Category Archives: Storybrook^

July 2, 2020 · 7:28 am

Gazoo-like

“Why do you keep mocking me, Aloha?”

“Because I’m *you*. If you don’t straighten up.”

“Why should I?”

“You’ll keep — flipping back and forth, not understanding between one and the other. You won’t understand why you hate blacks in one life and whites in the next. I’m 18 incarnations up. We don’t actually live on Earth any longer. Instead: Virtual Reality. We’ve learned to transport from one to the other. A deadly virus finally did us in. The ones that could — they came here. In the future that is.”

Charlie Banana took another drag off his cigarette, blew smoke rings in the air. Then: “I’m suppose to believe this, huh?”

“It *will* happen. If we don’t straighten up *now*.”

“Hmph.” Charlie is tempted to peel another banana but resists the urge.  He senses — fruits get in the  way.

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June 21, 2020 · 7:36 am

sickness

Teddy had seen it all coming and had tried to warn his master Baker Bloch about the impending event. With his hoof he had counted to five this day before the bay but purposefully stopped at six. Marty was not who he seemed to be. *No one* was who they seemed to be, not Marty, not The Mann, not Peter Oesso, nobody. Here they were all variants. The numbers one through five represent the time before the peak, when Penny Lane was a memory and not a song, when Strawberry Fields was a place as well. After the release of the double single — and accompanying album — something happened to The Beetles, indeed the world as a whole. Arnold Lane, another place that became not a place, played a role in this as well. I’m here to tell you: something happened.


Storybrook’s deserted Arnold Lane


Marty’s nearby, red-topped, bible-less church

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May 26, 2020 · 7:44 am

Pipe Room 03

Her future besties Tronesisa “Blue Eyes” and Duncan “Avocado” were already there, playing up a storm. She realized a Void needed to be filled. The drum set beckoned. She already had drumsticks sticking out her back pocket. She tended to carry them everywhere she went now. The drumsticks were sure to go.

She sits in the middle, sticks at ready.

Tom Banks reenters the room. “Oh, so you’re trying to get out of this through a trance, huh.” He draws his gun again.

There was only one thing left to do for Marsha “Pink” Krakow. “Hit it!” she shouted at the top of her lungs while the sticks traveled down. The whiteness takes her.

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May 26, 2020 · 6:56 am

Pipe Room 02

She tried to see better through the tears. The girl in front of her couldn’t be see-through. Could she? Unless…

“Frankie?” she almost whispered. “Frankie — is it — you?” She struggles some more against the pipe, then looks again. The apparition persisted.

“There is that aspect,” Jenny allowed. “I am not dead, though. I appear through *time*.” She let that sink in.

“Time?” Marsha “Pink” Krakow was crying harder again. Jenny knew she was in danger of losing contact. She exposed more. “Not space, because it essentially happened in this very spot once more.” Did this help? Marsha looked like she was going to fall into a black hole, never to be found. An emotional hole inside of her kept whirling everything she knew and understood into itself. This is what Jenny must save her from.

“Options, Marsha,” she exposed more. “You are a *Star*. You *can* be reborn from the Great Void.  Think, Marsha, think. Dwell on your future. See yourself drumming like you’ve never drummed before, in front of a large, *worshiping* audience. *See* yourself there.”

Marsha “Pink” Krakow fought hard against the Void. She entered a time, a space, not yet recorded, not yet known about. Tom Banks couldn’t find her here, she realized. She entered the club…

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May 26, 2020 · 6:14 am

Pipe Room 01

Her friend Frankie “Beige/Brown” Hockentopper was dead. She knew it by the way murderer Tom Eugene Banks spoke of her. “Frankie *was* like that too,” he mentioned during the last visit about the similar ways they both hurled back the insult “f-ck you a-hole” when he asked them to do him a favor. Like, “*shut* UP.” Brown even went so far as to sing the entirety of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” after the final insult just to rile him up more. Not a really good idea, given what he did next. “Mary never had a Lamb,” he spoke over the body with smoking gun after cutting the third and last stanza a bit short. “They’re (the lambs) all gone,  Frankie, leaving dreams exposed — best left unrecorded.” He snaps a picture with his polaroid camera. He turned toward the Magic Red Door still on the wall. Igor can clean this mess up. He must find the *next* star — quickly, before she disappears from Storybrook altogether.

And so here she is. Attached to the same pipe as friend Frankie was. Then another appears, not Igor but a girl. Not really the ghost of recently deceased Frankie, although there’s an aspect of that involved. Instead: Jenny, who grows up to be none other than Your Mama.

“I’m here… to help.”

