The band was returning from their march around the grounds, and now it was time to array themselves in the small, stone bandshell and record the parody trailer. Along the stone steps arranged in a semicircle around the outdoor stage, various brass and woodwinds crowded amongst one another. Jack and Montano situated themselves prominently; they were leading the proceedings.
The trailer began. It was a mishmash of footage from "The Room" and "Silence of the Lambs," but with comical overdubbing and a new soundtrack.
As it finished, Montano commanded the spotlight and approached Jack menacingly with a stage pocketknife. He made a lunge and struck home, the tip flexing upward to make it appear like it had penetrated Jack's stomach. Jack gasped ostentatiously and fell to the ground in a heap. Montano continued to hold the knife to his chest.
"I've got an idea," proclaimed Montano loudly. Jack frowned; this wasn't part of the plan. Montano adopted the inflection and stage presence of a Shakespearean villain. "Get up and only you go to hell, or stay down and we all go to hell!!"
Jack looked up at Montano. His countenance was alight with power and menace, though Jack couldn't decide if it was a facade or a true reflection of his motives. Clearly Montano was making some sort of maneuver, or executing a personal agenda. Why else would he be deviating?
"I'm gonna challenge you here - I'm talking about actual, physical hell. Physical suffering."
"This isn't a good idea," said Jack quietly. The crowd shifted imperceptibly. Now was not the time for this, there were too many people. Although, maybe that made it the perfect time, from Montano's perspective.
"Well?" asked Montano.
Jack paused a moment more before slowly getting to his feet. On his way up he took the fake knife from Montano and wacked him on the back of the legs in annoyance.
"Ha! He's done it! Though, what choice did he really have?" Montano launched into a long and mockingly triumphant monologue, to which Jack paid little attention. He walked slowly around the crowded coliseum, distracted by his embarrassment. It wasn't the most momentous of personal defeats, but it stung a bit.
"And that, folks," said Montano in summation, "that is how the most famous toymaker family goes straight to the bottom!" The audience broke into appreciative laughter and applause.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Life Arc
"Yes, hello, Krara? Sorry to wake you."
"Oh, no problem," replied Krara drearily on the other end of the line. Jack stood at a phone kiosk on the second floor of a large mall complex. Beside him stood two others. He was feeling unusually flippant on this occasion.
"Ok, here's a joke," began Jack. He was hoping that a bit of humor might dig him out from the mood deficit he'd caused by waking her up.
He got to the lame punchline and there was a short silence.
"Not funny," said Krara curtly before hanging up.
"Yeah, I could've told ya," offered the girl next to him.
"Too bad, too," lamented Jack. "I've been trying to figure out what to do with my life, and I was hoping she might know...you don't know, do you?"
The girl flashed a slight smile that illuminated her eyes and gave a long look at Jack, completely undoing him.
"No, I don't."
"Oh, no problem," replied Krara drearily on the other end of the line. Jack stood at a phone kiosk on the second floor of a large mall complex. Beside him stood two others. He was feeling unusually flippant on this occasion.
"Ok, here's a joke," began Jack. He was hoping that a bit of humor might dig him out from the mood deficit he'd caused by waking her up.
He got to the lame punchline and there was a short silence.
"Not funny," said Krara curtly before hanging up.
"Yeah, I could've told ya," offered the girl next to him.
"Too bad, too," lamented Jack. "I've been trying to figure out what to do with my life, and I was hoping she might know...you don't know, do you?"
The girl flashed a slight smile that illuminated her eyes and gave a long look at Jack, completely undoing him.
"No, I don't."
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Sunset Colony
Jack had intended to drop off the passengers on the sunset island and continue onwards alone, but instead he'd moored his boat and joined them, watching their progress. The colony was coming along nicely; the buildings were springing up almost faster than Jack could acrobatically scale them.
It was upon one of these buildings, a medium-sized, two-story cottage, that Jack was perched when he spied the enormous stone cathedral across an open patch of dirt. He sprang from the building and executed a momentum-breaking somersault that blended seamlessly into a sprint toward the structure.
He arrived and saw that they had built an enormous stone statue in his honor on the steps to the cathedral. The sculptors had taken artistic liberties with his body structure and crafted a strong torso and thick legs. One hand lay at his side, the other raised toward the sky with an open palm. Slung around his chest like a bandolier was a thick chain. His head flickered between two states, one being affixed properly to his neck and the other being held by the upward palm. Together, the chain and the flickering head were meant to symbolize something Jack wasn't aware of. Below, Jack noticed a toppled statue of his mentor from the Old World, LaDinci.
It was upon one of these buildings, a medium-sized, two-story cottage, that Jack was perched when he spied the enormous stone cathedral across an open patch of dirt. He sprang from the building and executed a momentum-breaking somersault that blended seamlessly into a sprint toward the structure.
He arrived and saw that they had built an enormous stone statue in his honor on the steps to the cathedral. The sculptors had taken artistic liberties with his body structure and crafted a strong torso and thick legs. One hand lay at his side, the other raised toward the sky with an open palm. Slung around his chest like a bandolier was a thick chain. His head flickered between two states, one being affixed properly to his neck and the other being held by the upward palm. Together, the chain and the flickering head were meant to symbolize something Jack wasn't aware of. Below, Jack noticed a toppled statue of his mentor from the Old World, LaDinci.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Death Grip
"I think I'm stuck!"
"Alright, man, don't move. We'll get you out in just a bit!" Black Jack yelled down to his son underneath the slatted boards of the walkway. This wasn't the first time one of his boys had gotten stuck in the plumbing corridors. He wished they would listen to him and stay above ground.
Black Jack jumped down onto the grassy road that wove between the tall, darkened skyscrapers. To his right, an enormous wooden door prevented access to the areas beyond, and to his left the grass road led away a few hundred feet to a T-intersection.
"Hey, your son is stuck again," Jack explained to his black self, who had separated out and was looking disinterestedly through a small hole in the wooden gateway.
"I've got to take care of those," he said, gazing through the peephole.
"Uh, but, your son..." Jack trailed off in annoyance. It was clear his black self, for whatever reason, had decided to leave his son down there for a little while longer. No matter, the child wasn't in any mortal danger.
Jack walked toward the intersection and took the road on the right. The sky above was completely black, though the city below was naturally illuminated from some inner source, providing ample light for the strolling citizens. Jack looked ahead to see the old grandmother and her grandaughter together on the sloping, grassy road. The grandmother's condition was worsening; her head jerked from side to side in macabre disharmony with her limbs, her mouth working frantically. Despite this, the grandaughter was laying peacefully beside her, at the beginning of a nap.
Gradually, the elder moved from her chair toward the girl, seemingly for a hug. The embrace began gently, and was reciprocated by the girl. The machinations of the old woman's mouth became slowly audible.
"Fry...fry...fry...fry..."
Jack could see the girl's eyes go wide, shot through with an infusion of fear and panic. The old woman's grip tightened around the girl, squeezing her with demonic strength.
"Help! She's choking me!" shouted the grandaughter.
"FRY.....FRY.....FRY......."
Jack hurried over to the pair and started prying and kicking at the old woman. Without warning, the grandmother went limp as her head popped cleanly off and she released the girl. The condition had run its course.
The grandaughter, too, had gone rigid, her eyes closed, until suddenly her head took on the aspect of a skull. Jack watched in horror as the familiar refrain returned, this time from the mouth of the girl, the only part of her body that wasn't solidly paralyzed.
"Fry....fry...fry...No! I was just laying down for a nap! Fry...fry..."
"Alright, man, don't move. We'll get you out in just a bit!" Black Jack yelled down to his son underneath the slatted boards of the walkway. This wasn't the first time one of his boys had gotten stuck in the plumbing corridors. He wished they would listen to him and stay above ground.
Black Jack jumped down onto the grassy road that wove between the tall, darkened skyscrapers. To his right, an enormous wooden door prevented access to the areas beyond, and to his left the grass road led away a few hundred feet to a T-intersection.
"Hey, your son is stuck again," Jack explained to his black self, who had separated out and was looking disinterestedly through a small hole in the wooden gateway.
"I've got to take care of those," he said, gazing through the peephole.
"Uh, but, your son..." Jack trailed off in annoyance. It was clear his black self, for whatever reason, had decided to leave his son down there for a little while longer. No matter, the child wasn't in any mortal danger.
Jack walked toward the intersection and took the road on the right. The sky above was completely black, though the city below was naturally illuminated from some inner source, providing ample light for the strolling citizens. Jack looked ahead to see the old grandmother and her grandaughter together on the sloping, grassy road. The grandmother's condition was worsening; her head jerked from side to side in macabre disharmony with her limbs, her mouth working frantically. Despite this, the grandaughter was laying peacefully beside her, at the beginning of a nap.
Gradually, the elder moved from her chair toward the girl, seemingly for a hug. The embrace began gently, and was reciprocated by the girl. The machinations of the old woman's mouth became slowly audible.
"Fry...fry...fry...fry..."
Jack could see the girl's eyes go wide, shot through with an infusion of fear and panic. The old woman's grip tightened around the girl, squeezing her with demonic strength.
"Help! She's choking me!" shouted the grandaughter.
"FRY.....FRY.....FRY......."
Jack hurried over to the pair and started prying and kicking at the old woman. Without warning, the grandmother went limp as her head popped cleanly off and she released the girl. The condition had run its course.
The grandaughter, too, had gone rigid, her eyes closed, until suddenly her head took on the aspect of a skull. Jack watched in horror as the familiar refrain returned, this time from the mouth of the girl, the only part of her body that wasn't solidly paralyzed.
"Fry....fry...fry...No! I was just laying down for a nap! Fry...fry..."
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Game Theory
What a joy, thought Jack in a rush. He had been doing mild acrobats for some time, walking around and occasionally jumping up, sometimes stalling in midair with the aid of a thin plastic bag. The gamescape was blandly urban, a motley collection of variably-shaped polygonal objects representing buildings, these being offset by a sprinkling of grassy, open squares.
It's a little unfinished, but I'm having a lot of fun, Jack thought. Gazing up at a group of taller buildings, he decided to find a way of boosting his jump height so that he might scale the structures. It would be a fun, emergent-style activity, the kind only possible in an open world game such as this. Although, he wasn't completely confident that the developers had implemented the tools he'd require.
At this, he thought of a separate but startlingly exciting game design idea. He turned and explained it to the lad.
"Wow, that's great," said the lad happily. The two continued to talk as they walked towards the small building where the senior developer resided.
"So, I'm going to release this new class soon. It's a gadgeteer," explained the lad.
"Sorry, what was it called again?" Jack asked distractedly; he was allotting only a minimal amount of his attention to the conversation.
"A gadgeteer."
"Oh, right. That's, like, a tinkerer, right?"
"Yeah," said the lad excitedly. By then they had reached the building. The senior developer stood inside an otherwise empty room and nodded as the lad explained his ideas.
"Ok, so you want to have a presence in the game, as a way to have constructive player-developer dialogue?" asked the developer.
