PAGE 8 (SIX PANELS)
PANEL 1: WARREN tries to sit up, having a hard time, freaking out over the appearance of another woman.
1- WARREN: I KNEW IT! SCAM!
PANEL 2: JORDAN gives ENGEL an exhausted look as she’s about to head out the door.
2- JORDAN: YOU WERE WATCHING US. OF COURSE.
3- ENGEL: IT’S MY JOB.
4- JORDAN: SURE. I HAVE TO GO.
PANEL 3: WARREN tries to point accusingly at ENGEL, who looks at him with disdain, hands on her hips.
5- ENGEL: HI, I’M ENGEL.
6- WARREN: YOU WERE RECORDING US FOR THE INTERNET!
7- ENGEL: I WISH. I WAS HIRED BY GOLD AND SILVER TO LOOK AFTER YOU, WARREN.
PANEL 4: WARREN collapses back onto the bed as ENGEL steps back into the bathroom to find her clothes.
8- WARREN: YOU WATCHED US. YOU WERE MASTU-RRRRAHHH…
PANEL 5: ENGEL pokes her head out of the bathroom.
9- ENGEL: THE PROCESS OF ENCODING INFORMATION ONTO SOMETHING SO MICROSCOPIC AND SENSITIVE IS STILL KIND OF NEW.
10- ENGEL: YOU’RE SUFFERING FROM SOME NASTY SIDE EFFECTS.
PANEL 6: WARREN, lying on the bed, groaning in pain.
11- WARREN: WHYYYYYYYYYYYY
We were just sitting there watching a movie, she, myself, and that guy. I don't remember who he was. I knew him, but I really don't. Not really. I don't know what we were watching. I don't know what was going on. I got up and did...something. This is incoherent. I came back, and she was lying on the couch, naked, barely covered by a blanket, apparently asleep. The guy was still just sitting there, reading a magazine or something, the movie still playing on the tiny old TV.
I asked him what was going on. He told me she was sick, and needed to rest, that I should be quiet and leave her alone. Instead of asking where her clothes went like a rational person would, I just sat down and watched the movie, even started drawing at one point, though I have no memory of what I was drawing. Maybe I was drawing her?
But then she woke up. And started screaming. Panicking. Freaking out. I froze, terrified, as the guy got up and started shouting "NO NO NO NO" and grabbed her, dragging her into another room. There was a lot of noise. She kept screaming incoherently, and there was a vomiting noise too. I tried following them.
Then, of all people, my brothers showed up, or well, two people who resembled my brothers (one of them was too short and had weird hair), and kept saying "she's sick, you can't go near her, you need to leave now." They wouldn't tell me what was going on. The screaming didn't let up.
Then I woke up.
I dreamed again though. Except we had been swimming in a huge pool, deep one, and I kept nearly drowning, and we went to a bookstore, and while I was looking at the little pulp anthology things with kaiju on the cover and titles yanked from monster movies (I kept flipping through one called "Monster Zero Vision") we were attacked by...a large man. Thick beard, with metal talons on his fingers reminding me of Alan Moore, and he had a dagger. He was covered in blood, raving mad, and he grabbed her, held the dagger to her throat, colours swirling around both of them, and he told me to stand back. Someone screamed "not so fast!" and he dropped the dagger. I stomped on his foot like a little kid and kicked him as hard as I could.
And then there was a noise, and the attack repeated itself. The exact same way. I never found out the outcome of this event...
“I think my existence is being challenged,” he said after some silence. He had mostly given up on drawing her, and instead took to just scribbling idly, not really looking at her, the paper, or the movie playing on the flat screen TV. “What did you say?” She wasn’t paying much attention to anything either, he noticed. Looking at the TV, not really watching, sitting almost completely still aside from her right hand, lazily and thoughtlessly playing with her nipple. “Exactly. My existence is being challenged. Like, I don’t know how to explain it.” He set down his sketchbook and looked up at her. Her agreeing to pose nude for him was astonishing and horribly frustrating at the same time. He liked her, he wanted her, to touch her, hold her, kiss her, be with her. She could care less, and she already had a long line of admirers to begin with. They were just friends and not even a little nudity could change that. He thought for a moment. She finally turned and looked at him, realizing he‘d stopped drawing. “I was supposed to have dinner with Alyssa the other night. We talked that morning. She said she’d call.” “And?” She stopped posing, stopped toying with her nipple, and stretched. “And she never did. So after hours of waiting, sitting there starving while watching the sun set, I called her. Multiple times. She never answered. Why is it that every girl on this planet has a cellphone attached to her, and yet they won’t call when they say they will, or answer my calls?” “You think she forgot about you?”
