Afterlife Ocean

   Jack, Kayrantz, and Tayver entered the luxurious cabin of the pontoon. It had been set up as a sort of mobile lab - monitors and control panels were integrated among the plush couches and carpeted walls.

   Jack approached the female scientist and offered her his research on the downed plane.

   "How are you tracking it?" asked the scientist.

   "We've locked onto the beacon," answered Jack. He showed her a blinking blue dot on his screen, indicating the beacon was almost directly below, though it was drifting back and forth due to the relative motion of their boat.

   "Oh good," replied the scientist, studying the screen. From her expression, Jack could tell she was encouraged by this information.

   "We've got a bot to go down," continued Jack.

   "Excellent," she said. "Though, we have to be careful in these parts."

   "Sure, sure. But, it's doable?"

   "Certainly," she answered, smiling.

   Jack handed her his gadgets and motioned to his two companions. They left the cabin and returned to the open air section of the pontoon. The small watercraft was still docked, and some people were milling around the deck, listless but not unhappy.

   Jack spied the band van a short distance away on the road. He made his way over, careful not to cross the border of the temporal distortion envelope.

   Inside the van sat one the girls, wrapped in a blanket and shivering slightly.

   "You cold?" asked Jack.

   "Yes," she replied sheepishly.

   "You know, it's warmer in the cabin of the boat."

   "Oh yeah, I know. I might stay here with the cats. There's two tingle devices back there.

   "Ok."

    Jack sensed motion and saw a track passing by very slowly. Alarmed, Jack turned to Andray.

   "Are we moving?" asked Jack. "It feels like we're moving." Andray looked around and shrugged.

   Jack jumped out of the van and saw that they had indeed rolled about fifty yards away from the pontoon. Jack sprinted back to the boat, dreading what he knew had already happened - he'd crossed outside of the temporal distortion that surrounded the boat. It was night outside the boat, but looking onto the deck he could see early morning daylight reflecting off the wood and metal. The effect had reset, and he would have to start that day over.

   Annoyed, Jack jumped into the distortion once more. The old versions of himself and the others on the boat would continue on in their timeline until the day's end, while a new version of the same day would now begin anew, though the events would play out the same. Jack began fast-forwarding, hoping to quickly reach the point where he'd left off before rolling away on the van. He had to be careful, though - if he passed the point, he'd have to start all over, committing yet another copy of himself to the void.

   He slowed the time down just before the stopping point and let the rest play out in real time. He watched as the other copy of himself sat in a corner of the deck, surrounded by long, red cylinders. He knew he was about to explode, this was all part of the day.  At the exact split point, the pile exploded, sending old Jack, bloody and broken, to be impaled along the deck rail, as the current Jack was placed instantly back onto the pile, unharmed. Current Jack would continue on through the day, but it was over for the old Jack.

   "Water...water....water..." moaned old Jack, who now closely resembled a doll. His desperate pleas went completely unheard - he was invisible and inaudible, as the current Jack had taken his place in the timeline. Old doll Jack's cries became weaker and weaker. His blood coursed out of a thousand wounds, and his face seemed to melt and distort as he came closer to death.

   "........water.............wat...er....please....w..a......mommy.....water......"

   Then old doll Jack died.





   Old Jack splashed into the shimmering water of the afterlife.  From third-person perspective, he swam up to the surface toward his small rowboat. All around was water, impossibly clear and incredibly temperate. Parched, Jack swallowed large gulps of the liquid, pleased but unsurprised to find it to be freshwater.  He paddled around joyously, taking in the bright sky. This would be an excellent way to spend eternity.

   He climbed into the rowboat to find his fish companion swimming around in a small bowl. The two had chosen each other, and in that way had an instant bond. Jack and the fish floated in the boat for an indeterminate amount of time, just existing.




 
   The fish began to sing.

   "Mi mi mi mi mi!" chirped the fish. This is something new, thought Jack.