"Uh, well..." stammered the lad. Jack inexplicably lost his last shreds of interest in this exchange, and instead looked up at the skyscrapers.
"This isn't like developing a website, you know, where you produce the package and release it, finished and complete, to the world. You are developing piecemeal, testing, prodding, adjusting, all the while taking feedback from the player base, you see?"
"Oh, yeah..." Music began playing, lending a dully punitive tone to the scene. Jack thought the developer might balk at this decision later; it was clear he didn't intend this conversation to be disparaging.
To Jack, the lad seemed tragically small-minded, the kind of person who would achieve little and be happy doing so. Jack always felt odd when thinking such thoughts, both shocked at his own egoism and vaguely content in his contempt for the subject.
The underwear commercial began again. Jack listened to the simpering audio.
"Sam and Penelope are in love, and while the tide turns, Sam wants Penelope to play as his Juliet..."
It's a little unfinished, but I'm having a lot of fun, Jack thought. Gazing up at a group of taller buildings, he decided to find a way of boosting his jump height so that he might scale the structures. It would be a fun, emergent-style activity, the kind only possible in an open world game such as this. Although, he wasn't completely confident that the developers had implemented the tools he'd require.
At this, he thought of a separate but startlingly exciting game design idea. He turned and explained it to the lad.
"Wow, that's great," said the lad happily. The two continued to talk as they walked towards the small building where the senior developer resided.
"So, I'm going to release this new class soon. It's a gadgeteer," explained the lad.
"Sorry, what was it called again?" Jack asked distractedly; he was allotting only a minimal amount of his attention to the conversation.
"A gadgeteer."
"Oh, right. That's, like, a tinkerer, right?"
"Yeah," said the lad excitedly. By then they had reached the building. The senior developer stood inside an otherwise empty room and nodded as the lad explained his ideas.
"Ok, so you want to have a presence in the game, as a way to have constructive player-developer dialogue?" asked the developer.
"Uh, well..." stammered the lad. Jack inexplicably lost his last shreds of interest in this exchange, and instead looked up at the skyscrapers.
"This isn't like developing a website, you know, where you produce the package and release it, finished and complete, to the world. You are developing piecemeal, testing, prodding, adjusting, all the while taking feedback from the player base, you see?"
"Oh, yeah..." Music began playing, lending a dully punitive tone to the scene. Jack thought the developer might balk at this decision later; it was clear he didn't intend this conversation to be disparaging.
To Jack, the lad seemed tragically small-minded, the kind of person who would achieve little and be happy doing so. Jack always felt odd when thinking such thoughts, both shocked at his own egoism and vaguely content in his contempt for the subject.
The underwear commercial began again. Jack listened to the simpering audio.
"Sam and Penelope are in love, and while the tide turns, Sam wants Penelope to play as his Juliet..."
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Bossing Power
Jack knocked a thug aside and overturned a display cart, taking down two more. Now that Claire had fled at his behest, he could allocate all his attention to holding off the enemies.
Stomping and taunting almost comically, Jack felt incredibly powerful and lighthearted. The mixed collection of animate and inanimate thugs fell all around him, bringing down debris from the grocery aisle. His strength was more than enough to keep them at bay, and Jack felt that the whole affair was almost a game. He backed his way steadily down the aisle, keeping his front to his opponents and punishing those that got too close. His attention was drawn to a large man who was giving orders and advancing through the throng. Jack figured this was the boss.
Jack picked up a piece of debris and threw it at the boss, who reciprocated. The two continued to throw items at each other until Jack noticed an empty pickle jar at his feet.
"Oooh!" cooed Jack. He picked up the jar. The boss quickly looked around and found one of his own.
"I could throw this too, you know," said the boss. He cast the jar down, shattering it at Jack's feet. Jack felt suddenly that things had gone too far.
"When will you stop?" asked Jack.
"Only when you are dead," replied the boss.
"Then I'm done." Jack put his jar down and turned towards a descending hallway off to his right.
"Go back! Come back!" yelled the boss angrily.
"No," Jack shouted back as he continued to walk away. "I was okay using fists, to punch, but not weapons. I never wanted to lacerate, to kill!"
Jack continued on through a series of rooms and ended up in a small bedroom full of clothes, where he began to change, wondering about Claire's whereabouts. He knew the boss and his thugs would continue to chase him, and it wasn't long before he could hear them rooting about outside the room.
"Come out, so we can kill you!" one taunted. Jack cracked the door open.
"Hold on, I'm changing!" he yelled through the crack.
Behind him, Jack heard the closet door squeak open. He turned around and saw Claire, wearing a colorful outfit and a crooked smile.
"Claire! No, no, hide!" Jack implored.
"No. If you are going to be killed, I can't let you be there alone."
"They'll kill you too, they might even kill you first!"
"Doesn't matter," she said. Jack smiled as she walked past him and out of the bedroom. He realized he probably should have hugged her.
The boss took Jack into custody and brought him up into the roofed bleachers. The thugs were there, some milling around disinterestedly and some sitting and staring out from under the awning at the dry riverbed in front of the bleachers. Jack and the boss sat down next to each other.
"Are you happy?" Jack asked the boss.
"What?" The boss, who had been lost in thought, looked startled and focused his attention on the young man.
"Just wondering why you want to kill me, or anyone."
"Hmmm..." thought the boss.
"You know what I think?"
"What?" the boss asked.
"I think you have all this power, but it is empty power," Jack said.
"Come on," said Gunther impatiently from higher up in the bleachers, "let's kill him already!"
"Ok..." acquiesced the boss tiredly.
"Wait, wait! Let me finish!" Jack said anxiously.
"Oh, right," said the boss.
"I was saying, your power is an empty power. Sure, you command all these people," Jack said, waving at those in the bleachers, most of whom were not listening, "but that's not enough for you. So you seek out more power, like killing. But that won't be enough either."
"What will?"
"You need friends!"
"I have friends!" said the boss indignantly. "Gunther there is my friend!"
"No, he's a lackey. You surround yourself with lackeys, but that's no substitute for friends, and love. That's where real power comes from." Jack's thoughts flashed with sudden insight to Claire.
"Hmmm..." the boss considered.
"Come on," urged Jack, "let's go make some friends."
Jack brought the boss around and began introducing him to the people in the bleachers. Jack felt that this was very significant, and it seemed to be having a positive effect on the boss.
"This is Dr. Robotnik," Jack said as he introduced the boss yet again, "or also known by his other name, ___________." The pair walked over to Claire, who was sitting by herself higher up.
"Doctor, this is Claire. She's a...she's my...well, I don't know quite what she is."
"We'll see..." Claire said coyly as she shook hands with the boss.
Jack and the boss continued until they had reached everyone in the bleachers. "Has everyone been introduced?" Jack shouted. Everyone assented. Jack nodded and he and Claire walked down the bleachers and into the dry riverbed, where his party was waiting.
"Don't forget the pet!" came a yell from the stands. Jack turned to see a small, white terrier bounding towards him. He happily scooped up the dog when it reached him. Jack, Claire, and the rest walked through the tall yellow grass away from the bleachers and into the setting sun.
A short distance away from the bleachers, Jack and the dream cast continued walking through the brush.
"Now what?" someone asked.
"I don't know," replied Jack as he walked, thinking back on the dream. "This has been a long one, huh?"
"Yeah."
"The first half or third of your dreams are usually really awesome, then they drop off," observed Dingland.
"Yeah..." Jack said, trying to think of something to do. "You want to try flying?"
"Yeah, that'd be cool!" Juna chimed in.
Jack took off into the air, wobbling a bit at first before steadying. He reflected on how much he liked flying as the rest of the dream cast took off after him.
Stomping and taunting almost comically, Jack felt incredibly powerful and lighthearted. The mixed collection of animate and inanimate thugs fell all around him, bringing down debris from the grocery aisle. His strength was more than enough to keep them at bay, and Jack felt that the whole affair was almost a game. He backed his way steadily down the aisle, keeping his front to his opponents and punishing those that got too close. His attention was drawn to a large man who was giving orders and advancing through the throng. Jack figured this was the boss.
Jack picked up a piece of debris and threw it at the boss, who reciprocated. The two continued to throw items at each other until Jack noticed an empty pickle jar at his feet.
"Oooh!" cooed Jack. He picked up the jar. The boss quickly looked around and found one of his own.
"I could throw this too, you know," said the boss. He cast the jar down, shattering it at Jack's feet. Jack felt suddenly that things had gone too far.
"When will you stop?" asked Jack.
"Only when you are dead," replied the boss.
"Then I'm done." Jack put his jar down and turned towards a descending hallway off to his right.
"Go back! Come back!" yelled the boss angrily.
"No," Jack shouted back as he continued to walk away. "I was okay using fists, to punch, but not weapons. I never wanted to lacerate, to kill!"
Jack continued on through a series of rooms and ended up in a small bedroom full of clothes, where he began to change, wondering about Claire's whereabouts. He knew the boss and his thugs would continue to chase him, and it wasn't long before he could hear them rooting about outside the room.
"Come out, so we can kill you!" one taunted. Jack cracked the door open.
"Hold on, I'm changing!" he yelled through the crack.
Behind him, Jack heard the closet door squeak open. He turned around and saw Claire, wearing a colorful outfit and a crooked smile.
"Claire! No, no, hide!" Jack implored.
"No. If you are going to be killed, I can't let you be there alone."
"They'll kill you too, they might even kill you first!"
"Doesn't matter," she said. Jack smiled as she walked past him and out of the bedroom. He realized he probably should have hugged her.
The boss took Jack into custody and brought him up into the roofed bleachers. The thugs were there, some milling around disinterestedly and some sitting and staring out from under the awning at the dry riverbed in front of the bleachers. Jack and the boss sat down next to each other.
"Are you happy?" Jack asked the boss.
"What?" The boss, who had been lost in thought, looked startled and focused his attention on the young man.
"Just wondering why you want to kill me, or anyone."
"Hmmm..." thought the boss.
"You know what I think?"
"What?" the boss asked.
"I think you have all this power, but it is empty power," Jack said.
"Come on," said Gunther impatiently from higher up in the bleachers, "let's kill him already!"
"Ok..." acquiesced the boss tiredly.
"Wait, wait! Let me finish!" Jack said anxiously.
"Oh, right," said the boss.
"I was saying, your power is an empty power. Sure, you command all these people," Jack said, waving at those in the bleachers, most of whom were not listening, "but that's not enough for you. So you seek out more power, like killing. But that won't be enough either."
"What will?"
"You need friends!"
"I have friends!" said the boss indignantly. "Gunther there is my friend!"
"No, he's a lackey. You surround yourself with lackeys, but that's no substitute for friends, and love. That's where real power comes from." Jack's thoughts flashed with sudden insight to Claire.
"Hmmm..." the boss considered.
"Come on," urged Jack, "let's go make some friends."
Jack brought the boss around and began introducing him to the people in the bleachers. Jack felt that this was very significant, and it seemed to be having a positive effect on the boss.
