Shuffle: Part Two

Richard, still trapped in Cassandra’s body, watched the hairy tentacle seep towards him and the others. Oversized, insects’ mandibles opened and snapped across the limb, at the tip of which an orange light glowed.

Richard pointed at the hole in the cave’s ceiling, through which moonlight still flowed. “Everybody, up!”

He grabbed his six-year-old daughter, Kyoko (stuck inside the body of a twenty-something-year-old man). He yanked her/him towards the ceiling’s hole while the tentacle snapped at Cassandra (trapped inside Kyoko’s body).

“Go, sweetie,” Richard told his daughter. “Climb.” He turned to assist Cassandra, more concerned with his daughter’s body than the person inside it.

“But Daddy—”

Richard grabbed Kyoko/Hood’s hands and slapped them against the hole’s rim. “No ‘buts.’ Climb.” He raced towards Cassandra/Kyoko.

The tentacle snapped at his face, flung cords of moist drool. Richard dodged the limb and crashed onto his (Cassandra’s) side.

Hood (inside Richard’s body) screamed. The tentacle whipped across the air and lassoed his ankle before it tugged him into the shadows. His screams faded while he vanished from view.

My body, Richard thought.

Cassandra crashed into and past him. She sought the ceiling’s hole—just as Kyoko disappeared over its edge. Hood’s cries morphed into tortured screams. Cassandra hesitated.

Richard waved her through the opening. “Go without me. Watch over my daughter. I have to retrieve my body.” He ran into the cave’s pitch-black throat.

He heard his daughter’s concerned cries, Hood’s screams, his own heavy breaths, and something juicy and alien that echoed unnaturally across the cave.

Richard had, ever since he inexplicably inhabited Cassandra’s body, found himself cursed with her memories. He recalled her early childhood, when she watched her father react to beautiful women on TV. He felt young Cassandra’s concerns that she would never possess such beauty.

She had watched herself mature in her bathroom mirror. He experienced her self-worth crumble while she realized the limits of her attractiveness.

He felt her hollowness when she sat alone at prom.

She hadn’t forgotten a single face that, upon meeting her, stared her up and down, appraised her by her looks.

He felt her frustration at work, when she learned that her male counterparts commanded better salaries than she did, despite the equality of their workloads.

Hood’s screams silenced. Richard strained his eyes while he ran, tried to pierce the darkness before him. He made out his own unconscious body (Hood inside it), dragged down the cave by the hairy tentacle.

The tentacle’s speed tripled, jerked Richard’s body deeper into the dark.

Richard, exhausted, unable to push Cassandra’s out-of-shape body any further, slowed to a stop and wheezed. He swallowed, stumbled forward, and followed the tentacle’s orange light, which dimmed, flickered, and vanished.

Richard’s eyes adjusted enough for him to barely identify his own body, spread across the stone floor. He paused as he neared it. In what sort of shape would he find himself?

Richard knelt beside and shook his body. “Hood? You alive?”

Hood awoke with a start. He bared his teeth and hissed through them. “My arm. What the hell?”

“It’s my arm,” Richard said, “and it’s broken.”

Hood squinted. “Cassandra?”

“It’s me. Richard. Inside Cassandra. Can you walk?”

He barely saw Hood nod.

“Good.” Richard helped Hood to his feet. “Follow me.”

He led Hood back to the overhead opening and helped him climb through it. He followed the other man with a grunt, fought his way through the hole and atop the cave.

Dawn had arrived.

Cassandra (in Kyoko’s body) and Kyoko (in Hood’s body) awaited him. They sat around the hole that led back down into the cave. Hood (in Richard’s body) paced nearby.

Richard and the others sat or stood on a cliff that overlooked an impossible climb. They couldn’t hope to reach the mountain’s base. Worse, Richard saw no sign of a trail anywhere.

Cassandra spoke as if she read Richard’s mind. “We can’t go back into that cave. That thing with the orange light is still down there. Not to mention all those oversized worms.”

“There’s nowhere else to go,” Richard said with little conviction.

“Daddy,” Kyoko said. “I’m scared.”

Richard wanted to comfort his daughter, hug her, but she still existed in Hood’s body. He couldn’t force himself to touch her/him that way. He hesitated and said, “Don’t be scared. We’re safe.”

“Safe?” Hood spat the words. “Are you joking? We’re fucked.”

