Monday, December 30, 2013
“A.L.I.C.E.”
I was sent as an undercover agent with Willa Joy to find and destroy a virus called the V.O.R.K., or Viral Ordinariness Regenerating Kanine, that had entered Wonderland.
It smelled like a Yippiyuck and had more teeth than a Gallebalope’s aunt, and destroyed the natural way of all things around it by introducing extremes of weirdness so contrasting that they cancelled each other out. Our employers forged the Vorpal Sword to counter it. The sword was programmed to enter the virus’s core matrix and dismantle it, if we could first pierce the outer casing’s security system to install it. We trekked out of the candy-striped trans-mat station into the bright jungle air, machetes out, looking for bugs or other symptoms of the virus’s presence.
Halfway into the Forbidden Forest, we spotted a pink blossom growing in Bilious Bog—a sure sign of the Vork’s passing, as nothing so innocent would naturally exist in such fierce environs. A bit further on, the horseshoes on a docile Horsefly had turned to blood, giving it a fierce lust for carnage which made it throw off its rider and race into the forest to tangle with Thrashberry weeds, kicking and neighing.
A bulletin by the roadside gave the news that the Red Queen had pardoned all enemies of the Empire, and was throwing a masked gala that very evening to celebrate.
“It’s already reached the capitol! What should we do?” I asked Willa, panicked that we might be too late to stop the creature’s corruption of data. If it continued, all things in Wonderland would find their nature reversed—and there would be far less whimsical spontaneity, and more mundane, routine, semi-corrupted Humanity. The magic of Wonderland would be lost...
Willa looked at me worriedly for a moment, then smiled. “We'll do what we always do in such dire straits. Outshine the villain!” She paused, calculating her strategies, then added: “Go get your mask.”
When we arrived at the palace, there was a large crowd of stripe-suited prisoners already milling happily about, the broken links of their handcuffs clinking against elegant wine glasses as they toasted the Empire and their unexpected good fortune. The Red Queen was making a proclamation about her new bog development plans, and the shining condos that would soon replace the Stenchious Zone in order to provide adequate housing for the newly released prisoners. At the side of her throne kneeled a hideous dog. It was lapping at a basin of mineral water provided by two trembling servants, and growling at the Queen whenever she paused in her dictation. "The Vork!" I hissed to Joy, who was already unsheathing the Vorpal Blade.
"I know!" She whispered tersely, pulling me back behind the buffet table. The Vork had raised its head and was sniffing the air. "It may already know we're here. It senses the sword...I don't know how we are going to surprise it fast enough to reach the soft spot in its belly casing and install the debugging drive...we need a distraction..."
She stopped and stared at me. I had reached up and grabbed a Bonbon Bomb from the table, and was in the process of munching blissfully, flecks of orange cream exploding out of the dessert and spattering the tablecloth and floor, swinging my head to the music. "I love Wonderland food! It's just so delightful! Music's not bad either." I nodded sagely. "Maybe I should ask the Vork to dance."
Not much later, we were running down a corridor deep in the lower reaches of the castle, our third improvised plan in as many minutes having gone horribly wrong.
"Who'd have known he didn't like jazz music?" I wheezed as we dashed around the corner, "or interpretive dance symbolizing the flight of condors, or finger-painting? Honestly, I figured that could calm any ferocious beastie this side of the Void!" Joy rolled her eyes.
The Vork padded into the hallway, squeezing its proportions to fit into yet another tiny space.
"We have to get airborne!" I shouted to Joy over the metallic howl of the Vork as it crashed through the wall. "It's the only way we'll get to its belly without getting squashed under it!"
"Great plan, but if you hadn't noticed, we're UNDERGROUND!"
I grinned, grabbed Joy's hand, and ducked sideways into a foul-smelling corridor. "We can get out through a sewage grate!" We scrambled up the cement bank of the tunnel and out through a narrow opening, barely out of the way before the Vork crashed up after us.
"Well....time for my fail-safe." I pulled a small glass bottle with an airship inside it from my pocket, smashed it on the ground, and jumped into the rapidly expanding plane. Joy followed right behind me, hefting her sword. We lifted into the sky.