"This is Dr. Robotnik," Jack said as he introduced the boss yet again, "or also known by his other name, ___________." The pair walked over to Claire, who was sitting by herself higher up.
"Doctor, this is Claire. She's a...she's my...well, I don't know quite what she is."
"We'll see..." Claire said coyly as she shook hands with the boss.
Jack and the boss continued until they had reached everyone in the bleachers. "Has everyone been introduced?" Jack shouted. Everyone assented. Jack nodded and he and Claire walked down the bleachers and into the dry riverbed, where his party was waiting.
"Don't forget the pet!" came a yell from the stands. Jack turned to see a small, white terrier bounding towards him. He happily scooped up the dog when it reached him. Jack, Claire, and the rest walked through the tall yellow grass away from the bleachers and into the setting sun.
A short distance away from the bleachers, Jack and the dream cast continued walking through the brush.
"Now what?" someone asked.
"I don't know," replied Jack as he walked, thinking back on the dream. "This has been a long one, huh?"
"Yeah."
"The first half or third of your dreams are usually really awesome, then they drop off," observed Dingland.
"Yeah..." Jack said, trying to think of something to do. "You want to try flying?"
"Yeah, that'd be cool!" Juna chimed in.
Jack took off into the air, wobbling a bit at first before steadying. He reflected on how much he liked flying as the rest of the dream cast took off after him.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
Window Arboreal
Jack walked down the stairs into the crowded pub, his thoughts still lingering on the frogs he'd decided not to save in the glass complex. He might've been able to handle one, but three or four? Too many.
The bar was crowded and hot. Onstage a punk band blared a dreadfully unsurprising medley of I, IV, and V chords in common meter. Jack approached the bar, trying to block out the music.
"I'll have a Miller Lite," he said to the female bartender.
"Ok, but may I make a suggestion?" she countered.
"Yes."
"You know Mary Freidburger? She's the children's literature professor at the university. You should go talk to her," she said, pointing vaguely into the crowd.
"Yeah, I'll think about that," Jack nodded noncommittally. The bartender handed him a pint mug containing a very small amount of light-yellow liquid. Jack carried the mug over to a table in a less crowded, better-lit corner of the room. He waved to Vell and sat down at the table with Montano to play the board game.
"This game has hold on me," offered Montano.
As the game began, Jack's attention was drawn to some gentle scuffling noised at the screen window nearby. At first Jack thought it might be another frog, but instead there appeared a darkly-furred paw similar to that of an ape, but with fewer digits. The paw grasped around in a dumbly playful manner before latching on to the wire mesh.
"What's that?" Jack asked.
"Oh," answered Montano, glancing at the window, "that's just The Odd Man."
Jack continued watching as The Odd Man slowly hoisted himself up to the window. He had a large quantity of dark fur, except for around his face, where it was a shocking gray. Jack decided The Odd Man was some sort of large sloth combined with certain features of a Bornean orangutan. He stared at Jack for a long time with smilingly doleful eyes.
The bar was crowded and hot. Onstage a punk band blared a dreadfully unsurprising medley of I, IV, and V chords in common meter. Jack approached the bar, trying to block out the music.
"I'll have a Miller Lite," he said to the female bartender.
"Ok, but may I make a suggestion?" she countered.
"Yes."
"You know Mary Freidburger? She's the children's literature professor at the university. You should go talk to her," she said, pointing vaguely into the crowd.
"Yeah, I'll think about that," Jack nodded noncommittally. The bartender handed him a pint mug containing a very small amount of light-yellow liquid. Jack carried the mug over to a table in a less crowded, better-lit corner of the room. He waved to Vell and sat down at the table with Montano to play the board game.
"This game has hold on me," offered Montano.
As the game began, Jack's attention was drawn to some gentle scuffling noised at the screen window nearby. At first Jack thought it might be another frog, but instead there appeared a darkly-furred paw similar to that of an ape, but with fewer digits. The paw grasped around in a dumbly playful manner before latching on to the wire mesh.
"What's that?" Jack asked.
"Oh," answered Montano, glancing at the window, "that's just The Odd Man."
Jack continued watching as The Odd Man slowly hoisted himself up to the window. He had a large quantity of dark fur, except for around his face, where it was a shocking gray. Jack decided The Odd Man was some sort of large sloth combined with certain features of a Bornean orangutan. He stared at Jack for a long time with smilingly doleful eyes.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
New Command
Jack donned the feminine robe, signifying his new rank and role as Commander. Although, at this point most of the conflict had been resolved: the three female explorers had been freed of the high-tech prison, a sideways, rotating cylindrical affair set in the mountainside, and their liberation had simultaneously revealed a chamber behind the cylinder wherein the petrified bodies of past victims resided. And now, Jack had been given his new rank. He decided to put it to some use, however small.
"Okay, everyone, listen! We are going to remove these bodies. Lay them out in a line out there in the prairie. We'll have an archaeologist examine them, then give them a proper burial."
The people around him, those under his command, began the process of moving the bodies. Jack took off his robe so it wouldn't get dirty.
The bodies were so ancient that they were more rocks than biological remains. Each body was set in a stone frame, making their removal simple. Jack lifted one and carried it down the mountainside and onto the grassy plains. A dark but brilliant sky rained down warm, orange light.
He returned with a second body and noticed, to his annoyance, that people were not stacking the bodies in a line as he had instructed. Instead they were piled up in between bits of colorful sheets. Not a big deal, it could probably be sorted out later. He returned to the chamber and, noticing that the last body had been removed, once more put on his commander robe.
He turned around and gazed down from the mountainside. It was crawling with the people under his command, going about their affairs, preparing for the journey. Their activity spilled down into the vast plains beyond, but not so far as to touch any of the mountains that bordered the circular section of grassland.
He looked down a few yards from where he was standing and saw that a section of earth had been disturbed. It was dotted with grass and tiny little colored flowers resembling feet. They twisted and bounced playfully in the gentle breeze. Jack's anger rose. His people had not waited to bury the bodies, they had gone on without his instructions! Time to assert his authority.
"WHAT IS THIS I SEE? Are these the bodies? Lying in the ground?!" He raised his voice to its highest volume, and was somewhat surprised to hear it echo down the mountainside, raising heads as it went. "Am I not your commander? And was it not I who instructed you to lay the bodies in a line, so that they might be examined by an archaeologist?!"
At this point activity had ceased and all eyes were on him. "And now, I see that the bodies have been buried, contrary to my instructions. Who was it that told you thus? It was certainly not I, the only one to give such a command!! NOW, LISTEN CAREFULLY! You will dig up these bodies, lay them down in a line, and an ARCHAEOLOGIST WILL EXAMINE THEM! After that, we will bury them once more. Now go!"
The people nodded and began their work. Jack looked on, satisfied. He wasn't to be an unfair commander, and yes, he was perhaps slightly unqualified, but for such a simple matter as this he would tolerate no disobedience. He certainly wouldn't be a wimp.
Jack looked on until he saw the work had begun, then strode off down the mountain, his robes blowing behind him, to look for the archaeologist in their large group. Once he reached the plains, a person stopped him.
"Hey, that was great," he said to Jack. "You could hear your voice everywhere. It was a little scary," he smiled shyly.
"Oh, good," replied Jack. "Have you seen the archaeologist?"
"No."
Jack strode on, satisfied with himself. Soon, he would fail spectacularly in his next big test, a full-on naval battle with himself in command of a submarine crewed by veterans. That defeat would be the end of his short tenure as commander. But right now, he continued roaming the plains, looking for the archaeologist.
"Okay, everyone, listen! We are going to remove these bodies. Lay them out in a line out there in the prairie. We'll have an archaeologist examine them, then give them a proper burial."
The people around him, those under his command, began the process of moving the bodies. Jack took off his robe so it wouldn't get dirty.
The bodies were so ancient that they were more rocks than biological remains. Each body was set in a stone frame, making their removal simple. Jack lifted one and carried it down the mountainside and onto the grassy plains. A dark but brilliant sky rained down warm, orange light.
He returned with a second body and noticed, to his annoyance, that people were not stacking the bodies in a line as he had instructed. Instead they were piled up in between bits of colorful sheets. Not a big deal, it could probably be sorted out later. He returned to the chamber and, noticing that the last body had been removed, once more put on his commander robe.
He turned around and gazed down from the mountainside. It was crawling with the people under his command, going about their affairs, preparing for the journey. Their activity spilled down into the vast plains beyond, but not so far as to touch any of the mountains that bordered the circular section of grassland.
He looked down a few yards from where he was standing and saw that a section of earth had been disturbed. It was dotted with grass and tiny little colored flowers resembling feet. They twisted and bounced playfully in the gentle breeze. Jack's anger rose. His people had not waited to bury the bodies, they had gone on without his instructions! Time to assert his authority.
"WHAT IS THIS I SEE? Are these the bodies? Lying in the ground?!" He raised his voice to its highest volume, and was somewhat surprised to hear it echo down the mountainside, raising heads as it went. "Am I not your commander? And was it not I who instructed you to lay the bodies in a line, so that they might be examined by an archaeologist?!"
At this point activity had ceased and all eyes were on him. "And now, I see that the bodies have been buried, contrary to my instructions. Who was it that told you thus? It was certainly not I, the only one to give such a command!! NOW, LISTEN CAREFULLY! You will dig up these bodies, lay them down in a line, and an ARCHAEOLOGIST WILL EXAMINE THEM! After that, we will bury them once more. Now go!"
The people nodded and began their work. Jack looked on, satisfied. He wasn't to be an unfair commander, and yes, he was perhaps slightly unqualified, but for such a simple matter as this he would tolerate no disobedience. He certainly wouldn't be a wimp.
Jack looked on until he saw the work had begun, then strode off down the mountain, his robes blowing behind him, to look for the archaeologist in their large group. Once he reached the plains, a person stopped him.
"Hey, that was great," he said to Jack. "You could hear your voice everywhere. It was a little scary," he smiled shyly.
"Oh, good," replied Jack. "Have you seen the archaeologist?"
"No."
Jack strode on, satisfied with himself. Soon, he would fail spectacularly in his next big test, a full-on naval battle with himself in command of a submarine crewed by veterans. That defeat would be the end of his short tenure as commander. But right now, he continued roaming the plains, looking for the archaeologist.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Black Building
Jack rolled his service cart past the balcony overlooking the first floor atrium and through the double doors. Two hallways branched off at opposite, forty-five degree angles from the doorway, and each was pitch black. In fact, the entire building was largely dark, save for a few lights left on for maintenance, such as the one Jack stood under. Soft, ambient pop music was being piped in through crackly speakers, which Jack found slightly eery, despite the upbeat tunes.
After gazing down the dark hallways for a time, Jack started fiddling with his service cart, eager to get on with his affairs. The cart was a standard unit, outfit with several tools and a cleaning tote, a green plastic tray with a handle, rags, and three spray bottles.