“Hood!” Cassandra said.

Hood turned on her. “You don’t understand. That thing that snatched me up? It shoved itself down my throat. Squirted something inside me. It burned. Still burns.”

Richard’s own fears mounted. Whatever had happened to Hood had happened to Richard’s body. What would happen to Richard after he and the others figured out how to trade back their bodies?

Another hairy tentacle armed with an orange light spilled up through the cave’s hole. It stretched, searched for Richard and the others. Its drippy mandibles snapped.

Richard grabbed his daughter, protectively pulled her towards him.

The tentacle wormed towards Hood (Richard’s body), waved as if it tasted his scent. It sank back beneath the hole and vanished with a light gurgle.

“It . . . it could’ve reached me,” Hood whispered. “Why did it go away?”

“Don’t complain,” Richard said. He squeezed Kyoko (Hood’s) shoulders. “Come to think of it, why did that creature let you go in the first place?”

Hood hadn’t an answer.

They fell asleep between the hole and the cliff.

Richard dreamed of steaks that frothed under a cascade of seasoning.

Richard awoke last. The sun hung directly overhead. His eyes scanned the others. He saw Cassandra, which meant.

He stood. “I’m not in her body!” He noticed his own body, which stood several feet away. “Who's . . .”

"It's me," Cassandra said from inside Richard's body. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her (his) left arm dangled, still broken.

Richard realized he stood inside Hood's body. “Kyoko?"

“I’m right here, Daddy.” Her voice quivered from inside Cassandra's body.

“How does this keep happening?” Hood asked. He, in Kyoko’s body, marched towards the cliff’s edge.

Cassandra marched Richard’s body towards him. “Calm down. We have to stay—” She screamed and dropped to her knees. The back of her head bulged, squirmed as if made from liquid. Her (Richard’s) hair fell out in clumps.

“What’s happening to her?” Kyoko wailed.

“What’s happening to me?” Richard asked.

The back of Cassandra (Richard’s) head split down the middle. Her shrieks turned to wet gasps. Thin, pale tentacles slithered from her skull. Orange light glowed from their tips.

“Back inside the cave!” Richard said. He ushered everyone through the hole while Cassandra’s gasps faded. She collapsed. Her (Richard’s) skull cracked apart, and a slippery spaghetti of oversized worms spilled free.

Richard jumped into the cave, landed hard—just as his mind ignited with his Hood’s memories. He cried out against the onslaught of information.

Hood and Kyoko grabbed his arms, forced him onto his feet.

“Keep moving!” Hood’s voice barely broke through the agonizing, white noise that served as the soundtrack to Hood’s memories.

Hood yanked Richard down the cave’s throat, back in the direction of the plane crash. Richard noticed, while they ran, a slim crack in the stony walls. He witnessed, through it, a lit room and a creature that stood like man.

Brown hair covered the creature from head to toe. Only its football-like nose stuck out from the brown, hairy mess.

Hood yanked Richard past the crack—but not before he noticed the creature’s hair part just below its nose, and a starburst of hooked tentacles blast free.

Richard and the others reached the cave’s mouth, and rediscovered the wrecked jet. Something unidentifiable about the scene struck Richard as wrong.

“Where are the bodies?” Kyoko asked.

Richard blinked. All the body parts that had resulted from the crash . . . appeared absent.

“Wait here.” Hood approached the accident. She searched a bit before he returned with a terrified expression. “They’re gone, but there’s . . . something else.”

Richard didn’t suspect he could handle much more. “What did you find?”

Hood hesitated. “Footprints. Bloody ones. But . . . they’re not human. They’re . . . too large, clawed.”

“Daddy?” Kyoko pulled back Cassandra’s sleeve, exposed a purple rash. Hood checked his (Kyoko’s) arms. The same rash decorated him. It smelled of raspberries and black pepper.

A throat cleared.

Everyone turned, faced Richard’s body, which stumbled drunkenly towards them from the cave. In Cassandra’s voice, the body said, “You’re not meat yet. You’re game.”

The body passed Richard, allowed him the gruesome sight of his own ruptured head, the entire back half of it a gory ruin. A few worms squirmed inside the cavity.

Hood bent over and puked the mac and cheese Kyoko had insisted upon for breakfast. He wiped his (her) mouth, flicked away the orange drool.

