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 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 15, 2018 · 11:03 am

The HI and LO of it.

“HI.”

Oh God, she thinks. *That* one.

—-

“After you.”

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November 15, 2018 · 10:35 am

Super Ruby

“I’ve decided I like this role, Axis, and will stay a while here in Middletown with Mr. Babyface and his two goons.”

Half-Axis considered. “You’re not getting back *together* with…”

“Of course not,” Flo cut off. “Banish that from your mind, love. I’m with you now. At least until Xmas. But you’re a changer too. Better go dance up in New Eden to get back to proper form. In fact, I’ll go with you. I need a little break from Cartoon Town.”

—–

She yelled over the music (The Kinks’ “You Really Got Me”) while dancing. “Ahh, this is the life.” She spun around again, then spoke directly over while facing him: “Cross your fingers (she crosses her own fingers here) — I find that treasure before you-know-who gets to it.”

He nodded and continued his frantic gyrations, but the Half-Tropp part remained in place. This was not the right core.

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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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November 8, 2017 · 8:28 am

kill

Mr. Babyface wasn’t much of a swimmer, much less a diver. But he figured he had to give it a go since the board was here in — wherever this is. Little Chicago? Middletown even? Or a remnant thereof.

The beach of the city was small but cozy. Mr. Babyface could sometimes spy passing warships in the distance. Because, yes, there was a war going on. Apparently the Axis and Allied powers of WWII never really made peace, but just moved their battles to computer games and virtual realities. He may get involved in the fray as well soon, but he has to choose a side. His grandmother was a full blown German, but his old dog Pogo he loved so much came from Kansas, USA. Mr. Babyface himself hailed from deepest Africa; neutral territory in the Great War. His half aunt on his father’s side was Japanese. Could go either way.

The Shamon Palace, he thought while looking across the water and cleaning nacho fragments from between his teeth with his tongue. He’ll go there tomorrow. Someone to meet in the bowels of the island, he’s been told. Caucasian Tommy Brade has been sent back to the woods to be with pals Satan Santa, Cookie the Crumbler, and the rest. Someone new again. Billie Jean Kidd had told him this.

Billie Jean Kidd seemed to know everything about everything.

Deep in thought, he almost misses a passing ship. “Ahh, there’s one,” he says, spotting its motion as it glides beyond the island from his perspective. “Looks like the Rising Sun.”

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