As Jack started working, his attention was drawn to the approach of a dark figure from the left hallway. As it neared Jack's small pool of light, it was revealed to be a girl, medium height, brown hair. Her face was devoid of emotion, more plain and neutral than Jack thought imaginable from a person. Jack found it odd that this patron had continued to browse, despite the utter lack of illumination in most of the building.
"Hi," said Jack.
"Hello," said the plain girl softly.
"Ohp, here," said Jack with sudden realization, "let me grab - "
He went back through the double doors to a small shelf-table unit full of tape and hastily fished out two rolls that happened to be stuck together. He returned to the plain girl and offered her his find.
"I can have two?" she asked. Jack was finding her demeanor increasingly disturbing.
"Oh, yeah..." replied Jack uneasily. "You know, it's kinda dark in here." He turned to the switches on the wall. There were two sets of four on either side of the doorway. He flipped several of them and waited expectantly, but there was no change in the pitch-black hallways.
"Power's out," said one of the spray bottles in the cleaning tote.
"Oh shoot, that's right...um..." Jack was at a loss.
The plain girl stared at him for a time. "Can you stay up here, to read the comic?" she asked.
"Me? No, no, I'm going back downstairs." Jack started to back away from the girl.
"I'm gonna need you to stay up here and read the comic."
Jack chilled, and fear began to take root. He was unable to look away from the plain girl as he backed through the double doors and up against the balcony railing.
"No, no, I'll go back to the front."
"No, stay up there," the spray bottle said, its voice emanating from somewhere on the lower level. The spray bottle had abandoned him.
Jack split: though he was now floating, observing, he was still entwined with Piglet, who now occupied his spot on the dark, second-floor balcony.
"N-n-no, no! Bottle! W-where did you g-g-go?" said Piglet, terrified.
"Stay up," said the bottle from somewhere down below.
"No!" said Piglet as he climbed clumsily over the railing and dropped down the lower level. "I'm such a small animal, after all!"
By now even the maintenance lights had extinguished. A spray bottle nozzle lay on the floor, very dimly illuminated. Piglet's hysterical motions were only discernible by a bright point of white light, dancing and skittering around, avoiding some unseen foes. It wasn't long before Piglet shrieked in torment, and his singular light split into reds, purples, and oranges, his shrieks of pain into tiny howls of demonic lust and rage. The transformed lights continued to scurry around as a group in the dark, now seeking instead of fleeing.
One more to go. Then he would raise a tiny army of fingers and toes amputated from the village children.
After gazing down the dark hallways for a time, Jack started fiddling with his service cart, eager to get on with his affairs. The cart was a standard unit, outfit with several tools and a cleaning tote, a green plastic tray with a handle, rags, and three spray bottles.
As Jack started working, his attention was drawn to the approach of a dark figure from the left hallway. As it neared Jack's small pool of light, it was revealed to be a girl, medium height, brown hair. Her face was devoid of emotion, more plain and neutral than Jack thought imaginable from a person. Jack found it odd that this patron had continued to browse, despite the utter lack of illumination in most of the building.
"Hi," said Jack.
"Hello," said the plain girl softly.
"Ohp, here," said Jack with sudden realization, "let me grab - "
He went back through the double doors to a small shelf-table unit full of tape and hastily fished out two rolls that happened to be stuck together. He returned to the plain girl and offered her his find.
"I can have two?" she asked. Jack was finding her demeanor increasingly disturbing.
"Oh, yeah..." replied Jack uneasily. "You know, it's kinda dark in here." He turned to the switches on the wall. There were two sets of four on either side of the doorway. He flipped several of them and waited expectantly, but there was no change in the pitch-black hallways.
"Power's out," said one of the spray bottles in the cleaning tote.
"Oh shoot, that's right...um..." Jack was at a loss.
The plain girl stared at him for a time. "Can you stay up here, to read the comic?" she asked.
"Me? No, no, I'm going back downstairs." Jack started to back away from the girl.
"I'm gonna need you to stay up here and read the comic."
Jack chilled, and fear began to take root. He was unable to look away from the plain girl as he backed through the double doors and up against the balcony railing.
"No, no, I'll go back to the front."
"No, stay up there," the spray bottle said, its voice emanating from somewhere on the lower level. The spray bottle had abandoned him.
Jack split: though he was now floating, observing, he was still entwined with Piglet, who now occupied his spot on the dark, second-floor balcony.
"N-n-no, no! Bottle! W-where did you g-g-go?" said Piglet, terrified.
"Stay up," said the bottle from somewhere down below.
"No!" said Piglet as he climbed clumsily over the railing and dropped down the lower level. "I'm such a small animal, after all!"
By now even the maintenance lights had extinguished. A spray bottle nozzle lay on the floor, very dimly illuminated. Piglet's hysterical motions were only discernible by a bright point of white light, dancing and skittering around, avoiding some unseen foes. It wasn't long before Piglet shrieked in torment, and his singular light split into reds, purples, and oranges, his shrieks of pain into tiny howls of demonic lust and rage. The transformed lights continued to scurry around as a group in the dark, now seeking instead of fleeing.
One more to go. Then he would raise a tiny army of fingers and toes amputated from the village children.
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Fading Fiance
Jack and the girl, P'ho, sat at a round, concrete picnic table, one of many small constructions dotting the cavernous indoor space. They had fallen for each other, but now it was time to part ways.
"Don't worry, we'll see each other again," P'ho said reassuringly.
"Yeah, I guess..." replied Jack.
P'ho began to float slowly upwards, her body becoming transparent and incorporeal. The pair held hands until the motion gently, almost lovingly, parted their grasp.
"Let's marry," Jack said.
"Yeah, ok, let's marry," agreed P'ho.
As Jack gazed at his departing fiance, the high, dark ceiling above faded into a deep black canvass upon which the happy glimmer of city lights sparkled. P'ho was returning to the inverse land, her mirror world. Jack gazed in wonder at the city. Although he was looking up, the view was that of one looking down from a very high altitude.
"Oh, it's very beautiful," he said. He watched as P'ho floated up and away, then down towards the sparkling city.
"Don't worry, we'll see each other again," P'ho said reassuringly.
"Yeah, I guess..." replied Jack.
P'ho began to float slowly upwards, her body becoming transparent and incorporeal. The pair held hands until the motion gently, almost lovingly, parted their grasp.
"Let's marry," Jack said.
"Yeah, ok, let's marry," agreed P'ho.
As Jack gazed at his departing fiance, the high, dark ceiling above faded into a deep black canvass upon which the happy glimmer of city lights sparkled. P'ho was returning to the inverse land, her mirror world. Jack gazed in wonder at the city. Although he was looking up, the view was that of one looking down from a very high altitude.
"Oh, it's very beautiful," he said. He watched as P'ho floated up and away, then down towards the sparkling city.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Cutting Failure
"There," pronounced the sinister leader, putting down the knife.
Jack inspected the watermelon chunk and his heart sank. The leader done a horrendous job, effectively butchering the small piece of fruit. Two clumsy lateral cuts had been made, trisecting the chunk in slightly the wrong places. The tiny, eye-like holes in the top section had effectively collapsed as a result of the man's carelessness, rendering them useless. The white tray ran with a small amount of red juice, the pitiful aftermath of a botched surgery.
"I really wish you would have let me make the cut. This is...this is, just..." Jack struggled to keep his emotions in check. Around him in the cooler, the leader's lackeys stood, generally disengaged or going about their own affairs. The man was obviously incompetent, but because of his position Jack was powerless to oppose him, and it had cost this watermelon chunk its life.
At Jack's veiled accusation, the man narrowed his eyes briefly, as if to reassert his dominance. Jack dropped his gaze and the man nodded, then left the cooler.
Jack returned his attention to the watermelon chunk. He separated the top section from the other two, revealing the inner face. Juice trickled and gurgled from several tiny indentations in the fruit's flesh, like a small creature struggling to respirate. Someone would have to put this small piece of watermelon out of its misery. Jack's heart broke.
Jack inspected the watermelon chunk and his heart sank. The leader done a horrendous job, effectively butchering the small piece of fruit. Two clumsy lateral cuts had been made, trisecting the chunk in slightly the wrong places. The tiny, eye-like holes in the top section had effectively collapsed as a result of the man's carelessness, rendering them useless. The white tray ran with a small amount of red juice, the pitiful aftermath of a botched surgery.
"I really wish you would have let me make the cut. This is...this is, just..." Jack struggled to keep his emotions in check. Around him in the cooler, the leader's lackeys stood, generally disengaged or going about their own affairs. The man was obviously incompetent, but because of his position Jack was powerless to oppose him, and it had cost this watermelon chunk its life.
At Jack's veiled accusation, the man narrowed his eyes briefly, as if to reassert his dominance. Jack dropped his gaze and the man nodded, then left the cooler.
Jack returned his attention to the watermelon chunk. He separated the top section from the other two, revealing the inner face. Juice trickled and gurgled from several tiny indentations in the fruit's flesh, like a small creature struggling to respirate. Someone would have to put this small piece of watermelon out of its misery. Jack's heart broke.
Couch Trio
Small Saul and two other cellists sat on the couch surrounded by potted plants and soft lighting. Jack sat on another couch across from the trio, watching. From Jack's perspective, Small Saul sat on the left.
"Geez, talk about someone intelligent, why dontcha," said Small Saul with a deeply Minnesotan accent. His character for this film hailed from those northern lands, and Jack thought the Cohin brothers had made a good casting decision with Small Saul. He was a very good actor.
The other two cellists were of similar age, but the one on the far right was the youngest and, Jack felt, garnered less respect from the other two. Both the middle and right guys were acting well, though not as well as Small Saul, with whom they even shared a resemblance. Additionally, they were both obviously taking their stylistic cues from Small Saul, minus the superb accent. Generally, though, Jack felt this scene was being generally better acted than several other scenes in the movie.
After a short silence, the stoic middle man turned to his left to address the less-respected cellist.
"What's with those glasses?" he asked.
"What?" replied the guy on the right.
"They're all..." replied the middle guy, shrugging. Small Saul leaned forward slightly to inspect the frames in question.
"They're new!" said the right guy defensively. His glasses were roundish and silver.
"Mm-hmmm..."
"You don't like them," said the right guy.
"Eh," replied the middle man noncommittally.
"What about his?" said the right guy, getting flustered. He pointed to Jack's face.
"What?" asked the middle man.
"They're all...ech, gold."
The trio looked at Jack, who returned the gaze of the guy on the right and shrugged, raising his hands in a "so what" manner. Small Saul laughed. I don't have to look at them, Jack thought, but he stopped short of voicing this sentiment.
"He and Montano, see, I think they both got the twenty-four variety," explained the guy on the right.
"Uh, excuse me," said Jack, rolling his eyes sarcastically, "we got different brands."
"Geez, talk about someone intelligent, why dontcha," said Small Saul with a deeply Minnesotan accent. His character for this film hailed from those northern lands, and Jack thought the Cohin brothers had made a good casting decision with Small Saul. He was a very good actor.
