Category Archives: Novels

October 15, 2019 · 6:22 am

flagged 02

A boy of 13 rotated back to 10 and around and around. Trapped, although on sunnier days he can glimpse 18.

—–

To come back here to live? Permanently? Never to leave again? That could be an answer.

—–

“I’m not 10, I’m 13. Legal age to work where I come from.”

Baker Bloch looks down at the filled in paperwork. “I see: Bennington. Rough place. Describe your childhood.”

George knew he didn’t have a childhood. Only 10 to 13 to 10 and back and back and back. Except for the glimpses. “Oh, you know, the usual.”

“Gangs?” queries the male Baker.

“Couple,” spoke George honestly. “Bands we call them.”

Baker sensed the interview was over. “We have one more applicant. We’ll be making a decision very soon. Thanks for your time in coming in.” Baker was thinking: we were really looking for a different kind of shapeshifter but this could be handy too. He rechecked George’s phone number before releasing him back into the world.

—–

“Describe your shapeshifting abilities.” Baker knew this was a crucial point.

“Wellll… I have a dog one, if that’s what you’re interested in. Could be handy for, I don’t know, entering collages.”

—–

I think we have our man,” Baker spoke to Hucka Doobie later. “And he’s a girl.”

—–

“And this is your bedroom…”

“Schweet.”

“I can’t fit in there because I’m too tall. Enjoy!”

—–

“Now to find where Cloe went in this stupid game, hmph.”

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October 14, 2019 · 8:49 am

back in NWES…

“Why are we still here, Alice?”

“Merry, please,” Merry Gouldbusk requested. “Merry Gouldbusk,” she asked in full.

“Sure, um, but, er, all the cameras have left. We’re all alone. Bob Waffleburg’s already started his next production. An adaptation of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ‘Septimius Felton.'”

“Oh we’re still being filmed.” She looked all around at the camera-less vicinity.

“Yeah, so you’ve said before.” Actor Jack Toadswallow stared over at his co-star. *Former* co-star. But lover in this reality, not little sister. True, he was observing her all the time. *He* was filming her, in a way, in a manner. With his eyes.

Something appeared in the distance, beyond the missing piece of wall, perhaps beyond the skyscraper even. Alice pointed it out.

“Look, Ingo.” Jack had given up trying to get Alice to call him by his real name any more.

“Yes, what is it dear?” He still stared, he still photographed. What she saw excited her: dilated pupils. He turned as well.

“W-what is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know Alice, er, Merry,” replies the smaller in stature lover/brother. Looks like some kind of art from my angle.”

“*Floating* art?” she exclaimed.

“Um, yes. Not attached to ground. Attached to air instead. Sky art. Perhaps even skyscraper art,” he elaborated as it then began to float into same, swallowing green, blue/yellow, and red in sharp order.

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October 14, 2019 · 7:31 am

changes

“Is this life ever gonna get old to us, Philip? This Gastion — notice the name change?”

“Doubtful, Marion.

Doubtful.”

Early the next day, Marion and Philip realized that Gastion was just a (high) pot name and the real name of the sim had not changed. It remained Gaston. But, in fun, the two partnered criminals called it Gastion (or sometimes Gas Station or just Station) from here on out.

Then one day, without Philip, Marion visited the creepy alley behind the “Station” with the aid of Golden Joe.

“Uugh. Where *am* I?” he asked groggily while swatting away leaves from his face.

—–

“And *who* am I?”

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October 13, 2019 · 10:13 am

Gast(i)on

It was almost a perfect sim, what with its trash and gutter filth. Very realistic; a perfect place to meet… someone.  And the Oracle predicted its importance: Hidden Vilage (etc.). But she must return and merge with the other Hucka Doobie, the one that didn’t get this far. She knew that.

But she still had some time before the exit.

—–

The Rhino represents a direct link between here and NWES, our new focus. Rhino in each. And the *same* one (same object from same owner).

George’s Abbey Road VW remains just down the street. An indication of what’s going on (Portal; multiple).

—–

If only Jacob I. was still around, she thought while laying outside the *original* Joint Joint in the “Black Side” of the village, another thing shared with NWES (and right beside the duplicate Rhino over there — more emphasis).

—–

Ah ha. Tin Machine.

—–

Uncle Zach still shooting up and not listening to local phenom Firesign Theatre. But we’ve seen him more recently: Pipersville; (owner of a) *Gas* Station (Gastion). Should’ve known.

And that was Firesign Theatre on the turn table up there. Not Tin Machine. My mistake. Platinum (not tin). That place must be Domino’s still. Hitgal is probably around, then. Best friend Sangria too.

This side of town retains power.