He sighed, then continued. “It’s not like I’m fading from the universe itself or anything like that. It’s more like…like people forget I exist, you know?”
She just looked back at the TV, no longer interested in what he was saying. “You’re so weird sometimes.”
“Why is it so difficult? To spend time with someone I have to go through so much effort, bend over backwards through a fucking flaming hoop while dodging throwing knives. No one will meet me halfway…”
“Are you done drawing?”
“What? I guess. I don’t know.” He looked at his sketchbook. He knew he had work to do, he just didn’t want to do it. He felt small, and weary. He felt lonely.
He looked back up at her. She was checking her phone. He knew she didn’t care. He sighed again and looked at the TV, remembered how much the movie that was playing depressed him.
“You’re not even paying attention, are you?”
“What?” she asked without looking up.
“Nothing. Nevermind.” He sighed again. “Forget I said anything.”
She probably did.
I can't sleep.
It's only the first night here and I'm not doing well at all. I'm alone in this room, and restless. Depressed. About what? Fucking what am I depressed about?! I am filled with a nameless dread. This place doesn't feel right at all.
It's like my body is rejecting this place. Like my lungs are damaged by the very air around me. I'm feeling sick.
I need...what do I need? To adapt, that's what I need, I need to adapt to this new location, but everything here just makes me horribly uncomfortable, nothing sits well.
This headache, my God man, it's annoying.
I got lost coming back here, you know. I don't know how. I thought I was going the same way I'm supposed to, but I was apparently wrong, and I had to figure my way back. It's like this place doesn't want me here.
I thought I heard someone outside my door earlier. That can't be good.
It's so fucking cold, too. And then there's the persistent wind-like noise coming through the walls, from the air conditioning I suppose.
My blood hurts. I need sleep...
We decided to take a break and rest in some beat-up old school bus in the middle of the huge junkyard we were wandering through. The thing was covered in rust, its tires flat, windows dusty, and we had Jake basically tear the door off when it refused to open. The leather seats were ripped, worn out, and smelled a bit nasty, but no one seemed to care. I crashed somewhere close to the back. In the very back, Sorydia practically hid herself, her head down, tapping away at some GPS map program thing on her handheld computer. I thought it was a videogame. Jake sat behind me. It’s always funny since he so rarely sits, he has a hard time figuring it out. Dusty took the seat across from Sorydia, leaning his head against the window and occasionally glancing at her, annoyed that she wasn’t paying attention to him. A few seats ahead of me was where Penelope sat with Chester, both of them leaning into each other and muttering about God knows what. We were all rather tired from all the walking, soaked in sweat from that wonderful sun that was hanging directly above us. I was staring at my feet, trying to straighten all my thoughts out, when Sorydia spoke up. “Treble. Someone’s coming.” My head jerked up. “Really? Is that thing you’re messing with some kind of radar?” “No, you idiot, I’m using my powers.” “Oh. Right. I keep forgetting you have those.” “Duh. Look out your window.” I did as she said. I wiped the dust off the window with a scrap of leather torn off of the seat in front of mine, which was hardly effective, and squinted my eyes. Six people were heading our way, but they weren’t aware of us, as they kept looking around. They all wore heavy-looking coats. Some of them had hats, one or two of them had actual honest-to-god bug-eyed gasmasks. “Who are they, Sory? Any idea?” I turned to see if she was looking, but she was still buried in the handheld computer. “No idea. They’re not Machinas, and obviously they’re not robots either.” Somewhere in my head a voice cursed Sorydia’s weird mental abilities, and I turned back to looking at the group as they came closer. “What do we do?” asked Dusty. He didn’t sound concerned, just wanted to be in on the conversation. I shrugged. “Hope they’re nice, I suppose.” I squinted my eyes again, wiping off leftover dust with the back of my hand. One of those people looked extremely familiar, but I couldn’t be sure. Her hair was the darkest possible brown without it being black, and neon green streaks ran through it. Her jacket was a blue-ish grey, the hood lined with