The other two cellists were of similar age, but the one on the far right was the youngest and, Jack felt, garnered less respect from the other two. Both the middle and right guys were acting well, though not as well as Small Saul, with whom they even shared a resemblance. Additionally, they were both obviously taking their stylistic cues from Small Saul, minus the superb accent. Generally, though, Jack felt this scene was being generally better acted than several other scenes in the movie.
After a short silence, the stoic middle man turned to his left to address the less-respected cellist.
"What's with those glasses?" he asked.
"What?" replied the guy on the right.
"They're all..." replied the middle guy, shrugging. Small Saul leaned forward slightly to inspect the frames in question.
"They're new!" said the right guy defensively. His glasses were roundish and silver.
"Mm-hmmm..."
"You don't like them," said the right guy.
"Eh," replied the middle man noncommittally.
"What about his?" said the right guy, getting flustered. He pointed to Jack's face.
"What?" asked the middle man.
"They're all...ech, gold."
The trio looked at Jack, who returned the gaze of the guy on the right and shrugged, raising his hands in a "so what" manner. Small Saul laughed. I don't have to look at them, Jack thought, but he stopped short of voicing this sentiment.
"He and Montano, see, I think they both got the twenty-four variety," explained the guy on the right.
"Uh, excuse me," said Jack, rolling his eyes sarcastically, "we got different brands."
Joy Movie
Jack was involved with the movie. It played on a small, disembodied screen.
Cheering people filled a small room, surrounding a centrally-positioned old man and his equally elderly wife.
"Here you are," she said, handing him a drink.
"Thank you," he replied.
The woman leaned in for an embrace, and the old man pulled back playfully before submitting and reciprocating. A rapid gust of air swept from right to left across the screen, blowing the man's hat off. Jack let out a barking laugh. The old wife on screen laughed also, her mouth wide with mirth. Then the man opened his mouth and it was full of starfire, a radiant glow that spilled out from a set of grotesquely monstrous teeth. The man stared, open-mouthed, into the camera as the cheering room quieted. He kept the luminescent fangs bared for an uncomfortably long duration.
The scene cut to a drainage ditch littered with bags of garbage and lit with a warm orange light from the mottled sky above. The concrete channel wound away across a barren landscape towards a windswept metropolis far off in the distance. In the foreground, more cheering men stood in a roughly dispersed line. Another cut and the men dropped to the ground and began rolling along their vertical axes, synchronized, down the ditch, before they all ran up against one of the variously shaped black garbage heaps. They leaned up, raised their glasses, and drank the small amount of ale contained within, again emitting celebratory whoops. As the men cheered, the camera panned down to the ground, revealing the mangled remains of an eggplant.
Cheering people filled a small room, surrounding a centrally-positioned old man and his equally elderly wife.
"Here you are," she said, handing him a drink.
"Thank you," he replied.
The woman leaned in for an embrace, and the old man pulled back playfully before submitting and reciprocating. A rapid gust of air swept from right to left across the screen, blowing the man's hat off. Jack let out a barking laugh. The old wife on screen laughed also, her mouth wide with mirth. Then the man opened his mouth and it was full of starfire, a radiant glow that spilled out from a set of grotesquely monstrous teeth. The man stared, open-mouthed, into the camera as the cheering room quieted. He kept the luminescent fangs bared for an uncomfortably long duration.
The scene cut to a drainage ditch littered with bags of garbage and lit with a warm orange light from the mottled sky above. The concrete channel wound away across a barren landscape towards a windswept metropolis far off in the distance. In the foreground, more cheering men stood in a roughly dispersed line. Another cut and the men dropped to the ground and began rolling along their vertical axes, synchronized, down the ditch, before they all ran up against one of the variously shaped black garbage heaps. They leaned up, raised their glasses, and drank the small amount of ale contained within, again emitting celebratory whoops. As the men cheered, the camera panned down to the ground, revealing the mangled remains of an eggplant.
Scene Deletion
"We need to cut Bernie's scenes," said Montano abruptly. He and Jack sat in a darkened room looking at a bright screen.
"What?" replied Jack, surprised.
"We need to cut those scenes with Reginald Brax."
"Oh..." Jack had not expected this.
"They just don't fit." Montano smiled, almost nefariously.
"Well...it sounds like you've already decided!" said Jack. Montano nodded in silence, still smiling.
"Well," continued Jack, "good for you, making hard directing calls!"
"What?" replied Jack, surprised.
"We need to cut those scenes with Reginald Brax."
"Oh..." Jack had not expected this.
"They just don't fit." Montano smiled, almost nefariously.
"Well...it sounds like you've already decided!" said Jack. Montano nodded in silence, still smiling.
"Well," continued Jack, "good for you, making hard directing calls!"
Friday, June 10, 2011
Foreign Occupation
"I can go downstairs?" Jack asked.
"Oh, yes, no," said the French man.
"Oh, I just wanted to go downstairs."
"Yes, nobody downstairs, no no."
"I know, I just wanted to go down there, to see it."
"Oh, no, no."
"Ah...ok," said Jack resignedly. Outside, the French man's family sat in lawn chairs while Jack's family toured their old house. The tour had been reassuring but painfully nostalgic; the house was generally less cozy due to some odd furniture choices, and several downright stupid changes in the electric wiring made switches confusing or completely nonfunctional. These observations had comforted Jack and his family, but it was still sad to be back in their old house.
"How is your tour?" the man asked.
"Fine, fine, thank you so much for letting us in." Jack and one of the others with his group nodded at the French man. "What's the French word for 'tour,' again?" Jack was only now realizing that they might be imposing on these people.
"Lourges," replied the French man.
"Oh yeah, lourges."
"Is your car parked okay?" the French man.
"Oh, yes. Don't worry, we'll be out of your hair in a minute or two," replied Jack quickly.
"Oh, yes, no," said the French man.
"Oh, I just wanted to go downstairs."
"Yes, nobody downstairs, no no."
"I know, I just wanted to go down there, to see it."
"Oh, no, no."
"Ah...ok," said Jack resignedly. Outside, the French man's family sat in lawn chairs while Jack's family toured their old house. The tour had been reassuring but painfully nostalgic; the house was generally less cozy due to some odd furniture choices, and several downright stupid changes in the electric wiring made switches confusing or completely nonfunctional. These observations had comforted Jack and his family, but it was still sad to be back in their old house.
"How is your tour?" the man asked.
"Fine, fine, thank you so much for letting us in." Jack and one of the others with his group nodded at the French man. "What's the French word for 'tour,' again?" Jack was only now realizing that they might be imposing on these people.
"Lourges," replied the French man.
"Oh yeah, lourges."
"Is your car parked okay?" the French man.
"Oh, yes. Don't worry, we'll be out of your hair in a minute or two," replied Jack quickly.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Dancing Employees
Jack and his parents traversed the length of the mall. Although the shops were open, they were mostly abandoned save for some dozing employees. At the very end of the walk, they were confronted with an open storefront, blended seamlessly with the surrounding architecture. They sat down on a bench.
Inside the store, if it could be accurately described as having an inside, a large number of mostly female employees stood about expectantly.
"Do you need your dress hemmed?" an officious-looking woman asked Jack. He looked down and examined his blue apron. Yes, it did look a bit like a dress. But it wasn't.
"No," he replied.
At this, the woman gave a signal and the entire troupe of employees sprung into a complicated kind of ballroom dance. It was a stately affair, and very well-coordinated, though the actual steps consisted mostly of slow walking.
"Those steps look dangerous," remarked The Mother, pointing to the tiered floor.
As the dance continued, Jack examined the faces of the employees. There were some girls he found attractive, and some less so. He figured that was a normal state of affairs.
Of course, not all the dancers were female. Among the males, Jack noticed the face of Montano, as well as Montano II, a doppelganger with slightly longer hair and a craftier face. Montano walked over and sat down behind Jack.
"You work here?" asked Jack.
"No," answered Montano.
"Oh...then, how did you get to dance?"
"I just took the workshop."
The dancing continued for a time, and when it terminated the employees formed a large, three-sided perimeter. The head woman called out signals, and the employees struck various poses and emitted flirty noises at the gathered audience. During this section, one of the girls detached herself from the ring and sat down next to Jack. She did not speak, but merely flashed him sidelong glances.
Near the end of the show, Jack's parents got up to leave. Montano stood up with them.
"They are my ride," he explained.
Jack, too, walked away, but not before the girl stood up and began following him, breathlessly anxious.
"You're coming too?" Jack queried.
"Yeah. I, uh, was thinking maybe, sometime, I could hem something for you?"
"Oh, um..." Jack said awkwardly, "...sure, I guess. Uh, when were you thinking?"
"I was thinking maybe July."
"Oh, ok." Jack was relieved; July was still a ways off. "I think that should work."
"What's the best way to get in contact with you?"
The pair had entered a vestibule containing older people sitting in silence. Through a window, Jack could see a church service in progress. A gaudy officiant spoke some words and behind him a paper tree unfurled, displaying small outgrowths as it expanded. A female dancer revolved around it, twirling and throwing out her arms in exultation.
"E-mail, probably," said Jack, trying to keep his voice lower. "Here, let me write it down for you."
Jack tried to scrawl his address out onto the paper but the process proved difficult. After several attempts, he handed her the paper, looking at his writing in disappointment; even he had trouble deciphering the letters, which read roughly "anmitated.arctoo@gmail.com."
"Can you make that out? It's not very clear. Maybe you should re-write it in your own handwriting."
"You're sure this is your e-mail?" she said skeptically.
"Yes, one of them. This one links into the other one."
Inside the store, if it could be accurately described as having an inside, a large number of mostly female employees stood about expectantly.
"Do you need your dress hemmed?" an officious-looking woman asked Jack. He looked down and examined his blue apron. Yes, it did look a bit like a dress. But it wasn't.
"No," he replied.
At this, the woman gave a signal and the entire troupe of employees sprung into a complicated kind of ballroom dance. It was a stately affair, and very well-coordinated, though the actual steps consisted mostly of slow walking.
"Those steps look dangerous," remarked The Mother, pointing to the tiered floor.
As the dance continued, Jack examined the faces of the employees. There were some girls he found attractive, and some less so. He figured that was a normal state of affairs.
Of course, not all the dancers were female. Among the males, Jack noticed the face of Montano, as well as Montano II, a doppelganger with slightly longer hair and a craftier face. Montano walked over and sat down behind Jack.
"You work here?" asked Jack.
"No," answered Montano.
"Oh...then, how did you get to dance?"
"I just took the workshop."
The dancing continued for a time, and when it terminated the employees formed a large, three-sided perimeter. The head woman called out signals, and the employees struck various poses and emitted flirty noises at the gathered audience. During this section, one of the girls detached herself from the ring and sat down next to Jack. She did not speak, but merely flashed him sidelong glances.
Near the end of the show, Jack's parents got up to leave. Montano stood up with them.
"They are my ride," he explained.
Jack, too, walked away, but not before the girl stood up and began following him, breathlessly anxious.
