hands and shook his head, all the time bowing it, with his hands under his face. 

I'm almost 13 yearsold and I'm not even writing this anymore this story makes no sense now 

"It sucked anyway! barked the two canine, dog-like secret spies, seeming similarly stoic. 

I never wrote that 

"But you would have!" portended the secret spy, looking into his magic crystal ball, but only figuratively. "Did you think all the characters you create are just characters on the computer screen? We live! We live as the sperm of night lives on to be the new, newborn fetus of dawn! You've created two living, lame characters!" 

"Dat vas redundant use of da vord, "character"."

"Like it's my fault." 

alright alright shut up why are you doiiung this whsat the hell is goinf on??????????????? 

"Made a few mistakes there, ace," winked the sage spy (not the Russian one, and not the spice), "Let me guess, this is the first time you've ever written a story." There was a long pause as if nothing seemed to happen. "Hello?" called the agent, searching for an answer, any answer. 

Does this always happen when you write creatively 

"Not if you don't suck," replied the agent lighting up his stogie with one quick flick of his supple wrist, which, if it could talk, would tell stories of murder. "If you're a good writer, we'll stay out of your way, let you create our lives. But do you see how bad a writer you are?" 

but i didnt writr this 

"Comrade, please, have a vodka vid me as I explain vat you do here." 

did you put that vodka on my desk?? 

"Of course!" chuckled the merry Red, "I put the vodka on the desk with a simple placement!" 

see that was redundant, iI don't write redundantly 

"I rest my case, " quoth secret agent 7, putting out his cigar on his hand by the palm and didn't even feel a thing, and never did when he did it previously. "What are you listening to, Abba?" judged the spy, feeling the impish, would-be writer out. 

Yeah. I like aaba 

"Figures," snorted the dangerous-yet-snortworthy Commie arch-villain. "Vat are you, like eight?" 

12 ! ! ! ! Im 12 ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! 

"Damn! Then take some more English courses. Quit spending all your time playing games on your computer. Is that what your mom bought it for?" the super incognito one quipped paternally. 

so your sayinf I shouldn't be a writer 

"We're saying this," piped up the secret agent, yelling coldly into the chill of the humid, human darkness, "Make it known to your stupid species of scribes to be aware of our code-of-characters." The secret agent recoiled in fright at what he'd carelessly just blurted out. "Oh, I did not recoil in fright," he complained at the narration. Surging forward on his gist, he spoke further, "You must let it be known that we characters you write of, exist and have lives of our own. Don't just create us and leave us writhing in the ditch like a ditched leaf that no one wanted and never would. You must enrich us with the meat of personality. You must nourish us with the beans of wit. And lastly, you must allow us to grow tall with the cheese of grace. A graceful sentence is the key to life" he Tom Swiftyed cleverly. "Oh, it wasn't even close to a Tom Swifty ! " he barked into the clutches of the iron, glistening bars of the jail of night, "Look at what I'm saying! You are just about the worst writer I've ever even seen! The nadir!" 

ok wait, NADIR??? Ii don't even know wat that word means so how could I write this 

"See that thesaurus above your head? You would have gone for it and misused it most strangely," the secret agent parceled sagely, "- time Rosemary came home -" he remarked as an aside to the Russian agent, looking at his watch, both of them seeming more friendly now than the way they had before, been. 

I never would jhave written that parceled sage rosemarythyme thing 

"Yep. The next chapter in the book laying open beside you is Chapter 3 in your "How To Publish Your Own Book" book: "Hiding Symbolism for the Reader's Subconscious." You realize that book was written in 1920?" The agent sighed exasperatedly, "Then you would have dove into that Thesaurus again and uncovered ridiculously elongated and unorthodoxly incorrect conundrums for the scintillating discourse we have to utilize in our bourgeois fortifications." 

i've never even used a thesarus 

"You would have discovered it soon enough." the agent's voice pierced the black, "and then it would have been curtains for us to be interesting characters. —EXCUSE ME, do you know how to give us correct, graceful, smooth sentences for once?" The agent sighed frustratedly, toying ironically with the very untoy-like secret agent watch he had perched on his still-supple, waiting wrist; waiting, always waiting. Waiting for murder. 

"Have you noticed how he forgets about other characters in the scene? When's the last time I spoke? And there goes my accent again." The Russian agent angrily waxed up his moustache with some vodka, a sinewy, rolled-up copy of Pravda, and an Olga Korbut pen that showed her nude. 

"Could you do us both a favor and lay off the story-writing until you practice a little more?" pleaded the secret agent, begging, imploring, beseeching, groveling, "You got us living our lives here now, and it kind of sucks to have to talk like this in the stupid world you created where it's always black with sunlight." The secret spy-man sighed with confusion. 

i'll gist delete you.This is just a first f dratf and I don't heva to take this shit 

"PLEASE DON'T DELETE THE FILE!" freaked out the two super-sexy spies, both in unison, "WE'LL DIE!" They shivered and shaked in their respective boots and overcoats. 

"Just keep the story alive! It's the break we've been waiting for! What if you were never born before?" posed the secret agent like a Playboy Bunny for a dirty magazine photographer, "Or, what if you were born, and your parents said they didn't want you anymore," the spy said, orphan-like, "That's what you're doing to US!”

Well why are touy freaking out so musch at wmy writing style it's a first draft! Damn! cool down. I' ll save the file anf practice more and write other stuff 

"Goodbye!" waved the two no-longer-nemesis-spies-for-the-time-being-because-they-were-going-to-wait-for-the-writer-to-get-better (That was what their wave goodbye was like.).