Moving inhumanly fast, the viral Kanine flew into the air and attached itself to the airship's wing mid-flight, talons reaching out over the plane in a smooth, flowing motion, then digging in and pulling the machine apart, chunks of metal and hardware crashing into the street below.
"Crap! I'm all out of contingency plans!" I leaned back to ask Joy if she had any ideas, but she was gone. Frantically, I scanned the ground below, but she was nowhere to be seen. Then I heard a screech.
When I turned once more, I saw Joy, riding the Vork upside down, a tuft of metallic fur in each hand, the sword in her teeth. She had stabbed the Vork in its soft spot, and glowing sections of the blade were detaching and burrowing further into the beast, slowly shutting down the Core. The Vork was disintegrating, blowing away in the wind.
"Well done, team mate!" I crowed, clapping my hands enthusiastically. "I knew we could do it! Now, let's get back and steal some more Bonbons before the Queen regains her senses and ends the party!"
"The Title"
My bones feel papery-thin, brittle in the wind that sweeps over the plateau.
I take a step forward, joints creaking with heat, lack of sleep, and boredom. I wish I’d not taken the dog along. It wanted to snuggle with me in the sleeping bag, and kept biting fleas against my leg all night long. Now it trots along next to me, lightly panting, not aware of any distress it may have caused. I take off my hat to cool the sweat on my scalp, drink some water from the canteen and offer it to the dog, then keep going, bolstered by the resolve that this discomfort is temporary and infinitely worth the cost. The dog sniffs and leaps forward, and I follow it, plodding steadily forward into the heat lines of the bleached valley below. Somewhere in this desert lies the Book of Life…
I saw it in a vision, you see. At home, lazing in the backyard, drinking lemonade and devouring cookies and the latest Piers Anthony novel in the Xanth trilogy, a flash of a dragonfly wing sent my mind into a well of mirrors. My mind tumbled down until it reached a cavern deep in unknown mountains, on the edge of a vast desert. In the cavern sat a table. On the table lay a book, open to the last page, a quill resting in inkwell at its side. I drew closer to read what was in the book, but it was empty. Waiting. The dragonfly flew past, and the vision broke. waiting for my signature…
I take a step forward, joints creaking with heat, lack of sleep, and boredom. I wish I’d not taken the dog along. It wanted to snuggle with me in the sleeping bag, and kept biting fleas against my leg all night long. Now it trots along next to me, lightly panting, not aware of any distress it may have caused. I take off my hat to cool the sweat on my scalp, drink some water from the canteen and offer it to the dog, then keep going, bolstered by the resolve that this discomfort is temporary and infinitely worth the cost. The dog sniffs and leaps forward, and I follow it, plodding steadily forward into the heat lines of the bleached valley below. Somewhere in this desert lies the Book of Life…
I saw it in a vision, you see. At home, lazing in the backyard, drinking lemonade and devouring cookies and the latest Piers Anthony novel in the Xanth trilogy, a flash of a dragonfly wing sent my mind into a well of mirrors. My mind tumbled down until it reached a cavern deep in unknown mountains, on the edge of a vast desert. In the cavern sat a table. On the table lay a book, open to the last page, a quill resting in inkwell at its side. I drew closer to read what was in the book, but it was empty. Waiting. The dragonfly flew past, and the vision broke. waiting for my signature…
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Hypno-Hallucinogens are Dangerous.
I am flying in a slight breeze, exploring a desert that just appeared out of nowhere, when the Commodore appears in a muddy Jeep. "You're looking at the symptom, my dear Hero. Things would go more smoothly if you checked out the cause first. Standard protocol in investigative procedures." He strides forward smugly, Indiana Jones hat set in a rakish manner, to examine the sand. He pinches a bit. Brings it to his nose. Sniffs. "Interesting," he mutters.
"What??" I exclaim, trying to peer over his shoulder.
"This isn't real sand."
....
The Commodore tracks the sand-signature to a manufacturing company in San Diego. The sign over the warehouse is old and the place looks like it hasn't been in use for quite some time. I peer in a grimy window, and can make out a few tiny figures moving inside. They look like...children. I sneak over the skylight and down into the building. "Hello?" Three little boys and a girl scramble behind a pile of empty packing crates. The dust they disturbed billows up in momentary obfuscation of my brain. I cough, trying to order my thoughts. "Er- Are you all right? I know you're here. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just trying to figure out a certain mystery. Perhaps you could help me? It has to do with sand. Lots of sand." The little girl breaks from the others, hesitantly, and steps out of her hiding place.
