Category Archives: The Waste^^

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“Good you came back from the 1/2 world by getting together with Sarah,” Thomasina reviewed. We were back in her old office, the hovel in the Waste, new one in Jasper Falls being redecorated perhaps. “How is Sarah?”

“She’s dead,” Al put it bluntly.

“Good, good,” said Thomasina to this. “Good that the manufactured ones are killed off when their job is done. Metaverse would soon get migh-ty cluttered if we had doppelgangers piling up all over the place.

“We could bring her back,” points out Al. “We have the seed.”

“Indeed we do. But your focus now must remain on Shelley, our Jennifer Lane, author of 38 romance novels to date and still pilling up all over the place. What was the name of her new publisher?”

“Shady Lane,” replied Al. “Just minted.”

“Hmm, we’ll see how it goes.”

Then Al shared some pictures of it.

“This is the beginning of it. Or end,” explained Al to Thomasina, holding this photo. “Notice ‘Lane’ had been cut off of the sign (leaving only ‘Shady’).”

“In-teresting.”

“And… this one indicates that TILE is strong on this road, this lane, this forgotten byway that even the town of Boulder seems to have trouble locating for trash pickup and so on, at least according to that woman I met. And it’s about a block from downtown!”

“No need to shout,” requests Thomasina. “I know this is weird, trust me.”

“And, then this one… a rock. Thought I’d include that– about 1/2 way up the lane. Do you think it has a wielding spell inside? Like that other one we found in that other 1/2 way spot?”

“Swordstone?” offered Thomasina. She nodded while still staring, still contemplating. “Could be.”

“Sorry about the darkness of the picture. Shady in there, you know.”

“Of course.”

“And then this one just looking up the lane from about the location of the TILE symbol on the side of that house. Obviously a TILE enclave–”

“Obviously,” quickly agreed Thomasina. She paused. “Will you go back today?”

“I guess so.”

“Remember to take your walking stick. The one with the eyes.”

“Always.”

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flashion show

“Welp, we finally found her. Our Sleeping Beauty. Clockwork eye’s a dead giveaway. Right Ted? Ted?”

“Oh yeah, we can’t find him,” John the Mind Reader remembers about his wastelands partner-in-law, as they call each other sometimes — always there; force of habit to think he’s by his side per usual. “We can’t find Ted,” he reiterates with a sigh. He stares at the teddy bear the Ratcatcher still clutches tightly but doesn’t make 2 1’s out of 2. Lime green has a way of blinding you like that. Witness the truck that pulled into the Last Drop the other day. Final meeting of The Gossipers.

“Well… anyway,” he continues only to himself, “I’m going inside, Ted’s rad peepers helping me out or not. Must work fast; report to Al due tomorrow whatever the circumstances. Here goes (!)”

He spots the red doors leading to the stairs going down…

—–

Not what he expected. Sisters’ act! Of sorts.

And there’s Ted across from me, he thought. Finally! “Hi Ted!”

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Thomas too

She was getting old quickly and she knew it. She sat up all night in her rickety swivel chair in her hovel of an office, pondering possibilities. Eureka!! she thought after sipping the last of the SODA before her at 6:10 while the sun was trying to crack on her dawned face. I’ll form a group. Better: I’ll form a whole *sim* that the group will control. You can’t manifest anything there unless you join. And it will all be set in the future, she continued to brainstorm with herself. People — certain people especially (she was thinking about) — would have a hard time finding it that way, a very hard time. “They’d have to take a special train, plane or automobile. One made of ectoplasm and not real matter, yess,” she hissed aloud, bringing back her snake aspect. She was on top of the mountain, a fulfilled pyramid, tip included. Pink Peak. Grant Hill had nothing on her. Because he was she.

“6′ 5″,” she revised later in the Amazon. Close enough.

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the bed is a couch

She kicked off her leafy shoes and stayed a while in this place wrong for others but not herself. Alvin arrived with the rest of the greens just before the crack of dawn. Just what I need, she thought, staring out at it through unwinterized windows. A warm truck. Soon to be getting even warmer!

