Is whole wheat bread really better for you?

Which piece of bread is healthier, do you think?  The whole wheat has added gluten, added sugar, and added soybean oil.  The "San Luis Sourdough," has merely white flour, malted barley flour, sourdough starter, and salt.  If you taste the whole wheat bread, (store brand) you can tell it has been doctored up with a lot of sugar.  Also, it is known lately that excessive gluten is bad for you.  Orowheat brand is the same story--a ton of added sugar.  The question is, do you want bread or do you want something that may as well be a pastry?

More Fiction

Copyright 2015 by Jack Bragen

I sipped my after work microwaved instant coffee in the gold lamplight, and the clock atop my bookcase showed it was well after midnight.  A lone, formidable-looking spider climbed from a crack in the sheetrock, and meandered its way toward the ceiling, probably in search of some mites to feed on. 
     Why was I so restless? 
     Abruptly, I heard a scrunch-scrunch coming from within my right ear canal. 
     Ordinarily, the solitude and peace of being alone in my tiny apartment after another shift at Wal-Mart made me happy. 
     Scrunch, scrunch. 
     Surely it was a bit of congestion in my ear.  I had earwax remover stuff in the medicine cabinet.  I flipped the bathroom light switch and the halogen bulb flashed and was dead. 
     Vertigo.  I grabbed hold of the doorway to steady myself, then with effort, made it to my chair, and sat down heavily. 
     Caa-runch. 
     Damn, something was wrong with me.  I reached for my cellphone and my arm was awkward--the phone dropped to the floor.  I wanted to pick it up and call 9-1-1, but I couldn't get up from the chair.
     "Can you hear me?"  a voice emanated from the middle of my head. 
     "Who's there?"  my voice came out crackly and faint.  Something was wrong with me.  Was I having a stroke? 
     "You have such a good brain, why Wal-Mart?" 
     I said, "Where are you and who are you?"  My eyesight was faded, and my heart pounded. 
     "No matter.  The takeover will commence shortly.  Meanwhile, turn on your television and put it on CNN." 
     Without my volition, my arm picked up the remote, turned on the television, then switched it to the news. 
     "Breaking News... Humans taken over by intelligent worms..."  The afterhours newscaster had a greenish worm emerging from her eyelid, apparently coming from behind her eye.  It wiggled its way down her face, down her neck, and then crawled into her shirt. 
     "We owe a debt of gratitude to our human hosts who have made our success as a species possible.  If you are a human watching this, you should know that we will refrain from eating some of you so that you can provide for us and help us create our new civilization..." The worm infested newscaster paused and seemed as though struggling to lift her hand to her head, then the impulse visibly ceased.  "If you cooperate, we will allow you to have a full three hours a day--free of control!  We are very magnanimous." 
     I spotted a pair of antique, sharp-pointed scissors on my desk in a penholder.  I wanted to gouge this thing out of my head.
     "No, you won't do that.  I won't let you."  The voice in my head had become louder, more distinct.  I concluded that I couldn't move except when the thing in my head wanted me to. 
     The spider that had made its way to the ceiling was now headed back toward the crack in the sheetrock.  Two greenish worms emerged from behind a wall poster and gave chase toward the spider.  They caught up with it, wrapped around it, and made it a quick meal. 
     The voice in my head (presumably that of a worm) said, "Such is life..." 

End.