"You're coming too?" Jack queried.
"Yeah. I, uh, was thinking maybe, sometime, I could hem something for you?"
"Oh, um..." Jack said awkwardly, "...sure, I guess. Uh, when were you thinking?"
"I was thinking maybe July."
"Oh, ok." Jack was relieved; July was still a ways off. "I think that should work."
"What's the best way to get in contact with you?"
The pair had entered a vestibule containing older people sitting in silence. Through a window, Jack could see a church service in progress. A gaudy officiant spoke some words and behind him a paper tree unfurled, displaying small outgrowths as it expanded. A female dancer revolved around it, twirling and throwing out her arms in exultation.
"E-mail, probably," said Jack, trying to keep his voice lower. "Here, let me write it down for you."
Jack tried to scrawl his address out onto the paper but the process proved difficult. After several attempts, he handed her the paper, looking at his writing in disappointment; even he had trouble deciphering the letters, which read roughly "anmitated.arctoo@gmail.com."
"Can you make that out? It's not very clear. Maybe you should re-write it in your own handwriting."
"You're sure this is your e-mail?" she said skeptically.
"Yes, one of them. This one links into the other one."
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Rage Episode
Jack noticed the cool stillness of the night as he pulled up to the gas pump. This particular station didn't have the normal flood of florescence spilling out into the darkness; instead, some gentle lamps hung from a small awning above. A tiny, elderly woman stood filling her car on the opposite side of the pump. She smiled at Jack.
Jack finished his work and got back in the car, shortly after the old woman had done the same. Jack watched her drive slowly around the pump and toward his front bumper. Jack tried to get his car in reverse, but instead drove forward slightly to meet the oncoming vehicle. Moving at a tiny fraction of their full speed, the two cars bumped lightly, whereupon Jack's began honking loudly and repeatedly. The woman quickly reversed and pulled back to her spot on the other side of the pump. Both got out of their cars.
"Jack, please stop your car from beeping."
"I can't, Mrs. Anivra, it won't stop."
"I must insist, it's much too loud."
"I said, I can't! I tried! You try and stop it!"
"Young man, if you don't stop it, I'm calling the police!" Mrs. Anivra stomped angrily.
Jack could feel the rage coming over him again, the same rage that had taken hold of him earlier and caused him enormous trouble. It was a kind of momentous, uncontrollable anger he had never felt until recently, one that made his chest feel bubbly and his limbs buzz with the heat of pent-up inaction. Earlier when it had taken hold, he had joined the suicidal assault on the office, calmly and efficiently destroyed the turret defenses, and once inside had started ripping apart the mostly-empty rooms as his friends, family and coworkers looked on in astonishment. Jack remembered one remarking at the profound inevitably of Jack's actions, as if the rage radiating from the young man was so palpable it necessarily justified every behavior taken while in its grip. Jack had eventually come out of it after mounting guilt about possibly destroying his friends possession. Afterwards, he'd felt enormously better, but was in all sorts of legal trouble, including a possible indictment by The Man in Glasses. Not to mention trying to explain things to his family.
"It won't stop! I told you!!" yelled Jack.
"Stop it, NOW!"
"NO, YOU STOP IT, MRS. ANIVRA! YOU STOP IT! GO AHEAD, TRY TO STOP IT, MRS. ANIVRA!" Jack spat. Her name was like a curse word on his tongue.
"No!"
"YES, YES, BE MY GUEST, MRS. ANIVRA! YOU STOP IT! STOP THE BEEPING! MRS. ANIVRA, STOP THE BEEPING!! PLEASE, MRS. ANIVRA, TRY TO STOP MY CAR HORN!"
The old lady just stared at Jack impudently. He began waving his arms and stomping back and forth like a caged bull.
"MRS. ANIVRA! MRS. ANIVRA! STOP THE BEEPING! MRS. ANIVRA, TRY TO STOP THE BEEPING! JUST TRY IT! JUST TRY IT! STOP THE BEEPING, MRS. ANIVRA!!!"
Just then a squad car pulled up and an officer came over to Jack and put a calming arm on his shoulder. Mrs. Anivra went back to her businesses.
"Evening, Jack," said the officer.
"Hello, sir. My car won't stop beeping."
The officer bent down and inspected the front bumper.
"Don't worry about it, Jack. Looks like it's broken."
Jack finished his work and got back in the car, shortly after the old woman had done the same. Jack watched her drive slowly around the pump and toward his front bumper. Jack tried to get his car in reverse, but instead drove forward slightly to meet the oncoming vehicle. Moving at a tiny fraction of their full speed, the two cars bumped lightly, whereupon Jack's began honking loudly and repeatedly. The woman quickly reversed and pulled back to her spot on the other side of the pump. Both got out of their cars.
"Jack, please stop your car from beeping."
"I can't, Mrs. Anivra, it won't stop."
"I must insist, it's much too loud."
"I said, I can't! I tried! You try and stop it!"
"Young man, if you don't stop it, I'm calling the police!" Mrs. Anivra stomped angrily.
Jack could feel the rage coming over him again, the same rage that had taken hold of him earlier and caused him enormous trouble. It was a kind of momentous, uncontrollable anger he had never felt until recently, one that made his chest feel bubbly and his limbs buzz with the heat of pent-up inaction. Earlier when it had taken hold, he had joined the suicidal assault on the office, calmly and efficiently destroyed the turret defenses, and once inside had started ripping apart the mostly-empty rooms as his friends, family and coworkers looked on in astonishment. Jack remembered one remarking at the profound inevitably of Jack's actions, as if the rage radiating from the young man was so palpable it necessarily justified every behavior taken while in its grip. Jack had eventually come out of it after mounting guilt about possibly destroying his friends possession. Afterwards, he'd felt enormously better, but was in all sorts of legal trouble, including a possible indictment by The Man in Glasses. Not to mention trying to explain things to his family.
"It won't stop! I told you!!" yelled Jack.
"Stop it, NOW!"
"NO, YOU STOP IT, MRS. ANIVRA! YOU STOP IT! GO AHEAD, TRY TO STOP IT, MRS. ANIVRA!" Jack spat. Her name was like a curse word on his tongue.
"No!"
"YES, YES, BE MY GUEST, MRS. ANIVRA! YOU STOP IT! STOP THE BEEPING! MRS. ANIVRA, STOP THE BEEPING!! PLEASE, MRS. ANIVRA, TRY TO STOP MY CAR HORN!"
The old lady just stared at Jack impudently. He began waving his arms and stomping back and forth like a caged bull.
"MRS. ANIVRA! MRS. ANIVRA! STOP THE BEEPING! MRS. ANIVRA, TRY TO STOP THE BEEPING! JUST TRY IT! JUST TRY IT! STOP THE BEEPING, MRS. ANIVRA!!!"
Just then a squad car pulled up and an officer came over to Jack and put a calming arm on his shoulder. Mrs. Anivra went back to her businesses.
"Evening, Jack," said the officer.
"Hello, sir. My car won't stop beeping."
The officer bent down and inspected the front bumper.
"Don't worry about it, Jack. Looks like it's broken."
Friday, June 03, 2011
Cleaning Crew
Jack shook the sleep fog from his head and tried to get his bearings. He was in a rural, residential neighborhood, several miles from his intended location. The pale, harsh sunlight filtering in through the the thick foliage indicated that it was near midday. Judging by the pitifully small watermelon in his hands, Jack surmised that he had dozed off on the bus and Emma, the red-headed girl he'd been sitting next to, had become incensed and somehow gotten him off the bus while he slept. Now, he would have to walk the rest of the way, and he wouldn't get his other watermelons back. Drat. Maybe he could store the melon and the containers in some nearby bushes and come back for them? He picked a direction and started to walk.
Soon, he dropped into the upper floor of a nearby treehouse, a quaint affair of wood planks interwoven with the branches. At the other end of the room, a group of Mexicans watched him.
"Hola!" Jack said in a friendly manner.
"Hola!" came a smatter of replies and waves.
"¿Cómo estás?" asked Jack, walking over to them.
"Muy, muy," they replied. Jack would have to switch to his native tongue now and hope they knew English.
"Uh, yes," he said, holding up some containers, "I have these containers, see, and I need to store them. They're from, uh..."
"Yes, from headquaters, right?" asked one woman.
"Yes, yes! That's right," replied a relieved Jack.
"You want us to store them, right?"
"Yes, if you would be so kind. I just don't want them to get lost."
"That is no problem. You know, you are very friendly to us."
"Well, of course!" smiled Jack.
"The last man, Sadom, he did not talk to us. He was, ah, not friendly," the woman said, emotion creeping into her voice. The other people let out a collective shudder, remembering their harsh taskmaster.
"Oh, well, you know," Jack said, touched, "you guys are just doing a fantastic job. You're all really hard workers."
Soon, he dropped into the upper floor of a nearby treehouse, a quaint affair of wood planks interwoven with the branches. At the other end of the room, a group of Mexicans watched him.
"Hola!" Jack said in a friendly manner.
"Hola!" came a smatter of replies and waves.
"¿Cómo estás?" asked Jack, walking over to them.
"Muy, muy," they replied. Jack would have to switch to his native tongue now and hope they knew English.
"Uh, yes," he said, holding up some containers, "I have these containers, see, and I need to store them. They're from, uh..."
"Yes, from headquaters, right?" asked one woman.
"Yes, yes! That's right," replied a relieved Jack.
"You want us to store them, right?"
"Yes, if you would be so kind. I just don't want them to get lost."
"That is no problem. You know, you are very friendly to us."
"Well, of course!" smiled Jack.
"The last man, Sadom, he did not talk to us. He was, ah, not friendly," the woman said, emotion creeping into her voice. The other people let out a collective shudder, remembering their harsh taskmaster.
"Oh, well, you know," Jack said, touched, "you guys are just doing a fantastic job. You're all really hard workers."
Monday, May 30, 2011
Captain's Call
The captain and the consular stood outside the orange-hued barrier of the holding cell, grimly observing the creature inside. The seven-foot-tall monstrosity was bipedal and very solidly built. It closely resembled its human progenitors, except for its massive bulk and a large cavity centered in the torso from which a head would periodically emerge to spit large quantities of a sickly green goo. As the two officers watched, it did just this, and continued banging angrily against the walls of the cell, snarling with rage.
"This one is colloquially called 'a spitter' by the men on the ground," explained the consular in a sophisticated tone. He was dressed in an elegant kind of ceremonial armor consisting of synthetic, interlocking blue and purple ribs, and his features were drawn and decidedly sylvan, despite his basically human ancestry. "The mucus it produces is, of course, highly toxic, capable of eating through most organic matter and even some artificial compounds." Captain Jack nodded and the two sauntered down to the next holding cell.
"And this one," continued the consular as he leaned in towards the barrier, "despite its appearance, is but a shadow of its former, human self." Inside, a slightly less burly but more intelligent-looking creature stood, eyeing the pair. It had vestiges of the ribbed, ceremonial armor clinging to its mutated flesh, and the captain found it particularly odd that the ribs had flexed and stretched, unbroken, along the monster's enormous back and up to its face, continuing to provide it protection. The mutant leaned back and let out a loud yell of frustration before slamming itself against a wall.
