Tag Archives: Wheeler Wilson^^++\@

May 15, 2025 · 4:33 pm

00460607 (Yore)

“Okay, here we are, Monster. This pool of water below the falls is where you can contact me. Whenever you like. I’ll always be there for you. Understand?”

“Under-stand,” he sputtered out, looking at her and then the small pool. Just beyond that rock.

“Now go up to the water, kneel down, and *look*.”

“Looook.” He gazed over at Wheeler again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here on the other side. I’ve never left you and I’ll never leave you.”

“Leeaave?”

“Never,” she reinforced, and then waved him toward the pool. “Go on.”

—–

Took him a while but he got the hang of it. The place eventually became known as the Great Mother Pool.

(to be continued?)

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May 14, 2025 · 4:19 pm

00460605

The next night was even more awkward.

“Monster?” she said plainly and simply to him, not messing around with any *human* names, pheh. “I-I’ve got to leave. I’ve got to go home.”

“Hooome?” he uttered.

“Yes. Home. Like *this* is your home. I have a home too.”

He looked out at the sea surrounding the sim, Pogo here. At Patty’s Last Chance Saloon still but around back instead of up front where the dance machine is; she’d had enough of front. She’d been preparing for this moment all day.

He starts blubbering, blubbering like a little baby. Double awkward. Wheeler wasn’t expecting this — atall — so she had no hanky to offer, no tissue paper to pull out from, say, a pocketbook. If she carried around one. All she can do is rub and pat him on the shoulder.

After he gets it out of his system, the loneliness, the long road ahead into the meat of his artificial life — without Wheeler it seems — she shows him where they can still communicate with each other. “Follow me,” she said, taking his hand and leading him away from the saloon into the next sim west. Yore.

(to be continued)

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May 14, 2025 · 5:34 am

00460604

Tonight she was trying to teach him to dance but it was rough going because of the big clogs, big body overall. And she couldn’t hold his facial prettiness in place, she found out, soon reverted back to the dead white eyes, the painfully jagged black haircut she discovered him with. She, in essence, couldn’t really make him her own, as in a mirror. He remained independent. And clumsy!

Night strolling Billy Squirrel looks on amused at the awkward action. His chirping laughter was the last straw for Wheeler. “*Okay*”, she said, stopping the “dance” and stepping away from him while Billy blended back into the woods. “Let’s try something else, er, Douglas.” She kept wanting to call him Albert, like the sim she discovered him in, nay, *made* him in — back in time. But also tonight, after the last awkward dance, she found herself simply wanting to refer to him as Monster. My Monster.

“Mu-sic?” Even his voice was gruffer. And she was so close to perfection! At least with the head.

“Music,” complied Wheeler. And he whipped out his guitar, one of them, maybe both of them, and started playing then and there.

(to be continued)

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May 13, 2025 · 9:35 pm

00460603

He’s a god d-mn rock star.

SWITCH. Classical too!

“Toward me now!”

Yeah we’re going to put you on a little boat and take you all over the world you god d-mn rock slash classical star you, observing Wheeler thinks with this angle of him from the porch of Pogo’s General Store, the 1:1 matched parcel of the sim not named Okefenokee North somewhat to her disappointment but just Pogo, period. Bit of a copout, she believes, but things can still be fixed in this End of Time place which keeps modifying and expanding over time despite the name. Good for them! Not like a lot of places in Our Second Lyfe which are, at best, staying the same, or, worse, devolving or simply ceasing to be. She appreciates the persistence of existence, has learned to embrace it in this ever changing virtual world when she finds it.

“Let’s stop with the guitaring and come sit beside me, er, Douglas! I have some more thoughts on your face!”

—–

“Yes, that’s better. The shoes and overall outfit obviously still need some work but this is good for today.” She reaches over and pats his knee. “*Very* good,” and then leans more to give him a kiss on his cheek, tying him with Newt for number of smooches meted out by Wheeler recently. True, Newt’s was on the lips so that counts a bit more, I suppose. And he’s seen the colors too, the red blue yellow green on the back and the orange and purple up front. If lips are like one pink, then we could say he’s up to 7, with Douglas here still sitting at zero. We’ll see if that holds.

(to be continued)

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May 10, 2025 · 4:12 pm

00460516

“I was made from here,” puts forth Douglas, standing in the midst of the Albert Swamp Cemetery.

