Category Archives: Xilted

November 18, 2018 · 9:37 am

mirror mirror

“I think I’ve lost my way, sir,” addressed Casey the Alien to serviceman Bill Pill. “Can you help me get back home?”

“First hall to the right, first door on the left,” Bill offered without needing further details. He’d seen all this before.

—–

“I’ve lost my way, sir,” Bill repeated to the person opposite him, who was also the same as him. “I need to find my way back home.”

The other Casey leaned forward, staring straight ahead with black, smoldering coals for eyes. “I don’t *need* anything.” He kept staring until the other acquiesced.

“Neither… do I,” the Casey on this side then spoke. He was home.

Casey One Hole waits in his chair for the actual visitor today. A woman named Ruby. Something about a prison breakout. And cherry tarts.

The other prisoners wait patiently as well.

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November 18, 2018 · 8:07 am

green, green hills

Chip Westerhouse was the first guard posted at the newly built and still unoccupied women’s addition to the Chebi State Military Prison prison bordering Linden protected Xilted. His assignment required he not move from his post…

… but he did have this great view to contemplate while standing still for so long.

Supergal Flo looked on from afar, wondering how many alternate realities she’d have to manipulate in order to stay out of that hideous place for any length of time.

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November 11, 2017 · 3:45 pm

Peterstown 02 (Ladd)

Before leaving Middletown yesterday, Karoz briefly stares at the red, blue and yellow newspaper boxes on the very western edge of the city, picking up an eerie resonance.

The next day, Peter Ladd stares at the same boxes with more knowledge.

He then goes over and squarely stands on one of Main Street’s yellow rubber lines, contemplating Treasure Hill just across the bay.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the ring, and puts it on.

Turning back toward the Middletown skyline, he vows never to remove himself again.

He is Peter from now on.

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November 9, 2017 · 7:43 am

Peterstown

“Golf course. Par three. Hole in one. 1967. (pause) 28064212. (pause) LOST.”

“Bozo,” I said. “Boz*oo*.”

“Nepotism,” he followed quickly. “Nephew. New.”

“But not you.”

Richard vanished. Another took his place.

“Nephew?”

“To some. To a few,” the young man said.

“Is your name Peter?”

“To most. To a lot.”

“Are you well known?”

“I. Am.”

“Why do you keep flashing my name above your head.”

“*You* are well known.”

“Hmm. What are you doing here? In this palace?”

“It’s a hotel,” Peter replied. “Can you read?”

“… the land description, yes. (longer pause) So it’s *real*.”

“Kind of,” he said. Peter sat up, exposing less white legs beneath sinking bathing trunks. He was quite sun baked. From Hawaii he was.

“Why do you receive favors?” I continued.

“From Uncle Babyface?” he returned, already knowing my answer. “It’s a nephew thing.”

“I know that. Why are you here? What is your relationship to The Kidd over in Middletown, just across the strait from here? Your uncle can see your place…”

“*My* place?” he questioned, then was gone.

I took off my hat and scratched my head.

I sat there for a long time afterwards reading a book about squirrels.

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