"What d'you know about the Sand?" She asks suspiciously. "Where've you seen it?"
"Up north, in Oregon. Took a huge swath of the eastern countryside. Whole towns disappeared."
"Did you touch it?" She shouts, stepping back as if I carry a disease.
"Well, no, but my companion did. Anyway, we were just wondering where it came from, and traced it to this factory. If you could be so kind as to help us find the manufacturers, well..." I pause. The girl is staring in fear at something behind me. I turn, quickly, because I hate it when moments like this are drawn out, and my skin is crawling enough already. It's Dylan. The Commodore. Sand is bursting from his orifices, like the Waters of Mars creatures from one of my least favorite episodes of Doctor Who. He staggers forward, reaching out a desperate hand.
"Crap!" I shout, grabbing the girl's hand and heading for the back exit. "I mean, run!"
We scamper out the back of the warehouse, the boys leading the way, dodging through abandoned cars and streets rapidly filling with the strange sand...
"What??" I exclaim, trying to peer over his shoulder.
"This isn't real sand."
....
The Commodore tracks the sand-signature to a manufacturing company in San Diego. The sign over the warehouse is old and the place looks like it hasn't been in use for quite some time. I peer in a grimy window, and can make out a few tiny figures moving inside. They look like...children. I sneak over the skylight and down into the building. "Hello?" Three little boys and a girl scramble behind a pile of empty packing crates. The dust they disturbed billows up in momentary obfuscation of my brain. I cough, trying to order my thoughts. "Er- Are you all right? I know you're here. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just trying to figure out a certain mystery. Perhaps you could help me? It has to do with sand. Lots of sand." The little girl breaks from the others, hesitantly, and steps out of her hiding place.
"What d'you know about the Sand?" She asks suspiciously. "Where've you seen it?"
"Up north, in Oregon. Took a huge swath of the eastern countryside. Whole towns disappeared."
"Did you touch it?" She shouts, stepping back as if I carry a disease.
"Well, no, but my companion did. Anyway, we were just wondering where it came from, and traced it to this factory. If you could be so kind as to help us find the manufacturers, well..." I pause. The girl is staring in fear at something behind me. I turn, quickly, because I hate it when moments like this are drawn out, and my skin is crawling enough already. It's Dylan. The Commodore. Sand is bursting from his orifices, like the Waters of Mars creatures from one of my least favorite episodes of Doctor Who. He staggers forward, reaching out a desperate hand.
"Crap!" I shout, grabbing the girl's hand and heading for the back exit. "I mean, run!"
We scamper out the back of the warehouse, the boys leading the way, dodging through abandoned cars and streets rapidly filling with the strange sand...
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Pirate Granny
I'm not sure exactly what has come over her.
She's wearing that blue, high-waisted dress she made herself over fifty years ago. No shoes. My tri-corner hat. Mum woke up early this morning to make blueberry pancakes, to find that Granny had gone pirate. She is hanging from the kitchen light, singing bawdy sailor songs from her youth, waving a yardstick like a cutlass.
I try to coax her down with the blueberries but she isn't having any of it.
"Surrender or Die!" she yells from the ceiling, pointing the yardstick menacingly at my face.
Obviously, the only rational way to fix the situation is to have a face-off. I run to my room and get my own sword. "All right, Gran!" I cry. "Let's get this settled! I win, you have to come down from there and have breakfast." We strike up a fierce tune of metal on wood, but for some reason, Granny's stick is doing better than my cheap Goodwill sword. What the heck? I mean, it's metal! It should be much more effective...
It turns out Granny is not actually holding a yardstick. Nor are we in the kitchen. A strong smell of salt air pours in when mum opens the window, followed by a huge gush of water. A wave knocks us over the bow and into the sea, and down, down we sink into deepening shades of grey-blue confusion...
Mum looks over at me in the growing haze and gurgles, "Whaaaat juuuusst haaaapeeenned?" I answer back, "Graaany muuust beee haaaviiing heeerrr seecooonnd chiiildhoood..." indeed, her dream-forces are strong enough to suck us both into her own imagined realm. With a force this strong in her old age, I wonder what her imagination must have been like when she was a child...