peppery fur, her hands thrust in its pockets. A surgical mask covered her nose and mouth, but I knew who it was. “Sory, remember that one girl you never really liked but were attracted to nevertheless? With the green streaks? What was her name?” “Rebecca.” “Yeah. She’s out there. With five others.” “That’s nice.” Pure Sorydia-flavored apathy. “Who?” Chester asked, half-paying attention. “Rebecca…something or other. I can’t remember last names. Two grades below me, green streaks in her hair, loves graffiti. That’s about all I know about her. Always gave me funny looks in the hall.” “Lots of people gave you funny looks. They still do,” Dusty chimed in. “Need I remind you I can shoot blades out of my hands?” I shot him a mean look and he lowered his head. As luck would have it, Rebecca was another girl I happened to like, despite hardly knowing her. I never tried, really, especially since her boyfriend looked like Nosferatu’s son and I was afraid that if we made eye contact he’d turn me into stone or something. I always wondered how guys like him got girls like Rebecca. I still do, actually, but that’s besides the point. I decided that if she was with the group, and not dead, then they could be of some use. I struggled until something snapped and I got the window open. Sorydia finally looked up, clearly annoyed, as I stuck my arm out to wave as I shouted like a complete moron. “HEY! REBECCA! IT’S ME, TREBLE, FROM SCHOOL! DO YOU REMEMBER ME?!” The look in Rebecca’s eyes was complete bewilderment. The other five people, one girl, four guys, all looked at me as if I were the world’s loudest retard. One of them, the girl, said something to Rebecca. I couldn’t hear, but Rebecca shrugged and they started walking towards the bus at a more brisk pace. “Why the hell did you do that?” Sorydia asked as I pulled my arm and head back in. “Um. I don’t know.” I really didn’t. “They’re people. I like people. And you said they weren’t Machinas.” “They might be.” “You should’ve said that before. Here they come.” Rebecca walked up to my window, withdrawing a hand from its pocket to pull down her surgical mask. She was smirking. That kind of bothered me. “Treble! Found a tour bus for your band, I see.” That’s when I remembered she would show up at shows when I was actually playing. I didn’t know what to feel about that. “God, I wish. Get on the bus.” “Treble!” Sorydia started to protest. As they started to get on the bus, I counted off how long it would take before someone noticed Jake. “Why is there a robot here?” “His name is Jake, leave him alone.” Six seconds. Everyone took a separate seat, the guys holding their gasmasks and the girl taking off her hat. Rebecca sat in the seat directly across from mine, making me nervous. She didn’t notice, as she was too busy being creeped out by Jake. “So what the hell are you doing here?” I asked. “Why do you have a robot with you? And what‘s up with your eyes?” she asked. “Long story, tell me what you’re doing.” “Hi Sorydia,” Rebecca said when she noticed her in the back. “Hi.” She didn’t bother looking up. Neither did Dusty. I looked at the people Rebecca came with. I knew the other girl from somewhere, but the four guys were complete mysteries to me. They definitely went to a different school. And they definitely weren’t Machinas, otherwise they would’ve jumped Jake and I while screaming madly. After a moment’s thought, Rebecca spoke again. “Do you believe in aliens?” Oh God. Maybe they were Machinas. “I…what?” Her crew gave me mean looks. “These guys are Elaine’s friends.” Elaine, of course, being the other girl. That’s when I remembered they were best friends. “They believe that the reason everything is messed up is because of extraterrestrials messing with Earth.” “Oh, really?” Something told me these guys were more cracked than the Machinas. “Yeah. It sounds loony, but really, that’s the best way to explain why everything is so messed up.” “So my uhh, eyes, are the result of alien tampering?” I figured mentioning the ability to shoot black blade things out of my hands at will would be a bad idea at the moment. “Well, umm, yeah, I guess so. They are a bit unnerving, but they fit!” “That’s reassuring. But that doesn‘t explain what you‘re doing here.” Sorydia spoke up again before Rebecca could say anything. “Treble. Machinas. From the other direction, headed this way.” “Machinas?” “You’re kidding.” “What the fuck are Machinas?” One of the UFO guys said. “Crazy cult. Believe that this is all the work of God. Or something to that effect. You guys