“What do you mean we’re ‘game’?” Richard asked.

“Sometimes,” the zombie said, “food reacts to marinades.” It sat, opened its mouth, and sang church music. It reached into its broken head and plucked loose a worm, which sucked a morsel of Richard’s memories.

“Everyone,” the zombie said, “reacts differently to the seasoning.” It ate the worm, licked its lips, and resumed its song.

Richard reached for his daughter’s hand. It didn’t feel any different from her normal hand. It felt like any other hand. Like warm meat.

Gurgling drew Richard gazed towards the cave’s shadowy stomach. Shapes squirmed and snaked towards him.

Hooked tentacles dripped from the cave’s upper lip, which started to open wider. Foul breath blasted, washed over Richard and the others, who stood in shocked silence.

The cave rose. The beasts behind its lips dissolved to hot mush. The cave’s tentacles stretched forward, caressed Richard’s (Hood’s) face, left a path of slime across his forehead. The cave flew forward, all darkness and hooked tentacles.

And the darkness overtook Richard.

Shuffle: Part One

Wind howled, ushered ravenous inferno across the private jet. A lightning bolt-shaped fissure cracked across the floor. Another window shattered. The ten passengers screamed. Masks dropped from the ceiling.

Richard’s fists squeezed his armrests. He fought to breathe. His eyes darted across the chaos of flailing limbs, towards his daughter, two rows closer to the jet’s nose--which torpedoed towards the Colorado Mountains.

Blackness claimed him. He tumbled towards oblivion . . . and missed.

He awoke with a start. Pain corkscrewed across his left arm, broken.

Kyoko. His six-year-old daughter. Panic shoved aside Richard’s agony. He bullied himself from his half shattered seat and stood on shaky legs upon the smoky wreckage that surrounded him. He spotted twisted limbs and most of a human head.

He cupped his right hand around his mouth and scream. “Kyoko.”

A chunk of wreckage slid sideways while a woman pushed her path out from under it. A deep cut bled across her forehead. She blinked at him, swayed on her feet. “Help me?” she whispered with a confused expression.

Richard ignored her. He stumbled across the debris scattered across the mountain. His tattered, Armani suit hung from him. His tie fluttered behind him, caught in the wind. He stumbled, crashed, banged his chin against a sheet of metal.

Footsteps. Richard glanced up, saw a fuzzy figure pace across the rocky stage just outside of the starburst of wreckage. The stranger came into focus. Richard didn’t recognize him. He hadn’t known the names of half the people on the plane.

Richard had wanted to take his daughter aboard his private jet to see the mountains. He agreed to ferry a few of his brother’s friends along the way. These friends wanted to attend a concert in Denver (some disgusting rap “artist”).

Richard struggled to his hands and knees. He heard the woman again (white noise) and noticed a chunk of his pilot.

Where had his daughter gone? If she hadn’t survived . . . his terror sought some name, some face upon which he could pin Kyoko’s death.

“Daddy!”

Terror poured from his heart, which refilled with gratitude and further fear.

He leapt to his feet, stumbled past the stranger who paced and mumbled. Richard called Kyoko’s name, heard her voice, zeroed on it, begged God.

Everything. Every cent. It’s Yours. Don’t take my daughter. She looks just like her mother, and I can’t watch her die twice.

He found her alive, intact, pinned beneath a chunk of metal. He scanned the miracle. His suspicion simmered. Could fate so kindly let her pass without a scratch?

He tried to roll the wreckage off of Kyoko. He grunted with the fruitless effort. He could easily move it if both of his arms worked.

The woman with the bloody face materialized beside him. Together, they pulled the metal sheet off Kyoko. Richard checked her over, discovered her, indeed, unharmed, and hugged her against his chest.

His attention drifted towards the woman. Unattractive. She maybe rated a six . . . if she lost a few pounds.

Richard took his daughter by the hand, led her away from the crash site.

“Daddy, what happened to those people? Their arms and legs—”

“Don’t look at that, sweetie. Close your eyes.” His attention turned towards the woman. “What’s your name?”

“Cassandra.”

Once he, Kyoko, and Cassandra stood outside the wreckage, Richard released his daughter’s hand and scooped his cellphone from his pocket. No signal.

He asked Cassandra to check her phone.