We emerge, coughing and spluttering, onto a bank of yellow grass.
She's wearing that blue, high-waisted dress she made herself over fifty years ago. No shoes. My tri-corner hat. Mum woke up early this morning to make blueberry pancakes, to find that Granny had gone pirate. She is hanging from the kitchen light, singing bawdy sailor songs from her youth, waving a yardstick like a cutlass.
I try to coax her down with the blueberries but she isn't having any of it.
"Surrender or Die!" she yells from the ceiling, pointing the yardstick menacingly at my face.
Obviously, the only rational way to fix the situation is to have a face-off. I run to my room and get my own sword. "All right, Gran!" I cry. "Let's get this settled! I win, you have to come down from there and have breakfast." We strike up a fierce tune of metal on wood, but for some reason, Granny's stick is doing better than my cheap Goodwill sword. What the heck? I mean, it's metal! It should be much more effective...
It turns out Granny is not actually holding a yardstick. Nor are we in the kitchen. A strong smell of salt air pours in when mum opens the window, followed by a huge gush of water. A wave knocks us over the bow and into the sea, and down, down we sink into deepening shades of grey-blue confusion...
Mum looks over at me in the growing haze and gurgles, "Whaaaat juuuusst haaaapeeenned?" I answer back, "Graaany muuust beee haaaviiing heeerrr seecooonnd chiiildhoood..." indeed, her dream-forces are strong enough to suck us both into her own imagined realm. With a force this strong in her old age, I wonder what her imagination must have been like when she was a child...
We emerge, coughing and spluttering, onto a bank of yellow grass.
Trashbag Attack!!
Laila and I are hanging out behind the music room after school, among the dumpsters.
Usually a peaceful spot to talk and hide from the wind. Kids don't bother us, teachers don't know we are there. The smell keeps most curious folk at bay. Today, however, is different. Two random and suspicious-looking hikers come walking by the school, spot us, and decide to have some fun by flashing their multipurpose switchblades at us and-- cliche as it may be-- ASKING FOR LUNCH MONEY. They think they are incredibly funny. Laila laughs too, a bit longer than should be possible with human lungs, making them uncomfortable. Then she and I turn simultaneously, and launch two trashbags from the dumpsters right onto their faces. We dash out behind, twist their wrists, take the knives, and force them to the ground, waiting for someone with a cell phone to some by, see us, and call the police.
Instead, MORE suspicious characters turn up in the parking lot. Friends of the hikers. Since we have nothing with which to tie up the two we are already holding, while Laila keeps them in a steel grip, I focus my mind on the dumpsters and bring them closer to us. I start to spin them around in a protective field, then open the tops and start flipping garbage out at random. A cry emerges from the melee. "We got one!" I shout.
After awhile I start feeling bad about the amount of garbage scattered around the school yards, so I slow the dumpsters and return them to their places. Littered around the parking lot in various stages of trash-induced hysteria are seven men. They all look like members of some sort of hiking-cult: specialized fanny packs and color-coded water bottles, tailored shorts and combat boots, tattoos of trees...
Curious as I am, we do not have time to find out more about them, as a teacher comes by, calls the local fire department, and the hikers are dragged away, their walking sticks confiscated.
We have to file a report saying why we attacked them...
I leave out the mention of garbage, since we managed to get most of it cleaned up before the law arrived.
Usually a peaceful spot to talk and hide from the wind. Kids don't bother us, teachers don't know we are there. The smell keeps most curious folk at bay. Today, however, is different. Two random and suspicious-looking hikers come walking by the school, spot us, and decide to have some fun by flashing their multipurpose switchblades at us and-- cliche as it may be-- ASKING FOR LUNCH MONEY. They think they are incredibly funny. Laila laughs too, a bit longer than should be possible with human lungs, making them uncomfortable. Then she and I turn simultaneously, and launch two trashbags from the dumpsters right onto their faces. We dash out behind, twist their wrists, take the knives, and force them to the ground, waiting for someone with a cell phone to some by, see us, and call the police.