could compare notes with them or something. They’re after Sorydia and I though. And Jake. They’ve also got Serenade, remember her?” “The weird girl with the broken arm, had a bit of an accent, I think we had chemistry together.” “That’s the one. Took her and some others from the school, for God only knows what reason, but they’re annoying as hell and would like to see me dead. How many are there, Sory?” “A bunch,” she responded, clasping her computer shut and shoving it in her bag. “We should probably go now. Nice seeing you, Rebecca.” “Wait, could we come with you?” Rebecca asked, looking at me. Why she thought I was the leader of the group is beyond me. “Right, yes, okay, sure, let’s just get out of here. C’mon Jake.” Penelope and Chester were already off the bus, and I heard Penelope scream. There was a loud noise, kind of a popping sort of noise, and I looked out the windows to see guys in riot gear with shields and tear gas grenades. One of the grenades had been thrown and Penelope and Chester were lost in the smoke. “Police? What’s going on here?” Elaine asked, scrambling out of her seat. “No, not police, crazy cultists, and they must‘ve raided a fucking police station,” I shouted as everyone was trying to get out. Jake did the smart thing and punched out the door in the back of the bus, making a retreat easier. I told everyone to get behind the bus as Jake charged the Machinas. There were at least eight of them, and Jake sent one of them flying into a pile of old tires. I joined him, leaping and kicking one right in the face before he could get his stolen riot shield up. Just what are the prerequisites for joining up with the Machinas? Tenacity and kleptomania? More tear gas grenades went off, and I heard Sorydia scream. More of them must’ve come, attacked from the other side. I couldn’t really see too well. Something hit me in the hip that stung hard. Rubber bullets, I figured. That’s not enough to stop Jake or myself, though. And then I spotted one guy wielding a huge gun, like out of a sci-fi movie, looking like it’ll fall apart at any moment. He pulled the trigger, and a bolt of lightning crackled out of the barrel, striking Jake and knocking him to the ground, convulsing in a way only robots could. Then he pointed it at me, pulled the trigger. Lightning hit my chest and everything went white, then black…
His first reaction was to scream. It came out as a series of A's, some capitalized, some lower-case. His voice echoed through the halls of his now-empty castle fortress on his tiny man-made island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Eventually his throat, from weariness and possibly humiliation, gave out to half-sobs and groans. "Not again," Master Errata, ironically named, muttered to himself. He pulled off his half-mask, tore off his cape, and slowly stepped away from the monitors. "Where did I go wrong?" he whispered as he began pacing, without direction.
His first thought was: REVENGE. But he knew that was a terrible thought, even for a villain such as himself. Errata stood, staring at the floor, then up at the ceiling, then back down at the floor. He did not cry, for strong villains do not cry. He began to make his way out of the lab, activating a small recording device conveniently attached to one of his shoulderpads. "Is that why, why she never mentioned it?" Master Errata began, taking slow steps through his museum. "I know how the conversation will go, when this is brought up. Something along the lines of, 'oh, I only liked you as a friend,' she'll say. But that's how it went with the others! Curse and damn my terrible luck, both at once!"
His first regret was building her a diamond-powered death ray. His second regret was buying her a diamond necklace to go with it. "Is it my face? That wasn't entirely my fault to begin with! That scoundrel, the Greased Lightningman, it was he who thrust my face into the chemical vat!" He began to climb the stairs, one at a time, to the highest point of the tallest tower in his castle. "Was I too nice? Too caring, too subtle? Was it because I wasn't daring enough to commit the kind of villainous acts she wished to do? I mean, I'm trying to take over the fucking world here, with minimal superhero intervention, I'm not looking to make new enemies or destroy mankind! My goals are not so lofty! Was it because she thought my plans were weak, or uninspired?" He climbed still more steps. "Was it my admittedly bizarre tastes in home decor? Just what happened, what went wrong, why do I always fuck this up?!"