Ahh, the plot thickens, thinks Wheeler. “Parts?” she queried.

He starts indicating locations. Well, *a* location. “That headstone,” he gruffs while pointing ahead. “Head.” He points to his own.

“Uh *huh*. Feet?” she hastens the process, looking behind her to see if he would be vulnerable to suggestion. Another test of character from her, then. But, to her pleasure and satisfaction, he points to the same tombstone. “Same body,” he utters.

“Ohh, nice. And how about the rest, the arms, the legs, the torso, the… other stuff? Same?” she guesses. She moves forward and crouches down before he gets a chance to answer, checks the name on the tombstone. “Yup, looks like so. Albert…” she reads… “can’t make out the middle name.”

“Wendell,” issues Douglas, revealed now as a cobbled together Albert sim monster (of lore?).

“Okay… take your word for that. Then… yes, Douglas. Years 1882 through, it looks like, 1942. Oh, only 60 years old when he — you, I guess — died. War?”

“Just after war.” He was saying when he was born — remade — not the circumstances of death, Wheeler understood.

“*Wheeler*,” calls an energized Bob at the gate of the cemetery. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Well. You found me!” she tries to match his energy. In turning she noticed he didn’t bring along his pipe. Unusual! Something has changed on his end too, she senses.

“I’ve found the cat-people and they are me,” he just blurted it out plainly and simply. “We can go home; back to The Burg. I can fix everything with my newfound psychic abilities.” He points to his own head with one of his 2 free hands. “Mind power.”

“Oh,*great*. That’s great news, Bob. It really is. But…”

“But what?” Bob looks at her and then the monster and then back. “You’ve found someone?”

“I’ve *made* someone,” she corrected. “Back in time. Cool, huh? I have powers too. Albert, I mean, *Douglas,* meet Bob. Bob the Builder who’s going to fix the problems of our Burg with his powerful brain powers now. Cool, huh?” she says in turn to him. He grunts. Wheeler takes it as a sign he’s impressed. She’ll have much time to learn the ins and outs of his mannerisms, though. She has to stay; she has to take care of him, her monster after all. There’s more mysteries here in this big ass swamp of a sim. And probably Pogo to the north as well. Okefenokee North? Could be. Maybe even a bit of Providence Canyon mixed in here too. Wouldn’t that be the oddest?

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May 10, 2025 · 2:37 pm

00460515

He’d already done it twice on the pipe but the pipe had turned into a broom, thanks to Wheeler’s, I mean, *Glinda’s* magic wand. “3rd time on the ceiling,” she commanded. “3rd time on the ceiling,” she repeated. “3rd time on the ceiling,” she said again. “Just fly up!” she finished the incantation, plainly stating the objective.

He can do it, she thinks. He *will* do it.

He indeed flies up after a short but significant enough pause, knocks against the ceiling pretty hard with the end of what is now his broom. Everything changes.

—–

He wakes up on the couch with the same old 12′ pipe but immediately senses its function has changed. He realizes he had the power to fix the town’s infrastructure all along. They don’t need End of Time’s alien cat-people, psychic geniuses in such things. He is actually one of them! In short, he knows he can fix everything simply with his mind. He laughs out loud with the power, “ha ha ha”. Is this good? Probably good I’m thinking. Pretty sure.

Well, just in case I suppose we should file it as another one of those: we’ll see’s. Plot holes are still possible if not pot holes now.

(to be continued)

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May 10, 2025 · 9:04 am

00460514 (1st date)

She pops a lemon-lime soda (free!) and ponders possibilities. Two new sims for End of Time since she last visited, Albert here, and then Pogo just above. The parcel’s name is Okefenokee South, another Georgia reference, then. Another theme!

According to its wikipedia article, Okefenokee Swamp is one of Georgia’s 7 natural wonders, a list which also includes Providence Canyon just mentioned in that last post too.

She takes off her shoes and walks along the water’s edge, wondering if this is a place she could actually settle down in for a while. Invite Newt to join her, perhaps. *Or*: Edward. Not really fair to just keep him at that backwards positioned waterfall over in Nawt Vaya for convenience sake. Oh well, onward with the exploration (!).

Or maybe just a totally new person shows up, she thinks a bit later while taking another rest at this barn location.

In fact, there he is.

“Hi. I’m Wheeler.”

“Albert,” he said, eyes not quite formed yet. “But call me Douglas.”