“It’s in my purse.” She gestured towards the wreck. “I’m not going back in there to search for it.”

Richard nodded at the man who paced and mumbled. “See if he has a phone.”

Cassandra glared at Richard. “Give him a minute. He’s in shock.”

Richard set Kyoko’s hand in Cassandra’s own. “Watch her.” He marched towards the other man, slapped him across the face. “Shut up.” He stared the stranger in the eyes. “Check your cellphone.”

He blinked. “I . . . don’t have one.”

It took Richard a moment to process that. “What century are you trapped in?”

“I can’t afford one,” the stranger said. His expression matched that of a man who experienced the surreal.

“What’s your name?” Richard asked.

The man stared at the wrecked jet. “They call me Hood.”

Of course, they do, Richard thought. Good grief.

He led Hood towards Kyoko and Cassandra. “How is it,” he asked Hood, “you can’t afford a cellphone, but you’re hitching a ride on my private jet?”

Hood’s expression twisted into something unrecognizable. “All those people who just died in that crash? They were friends of your brother’s and mine.”

Richard took Kyoko’s hand. “What I mean is, how does someone who can’t afford a cellphone make my brother’s acquaintance?”

“Man!” Hood’s voice echoed across the mountains. “What does it matter?”

“My pilot’s good at his job,” Richard said, “but he wasn’t good today. What’s different about today?” He nodded at Hood. “You and your people. You’re the ones out of place.”

Hood’s mouth hung. “You . . . you’re blaming the crash on me?”

Richard straightened his back. “I’m just asking questions.”

Hood’s fists clenched. “I met your brother in school. That okay with you?”

“You attended Harvard?”

“Yeah. I attended Harvard. Full scholarship. Worked my ass off to receive it.”

Richard snorted. “You sure you didn’t get that scholarship because of your skin tone?”

Hood’s eyes blazed. “Buddy, don’t make me kick your ass in from of your little girl.”

“Rest one finger on me,” Richard said, “and I’ll sue you.” He released his daughter’s hand, jabbed a finger into Hood’s chest. “Understood?”

Cassandra stepped between Richard and Hood. “Enough. Maybe you guys haven’t noticed, but we have a crisis on our hands.”

Richard glanced around them. The wreck sat atop a cliff that overlooked a disastrous drop. Only the wide-mouthed cave behind them offered a trail to anywhere . . . but where?

Cassandra spoke as if she read Richard’s mind. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

“A search party will arrive,” Hood said. “We should stay with the wreck.”

Richard, who had opened his mouth to express that exact opinion, said instead, “Nonsense. This mountain range expands forever. A great deal of it has never seen a human being. A search party will never find us.”

Hood frowned. “What do you suggest, then?”

“We have to find a signal for my cellphone,” Richard said, “call for help before my battery runs dry.”

“Where are we going to find a signal?” Hood asked.

Richard waved at the cave. “By looking.”

“In a cave? Do you understand how cellphone signals work?”

Cassandra wiped the blood from her face. “That cave might lead us back to civilization.”

Richard agreed. “We can’t just stand here, twiddle our thumbs, and wait for the government to fix our problems.” He flashed a pointed look at Hood.

Hood’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Some of us paid for our college education,” Richard said. “We didn’t expect someone else to buy it for us.”

Hood turned bright red. “You mean some of us had to work for a scholarship. We didn’t expect our rich parents to buy it for us.”

“If your parents had worked harder, they could’ve afforded your education.”

“My parents worked sixty hours a week each!”

“Guys!” Cassandra said. “Enough. We have to work together.”

Richard took Kyoko’s hand. “We’ll navigate the cave. I’ll lead.”

Cassandra and Hood exchanged a silent debate before they followed Richard into the cave.

They marched down the cave’s throat, which quickly grew darker and narrower. Kyoko twice stumbled and nearly fell. The jagged side of the tunnel-like passage bumped Richard’s broken arm. He hissed with white-hot pain.

“Richard?” Cassandra asked. “Could you use your phone to light our path?”

Richard shook his head in the dark. He didn’t want to drain his battery.

“We can’t waste its battery,” said Hood.

“The battery’s fine.” Richard let go of Kyoko, reached into his pocket, and withdrew his cellphone. Its sickly light shone across the cave walls.

“What are we going to do for food and water?” Cassandra asked.