Fiction for Autumn 2015

FICTION:  TOO MUCH IMAGING

JACK BRAGEN

Copyright 2015

Jacob, sitting across from his nephew Scott, wiped sweat from his forehead with a Kleenex.  "There were security cams in the showroom."  Jacob was fixated upon a standard video image projected into the center of a darkened office.   He was skeptical, half-believing that he viewed a mere recording. 
     The display showed himself, fifteen years younger, on a typical day at his job--he had been a salesperson of Toyota antigravity cars.  The place and time had him sitting at his desk across from a hopeful customer. 
     The nephew replied, "Why not see a cross-section of the inside of your body?  Would that convince you?" 
     Jacob replied, "Is there something less shocking you can show me?  How about the inside of my desk drawer?" 
     "Sure," Scott said.  He fiddled with his controls, and Jacob could see a notepad, a special fountain pen that he remembered, and the keys to his own vehicle. 
     "Zoom in on the notepad and get a straight angle." 
     "Sure." 
     The display showed a shopping list that rang a bell in Jacob's memory.  He took a gulp of water from a small cup on his desk.  "What are the limitations of this gadget?" 
     "You can't transmit matter or electromagnetic waves backward.  You can only view.  You can't see the future." 
     "This would put half of historians out of a job," Jacob said.  "You say you invented this in your garage?" 
     "My buddy the mathematician helped, and I got help from another physics major--have you met Barbara?  Neither of them knows of the full invention."
     "Then this is patentable?" 
     Abruptly, the gadget went haywire, and it showed the light of Sol as bright as the projector could get, against the inky blackness of space.  Jacob put up his hand to shield his eyes. 
     "Just a minute, I have to make an adjustment," Scott said. 
     "Well, you've got your money." 
     The display went back to the previous image of Jacob fifteen years earlier. 
     "Just for the heck of it, can you show me my house so that I can remember what my wife used to look like?" 
     "Okay, I'll try that."  Scott fiddled with the controls some more, and Jacob could see a picture of his house.  The perspective of the image moved through the walls of his house.  What he saw next was disturbing. 
     Jacob saw his wife, fifteen years in the past.  In the time viewing machine's display, she sat at Jacob's breakfast table in her bathrobe.  Sitting across from her was the young valet parking attendant who had, at the time, worked at the car dealership, and he was wearing Jacob's bathrobe.  He took a sip of coffee from Jacob's coffeepot, and gave Jacob's wife a kiss on the cheek.  The audio came through with some distortion, but Jacob could hear him say, "That was great, sweetheart, once again!" 
     Jacob moaned.  "Oh God!  This isn't some kind of prank?" 
     "Sorry about that," Scott said.  "This is as accurate as the back of your hand." 
     Jacob abruptly left his office.  Scott put the invention back into its carrying case and went home a bit baffled. 
     The next day, Scott repeatedly tried to reach his uncle, with no luck.  He finally became desperate and drove to Jacob's house. 
     Jacob opened the door.  "The world isn't ready for your invention."  He appeared miserable, he was unshaven, and Scott detected a faint smell of alcohol.  "Now I'm looking at a divorce, and I have no evidence other than your machine to prove anything.  This means I will also be paying alimony.  Good luck finding another investor."  And at that, he shut the door in his nephew's face. 

