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    It Could Be Anything
    It Could Be Anything
    It Could Be Anything
    Ebook56 pages52 minutes

    It Could Be Anything

    By Keith Laumer

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Keith Laumer, well-known for his tales of adventure and action, shows us a different side of his talent in this original, exciting and thought-provoking exploration of the meaning of meaning.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOzymandias Press
    Release dateJul 16, 2016
    ISBN9781531289225
    It Could Be Anything
    Author

    Keith Laumer

    John Keith Laumer (June 9, 1925 – January 23, 1993) was an American science fiction author. Prior to becoming a full-time writer, he was an officer in the United States Air Force and a diplomat in the United States Foreign Service. His older brother March Laumer was also a writer, known for his adult reinterpretations of the Land of Oz (also mentioned in Laumer's The Other Side of Time). Frank Laumer, their youngest brother, is a historian and writer.

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      Book preview

      It Could Be Anything - Keith Laumer

      It Could Be Anything

      Keith Laumer

      OZYMANDIAS PRESS

      Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.

      All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

      Copyright © 2016 by Keith Laumer

      Interior design by Pronoun

      Distribution by Pronoun

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      it could be ANYTHING

      it could be ANYTHING

      SHE’LL BE PULLING OUT in a minute, Brett, Mr. Phillips said. He tucked his railroader’s watch back in his vest pocket. You better get aboard—if you’re still set on going.

      It was reading all them books done it, Aunt Haicey said. Thick books, and no pictures in them. I knew it’d make trouble. She plucked at the faded hand-embroidered shawl over her thin shoulders, a tiny bird-like woman with bright anxious eyes.

      Don’t worry about me, Brett said. I’ll be back.

      The place’ll be yours when I’m gone, Aunt Haicey said. Lord knows it won’t be long.

      Why don’t you change your mind and stay on, boy? Mr. Phillips said, blinking up at the young man. If I talk to Mr. J.D., I think he can find a job for you at the plant.

      So many young people leave Casperton, Aunt Haicey said. They never come back.

      Mr. Phillips clicked his teeth. They write, at first, he said. Then they gradually lose touch.

      All your people are here, Brett, Aunt Haicey said. Haven’t you been happy here?

      Why can’t you young folks be content with Casperton? Mr. Phillips said. There’s everything you need here.

      It’s that Pretty-Lee done it, Aunt Haicey said. If it wasn’t for that girl—

      A clatter ran down the line of cars. Brett kissed Aunt Haicey’s dry cheek, shook Mr. Phillips’ hand, and swung aboard. His suitcase was on one of the seats. He put it up above in the rack, and sat down, turned to wave back at the two old people.

      It was a summer morning. Brett leaned back and watched the country slide by. It was nice country, Brett thought; mostly in corn, some cattle, and away in the distance the hazy blue hills. Now he would see what was on the other side of them: the cities, the mountains, and the ocean. Up until now all he knew about anything outside of Casperton was what he’d read or seen pictures of. As far as he was concerned, chopping wood and milking cows back in Casperton, they might as well not have existed. They were just words and pictures printed on paper. But he didn’t want to just read about them. He wanted to see for himself.

      PRETTY-LEE hadn’t come to see him off. She was probably still mad about yesterday. She had been sitting at the counter at the Club Rexall, drinking a soda and reading a movie magazine with a big picture of an impossibly pretty face on the cover—the kind you never see just walking down the street. He had taken the next stool and ordered a coke.

      Why don’t you read something good, instead of that pap? he asked her.

      Something good? You mean something dry, I guess. And don’t call it ... that word. It doesn’t sound polite.

      What does it say? That somebody named Doll Starr is fed up with glamor and longs for a simple home in the country and lots of kids? Then why doesn’t she move to Casperton?

      You wouldn’t understand, said Pretty-Lee.

      He took the magazine, leafed through it. Look at this: all about people who give parties that cost thousands of dollars, and fly all over the world having affairs with each other and committing suicide and getting divorced. It’s like reading about Martians.

      I still like to read about the stars. There’s nothing wrong with it.

      Reading all that junk just makes you dissatisfied. You want to do your hair up crazy like the pictures in the magazines and wear weird-looking clothes—

      Pretty-Lee bent her straw double. She stood up and took her shopping bag. "I’m very glad to know you think my clothes are

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