Richard rolled his eyes. “Worry about it. That’ll make a steakhouse appear.” He glanced at Cassandra’s out-of-shape shadow. Not that you need another meal.

“Daddy. Look! Cartoons.” Kyoko pointed at the cave walls.

Crude, green pictures decorated the otherwise tan rocks. Richard stopped short and squinted at the pictures. They resembled caveman paintings. Sort of. The stick figures didn’t appear human. Too many limbs.

They continued to trek across the cave. The cellphone dimmed while the battery drained. Richard shut it off, stuffed it into his pocket, and reached for his daughter’s hand.

The group continued in silence.

“Daddy. I see light up ahead.”

Richard strained his eyes. He saw it, too. A cone of sunlight poured from a hole in the cave’s ceiling about a hundred feet farther down the cave’s path.

“Thank God,” Hood whispered.

The group reached the light—which shone upon a dead end.

Hood groaned. Cassandra looked as if she might cry.

Wimps, Richard decided. He patted Kyoko’s head. “We’re okay, sweetie. We’ll rest a bit, catch our breaths, and backtrack to the crash site.”

Cassandra’s gasp silenced everyone. She pointed at the ground near Hood and mouthed the word, Snake.

Richard spotted the creature’s long, pale-white body. It slithered towards Hood, who backed away from it.

“That’s not a snake.” The whispered words escaped Richard the second he thought them.

“What the hell is it?” Hood asked.

The creature that squirmed across the ground didn’t appear to have a head. It resembled the translucent ghost of a giant earthworm. It slithered under the cone of light and shrieked.

Smoke puffed from its twitching flesh. It spastically retreated into the shadows.

More wormlike creatures arrived. Their slick bodies squirmed over each other just outside the light. Richard, Kyoko, Cassandra, and Hood backed away, until their backs hit the dead end.

Richard pulled out his cellphone, directed its light at the creatures, which screeched and snaked from view. The grotesque sounds of their slithering faded into the distance.

Richard and the others sat.

“Daddy . . . what were those things?”

“Just worms, sweetie,” Richard whispered, though he didn’t believe it.

. . . Within minutes, they fell asleep.

Richard dreamed of four steaks adrift in a wide pool of marinade.

Night had arrived by the time he awoke. Moonlight spilled through the ceiling’s hole.

He stood, rubbed his face—before he realized he used his left arm. My broken arm’s healed? He gently touched it. No pain.

He didn’t detect the sleeve of his suit. He felt instead the thin material of a long-sleeve shirt. His hand ran across it, felt the soft surprise of breasts.

What the hell?

Cassandra’s voice exploded. “What’s wrong with me?”

Richard’s cellphone (not in Richard’s hand) emitted a light beep before it flashed light across the cave. The light washed across Kyoko, who sat with an expression of dread.

She looked at Richard and asked in Cassandra’s voice, “Hood, what happened to me?”

“Daddy?” Kyoko’s voice came from Richard’s right. His eyes darted between Kyoko’s body and the direction in which her voice arrived.

Then, he looked at the man (his exact double) who held his cellphone. “What the hell?” Richard’s double asked in Hood’s voice. “My left arm hurts like hell.”

Richard’s hands crawled across his face. I’m in Cassandra’s body.

Hood’s body walked from the shadows into the moonlight. The body walked as if unused to its height. It looked at Richard’s double and asked in Kyoko’s voice, “Daddy, what happened to me?”

“I’m over here,” Richard said. “I’m . . . inside Cassandra.”

“Kyoko” stood at the sound of her name.

“Cassandra’s in your body,” Richard whispered to his daughter. This must be a nightmare.

Richard’s body stared at Hood’s. It said in Hood’s voice, “Is that little girl in my body?”

Bubbles of Cassandra’s memories rose inside Richard. He squeezed shut his eyes, struggled to digest the avalanche of information. He dropped to his knees, cupped his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Kyoko/Hood asked.

Whatever’s happening to me, Richard realized, isn’t happening to the rest of them. I’m the only one gaining anyone else’s memories.

The bubbles of recollections fizzled to silence, left Richard on his (Cassandra’s) knees. He gasped, gazed past the others towards something that slithered from the shadows. Something that carried a tiny, orange light.

The other’s followed his gaze and froze. The orange light glowed from the tip of a monstrous, hairy tentacle. The limb gurgled. The closer it drew, the brighter its light became.