Diving in again…

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October 12, 2019 · 9:09 am

(BELL SOUND)

“What do you think, Hucka Doobie? It’s the Red Umbrella in NWES.”

“I see.” Hucka shuffles her feet. “I thought we were, er, done with this town. Splitsville and all.”

“Well… decided to give it one more try. The rent was so cheap. Thus (he indicates with his hands), voila.”

“Should we go inside, then?”

“Sure, we can do that Hucka Doobie. It’s all the art in the Red Umbrella in 7 Stones, though. You know all the works.”

“Have I interpreted them yet?” Hucka Doobie truly couldn’t remember.

“I — think so. Most of them anyhow.”

“Hmm. Let’s go inside anyway.”

“*Actually*, I wanted to show you something in particular. Jar your memory a bit, perhaps.”

“Alright.”

—–

“Before I forget, Baker Bloch, I wanted to tell you that ‘Humanvillians’ has returned to Fal Mouth Moon (in 7 Stones). Herbert Gold and April Mae Flowers’ story must be resolved; Uncle Joe and Aunt Zoe entrapped in a 2-dimensional realm once more.”

“Cool, Hucka Doobie. Good to know. I wonder if (we should allow) Danny to come back to the Fal Mouth Moon as janitor/receptionist, then?”

“Oh no,” replies the bee being firmly. “Tronesisia *specifically* said: that couldn’t happen. Besides, he’s pretty happy in his Metal castle in Dewey. Herbert Gold and April Mae are still there too. The Irish Village over in the Fi sim didn’t work as an alternative for them. Rent too high.” Hucka Doobie looks up at the Red Umbrella and its trademark sign. “Unlike here, it seems.”

“Very cheap,” Baker Bloch reinforces. “Especially for an urban area. I even bought the building online, thinking I could just move this whole new version of the Red Umbrella over to 7 Stones to replace the one there. Didn’t work out. Not yet.”

“Hmmm, sir, I say to that.”

“Hmmm,” Baker Bloch mimicked back, thinking Hucka Doobie knows something that he doesn’t know (once again). He stares into her dilated pupils. “We better get inside. The night progresses…”

“Sure. Thank you for the AO, by the way.” states an upright Hucka. They walk forward in their different ways.

—–

“Here, Hucka Doobie. The very first piece (of the gallery). See the jigsaw pieces?” The male Baker points.

“I see. You’re say that…”

“… I’m saying that this is NWES, the city itself. N equals North and green…”

“Blue,” Hucka Doobie corrects quickly.”

“Blue, right. Then *W* equals West: green; E equals East, which is red; and then, lastly, S: South: yellow.”

“Tile, then.”

“Right. The city *has* a center. Just needs to be found still.”

“I doubt it, Baker Bloch,” opines Hucka Doobie, shaking her bee head. She then rubs her neck.

“Neck still bothering you, Hucka?” asks Baker Bloch, truly concerned about his friend’s health.

“Nah, I’m okay. As long as I don’t walk on cement or pavement much, or hard ground,” she adds. “Just leaves. Soft, cushiony leaves.”

“Well… don’t let your *head* break off from your body.” Baker Bloch immediately regretted the attempt at a joke. Hucka Doobie looked over with those eyes.


ART=center?

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October 11, 2019 · 7:44 am

splitting

“Feel the emptiness in the center,” the small snowman instructed his pupil Herbert Dune from the, well, center.

The first explosion happened, rocking this Northside building. The snow-being, named Hugh, fell off the puzzle table onto the cushiony, knitted rug, losing his bell. Then the second, smaller kaboom happened, making his head separate from his body. No more instructions tonight from the diminutive, white guru. No more instructions ever. The dream was over.

Actor Sandy Beech stood up, looked southward.

But too many buildings were in the way to see clearly. “That wasn’t in the script. That wasn’t in the script!” he repeated, a second outburst louder than the first (mirror). He turned around to find the director, the cameraman, the soundman, etc. No one here. Any evidence of Bob Waffleburg’s dystopian parody film had disappeared. Sandy Beech was on his own again.

—–

Actor Alice Frame also suddenly found herself alone and without direction after the explosions, large and less large. The script she was reading for tomorrow’s shoot suddenly turned blank, nothing having ever formed or shaped out of these snow white pages.

—–

We must reluctantly say goodbye to NWES, its four jigsaw like pieces unable to come together to form a story any longer. But there’s always the possibility for return within the larger arc of another tale. We must move, Grasshopper-like, forward…

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October 10, 2019 · 7:04 am

power

The personnel in the central police station watched the burning of Club 88 and attached Little Jimmy from a distance and talked amongst themselves.

“Now order will be restored,” said Officer Brennon to Officer Barney, turning away from it for a moment. “*Big Brother* will be restored,” offered Officer Warren behind them (off-camera here). True men these were. They waited for Ms. Tanner to weigh in, the most important opinion.