   The fish jumped out of the bowl and into the sea. This worried Jack - he would probably need to be around that fish.  He made a grab for it, but his fish companion darted nimbly out of the way. Jack started chasing it, and was surprised to see it leading him towards a large shelf rising out of the sea. They got closer and Jack could see other large shelves, several stories high. Many of them contained books, while others were empty. Floating among the shelf towers were wooden platforms of varying sizes and lengths. In this region, the sky seemed to be shorter, forming a ceiling of sorts and creating a strong sense of being indoors. Many of the towers extended all the way up to this ceiling.

   Jack made one last grab at the fish before it disappeared under into the depths at the base of one of the towers.

  This new locale confused and worried Jack - although it was still pleasant, he had assumed the afterlife would be uniform and unchanging. Regional differences and varying features suggested something different, and much closer to the life he had left. Jack pondered this as he climbed out onto one of the platforms and became a flea.

   "I am the alligator," intoned a deep voice.  "I am the most powerful, and I am the only one."

   Beside the platform, a large alligator rose out of the water. It had a long, thin snout and tiny, pointed teeth. To Jack, it looked almost like a cartoon alligator given depth - it was brightly colored and its skin had a plasticine quality.

   Jack was fearful. His flea body stood no chance against an alligator, and even getting away seemed like an impossibility.

   "Hi...umm..." Jack stammered. The cartoon alligator gave the tiny flea a long look.

   "I think I will eat you," announced the alligator.

   "No!"

   "This is the way it works," explained the alligator. "I am the only one."

   Jack looked around frantically. He considered briefly skirting along the base of the shelf tower, but behind him was the open sea from which he'd came, and that would offer not protection. Ahead, the other shelves seemed like a better option. Jack's mind traced a path along the floating platforms to the next nearest tower, and his flea legs powered him from his platform, to the snout of the alligator, and off again to the next platform, narrowly avoiding a snap of the alligator's teeth.

   The alligator chased Jack, but the flea was just fast enough to make it to the shelf. He quickly ascended to the top and hid among the books. The alligator gave the flea an appraising look from below, a mix of grudging respect and resignation at losing his prey.

  "Find the master of design," called the alligator. "Get the tickets. Gate 14. It might get you to Indiana." With that, the alligator swam away.

   Relieved, Jack found an envelope containing cash among the books. Upon it were names, other travelers who had passed by, pilgrims on the same journey. Jack grabbed a pen and wrote down the information the alligator had told him, though he kept dyslexically writing "Gate 41" instead of "Gate 14."

   A door opened up down below, and people in various robes began filing out and climbing to different levels of the shelf tower. As one passed by, Jack got her attention.

   "Are you the masters of design?" Jack asked.

   "No, we're the masters of decency," she replied.

   Jack looked around at the books and the shelf towers and the water. He now knew that this was not the afterlife at all. The alligator's mention of Indiana confirmed for Jack that he might still be on his old plane, on his old planet. He wondered where exactly on that planet he was, racking his brain for old geography lessons on large, freshwater seas.

Doll Hospital

   "Uh oh, we're being pulled over."

   That long recreational vehicle had barely begun moving and already Jack's fear was being realized. He turned to his small doll hospital on the shelf - a medium-sized plastic box filled with bits of cloth, plastic, and inscrutable tools. Although the whole mobile doll hospital scene was widely associated with drug activities, Jack's kit was, as of yet, clean. Still, that did nothing to calm his mounting fears.

   "Got any coins?" one of his companions called from the back. Jack shook his head - he had not yet broken any laws, though he wasn't confident his companions could say the same. They might have any number of coins hidden in their doll hospitals.

   Jack made his way to the front at a signal from the driver.

   "Ok, remember, we're on our way to 411 Havey St. W," she reminded him.

   "Uh, right... wait! Is it 311, or 411? 311, or 411?" He turned to the others in the back, motioning frantically with his hands.