He reached the top of the tower. The moon hid from Master Errata, behind dark purple clouds. Years ago he'd launched another woman, whom he had been quite smitten with before things got sour, into the moon. He put her in a capsule, with no spacesuit, and fired her from a cannon. Her belongings were stuffed in a treasure chest, currently the only thing which resides in his dungeon so far below him. "But," he said, thinking about that long lost love, "now her ghost haunts me every night. And because one ghost is bad enough, that is why, my dear, I cannot kill you. I've no room for another ghost. I cannot wish any terrible fate upon you, for I do not want to make your life any more difficult than it already is, than it was before you and I had even crossed paths like we did."
Master Errata sighed, and switched off the recording device. He considered sending it to her some way, but decided against it. He also decided against suicide as well, and on top of that decided against giving up his job. The thought of setting ablaze the moon or a small island sounded therapeutic at first, but instead he stared at the sky, thinking about his string of relationships that ended painfully, mentally tallied up another, and began his trek back down the tower, to the inner sanctum of his castle, to consult a Sleeping Old One From the Dank Universe about finding true love and conquering the pathetic planet which he lived on...
"SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP FUCKING SNAPPY SNAP" the mako shark said as he was finding himself surrounded by 1000 angry jellyfish who wished to sting and paralyze him to death simply because he was a mako shark and therefore capable of devouring at least half of them with his teeth that were actually razorwire not razorwire but razor sharp sharper than the sharpest sharpest thing of metal like a robot dance dance dance shoot shoot shoot like a robot because it's time to split dammit and we need to find the time crystals before Hitler loses his virginity to a giant mechanical umbillical spider syllables from Mars the Mars beatnik bs don't shiv yo that rassin frassin elementary bald man with the mustache of apparent DOOM.
She wants you to call her at seven, you agree, and you sit and try to make the time pass quickly. Instead though, at 6:30 she calls you, wanting to see you, wanting to come over. So you wait outside for her to arrive because you noticed something odd in her voice, out of place...It makes you restless, bothered, until she arrives.
She pulls up, opens the door, and you know right away she's been crying. A lot. Your heart sinks and the questions float in your brain. All you can do is hug her, tightly as possible.
Then she tells you everything, and you sit...speechless. You feel stupid, because she's upset, everything is going bad for her, and you can't say a single damn thing. So you and your dog just do what you can.
You both go inside, she drops to the bed and you drop next to her and just lay and talk, until she makes you play guitar.
You suck. Horribly. You haven't played in forever, and it shows. But she's amused, and that's the important thing.
You're uncomfortable when she wants to leave. She acts a bit cheered up, but you're not so sure, and you KNOW that when she gets home, things are going to get so difficult again.
You're worried again...
It was just a single moment. The rest of the dream is forgettable, except for that one moment: us, huddled close, the two of us, I'm telling her something, something that I think is funny, and in the midst of doing it, I catch a flicker in her eyes and as I'm talking, our lips brush each other quickly. It wasn't a kiss. But it was so close.
And I woke up soon after with a real soul-hurt feeling because I don't know if something like that will ever truly happen or not with her.
Yes, Universe, you suck, because I just KNOW it's your fault and you're laughing at me for it.
First I have a difficult time getting to sleep for the same reason I didn't think I could write a blog.
Then, when I finally do get to sleep, what do I dream about? Going to the house of some pothead I'm no longer friends with, to get money from him, only to find that for one thing his house looks like someone else's, and, for another thing, to find him with his head shaved, wearing a dress, screaming at the deadbeat pothead girl that used to be dating him, before clocking her in the back of the head with a high-heeled shoe off of his own foot. And she was dressed in a blue dress like from Alice in Wonderland. All the while, a little dog with the face of a possum is rubbing up against me and getting itself tangled up in the cord of the ancient vacuum cleaner that the pothead's mom is using.
Her response to all of this? Same as the pothead's: "Why didn't you call the cops instead, just coming for the money personally is such a hassle."
Thank God, that's when I woke up. Thinking it was Monday. Arg. I'm gonna be off balance all this week...