“Douglas it is.” Still no eyes. Wheeler can’t trust him to stay until they form. Still no eyes… still no eyes…

—–

Aah, who cares.

(to be continued?)

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May 8, 2025 · 9:53 pm

00460511

Wheeler made sure she rented the last room in the town’s hotel so that Benny Right Horn would be forced back into the caves, lucky her. Jackson Bloch — I *mean*, Bob the Builder from The Burg — shortly joined her. They were here at the End of Time researching infrastructure and solutions to. Bob hadn’t been here since the last time he visited, which is logical. Similar to Jer Left Horn’s last presence in this land, that would be around 5 years back now. Why did he visit then? Well, same reason. He was looking for answers. He had been born here as it turned out.

“Bob?” Wheeler called across the room, using his new name instead of the old still. As they agreed upon. “You all right over there? Have room for that, ahem, pipe on the couch with you?” Wheeler understood Bob was sleeping with the pipe but that was okay. His wife had died 3 years ago and so he’d turned a little weird in the meantime. Fetish with infrastructure. Deadly weapon doubled as a new wife and visa versa.

“Okay,” said Bob, adjusting the pipe relative to his body. They must stretch out together in exactly the right way. To make this happen, Bob had to prop it up on both couch ends and slide underneath it. Wheeler didn’t want to see!

“Listen, Bob. I think it’s time for me to go exploring in those caves, poke around End of Time as a whole while everyone is asleep. So I’ll see you around.”

(to be continued, but only on Wheeler’s side of things)

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May 5, 2025 · 10:06 pm

00460508 (The Burg)

Downtown.

Uptown.

Midtown. Center Core. Between two highways, raised and ground level. Busy both. Much noise to drown out things like gun shots, knife wounds, screams in the night. Perfect place to crawl in and die.

Wheeler watches while James practices his graffiti once more, his final testimony. She still doesn’t know his name. Maybe never will now. Will again, as in his.

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May 5, 2025 · 6:50 pm

00460507

*Done* with the folding and done for the day, she thinks, sweat beading on her forehead from all the humidity around here because of the, well, *water* — over her 2 feet and up to 3-4 feet, pheh. *Now* what? she wonders. Back to *his* place?

“TOILET,” he calls from over the intercom, making her realize she had one more chore to accomplish before she could get paid. Orders of the big boss.

“Wolvie, closing up for the day!” Emily said in synchronicity with the video from somewhere beyond the cracked door, trying not to look in. She’s learned to deal with it.

“Just visiting the bathroom again and done!” he called back.

—–

“Cleaning, of course,” said Wheeler about same bathroom. “Not the other stuff. But still quite nasty, one could say. I believe you could put the big boss firmly in the sadist category. It all just got… out of control.”

“Nah, you’re okay, you’re good,” opined James Smoker, sitting across the bum camp fire from her, still holding and puffing on two cigarettes at once — while he could. “No need to crucify yourself over the matter,” he says, watching her “burn” through the fire. Like a witch. Or maybe a witcher, hmm. “This so-called Big Boss (*cough*): sounds like he’s just a butthead, a butt *period*,” he continued in his gravelly voice growing deeper and more gravelly by the year, the week. He hadn’t told her about the terminal thing. And he hadn’t revealed his true name. Not yet. So she just kept imagining him as James Smoker.

“Nice of you to say so,” says Wheeler. “But I’m afraid the whole town knows, the whole town looks down on me.” Still burning away inside a fire of her own devising.

“Those *Uptowners* might,” said James Smoker to this. “But us Downtowners… we stick together through thick and thin. Like bounded sticks.” He puts his two cigarettes together with his two hands to emphasize his point. Burny sticks, she understands — local nomenclature. If she burns, he burns; nice gesture from him.

So James S. considered her a Downtowner, she thought. Interesting. Even though she worked Uptown, lived Uptown. Maybe Willa Brown Halter is on the wrong side of the issue.

“What about *Mid*town?” she decided to ask, curious about the so-called neutral zone between the divisions, upper and lower. Where she was floored by Charlene that day of the town meeting and so had to pick herself up off the slanted pavement in order to attend.

“Center Core?” he responded, thinking of his primary reason for coming here to this Burg in the first place. To find a place where he could crawl into and die.

He decides to just blurt it out, the reason, the end point. Only crackles from the fire for a while after that.

(to be continued)

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