   "411!" one of them replied, slightly annoyed. As a group, they had prepared their stories, but Jack had forgotten many of the details.

   "Ok," Jack said, turning back to the driver, "who are we visiting, again?

   "My friend. But you know her, ________. You went to school together."

   "Which school?" asked Jack, trying to anticipate the imminent questions from the police. Already he felt there was no way he'd be able to maintain a credible and consistent story.

   "Highland Ground Tech," replied the driver.

   "Ech, Heyland? Teyland?"

   "Highland," asserted the driver calmly. "From '88 to '89."

   Jack had many more questions, but the cops had begun to enter the RV. They were all dressed in black dress pants and tuxedo shirts, and although they all appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent, they spoke in what sounded like Italian. It was a sharp and confusing mix. They didn't seem particularly aggressive, but there was a lot of yelling, and through their accents Jack couldn't tell what was English and what was Italian.

   "Farrud! Farrud!" they yelled.

   Jack's companions assembled in the lounge and began reading from the scripts detailing their stories. Incredibly, each literally read word-for-word from sheaves of large-spaced notebook paper, the letters scrawled in a laughably childish blue script. Even if they had not been reading directly from paper, their delivery was completely unconvincing - they sounded like third graders delivering their first in-class speech about their favorite president.  Jack snickered at the spectacle - at least the pressure was off of him. Already he was modifying what he would say to the police. Rather than give them more of the same tripe, he would say something in the vein of, "I'm just gonna let you ask the questions."

   A police waiter made his way up to Jack, and offered him a tray of slimy, pale seafood.

   "Clams? Calamari?" offered the waiter.

   "No, thanks..." said Jack. Although he knew he should probably accept, somehow he couldn't bring himself to acquiesce to this social convention. A short time passed, and as the questioning continued, the waiter made a second pass.

   "Snapper?"

   "Uh..." Jack reached out towards the tray, and one of the shells extended up rapidly and snapped at him.  "No, thank you.  The waiter left and returned.

   "Oyster?" the waiter asked Jack.

   "Um, no..." Jack hesitated. "I've heard in these situations that it's polite to just eat the food?"

   "It is!" proclaimed the waiter, with perhaps sarcastic excitement, and he promptly tossed the tray behind his shoulder, scattering the oysters all over the lounge. Almost immediately, another tray was produced and offered, this one holding some malicious-looking crustaceans. Jack reached out and grabbed one of the elongated crabs. The back half was clearly de-shelled and cooked, but the front half still seemed to contain some life. It squirmed and clicked as Jack tried, without much conviction, to bite into its back half.

   "Can't I just eat a food that's not scurrying?" he asked the waiter.

  The waiter looked at Jack sympathetically.

Bottomless Sentence

   Jack sat at the long table. There had been no way to avoid it. After all he and the group had been through, this was the termination point. His pride at having led the group successfully to an abandoned apartment haven had been palpable. Although the residence lacked an outer wall, it featured multiple rooms and baths, ample enough to host the sixy-odd group he'd been heading. More importantly, it offered multiple vantage points overlooking the maze of a metropolis they'd just traversed, which would, in theory, allow for an easily defensible position.

   However, just as soon as they'd arrived, their pursuers appeared, and Jack had known there was no way out. At his urging, the group submitted to an examination of their paperwork, even though Jack know he was missing a key document. Jack had not been willing to risk a fight - although the group would loyally defend him, Jack was the only one in real danger of being arrested. Everyone else had their papers in order.

   Jack reflected about this as he sat at the long table for a second time. After that first arrest, he had been taken to the same table, and over the course of the proceedings had been sentenced to mortal combat in the desert. He had lost the match, been made to traverse the thousands of miles back to the table, and thrown into the bottomless box.