But where was the baby she use to clutch?

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couched terms

“Hello, Tom? I’ve arrived. And there’s a sprite already here, just like you said there would be.”

(reply)

“Hold on.” He removes the phone from his ear, looks over. “Honey, what’s your name?”

“Morgan,” she said in an ordinary enough voice for a part plant person. He raises the phone again.

“Morgan, she said.”

(reply)

“Wrong place??”

—–

“And that’s what brought me here, to the tree, to the *mutants*,” he said to John the Mind Reader still sitting opposite him in the present, drinking his coffee, still enjoying the beans. “Spill some more,” he requested, leaning back, carefully sipping at this tilted angle. Sometimes just the mention of the word triggers the event, he knew. The others finally arrived, the lot of ’em, crammed altogether in a lime green truck with Dude on the side and Chevy Dodge on the back. Joker and Jester, Jethro and Bauer, Doug and Clyde (formerly Tin Tin and Clubby). Paired troublemakers all. Liars to the hilt. They say caffeine makes you so if unchecked by alcohol. And there hasn’t been a (wal)drop of beer wine liquor in this levee type of place since January. And then: Jackson Bloch riding tailgate, the strangest of them all.

But where was Ted? all began to murmur as they took their usual seats in the establishment set up near the lip of the Great Fissure or Fracture, your pick. “Right here,” micronized Ted said unseen in the center of it all, tightly clutched by his new master.

(to be continued)

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Junkyd again

“How I got here? It was dark. I couldn’t see the road. No street lights in this place. I ended up in this there tree, one of my tires dangling beneath like an eyeball loosed from a socket. Ghouls below — dancing. Carcass roasting in the middle but it wasn’t an ordinary animal. A *human* animal. They said it was a sparkly pink cowboy, formerly. They talked backwards a lot.”

“Like Doug over there?” John the Mind Reader pointed in the direction of Doug over there.

“No, not like a German (Doug was German: Douglas Hinterbocher the 3rd or 4th, I never can remember). Like a mutant.”

“Fine Young Cannibals?”

“Kind of,” I answered to this. “Anyway, I eventually came to the attention of Thomas, short, at least at one point, for Thomasina I gathered.”

“Yeah, the Big Boss. I know her.”

“Of course you do, John. We all do. Pyramid.”

“Right. Dunes.”

“We all come from there.”

“I recall.” But John the Mind Reader *didn’t* recall that part of their shared herstory, all of ’em. It was a big ol’ blind spot, as he put it, mostly in his mind and not to others and where they couldn’t get to it easily, he figured, being the only Mind Reader in the village, or at least he believed. Not until Brunhilde Sarah Jennifer Lane, another sparkly one in fact. Shared presents. The Answer? Maybe.

“Gorman was one of the ghouls.”

“Oh. *That* explains a lot.”

“Sure does.” He shut up for a while after that, figured he’d revealed enough for now. He could still see the fire, the carcass, the smiles and grins all around, only a few with a full set of teeth, thanks to the rotten dentists around here, mostly old and displaced Tilists. Including Gorman. Knew about the evils of Sprite all along, as it turned out. Grant Hill, PHEH. What was up on that hill anyway? Another mountain?

—–

“When did she first become visible to you. This… *woman*?”

—-

“She said she came from a library.”

“Ahh. More *origin* stories,” said John to this.

(to be continued)

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Thomas

The Big Boss had many disguises for her many clients. “Next!” she called to the one currently struggling to get over the front door. Fear of snakes, this Brunhilda had. So she prepared in kind. Copperhead the supervillain she becomes, nemesis of Batman and Superman alike, throw in a couple of Aquaman tales ta boot. Traveler of space and time.