“There is only one Big Brother,” she finally declared as the fire crescendoed, damage done. Casualties inside for sure. “Big brother Ingo Ratts has been eliminated, like big brother Little Big before him.” Brennon, Barney, and Warren didn’t know who Little Big was but nodded in agreement anyway. The point is: everything was reset. INGO banners had reverted to pre-film INGSOC, which stood for the fictional English Socialist Party of George Orwell’s seminal “1984” novel, and whose totalitarian ideology represented what he saw as the worst possible outcome of socialism in his native Britain.


Hehehe.

The new center of town was burning while the old one looked on satisfied.

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October 10, 2019 · 4:08 am

R

“I *knew* I’d find you here, Eighty-eight.”

“Yeah. You know I can only get so far from you, Apple of My Life.”

“How’s your flu going?” Sarcasm.

Eighty-eight didn’t answer, but instead looked to the door. The door to *her* night club. She was the Star. It all revolved around her. Like planets.

“You gonna stick around and hear me play?” she then asked, not seeing the person enter that she wanted to. Her voice was steady, unfaltering. She knew what she was doing and was in command. Not Tracy Austin Newtonia Kashkow. The latter wasn’t use to that and didn’t like it. Not one bite she didn’t.

—–

She sat at the drum kit, calmly waiting while the singer and keyboardist remained frozen around her (like planets).

Her lover entered with the sphere.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Just afterwards his car parked outside burst into flames. Like the Sun.

—–

“I think I get it,” exclaimed actress Alice Frame in her rented apartment next to Spunky’s while reading the latest script. “Ingo is controlled by the Sphere, the Sphere is controlled by…”

—–

“HIT IT!”

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October 9, 2019 · 10:03 am

hole 02

It just came up from one of those illogical cracks in the road. Broad daylight; scurried sideways toward the park to his right. Directly in front of him. In a hurry, as rats are wont to be, but not *too* much so, he also noted.

“I *hate* rats,” Herbert Dune managed after watching it disappear down another hole, thinking back to Spunky’s and Bob Waffleburg’s slip about a secret room the night before.

I don’t mind rats atall, thought Sandy Beech inside, actor countering character once more, as in a yin-yang relationship. Day and night. Guess that could be one reason they hired me for the part, he then realized.

“Just ignore the rats,” sweating Herbert Dune chanted while continuing forward over the crack. “Ignore rats.”

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October 9, 2019 · 8:36 am

hole

They were watching “Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein” on the tellie tonight, a logical choice. At a predictable chase scene through a haunted castle, Merry Gouldbusk leans over and tells Herbert Dune that she got in contact with her brother about the banners. Herbert Dune arches his spiraling eyebrow a little higher, Spock style. “Welll?” he replied, thinking she needs to speak up for the microphones. But, overall, her acting was acceptable lately. She’d been taking lessons from one of the best. She’d learned a lot since Rosehaven. Except for the occasional name slippages she was fine. But just that: acceptable. Ordinary, even. Oh Alice Frame, Sandy Beech thought, how’d I get chained down with you. I am like a clipped Icarus.

“He said he had nothing to do with it,” answered Merry Gouldbusk, speaking up a bit at the encouragement of Bob Waffleburg off-camera.

“How,” stumbled Herbert Dune, then started again. “How is that *possible*?”

“*Dad-dy*,” Satan’s spawn Melvin complained from the pillow beside them, totally immersed in the castle shoot.

“Tell you what, young demon. You’ve stayed up too long past your bedtime already. Time to join your brethren upstairs. We’ll continue the movie tomorrow night.”

“Awww,” he exclaimed not too loud while obediently getting up and stretching and yawning. For a little demon, he was quite well behaved. They all were. Except Spunky of course.

—–

“Annnd. ACTION!”

“So explain what you said before.”

“About the banners?”

“Of course.” Stop ad libbing, Sandy Beech thought bitterly inside. Stick to the script!

“Welll…”

“Wellll?” Herbert Dune echoed back.

“He said he didn’t do it.”

—–

Sandy Beech complained to director Bob Waffleburg afterwards. “Jeez, it’s right there on the banner. *INGO*. How could her slightly older brother, her *Big Brother* after all, not be head of the police state here and spy on her all the time? Answer me that genius director.” Before, Eraserhead Man and his disjointed plots. Now, Bob Waffleburg’s logic gaffes. And he’s not a surrealist. No excuse for him!

“We’re… working on it,” is all he could answer that moment. Later, while the two were drinking at Spunky’s on Southside (no relation to Spunky the little demon), he let slip a little more. “It involves rats. *hiccup* And a secret room. *BURRP*”

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