   His head reeled as he remembered that moment - to be thrown into the box meant death, either now or much later. Each victim got to choose the depth and locale of the box, and Jack had opted for a near infinite plummet through a golden sky, well-lit and full of clouds, with spinning gilded rings interspersed at various altitudes and a sandy bottom upon which he would meet instantaneous death, in the unlikely event dehydration or exposure wouldn't kill him first. However, as he fell and fell, a sense of messianic purpose compelled him to maneuver himself towards an elevator shaft attached perpendicularly to the ring system, and against all odds he had successfully entered a small elevator car. Thus, Jack had ridden back up and out of the box, an unheard of achievement, though Jack felt no pride in it - it had not been his doing.

   And so, events had played out a second time, in much the same fashion. So, once again, he sat at the table, arguing with the characters.

-------

   Petunia felt she should be colder - her fall into the box had been a short drop into frigid, Atlantic waters, complete with bobbing chunks of ice. However, she had yet to feel much pain or strife about the matter. There was another older man in the water, and that had done much to lift her spirits. He had been there much longer.

   There was an illusion of space in the box - it seemed as if the dark, cold ocean expanded infinitely in all directions, but she knew there was a invisible wall they could not cross, confining them to a space roughly 100 feet square.

   Just then, another man plopped into the ocean - another condemned soul! After splashing into the cold ocean, he got his bearings and turned to Petunia.

   "Want a drink?" he asked, forcing some cheer.

   "Sure!" she replied, even though she knew it was mostly make believe. She swam over to the bobbing ice bar and pretended to grab a glass. This won't be so horrible, she thought. Maybe I should've gone with the jungle locale. Though, then I'd need to figure out food and stuff. And, I would've needed to figure out how to dig a latrine, so the waste flows out beyond the barrier, rather than into my food supply.
-------

   "Now listen," said Jack, leaning in towards the table, "there's really only a two options. You kill me, throw me in the box, or you kill ______." He gestured towards the young, slightly overweight young man in front of him. The young man was his companion, and it pained Jack to say such things, but he was mostly confident of the directions things were going, and no harm would come to the man.

   "It absolutely does not make sense to kill _______ and ________," continued Jack. The logic was so obvious to him; he knew it would not take long for the tall despot to make his decision.

   The discussion continued for a time as Jack and the three others bounced ideas around. To his right, within arm's reach, sat the bottomless box. Jack glanced at it every now and then, worried about his sister.

   Finally, there was a pause, and the tall despot announced, "Alright, I will make my decision."

   He crossed his fingers in thought. Nearly a minute went by, and although Jack knew what the man's decision would be, a selfish part of him hoped for a different outcome. Finally, the despot raised his head solemnly.

   "I will kill….Jack."

   Jack nodded grimly. He was to face the same path as before, mortal combat with the tall despot, the trek, then the bottomless box. Only this time, he would not lose the match.

   The meeting adjourned. Jack walked up to the despot, a confusing melange of emotions stirring within him.

   "I hate you, and I love you," Jack said slowly, embracing the tall dictator, "…and I will kill you."

   The tall dictator laughed sharply, but with good cheer. "Ha! Good schtick."

   Jack walked slowly away from the tall man. The despot made some combative maneuvers silently behind Jack, an attempt at intimidation, but Jack only smiled without turning his head. He knew the despot was there. Jack was confident, and so, the tall despot stood no chance.

-------

   Although no scene had indicated as such, Jack had won the match and was back at the table. He opened the bottomless box.

   "Petunia! Petunia, are you there?!" he yelled into the black arctic ocean below.

   "I'm here," came a weak voice.

   "Hold on, I'm sending down a rope." Jack lowered the rope down into the box. He knew from her voice that he had nearly been too late. Her body, now that of a large whale, was nearly frozen. He fished out the other two whale bodies, those of her erstwhile companions, but they were clearly dead, their bodies hard, translucent, and bereft of heads.

   Jack and his team weren't sure if they should set Petunia in a tank of warm water or let the air rejuvenate her. No matter - either way, she would soon recover, and Jack was full of joy.