Instead, MORE suspicious characters turn up in the parking lot. Friends of the hikers. Since we have nothing with which to tie up the two we are already holding, while Laila keeps them in a steel grip, I focus my mind on the dumpsters and bring them closer to us. I start to spin them around in a protective field, then open the tops and start flipping garbage out at random. A cry emerges from the melee. "We got one!" I shout.
After awhile I start feeling bad about the amount of garbage scattered around the school yards, so I slow the dumpsters and return them to their places. Littered around the parking lot in various stages of trash-induced hysteria are seven men. They all look like members of some sort of hiking-cult: specialized fanny packs and color-coded water bottles, tailored shorts and combat boots, tattoos of trees...
Curious as I am, we do not have time to find out more about them, as a teacher comes by, calls the local fire department, and the hikers are dragged away, their walking sticks confiscated.
We have to file a report saying why we attacked them...
I leave out the mention of garbage, since we managed to get most of it cleaned up before the law arrived.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Mind-Body Synthesis
Sometimes things don't always go as planned.
Sometimes your body doesn't follow your brain. In this particular case, I am going grocery shopping with Syca, and while she ogles over the avocados in the veggie aisle, I spiral through the air happily in an imitation of Cirque du Solei magesty, swooping down over the carts of the shoppers who by now are used to my unnecessary antics. It is my hometown, after all.
But then this guy dressed in black jumps out and starts pelting me with hula hoops. Delighted, I duck into them and start dancing with spirals moving at different speeds all over my body, grinning and showing off. The guy speaks into his radio: "Yep! She's one of the 61! Initiate phase two!" A guy from my AP Chemistry class, whom I'd always admired as a human being, comes up from the floor, and suddenly my mind is ejected into space as my body rushes forward and begins doing various unseemly things to him. Fuming, I yell at myself: "This is OBVIOUSLY a trap, you silly mound of flesh! Come back here before you get kidnapped!"
It doesn't hear me, of course, and a moment later, the boy (who is actually a robot facsimile of the original) stuns my body's neck, throws it over his shoulder, and descends through the trapdoor in the floor.
Great. Now I gotta rescue my body...but when I do, I'll be faced with the reintegration of its sensory memories. Not lookin' forward to this...
Sometimes your body doesn't follow your brain. In this particular case, I am going grocery shopping with Syca, and while she ogles over the avocados in the veggie aisle, I spiral through the air happily in an imitation of Cirque du Solei magesty, swooping down over the carts of the shoppers who by now are used to my unnecessary antics. It is my hometown, after all.
But then this guy dressed in black jumps out and starts pelting me with hula hoops. Delighted, I duck into them and start dancing with spirals moving at different speeds all over my body, grinning and showing off. The guy speaks into his radio: "Yep! She's one of the 61! Initiate phase two!" A guy from my AP Chemistry class, whom I'd always admired as a human being, comes up from the floor, and suddenly my mind is ejected into space as my body rushes forward and begins doing various unseemly things to him. Fuming, I yell at myself: "This is OBVIOUSLY a trap, you silly mound of flesh! Come back here before you get kidnapped!"
It doesn't hear me, of course, and a moment later, the boy (who is actually a robot facsimile of the original) stuns my body's neck, throws it over his shoulder, and descends through the trapdoor in the floor.
Great. Now I gotta rescue my body...but when I do, I'll be faced with the reintegration of its sensory memories. Not lookin' forward to this...
Friday, March 23, 2012
B.A.L.D.
We've got it! The perfect superhero team name. Well, almost. It's thanks to the introduction of one Commodore Dylan Horton that D possibilities came into view, and Becca just happened to discover this one when randomly sounding out combinations of initials. I for one think it's brilliant...but it sounds like it'd only include Becca, Amanda, Dylan, and Laila, as a strict naming. Which makes me wonder...are we destined to separate? Laila's busy at college now, and I'll soon be going away, and Mary's got so many theatre positions she hardly sleeps...it looks like the major task force in Oregon may be left to those with the most time on their hands. Besides, I'm pretty sure Willa's becoming a villain, if she wasn't before...
Anyway, we take it as a brief name for our current logo purposes (we have to advertise to get business. Superheroes need to make a living, just like anyone else) and head off to an alternate universe. We received a distress call from Amanda's sister Chloe, who has apparently been living in this alt world for some time.
