Slowly but surely it’s all coming together. Reality links up with the reality inside of it. Fannntastic.
More details to come. Stay tuned!
He wanted to scream but couldn’t open his mouth to do it. Stuck. Just like in life.
Realities were shifting around for him more rapidly than ever, almost at a blur’s pace now. Time to calm the hell down. Where’s that green phone and D Flat ring when you need it?
Lunchtime now. He wondered if any of these other dudes he was sitting with on this beam in the sky had any packets of mustard for his sandwich. He hated bologna without mustard. But with it: best thing ever. “Wanda forgot the mustard again,” he said to Fred beside him, lifting the top slice of bread to show the non-yellowness within.
Yellow yellow yellow. He was remembering something. Tumbling, he fell into a different reality, different universe really.
Wanda was with him, now called Hidi, true face hidden beneath towering blue hair. They had kids between them. Yellow ones, all beaming smiles at the camera. “Cheese!”
He tried to reach for the ringing phone but it remained just out of his grasp. Blue anyway; probably wasn’t for him, and neither was Wanda-now-Hidi and the in-between kids. And now he’s checking, the key is D, not D Flat. Too far away from Middle C to matter. Oh well. On to the next!
“Let me try!” Hidi exuded, poseball whisked away as she selected the next.
“Get it?!” she shouted down to Kolya far below after assuming the new pose. “I’m a banana!” Kolya didn’t get it, the one within not yet ready to be peeled. “Very appealing!” he shouted up, trying to be funny despite the confusion. The holes in his head began to hurt. He forgot to eat his sandwich before he left that one reality, but there was the problem with the mustard. Then, with the vertigo induced by hunger apparently, he fell off the beam into a family centered by beaming yellow kids. Well, except for the middle one, who was too small to smile and just sucked on her pacifier to indicate being please in the moment. The camera’s eye moved onward…
Kolya selected one but it turned out to be Hidi’s pose again. “Whaddaya think? Giant tigers!” He’d seen this before. But where?
Then he remembered (again). Picturetown. Must – get – back.
“Maybe *this* is what I need in NWES City. A Penny Lane style magic shop. Or mystic shop. Whaddaya say, Marty?”
“Roger. We’re here to talk about my death. Right over there.” Marty points to the chair at the window where he was stabbed in the heart and bled out only the night before in this central Eveningwood location. So central, so *middle*. In the future if not now, the town will be called that because of its sensual nature. Middletown, with any sign of Eveningwood swept away as in a raging fire or something. But for now the signs remain. Clues and signs.
“You *know* why we’re here Roger. Evening out.”
“Right: takes two to know. What, er, does the book say? About the spell. Can you reverse (the murder)?”
“It says: look in the beech grove for the answers you seek. Marg will be waiting.” Marty looks up at Roger. “Marg? Like in the game? I *killed* Marg.”
“No,” corrected Roger Pine Ridge opposite him at the fortune teller’s table. “You said Marg killed everyone else, including the ragamuffin — I think.”
“That’s not true.” Marty puts hand to chin in thinking mode. He tries to remember the order of things. Marg bludgeons Homer with her purse, then, yes, *kills* Boss Burns, then Willy comes up, steals the purse, and goes on his own murderous rampage. Marty puts down the book. “We’re looking for a man named Willy, then. He may go by Willard.”
“George?” spoke Roger back, knowing the name.
With this, they head back to the Blue Feather in Collagesity to study the table in preparation for future actions.
“We’ve left Merry Gouldbusk, Eraserhead Man, Barry De Boy back in the dust. Looming ahead are both Sandy Beech and Buster Damm at 58.”
“Duncan will never allow us to reach Buster together. We’ll have to stop before that. Don’t want to anger him! No telling what powers he has now. He’s at least 2 nights ahead of us in the search.”
“Exactly Mr. Roger Pine Ridge, my fellow 54.”
“Let’s agree, then, to stop at 57.”
“Make it 56,” Roger urged, knowing a bit more in this area. They bickered on it. They settled on it. [Delete number] it is.
(to be continued)
“Look out below! Coming down,” he continued while sliding.
“Made it I see,” Marty greeted him nonchalantly. “My new personal shadow.”
Roger Pine Ridge walked over. “Whatchadoing?”
Marty has wife Marg bludgeon Homer with a weighted purse to begin, then answers. “Trying, ahem (death of Boss Burns now with purse), to figure out the clue Duncan Avocado got from this game.”
“Avocado.” Marty has Willy walk up to Marg and belch in her face, then steal her deadly purse and kill Mo the bartender with it. Quick as a wink.
“Well I say. Listen, how much longer are you going to be here? In this, er, *firehouse*?”
“I am the fireman,” Marty states plainly. “As long as I wish — this is my project.” Death to Principle Poop now.
“O-kay.” Roger Pine Ridge tries to decide how to exit gracefully from this awkward situation. He was tailing Marty to this Eveningwood place, true, but didn’t expect him to be engrossed in anything like this, and declare it was totally a situation of his concoction and that he had everything under control. Fires rage outside! But here he was, cool and calm and collected, like it was pouring down rain all over the countryside.
“Just — gotta — find — the ragamuffin.” Many bleeping noises now. “*There*” Skateboarding Bart Smipson got run over by a doughnut truck headed to Homer’s.
Roger Pine Ridge decides to wait on the roof. Everything seemed familiar. He stares out at the Eveningwood cityscape realizing there were were no raging fires and that Marty was right and he had everything under control, at least here. The light side of the moon rose over the horizon. Yes, must have been a trace of that brain damage he feared so much, the other, thought-to-be-left-behind Roger leaking in a bit.
Marty beams up, beaming. “Found it!”
He found himself playing this game in an arcade. They’d sent Hidi back home, saying the place, this Eveningwood, was too dangerous for a gal like her, all tempting and such. It was a job for a man, they said. A black man. “Me?” he asked, knowing the answer. The look in Buster’s eyes told him. “Me,” he answered himself. Thus: here.
He’d never heard of The Smipsons but he was told to play the game with the little yellow fellow named Bart. He needs to be fast on his skateboard to outrun all those giant tigers, Duncan thought, seeing the kid soar through the air like a bird or a plane.
If only he’d learned Roman numerals before entering that zoo.
“Yelloo!” Homer Smipson said in greeting. Duncan had his clue.
Peter Oesso upstairs, in contrast, had nothing.
Tree being Lemmy pretends to nab Bartholomew Smipson with his net…
… only to toss the transformed weapon into the air in a gesture of forgiveness for an old feud with the boy’s father involving a knife wound to the head. Homer thought he was just a mascot. He wasn’t. Bygones be bygones, though. Anyway, he tires of being mobile.
We will have to look elsewhere for explanations about the young skateboarder’s disappearance. Lemmy retreats inside the town’s famous lemon tree, feet back in the ground once more.
What an imagination!
Not here, eh? thinks visiting Wheeler from over at NWES City. He said he’s *always* here, spinning around the place on that oh-so-handy skateboard of his. And I so wanted to thank him for the other day. Oh well… just have to tell the others here that I came by; leave it at that. Maybe next time. I’ll try to message the little fellow.
… is in charge while the parents are away. It seemed like a good idea at the time. “She’s reading a book on the *theory of everything*”, the father reassures the more doubtful mother. “I think she can take care of two kids while we catch a movie.” The mother shed tears all the way through, but not because the film was good or bad (it was pretty bad). The mother knew something was wrong and that her 8 year old child shouldn’t be reading stuff so so deep.