Richard and the others backed up against the dead end. The tentacle slithered beneath the pale moonlight that poured from the broken ceiling. Mandibles opened and snapped across the tentacles slimy surface.

To be continued . . .

(Thanks for reading. I’ll publish Part Two in a matter of days. Feel free to enjoy the other short stories on this site, as well as my movie reviews and my novels, such as “Daughters of Darkwana,” on Kindle)

A Bedtime Story

Come on, sweetie. Mommy needs to tuck you into bed. Put away Daddy’s power drill. I told you that you couldn’t sleep with that.

Because it’s weird. What happened to that teddy bear that Grandma bought you? Huh? Oh! You lynched it from your ceiling fan? Um, okay. Remind me to mention that to your therapist.

Because that’s the sort of thing your therapist should know.

A bedtime story? I don’t think so, sweetie. Because it’s late, and Mommy’s tired. Because your older brother, Brad, took Daddy’s “special magazine” collection to school, and Mommy had to consequently meet Brad’s principal.

Okay. Fine. I’ll tell you a story, but then you have to go to sleep.

Let’s see . . . once upon a time . . . an evil princess took over the world. Because evil people do that sort of thing. For attention, I suppose.

What sort of evil things did this princess do? She, um, stole cars and made cartoons illegal. Yes, that would be horrible. What else? She . . . kidnapped a poor, defenseless dragon.

The dragon? Well, his name was . . . let’s say Josh. He liked cartoons, so he held a press conference against the evil princess.

What’s a press conference? A press conference is when professional athletes publically apologize for their behavior, or when an idiot announces a presidential run.

It’s also when dragons discuss the evil deeds of spoiled princesses and what ought to be done about them. Yes, the dragon did think the princess’s parents ought to send her to Time Out. Yes, without a circular saw to cuddle.

You really should stay out of Daddy’s toolbox. Brad needs to stay out of Daddy’s nightstand, too. Maybe Daddy and I ought to lock our door when we’re not home.

Right. The dragon and the princess. Well, the princess locked the poor dragon, Josh, in a tall tower to starve and die. The end.

Don’t look at me like that! That’s the end. I pretty sure that is a complete story. The hero’s journey? What are you talking about? Really? That’s what they teach at preschool now? Seems they ought to stick to shapes and colors.

Construction? You think preschools ought to teach children heavy construction? I’ll drop that suggestion in their box.

Okay. Well, President Betty White commanded the United States Marines to assassinate the princess and save Josh the Dragon. She placed Captain, um, Captain Power Drill in charge of the mission.

But Captain Drill didn’t want to lead the mission because she had to return a six-pack of sweat socks to Wal-Mart.

Because she didn’t want the socks. Would the money she received from the returned socks cover the cost of the gas she would spend to return them to Wal-Mart? Where do you come up with these questions, sweetie?

President Betty White begged Captain Drill for her service, though, so Drill finally agreed to lead the mission and return her sweat socks at a later date.

However, Drill was not very good at shooting her rifle . . . so she met with this little girl who knew all about guns. The little girl trained Captain Drill to shoot so she could blow out the evil princess’s brains.

Yes, I suppose that the military would consider it a red flag that Drill learned marksmanship from a little girl. What did they do about it? They made Drill take a test, to see if she was good enough to lead her mission.

Sweetie, stop picking your nose.

The test? She had to win a tennis match. Because it’s the military. Nothing they do makes sense.

Fortunately, the little girl also worked as a tennis coach. Because she needed the extra money. She was saving for college. To become a marine biologist. Because she loved dolphins. All kinds of dolphins. Do you want me to finish this story or not?

Captain Drill won her tennis match and led twenty soldiers towards the princess’s lair, which was an old arcade.

An “arcade” is where my generation played video games when we were kids. We didn’t play them at home because we couldn’t. Yes, the outside world does smell funny, but we had no choice.

Drill and her soldiers broke into the arcade, but the princess had a mini-gun that spat hundreds of round per second at them.

Drill and her comrades hid behind the Skee-Ball machines, but the princess’s mini-gun chewed through the machines. Splinters congested the air. Sparks flew.

The princess ran out of bullets, so she grabbed her grenade launcher. She fired at the decimated Skee-Ball machines.

Captain Drill remembered her tennis training, and she happened to have her racquet.