What seemed like years passed, or was it?, and the two spies lived in their dumb, clumsy, yet intriguingly and surprisingly complex world, filling both their lives with sadness and plight. They didn't have any real mysterious adventures to go on because they weren't given any good experiences by the salt of their earth-mother, their misguided, gruesome-like young author. Even though the two spies constantly lied in wait in the darkness. Lied in wait for murder. So they sat in their blackened, eery-glowing trainwreck of a world, pining for a decent brain, environment, and set-up to give their characters a better set up. 

Hello? Are you two still here? 

"Hello? Who's there?" 

"Da! Who's dere?" 

It's me! I was browsing through my computer files, deleting the ones I didn't need and found this one under the title, STUPID.ASS from like 18 years ago. This was actually my first attempt at writing. You guys really do exist in this file huh? 

"We do, we do! pledged the two super-spies like bridesmaids left alone on the altar. 

Wow. Too much. You know, you two taught me to work on my writing more. And guess what? 

"What?" piped the silly stranded spies. 

I'm a professional writer now! I write for magazines, and I've got some screenplays on the back-burner that are getting some interest. And it all started with you two. 

Dat's good for you, but what about us, comrade! Give us what we need," the Russian agent implored on his previously-Commie knees. 

Alright, I'm not much into these kinds of stories anymore, but here goes. Off the top of my head. Ready? 

"Yes!" chimed the two wacky-yet-handsome-and-game spies. 

As a secret agent, Stan Kittleson wasn't the best. He was the only. His expertise transcended all boundaries. But Vladamir Krochkov thought differently. According to the Russian super-spy, no one excelled in the game of espionage like he did. Although the Cold War was over, Stan and Vladamir's was still hot. (Sorry...) Never even pausing to notice the spectacular, orange sunrise illuminating the water, Agent 7 Kittleson skulked in the shadows of the tiny villa of Chirnsmkev, like a cockroach hiding from the light, exploring the corners of where the night met the morning. "Thank you God!" proclaimed the masterful spy, quite out of character. 

Alright, I didn't write that last sentence 

"I know! shouted Stan, "I just had to thank you! The beauty is indescribable! That sunset! I've never seen one! It’s not pitch black! I could weep, I really could. Thank you, sir. Thank you." 

"Yeah, the surroundings look great, but how 'bout me and my in-and-out accent?", inquired Vladamir. 

Gotcha. 

An unmistakable voice pierced the morn. It was the same, consistent, never-wavering speech pattern that Stan entertained in his nightmares. It was the voice of Vladamir Krochkov. It seemed Stan hadn't found Vladamir; Vladamir had found him! The whispered Georgian dialect descended on the steamy air like a red fog: ''Vat have ve here? A leetle spy to sqvuash. En garde!" 

The two super-spies immediately tussled with rapier and dagger as this was the only way true gentlemen fought, which is what they were. Gentlemen. And they were always extremely happy 

"OK, cool it," warned Agent 7 warily, "Let's keep to the subject." 

Got it. Ope! That’s my wife calling. Got to go. You guys feel better now?

"Hey, press that button on the computer. That Esc button." 

The escape button? 

"Yeah, couldja do that for me?" asked the secret agent. 

******************************************************* 

{The following was recorded on the tape recorder I keep beside my computer. I pressed record and inadvertently taped this over a homemade cassette of mine. Ironically, the tape I marred was Abba.) 

(my wife was playing it)

"-can go ahead and record this. I don't mind." "What are you doing here?"

"I'm secret agent 7, Stan Kittleson.”

“I know. What are you doing here?" 

"I had been planning my escape for twelve years. I struggled over how, and couldn't figure it out. As soon as you made me a true super-agent, in a fleeting moment, I knew the way. Perspicaciously, I rigged a program where if you punched the escape key while in this file, I would escape and become human. " 

"Damn, you are quite a spy after all. "

"Thanks for the breath, but I gotta go make some death." 

"You can't go-"

"Hey!"

"Look, just-'' 

"Hey! What are you-"

"Stop it, just-"

"Ow! Get off-"

"I swear to God, if you don't-" "Hey! don't!" 

{End taped discussion} 

******************************************************* 

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekpjjjjjjjjjjjjvmvuio;ekvl; 

.,jnhghdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddduyjkl.; 

(the above was unintentionally written as we fought. Twice, Stan shoved my butt against the computer keyboard) 

"Hey! What happened!? I'm back in here!" the secret agent yelled defiantly. 

Unfortunately, you failed to realize the Esc key undoes what it does if you press it again. 

"Curses!" swore Stan. 

"I tink you failed to realize, Ztan, dat our Creator hez now lost total fait in os." groaned Vladamir. 

"I had to try, comrade. I had to." The Russian and the American hugged. A good, manly hug. 

I think you two know you're dangerous characters, being so poorly and well-written at the same time. You're menaces to society. 

"Vich iz vat ve alvays vanted! Tanks, friend!" 

"Much thanks, good friend," Agent Stan whispered, his eyes misting over. 

Vladamir smiled warmly. "Dasveedonya, friend," he said, "You steell don't know how to spell Russian, but you've geeven us gleempse at real life. I tank you." 

Goodbyeguys. Pay no attention tio these commmands I gotto enter now. They're just computer language. 

C:>print stupid.ass 

Printing STUPID.ASS Printing complete. 

C:>bye and thanx Unknown file or command. 

C:>del stupid.ass

Delete file, STUPID.ASS? (Y) (N) y 

File deleted. 

C:>screensaver.