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May 25, 2020 · 12:54 pm

new turn

“Well, Parasol, the *white* version.” Parasol chuckles here. “Looks like we can leave Storybrook again since we’re together once more.”

“Right you are!”

“Now all we have to do is round up that little girl of ours, Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow, and skedaddle outta here, like we’d planned before. The job opening in Drane underneath that open hill is still available. Freedom at last!”

“I like the sound of it.”

“So… where is Marsha?” The Mann looks around, as if he’d missed her in the immediate vicinity.

“Probably with Beige. Or Brown or whatever drab color she’s going by now.”

“Ring her up,” requests The Mann, glad to delegate responsibilities to the wo-Mann of the house again.

“Okay,” Parasol offered, just glad to be loved and wanted once more. Charlie Banana was such a tool!

—–

“Thank you Belinda.” Parasol hangs up the phone after looking for the carriage a bit.

“Alright, she says there’s no word from Marsha *or* Beige.”

“Or Brown or whatever,” The Mann furthers himself this time.

“Right. Dr. Hockentopper down in the opposite corner of “Good Town” hadn’t seen her in about a day.”

“Looks like it’s time for a search party. The Hockentoppers of course. And then us. No need to bring in Tank or Bazooka right now.”

“No.”

“Well… at least *Tom Banks* is locked up. We know our little girl is safe from…” The Mann then absentmindedly flips over the unread morning paper in front of him.

“Jeepers willikers, Parasol!” He turns the headlines toward his recently restored wife.

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May 24, 2020 · 10:07 am

switch 02

“I’m always having to hoooovverr in here for a proper sit,” Marty complains softly, still sorry that he had to absorb that poor girl Marsha “Pink” Krakow for the Greater Good by dying his hair black again. Almost half a meter higher than his median Second Lyfe position now, he returns his attention to the red doors.

—–

“We want to make sure it’s someone believable that enters those doors, Baker Bloch.”

“Sure, Hucka Doobie.” She keeps staring at him. “Oh — me?”

“*No*. It’s not always about you. *Me*.” She points to herself in the teal boathouse still rented by Baker Bloch in town, having given up on the green one closer to the church just today. Former occupant SEAN is truly gone from Storybrook: back to New Orleans for him, sans Marsha to his great disappointment. He should have never tried the Big Reveal. “Marsha was just too young, too *brainwashed*,” he speaks aloud to The Mann (her father) 5 years later in the New Orleans Blues Little Rock bar in nearby Little Rock, Arkansas.  A pity visit that turned into friendship and beyond: The Mann now truly loves this 28 year old black man with developing arthritis just as much as his little girl in ways. “I’m — sorry you had to leave, SEAN,” he spoke soon after arriving, looking out at the current of the stream sweeping another magic toy down to the bay.

—–

“Come with *me*, fellow hoverer.”

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May 24, 2020 · 8:31 am

STAR

All proper passageways to the Big Inside had been sealed up.

Yet Marsha “Pink” Krakow, basically without friends now, drummed on and on, faster and better than ever, speeding toward New York.

The Black Elephant consumed her.

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May 22, 2020 · 6:29 am

The Room

Brown/Beige was tittering yet again. At basically nothing this time. “Who (*snicker*) is that *girl* over there? (pause) Playing that (*giggle*) game?” she asked bestie Marsha “Pink” Krakow at the gas station owned by Pete Oesso now.

But suddenly she was *there*, stars on her shoes. Someone had been in her shoes before. Similar choices.

She stepped back from the machine that had nothing on it. She looked over: Brown/Beige was gone from the window seat. She was alone in the gas station.

She changed again, remembering more.

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May 21, 2020 · 8:15 am

elephants once more

“I can’t emphasize this enough, Wheeler. We are *here*. Elephant continent. Until the end.”

“I’ll give it a year and a half,” spoke up the part owner of newly relocated Collagesity, just like before. “And you, Peter Oesseo — like an opossum.  Are you: *Baker* yet? You don’t appear to be Axis any longer. Not at the core.”

“Hucka Doobie is going to be *soo* mad.”

—–

He stands up, alone in the office that could have been his given different circumstances. Santman was going to be born right over there, Peter Oesso, formerly TronAxis (etc.) lamented. And now he shall. I have escaped the machine. I will let another be absorbed, an alternate self.

I have made a decision which way the current flows.

The Storybrook garage will stay for now. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and new bestie Beige/Brown will return soon. I will tell them a joke about 2 elephants with conjoined trunks. Marsha will remember who I am, and also the aunt. Ant. She can leave, then.

—–

“I couldn’t stay away from you forever, dear, you knew that.”

“I did,” he spoke over to his unfaithful but still forgiven wife. “Dogg would miss you too much!”

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