"The only element remaining in the minds of these mutants is a singular rage, manifest in their mindless aggression," the consular said.
As the consular and Captain Jack watched, the monster leaned back and instead of roaring again, he knelt and calmly closed its eyes. Holographic images appeared and radiated outwards and upwards from his chest, indicating an outgoing transmission. Rather than stop the transmission, the captain let it go out; it was time this whole mess came to its inevitable head.
After a few moments, a loud and repeated beeping signaled an incoming call. Captain Jack walked around the corner, where a medium-sized screen swiveled around to greet him. The screen was mounted on a flat surface that formed a sort of table in front of a large viewport. In addition to the screen, several controls and a small dispenser chamber were recessed into the cheap plastic.
"Hello? Hello?" said Jack, trying to answer the call. He had done this before, but it appeared there was some lag this time. "Hello?"
A small, toy-like robot appeared on the screen and said, "Greetings, captain. Please wait while signal link is being achieved." A loading screen came up, to which Jack indicated that he would like a drink while waiting.
"Signal link achieved," said the robot.
"Yes, hello," answered Jack.
"Here is another drink for you, captain," said the robot. At this, a small, translucent plastic sample cup popped out of the dispenser chamber and was filled with a tiny amount of an equally clear liquid. Jack grabbed the cup and downed the liquor, which he determined was vodka.
"Greetings, captain," began the robot. As it spoke, Jack wondered when next it would offer another drink. Goodness knew he could use one. Though, he wouldn't drink too much; the men on the planet would soon be facing some fairly horrifying things.
"This one is colloquially called 'a spitter' by the men on the ground," explained the consular in a sophisticated tone. He was dressed in an elegant kind of ceremonial armor consisting of synthetic, interlocking blue and purple ribs, and his features were drawn and decidedly sylvan, despite his basically human ancestry. "The mucus it produces is, of course, highly toxic, capable of eating through most organic matter and even some artificial compounds." Captain Jack nodded and the two sauntered down to the next holding cell.
"And this one," continued the consular as he leaned in towards the barrier, "despite its appearance, is but a shadow of its former, human self." Inside, a slightly less burly but more intelligent-looking creature stood, eyeing the pair. It had vestiges of the ribbed, ceremonial armor clinging to its mutated flesh, and the captain found it particularly odd that the ribs had flexed and stretched, unbroken, along the monster's enormous back and up to its face, continuing to provide it protection. The mutant leaned back and let out a loud yell of frustration before slamming itself against a wall.
"The only element remaining in the minds of these mutants is a singular rage, manifest in their mindless aggression," the consular said.
As the consular and Captain Jack watched, the monster leaned back and instead of roaring again, he knelt and calmly closed its eyes. Holographic images appeared and radiated outwards and upwards from his chest, indicating an outgoing transmission. Rather than stop the transmission, the captain let it go out; it was time this whole mess came to its inevitable head.
After a few moments, a loud and repeated beeping signaled an incoming call. Captain Jack walked around the corner, where a medium-sized screen swiveled around to greet him. The screen was mounted on a flat surface that formed a sort of table in front of a large viewport. In addition to the screen, several controls and a small dispenser chamber were recessed into the cheap plastic.
"Hello? Hello?" said Jack, trying to answer the call. He had done this before, but it appeared there was some lag this time. "Hello?"
A small, toy-like robot appeared on the screen and said, "Greetings, captain. Please wait while signal link is being achieved." A loading screen came up, to which Jack indicated that he would like a drink while waiting.
"Signal link achieved," said the robot.
"Yes, hello," answered Jack.
"Here is another drink for you, captain," said the robot. At this, a small, translucent plastic sample cup popped out of the dispenser chamber and was filled with a tiny amount of an equally clear liquid. Jack grabbed the cup and downed the liquor, which he determined was vodka.
"Greetings, captain," began the robot. As it spoke, Jack wondered when next it would offer another drink. Goodness knew he could use one. Though, he wouldn't drink too much; the men on the planet would soon be facing some fairly horrifying things.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Thief Death
Jack stood at the front door waving goodbye to The Father as he drove off, and Joey the Thief approached through the darkness with a devilish smile and a pocketknife in hand.
"Ech, Joey the Thief," said Jack, "I always expect you. Especially when my dad drives off."
"Hand it over," said Joey, still smiling. Jack complied, and Joey entered the house and stood just inside.
"That's all I have," said Jack.
"You sure? I'm pretty sure you've got some more."
"No, that's it."
"I think you're lying."
Jack definitely had more; the house contained many items of moderate value, perfect for a moderate thief like Joey. However, like anyone else, Jack was reticent to part with his stuff. So, he decided to try co-opting Joey rather than flat-out denial.
"Uh, would you like to come in for some water?" asked Jack. Joey lowered the knife slightly.
"Ok."
"But," said Jack, hesitating as they walked up the stairs, "try not to steal anything, please. I'd really prefer you didn't. Already I'm not happy about that Apple moniter." Jack pointed to the computer screen tucked under Joey's arm.
"Hmm, I'm not sure I can do that."
"Aww, please? Just come up for some water, without touching anything."
Negotiations continued, then the two pressed onward.
Jack became a frog named Daniel del Boulderbelt. Joey the Thief also took on some amphibious qualities.
Daniel del Boulderbelt hopped down the tunnel with Joey. The tunnel was well-lit and mostly smooth. A rumbling indicated that the tunneling horror was encroaching from both sides. Growing fearful, Daniel del Boulderbelt and Joey ran to the nearest side passage. The opening was very small, and while Daniel del Boulderbelt had no problem squeezing through, Joey became stuck.
"Go on, go on without me!" Joey yelled over the deafening rumble. The enormous mouths were nearly upon him.
"No, I can't!" said Daniel del Boulderbelt, grabbing Joey's hand and trying to pull him through. He could see in Joey's eyes, and feel within himself, the inevitability of the moment, as if every step they'd taken on their journey, every moment in their oft adversarial relationship, had led to this event. Joey would die, and the frog would continue on.
"You have to! Go! Go! Achh! AHH!! NOOOO!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Joey screamed in agony. Daniel del Boulderbelt watched as his face and body were torn out of the hole, replaced with the solid, writhing mass of the tunneling horror. The frog backed slowly down the side passage, watching the slime scrape off the worm's body and ooze slowly forward.
"Hmmm...the slime doesn't matter..." said Daniel del Boulderbelt, thinking aloud, "...or does it? There's one guy with the most slime. Slurry!"
With that, the frog dropped into Slurry's lair, a hollowed volcano, to confront the slimy mass about Joey's death. Daniel del Boulderbelt dropped into the luminescent green ooze with a plop.
"Why, hello!" said the disembodied voice of Slurry with mock gregariousness.
"Save it, Slurry," said Daniel del Boulderbelt. "Tell me what part you played in Joey the Thief's death!"
"Ho ho ho!" Slurry laughed deeply, "You could wrap up my entire self and I still wouldn't tell. And what about you? You destroyed miles and miles of tunnel!"
"Oh, that doesn't matter," said the frog dismissively.
"Ech, Joey the Thief," said Jack, "I always expect you. Especially when my dad drives off."
"Hand it over," said Joey, still smiling. Jack complied, and Joey entered the house and stood just inside.
"That's all I have," said Jack.
"You sure? I'm pretty sure you've got some more."
"No, that's it."
"I think you're lying."
Jack definitely had more; the house contained many items of moderate value, perfect for a moderate thief like Joey. However, like anyone else, Jack was reticent to part with his stuff. So, he decided to try co-opting Joey rather than flat-out denial.
"Uh, would you like to come in for some water?" asked Jack. Joey lowered the knife slightly.
"Ok."
"But," said Jack, hesitating as they walked up the stairs, "try not to steal anything, please. I'd really prefer you didn't. Already I'm not happy about that Apple moniter." Jack pointed to the computer screen tucked under Joey's arm.
"Hmm, I'm not sure I can do that."
"Aww, please? Just come up for some water, without touching anything."
Negotiations continued, then the two pressed onward.
Jack became a frog named Daniel del Boulderbelt. Joey the Thief also took on some amphibious qualities.
Daniel del Boulderbelt hopped down the tunnel with Joey. The tunnel was well-lit and mostly smooth. A rumbling indicated that the tunneling horror was encroaching from both sides. Growing fearful, Daniel del Boulderbelt and Joey ran to the nearest side passage. The opening was very small, and while Daniel del Boulderbelt had no problem squeezing through, Joey became stuck.
"Go on, go on without me!" Joey yelled over the deafening rumble. The enormous mouths were nearly upon him.
"No, I can't!" said Daniel del Boulderbelt, grabbing Joey's hand and trying to pull him through. He could see in Joey's eyes, and feel within himself, the inevitability of the moment, as if every step they'd taken on their journey, every moment in their oft adversarial relationship, had led to this event. Joey would die, and the frog would continue on.
"You have to! Go! Go! Achh! AHH!! NOOOO!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Joey screamed in agony. Daniel del Boulderbelt watched as his face and body were torn out of the hole, replaced with the solid, writhing mass of the tunneling horror. The frog backed slowly down the side passage, watching the slime scrape off the worm's body and ooze slowly forward.
"Hmmm...the slime doesn't matter..." said Daniel del Boulderbelt, thinking aloud, "...or does it? There's one guy with the most slime. Slurry!"
With that, the frog dropped into Slurry's lair, a hollowed volcano, to confront the slimy mass about Joey's death. Daniel del Boulderbelt dropped into the luminescent green ooze with a plop.
"Why, hello!" said the disembodied voice of Slurry with mock gregariousness.
"Save it, Slurry," said Daniel del Boulderbelt. "Tell me what part you played in Joey the Thief's death!"
"Ho ho ho!" Slurry laughed deeply, "You could wrap up my entire self and I still wouldn't tell. And what about you? You destroyed miles and miles of tunnel!"
"Oh, that doesn't matter," said the frog dismissively.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Moose Lake
"This one is called 'Moose Lake,'" explained Jack as he zoomed around the planet, taking it in from various angles. It was large and composed mostly of blueish-purple water. There were only a few splotches of green land dotting the massive orb.
"This really scares me for some reason," Jack continued.
"Hm," said the enormous avatar of Montano with disinterest, gazing off into deep space. Montano floated next to the ocean world, dwarfing it by several factors. "What was it called again? Something, Bake?"
"Moose Lake."
"Oh..." said Montano, his tone changing slightly as he examined the planet with renewed interest. "That scares me, too."
"This really scares me for some reason," Jack continued.
"Hm," said the enormous avatar of Montano with disinterest, gazing off into deep space. Montano floated next to the ocean world, dwarfing it by several factors. "What was it called again? Something, Bake?"
"Moose Lake."