A troll guide leads us not to the silver city, but to the dangerous misty forest that guards the metropolis from unwanted visitors. We hack our way through the brush and evade the fierce jumping spiders as best we can, but then I accidentally drop my bag in quicksand. It's may favorite bag, too. The one I made out of a pair of jeans and decorated with a three-headed phoenix using multi-coloured sharpies. I have to rescue it! I touch the edge of the quicksand, and find I have a new power: I can emulate the earth. Although, I suppose all my powers stem from some form of emulation... I fight the quicksand with reverse suckage (I know it's a terrible-sounding term), and pull the bag out-- but to my surprise, there are now two bags. Great. Which one was the original? Did I duplicate it, or is the forest responsible for this trickery? I carry them both as we move on, staying close to the others to fend off attacks, trying to figure out which is the real bag. They both smell like swamp. They both look the same-- covered in goo. I guess I won't know until we reach civilization and a sink...
Well, we finally make it out, and to the skyscraper apartments where Chloe lives. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the apartment complex are filled with pillows, because it is an anti-grav establishment. We float along until we find her room-- the penthouse suite-- and she gives us a package to deliver: some vital information and a strange brown clayish thing. Apparently the seed of all genetic diversity or somesuch. We are to take it to Pluto somehow, and bury it deep in a crater. It's to be a safeguard for our Galaxy in case of a disaster that destroys all living things. In the event that its highly sophisticated sensors register no life within given parameters, it will begin a large-scale process of regeneration.
Who knew Chloe had access to such tech?
We are strictly warned not to let NASA know it exists. We sneak out in the middle of the night and stick it onto a probe headed for Pluto. When it arrives, the blob presumably knows to detach itself and float down into the nearest crater.
We return home, and I wash the bags, and decide to keep the smellier one, and give the other to a random hobo I meet in Portland. No harm there, right? I mean, it's not as if there could possibly be anything dangerous in a clone bag from an alt universe, just waiting to become an invasive species...
Anyway, we take it as a brief name for our current logo purposes (we have to advertise to get business. Superheroes need to make a living, just like anyone else) and head off to an alternate universe. We received a distress call from Amanda's sister Chloe, who has apparently been living in this alt world for some time.
A troll guide leads us not to the silver city, but to the dangerous misty forest that guards the metropolis from unwanted visitors. We hack our way through the brush and evade the fierce jumping spiders as best we can, but then I accidentally drop my bag in quicksand. It's may favorite bag, too. The one I made out of a pair of jeans and decorated with a three-headed phoenix using multi-coloured sharpies. I have to rescue it! I touch the edge of the quicksand, and find I have a new power: I can emulate the earth. Although, I suppose all my powers stem from some form of emulation... I fight the quicksand with reverse suckage (I know it's a terrible-sounding term), and pull the bag out-- but to my surprise, there are now two bags. Great. Which one was the original? Did I duplicate it, or is the forest responsible for this trickery? I carry them both as we move on, staying close to the others to fend off attacks, trying to figure out which is the real bag. They both smell like swamp. They both look the same-- covered in goo. I guess I won't know until we reach civilization and a sink...
Well, we finally make it out, and to the skyscraper apartments where Chloe lives. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the apartment complex are filled with pillows, because it is an anti-grav establishment. We float along until we find her room-- the penthouse suite-- and she gives us a package to deliver: some vital information and a strange brown clayish thing. Apparently the seed of all genetic diversity or somesuch. We are to take it to Pluto somehow, and bury it deep in a crater. It's to be a safeguard for our Galaxy in case of a disaster that destroys all living things. In the event that its highly sophisticated sensors register no life within given parameters, it will begin a large-scale process of regeneration.
Who knew Chloe had access to such tech?
We are strictly warned not to let NASA know it exists. We sneak out in the middle of the night and stick it onto a probe headed for Pluto. When it arrives, the blob presumably knows to detach itself and float down into the nearest crater.
We return home, and I wash the bags, and decide to keep the smellier one, and give the other to a random hobo I meet in Portland. No harm there, right? I mean, it's not as if there could possibly be anything dangerous in a clone bag from an alt universe, just waiting to become an invasive species...
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