Far-fetched? I don’t recall asking your opinion.

Drill used her racquet to knock the grenade back at the princess. But the princess also had a tennis racquet, so she whacked the grenade back at Drill.

What? The grenades that shoot out of launchers aren’t shaped like balls? What are they shaped like, then? Giant bullets? Sweetie, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You Google it. I have a story to finish.

Drill knocked the grenade back at the princess a split second before it exploded and blasted the princess to bloody bits. Her guts plastered the ceiling. Yes, it was “totally awesome.”

Drill and her soldiers released the dragon, and President Betty White gave them a metal each. Yes, the dragon also received a metal because he was a dragon, and dragons are great.

That’s the story, sweetie. Now, go to sleep. Yes, you can sleep with Daddy’s power drill. Yes, I’ll sign you up for tennis lessons. No, you cannot have a pet dragon. Because they eat too much. No, your Play-doh spaghetti won’t feed it. Go to sleep.

Yes, I’m sure someone cleaned the princess’s guts from the arcade’s ceiling. No, I don’t think that person received fair compensation. Because janitors don’t command good salaries. Because life’s unfair. Go to sleep.

Yes, you are my princess. No, you’re not evil. Yes, you could become evil if you put your mind to it. Yes, you could most definitely “eradicate the United States military.” No, you can’t have a mini-gun. Because I said so. Go to sleep.

(Catch my movie reviews at moviesmartinwolt.blogspot.com and my novels, such as "Daughters of Darkwana" on Kindle. Thanks for reading!)

First Eye Blind

“Humanity,” the elder lectured to the crowded theater, “spent tens of thousands of years adrift in a world of lies programmed by the devil.

“Then, the Sightless surfaced, the first, worldwide generation of the blind. People panicked. At first. The next generation arrived every bit as blind as their predecessors, and so on, until extinction swallowed the curse of sight.

“The Prophet arrived shortly thereafter. She explained that the Prince of Lies had created every illusion that humanity ever witnessed.

“God had, in Her immeasurable wisdom, wiped away those deceptions.”

Satan had created the illusion of the sun to convince humanity of stars and other planets, to convince us that the Earth did not serve as the center point of existence.

What we mistook for the sun existed as a three-headed dragon that crossed the sky every day.

The oceans contained not water, but the salty blood of disemboweled angels.

Everyone knew these facts. The blind could finally see.

Reports, passed down via word-of-mouth, had expressed curiosity in regards to young Robert, who had arrived from his mother’s womb ten years ago.

Robert could navigate without a stick. He didn’t hear as well as the other boys, yet he seemed to understand his surroundings better than they did. He described, with alien details, the world.

Eventually, the God Corps understood. Robert could see.

The God Corps agreed that Robert would best serve the world if he volunteered his vision, sacrificed his eyes, himself.

“Don’t you understand that Satan filled your eyes with wicked lies?” the elder asked Robert. “You must remove them. Embrace blindness, for only darkness will protect you.”

Robert refused to grow blind.

Whispers reached the elder’s ears. People listened to Robert’s observations. They didn’t believe him, not openly, but they listened . . . and they repeated.

Robert threatened to undo all of God’s good work.

“Robbie,” the boy’s mother begged him at his trial. “You must tell the truth. Tell these people—” she waved at the massive audience gathered inside the courtroom “—that a dragon, not a 'ball of light' drifts across the sky. Tell them that angel blood fills the oceans. You must tell.”

“But Mom,” Robert said, “there is no dragon, and water fills the ocean.”

His mother whispered into his ear. “If not the truth, than at least tell the jury what they wish to hear.”

Robert refused.

A surprising few wished to witness the hanging.

The elder counted no more than twenty spectators, given their noise levels. Though they might’ve simply decided to keep quieter than usual, out of respect for the boy’s mother.

They hadn’t needed much rope, only enough for a noose that could reach a tree branch (minus the height of a stool), plus a few lengths to secure the boy’s wrists, ankles, and thighs.

The elder hadn’t heard the boy’s neck snap, but he checked, and failed to find, the boy’s pulse.

“God’s work accomplished,” the elder whispered.


(You can catch my movie reviews at moviesmartinwolt.blogspot, and you can find my novels, such as "Daughters of Darkwana" on Kindle. Thanks for reading!)