“Am Iiiii nothinggg?” she hissed to start, setting the paranoid tone. She was still using the power of the mountain which she stood at the top of. Always. Her realm of control. For Al — Alvin — it was fear of psychosis. Let’s see, she mentally checks. Marvin is next, a bed wetter as a child continuing into jr. high, high school and college and even, every now and then, the present. Zappa’s “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” should do the trick. Sung by Zappa himself, along with daughter Moon Unit who calls the whole affair grody to the max, and wishes herself to be gagged by a spoon because of it. Have to pay her extra because of the child labor laws at the time, Thomas calculates between Brunhilda’s sobbings and moanings. She holds two big fake rocks in her hands and hisses even louder between them, making sure her face is in darkness yet the long, forked tongue is still exposed. She gathered that from a memory as well. Brunhilda sat down on similar stones with a copperhead wedged between them as a Piedmont teen, setting in motion the whole phobia thing. She faints at the sight. She’s done.

—–

“Next!” Softer, to her side: “Get ready, guys.”

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Mountain Man

He put her in the corner by the stove while he stood in the opposite one. The sparkles indicated a presents, the here and the now. Aluminum can. She turned and kissed him full on the lips. How could this be? He was 2 dimensional, she was 3. Plus they were about 10 feet apart. Yet here we are, talking about it.

“Is this how you *met*?” Thomas Boyy queried from her desk in her hovel as he illuminated the scene. 2:02 now. He was spilling.

“No. We met a long time ago. August 2016.”

She counted it out. “That’s almost 7 years ago. And she hasn’t gotten old? This *toy*?”

Through him, I thought about slightly earlier. Woods. Platform. “No,” I said, going within. “Not old… besides the 7 year part.”

“No time for jokes here, young man. Spill more!” She checked her watch. Fate dictated they wrap up quickly. She was at the top of the mountain, him: the side; only halfway up still. It was an abyss in there. 31 to 32. Retired

So he illuminated some more, knowing that was the only way to get out of here in one pieces.

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Fredsanfordville

So he exited her office, upright this time, with a rescheduled meeting at 2:01 PM. Time to bum around the ruined city some more, maybe grab a bite to eat at that reopened bar down in John and Ted’s territory he’d heard about.

But fate intervened once more. John and Ted, having some choice words to tell him about their magical plank laying Sleeping Beauty who had reappeared in the meantime.

—–

“I’m the only person in this whole sim who gives a flying f-ck about what you have to say about the matter,” she said at 2:01 prompt, not waiting to fire the bazookas at him. He had to spill the beans. At 2 minutes and 1 second in he was done, Two Hills saga completed.

—–

“Gave at the office,” he said while passing by, forgetting his origins. I may have been wrong in flipping him around and bringing him back under my control.

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reemergence of Gully from Gap

“Is Al derived from Alvin? I’m just wondering because we seem to be telling another Straight Story.”

“Dunno,” he says. “Guess so,” he acknowledges. “Tell me more; fill me in.”

“You met the Ratcatcher. You *date* the Ratcatcher. You talk about Beans, maybe Magika and Flip but maybe not.”

“The… wrestlers,” he says to this, picturing an intergalactic tour of 2 brave and beautiful lovers, free from the shackles of men. “We can add that in.”

“Ratcatcher is a reformed wrestler. Ditched Magika along the way. Ratcatcher acquired not one but 2 boys in the flipping back. Magika was jealous.”

“Word.”

“What were their names?” I said. “Grant and Thomas?”

“Of course,” he said, and moved on quickly to: “What about Mike, what about Pat? What about Lemon Free State? Have you figured out how Lemongrab 1 and 2 and 3 figure into this? How about Warm Morning, the crash site, the straight line leading into the site–?”

“Just what I was talking about,” I tried to defend, I tried to keep up. He was losing me. Over the Hills and far away by now. Misty Mountain Hop.

—–

He had to turn his world upside down to do it but he finally got in. She, of course, made it that way on purpose. He was in my control again…

Office of Thomas Boyy — Tom — one of the two as it turned out. Aka Hill, the Lesser. He had to visit her this time, she said, see how *she* lives and acts and presents herself. “See the difference?” she starts in her hovel of an office.

She apologized for not reading Al’s report before their meeting but said she’d been tied up this morning. “Maybe this afternoon,” she offered. Freedom again.

(to be continued)

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