"Oh..." said Montano, his tone changing slightly as he examined the planet with renewed interest. "That scares me, too."
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Earth Return
Since the Chimeran invasion, Jack and the small band of survivors had been traveling the stars in their small ship. For years and years they'd wandered and explored, all the while wondering what had happened back home, on Earth. Eventually, they decided to return, at least for a time. As they docked with the land-based spaceport just off the coast of Atlanta, they wondered what kind of desolation they would find on the inside, let alone on the surface.
There was indeed desolation in the port, but not nearly to the extent they'd expected, and, astonishingly, there were survivors. Small bands of humans had formed and were living an ad hoc existence. Jack's group fell in with the survivors, and for a time they all lived together. However, the survivors were mysteriously close-lipped about their experience. Once, Jack had questioned one, without much success.
"So, where are the chimera?" he'd asked.
"Hmmm?" replied the survivor.
"The chimera? The ones who invaded and wiped out the human race? Where are they? What happened, how did you drive them off?"
"What?"
Conditions on the planet were equally off-limits to the travelers, even if the survivors had any information. So, life continued in this fashion for some time, the two parties coexisting.
Even so, differences in opinion arose, and resent towards the ones who'd fled served as a catalyst for a coup. The spaceport survivors, along with a portion of the travelers, informed Jack and the remainder that they were leaving in the craft. Jack was devastated. As he said goodbye to the survivors, as well as some he'd traveled the stars with, his heart felt heavier than it ever had. He was losing his last link to space, forced to part with everything he'd seen and done in his adult life. That grief would never leave, not as long as he lived.
Once the craft departed, Jack and the people remaining hatched plans to fly an archaic jetliner on a scouting mission to the surface. With the survivors gone, they could finally indulge their curiosity about what had transpired on the planet in their absence.
The jet rumbled uncertainly as it neared downtown Atlanta. To their surprise, the passengers saw moving vehicles and pedestrians down on the highway. They decided to land the jet, turning the scouting mission into a one-way trip; landing the jet without a runway would cause irreparable damage, meaning they would never be able to return to the spaceport hovering offshore. Instead, they would rejoin the human race, building a new world even as they lived among ruins of the old one. Still Jack grieved.
There was indeed desolation in the port, but not nearly to the extent they'd expected, and, astonishingly, there were survivors. Small bands of humans had formed and were living an ad hoc existence. Jack's group fell in with the survivors, and for a time they all lived together. However, the survivors were mysteriously close-lipped about their experience. Once, Jack had questioned one, without much success.
"So, where are the chimera?" he'd asked.
"Hmmm?" replied the survivor.
"The chimera? The ones who invaded and wiped out the human race? Where are they? What happened, how did you drive them off?"
"What?"
Conditions on the planet were equally off-limits to the travelers, even if the survivors had any information. So, life continued in this fashion for some time, the two parties coexisting.
Even so, differences in opinion arose, and resent towards the ones who'd fled served as a catalyst for a coup. The spaceport survivors, along with a portion of the travelers, informed Jack and the remainder that they were leaving in the craft. Jack was devastated. As he said goodbye to the survivors, as well as some he'd traveled the stars with, his heart felt heavier than it ever had. He was losing his last link to space, forced to part with everything he'd seen and done in his adult life. That grief would never leave, not as long as he lived.
Once the craft departed, Jack and the people remaining hatched plans to fly an archaic jetliner on a scouting mission to the surface. With the survivors gone, they could finally indulge their curiosity about what had transpired on the planet in their absence.
The jet rumbled uncertainly as it neared downtown Atlanta. To their surprise, the passengers saw moving vehicles and pedestrians down on the highway. They decided to land the jet, turning the scouting mission into a one-way trip; landing the jet without a runway would cause irreparable damage, meaning they would never be able to return to the spaceport hovering offshore. Instead, they would rejoin the human race, building a new world even as they lived among ruins of the old one. Still Jack grieved.
Assassination Trip
Jack sat in the passenger seat as Montano drove down the long highway. To the right, amid the prairie grass, stood the airport. But soon it became clear that Montano didn't intend to stop there.
"Hey, we're not going to the airport?" Jack asked.
"No, we're driving," replied Montano.
"Uh, where's the assassination, again?"
"Maryland."
"But that's, like, twenty hours away!"
"Eh," shrugged Montano. Jack furrowed his brow and returned his attention to the road.
After a short silence, Montano unbuckled his seatbelt and said, "Here, you drive."
"Ok," agreed Jack. They switched seats and Jack took the wheel. Just as they were about to pass the exit for the airport, Jack once again broached the subject.
"So, we're not going to the airport?"
"Hey, we're not going to the airport?" Jack asked.
"No, we're driving," replied Montano.
"Uh, where's the assassination, again?"
"Maryland."
"But that's, like, twenty hours away!"
"Eh," shrugged Montano. Jack furrowed his brow and returned his attention to the road.
After a short silence, Montano unbuckled his seatbelt and said, "Here, you drive."
"Ok," agreed Jack. They switched seats and Jack took the wheel. Just as they were about to pass the exit for the airport, Jack once again broached the subject.
"So, we're not going to the airport?"
"Eh," Montano shrugged again.
"I mean, I guess we can drive...yeah, ok, we’ll drive there, roll in sometime in the morning, do the assassination, then we can stay somewhere before flying back."
Monday, May 09, 2011
Sinking Blackness
Jack rode the dark waves, as he had done previously. All around, the land was flooded, the water mirroring the black sky. Despite the danger, Jack was calm. His Fisher-Price car was operating well, and he'd done this many times before. He reflected on his experiences as he neared the spot where the streams met.
"And with the spill, cleanup authorities are now on the scene!" said an enthusiastic announcer from somewhere in the sky. At that moment, Jack caught the smell of raw sewage and felt his craft buckle as it met increased resistance in the water. Reaching the spot where the streams met, he fell off the boat and into the sludgy water, where he swirled toward a small whirlpool. Realizing what had happened, and realizing that it was too late to save himself, he sank into the muck. As his body's systems went into panic mode, his mind struggled to reconcile its immediate, inevitable demise with the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
"And with the spill, cleanup authorities are now on the scene!" said an enthusiastic announcer from somewhere in the sky. At that moment, Jack caught the smell of raw sewage and felt his craft buckle as it met increased resistance in the water. Reaching the spot where the streams met, he fell off the boat and into the sludgy water, where he swirled toward a small whirlpool. Realizing what had happened, and realizing that it was too late to save himself, he sank into the muck. As his body's systems went into panic mode, his mind struggled to reconcile its immediate, inevitable demise with the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Blood Condition
Jack, Montano and Moptop ran up the ornate stairway. The entry hall to the matriarch's mansion was warmly lit and full of plants. Upon reaching the top, Moptop collapsed on a railing overlooking the lower floor from which they'd come. The matriarch looked on with calm interest.
"He's okay, it's just his blood disease," explained Montano. The matriarch raised her eybrows. "Oh, he's not a hemophiliac," continued Montano, "it's just that his blood runs a little too well."
By this point, Moptop's breathing had slowed and his eyes were closed, though he was still draped over the railing. From another railing across the opening, Montano started yelling, try to rouse his friend.
"Hey, Moptop," said Montano, "remember that game with Dalger? Remember that one move he made, in the game?"
Moptop raised his head and opened his eyes.
"Yeah," shouted Montano, "remember the game?"
"Yeah!" replied Moptop loudly, regaining strength, "yeah, I do! I remember!" With this, Moptop jumped and raised his arms towards the sky for a moment before once again losing strength. He collapsed and Jack caught him before he hit the ground.
"He's okay, it's just his blood disease," explained Montano. The matriarch raised her eybrows. "Oh, he's not a hemophiliac," continued Montano, "it's just that his blood runs a little too well."
By this point, Moptop's breathing had slowed and his eyes were closed, though he was still draped over the railing. From another railing across the opening, Montano started yelling, try to rouse his friend.
"Hey, Moptop," said Montano, "remember that game with Dalger? Remember that one move he made, in the game?"
Moptop raised his head and opened his eyes.
"Yeah," shouted Montano, "remember the game?"
"Yeah!" replied Moptop loudly, regaining strength, "yeah, I do! I remember!" With this, Moptop jumped and raised his arms towards the sky for a moment before once again losing strength. He collapsed and Jack caught him before he hit the ground.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Gym Blond
Jack finished his shower and then stepped into the next room in the progression. This room, like the rest, was quiet and bereft of people. It did, however, have an assortment of exercise equipment. Jack turned right from the door and walked towards the corner of the room, where there were several flattish stationary bikes positioned to afford a good view of the television, which was on. Before Jack became too engrossed in the program, a blond woman approached and began fiddling with one of the bikes.
"Hello, how are you?" she asked.
“Oh, hi, fine. You?” replied Jack, a little startled.
“I’m doing well.” The blond woman stretched a bit before sitting down on the bike and beginning to pedal. An attendant came up to Jack and started preparing a bike for him, even though he'd expressed no interest in using one.
“Well, I guess I’ll close at five now...” said the attendant with joking sarcasm.
“Oh...” mumbled Jack. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was nearly six.
“No problem. You want a magazine?” the attendant said, breaking into a smile.
“Uh, no. Well, yes," Jack said. The attendant left and Jack started to pedal the bike too.
“So, what brings you here?” continued the blond woman.
“Uh, I’m in town, from Minnesota,” answered Jack.
“You’re from Minnesota?”
“Yeah, Minnesota. I’m here to to play in...to play in that music festival.”
“Cool. And why the gym?”
“Oh. Well, I just thought I’d try the gym. I don’t work out very much, so, you know.” Jack had only really been interested in the showers, but he thought it wiser to keep quiet on that point.
“And what do you think?”
“It’s very nice.”
“Yes, it’s magnificent,” murmured the blond.
“You know, there’s a Seinfeld bit about that," said a voice from across the room. Jack looked over to see Jerry and George approaching.
“Hmm?” asked the blond woman.
“About having sex with a gymnast.”
“Oh!”
“Yeah, he was excited, but it was just ordinary.” Jerry and George continued talking to the blond woman, leaving Jack out of the loop and feeling more than a little incensed. After a time, the woman got off the bike and started gathering her things.
“Well, I’ve got to go, it was nice talking to you,” she said.
“Ok, bye...” George replied meekly. The woman exited through an open door across the room.
“What are you doing? She’s leaving, go after her!” implored Jerry. George hesitated before steeling himself.
“Uh, wait! Hold on!” George yelled after the woman. He and Jerry ran out of the room. Jack turned back to the TV and continued pedaling.
A little while later, the blond woman returned. Jack got off the bike and watched as she split into three orbs. The orbs began orbiting a hazy central point and slowly drifting back together. Jack quickly drew his pistol and shot all three orbs as fast as he could before they came together again. After the third was shattered, the blond woman rematerialized.
“Hey, thanks!” said the woman happily. She went back to her previous bike.
“Yeah, I can kind of shoot when I’m desperate...I mean, frantic!” said Jack, embarrassed.
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