FICTION FOR SPRING/SUMMER 2015: THE SEANCE

Copyright, 2015 by Jack Bragen

The dog went into the kitchen while I was at the laptop working.  Then I hear a gentle thud and think nothing of it.  Then I go into the kitchen to get a drink of water, and I see that the dog is munching down a loaf of bread that fell off the countertop. 
     The dog can not get to the countertop--she can't jump that well.  She is a fat dog and is about twelve years old, with short legs and arthritis.  I was baffled.  I went into the bedroom where I saw that the cat was sound asleep on the bed.  That ruled out collusion between the cat and dog.  The loaf of bread had been well-placed on the countertop and should not have fallen off.  (I snatched the remaining bread from the dog and threw it into the trash; she wasn't too happy about that.)
     That was a month ago, and since then, more strange things have happened.  My potato peeler went missing.  I keep track of what is in my kitchen, and I swear, the potato peeler was always kept in the drawer next to the sink.  It was an antique potato peeler, and they don't make 'em like that anymore.  For a full hour I was furious, wanting to know who had come into my kitchen and taken the potato peeler.  And then it turned up under a stack of napkins atop the microwave.  It made no sense! 
     I am widowed, and my wife has been gone about a year.  At the point of the third incident, I began to doubt my own sanity.  A meat-cutting knife, kept in a wood knife holder, disappeared.  I checked the kitchen top to bottom for it and it was gone. 
     My wife had been vegetarian, had doted over the dog on a constant basis, and had always used the potato peeler when she made her meals from scratch.  I wondered if someone was coming in while I was gone and was pulling some grand hoax to drive me over the edge.  But I had no known enemies.  I had not done anything to piss anyone off.  I thought, whoever did this is some kind of sadist. 
     My mom visited me at my condo where all of this had happened.  She is bipolar yet at one time had fancied herself a psychic. 
     "Your wife Erica is stuck in your kitchen," she said.  She sat on the sofa in the living room.  In front of her on the coffee table was the tea I had fixed her. 
     "Ma, you know I don't believe in any of that stuff." 
     "How else do you explain loaves of bread knocked off counters, your potato peeler mysteriously moved, and a missing knife?" she replied.  "Do you trust that your memory and faculties are intact?  Do you believe the CIA is coming in here attempting to drive you nuts?"  
     I thought for a moment.  I said, "Maybe I am going crazy." 
     My mother replied, "Why is it so hard to believe that people have spirits?" 
     At that moment, I heard another sound coming from the kitchen.  I went in there water was flowing from the water faucet in the sink.  I walked over to it and turned it off.  "Odd." 
     I turned around but then heard something again.  I did yet another about face, and again, the water faucet was turned on.  I felt a knot in my stomach.  I went back into the living room.  My mother had poured a second cup of tea.
     "Why don't you give me your best explanation?" 
     "This is impossible," I said.  "There has to be some explanation."
     "Your wife is stuck in your kitchen.  She needs help getting out of the kitchen.  Do you believe me?" 
     "All right, then what's keeping her there?" 
     "That's what we have to figure out.  We need to do a séance so that we can find out the issue and do what is necessary to resolve it." 
     "Is this your form of ghostbusters?"  I laughed, but it was a laugh of nervousness.  "I thought you had traded in your magic wands for a mood stabilizer." 
     I heard the sound of earsplittingly loud clatter coming from the kitchen.  I went in there and all of the pots and pans had come off of their hooks and had fallen to the floor.  One of the pots of its own volition jumped at me and hit me in the shin.  The light above the sink flashed bright for a split second and was burned out. 
     "What the hell!"  I went back into the living room.  "You're on your third cup of tea.  Doesn't the caffeine destabilize you?"  I was shaking and I had my head turned away from the kitchen.  I shut my eyes and wished this situation would just go away. 
     "We need to do the séance.  I'll call Madame Burchfield for this one.  She is the best.  Meanwhile, you might consider checking into a motel.  Your wife could be upset with you."
     I had a nagging thought of something in the back of my mind.  It couldn't be that, I thought.  Or could it? 
**
Madame Burchfield, her assistant (whose name wasn't given to me) my  mother, and I, sat around a card table that had a special table cloth and that had Burchfield's crystal ball in the middle.  The shades had been drawn and the lights dimmed. 
     The dog entered the room from where she had been sleeping in the back room.  She sat at a cautious distance from our séance and she began to whine.  I had never seen such behavior of the dog. 
     "I am connecting with your wife," said Burchfield.  She had said it in such a profound way, and her voice had taken on a Transylvanian accent.  Her eyes were shut, and her eyelids twitched.  The Madame put out her hands and nodded, indicating we were all to hold hands around the table. 
     "Michael?"
     My stomach sank.  I had assumed the séance would be bogus.  But I could have sworn it was the voice of my wife.  
     I said nothing.  Madame Burchfield's face was lit up, but I didn't know of the light source.  Now her face was changing, and in a couple of moments, Burchfield's face resembled that of my deceased wife. 
     I shouted, "What the hell kind of trickery is this?" 
     "I am very disappointed with you, my dear."  It was my wife's angry tone.  She had always spoken quietly when mad, but with her soft tones knew how to stab. 
     In that moment, my gut told me it was my deceased wife, despite not believing in that stuff.  I said, "Erica?  Why are you upset with me?" 
     "Think, my dear." 
     I paused and felt shaky.  "Is it Annette?"   
     "Bingo!  You're a cheat and you're a liar.  I am here to come after you until the day you die, and then you can apologize to me properly when you get to the other side." 
     At that moment, I was convinced this was real.  I felt the sweat on my forehead and I was starting to have difficulty breathing. "Can we stop?" 
     Burchfield's previous trance medium voice, with the Transylvanian accent, came through.  "It is not advisable.  This spirit is upset with you, and you do not want that.  Dig a little deeper and remain seated." 
     I said, "Erica, I apologize from the bottom of my heart.  It didn't mean I didn't love you.  It was a bad impulse and I have always regretted it.  I didn't know you knew."  I felt the moisture of tears rolling down my cheeks.  My mother handed me a Kleenex. 
     "I didn't know.  You had me fooled until I got here.  I don't know if I can forgive this." 
     "Isn't everything okay where you are?" Despite it all, my curiosity had kicked in. 
     "There is no difference--just no body and therefore no limitations." 
     "Erica, I'm sorry.  I am taking care of your dog, I have your picture on my wall.  I cherish your memory.  I am not seeing that woman any more.  Do you want me to remain celibate?  I could do that..." 
     Burchfield's voice came forth again.  "The connection was ended.  That could be good or that could be bad.  I would exercise caution."  She paused.  "Turn on the lights.  This séance is done." 
     I lacked memory of the hours that followed, and the next thing I remembered was waking up in my clothes at nine in the morning, disoriented.  I looked at my digital watch and realized it was Sunday.  I went to the kitchen, and everything was in order.  There was no threat of pots coming off their hooks and banging me, which I had worried might happen.  The kitchen knives and the potato peeler were where they were supposed to be.  On the refrigerator, written apparently with a red marker, were the words, "Goodbye, good luck, and thanks."

end. 

Reading of an excerpt from book...