Thursday, May 29, 2014

Granola Prose XX

The Writer looked around. It had been so long since he had last visited his epic that everything was different. This couch. This laptop. This operating system. Even his browser looked different, as did his body. Both had acquired new rounded outlines.

"Oh, it's just so sad, the passing of time!" he howled fatly.

"And why is that?" asked his wife, poking her head around the corner. "You know what happens when time passes? Wounds heal, things are learned, lives are changed and the world becomes a better place. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, but humanity is and has been on an upward trend since pretty much forever."

"Poppycock," the Writer said. He liked that word. The Wife had a point, but he wanted to use poppycock so he did, because this was a free country.

"The very notion of a 'free country' isn't that old, but can you imagine the outcry if someone tried to get rid of it tomorrow? You can type horrible things--barely literate things!--and shove them into the faces of an unsuspecting public, and you'll barely even get executed."

"Okay, okay. I admit to your point-having. Now poke your head back around that corner. I have epics to unfurl."

Stubs had never heard of a timequake before. He knew enough to know that he didn't know everything, and so he knew that simply living would continually present him with things whose existence he had never even surmised. Just because he didn't know what to call something didn't mean it didn't exist or that it wasn't really, really terrible.

He was glad to know that this sensation he was now experiencing had a name, so that he could avoid it in the future. Timequakes, he mused as the fragments of his consciousness were squeezed through the void between reality's nucleus and its electron shell, felt like your whole existence was a throat that needed clearing, and you weren't allowed to go ahem.

"Ahem," said a voice.

"Lucky bastard!" cried Stubs. "If I ever get my body and my hammer back, I'll give you such a hamming!"

"That wouldn't be a very good way to treat your accomplice. Especially not after all the odors you've subjected me to."

Stubs opened his eyes. He was in a swamp. Sitting in it, in fact. A small cloud of steam was wafting away from him and dissipated as he watched. His whole lower body felt hot.

"Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no." He lurched to his feet, and fell back again into the turbid water. His legs didn't work yet. He slapped around in the water, trying to locate his hammer.

"It's okay. Calm down," said Becky. "Here's your hammer. It arrived a couple minutes before you did. Come here, you've got to see this. It'll cheer you up, I think." She hooked her arms under Stubs' and hauled him up. "Hey, Tony! Stubs made it! Wanna see if he's got any bread?"

There was an angry fluttering of wings and a duck exploded from a nearby bush. "If he doesn't, I'll kill him and I don't even know why!" it shrieked in Tony's voice. "I can't help myself!" The duck hit the water with a plop in an ungainly tangle of feathers and goofy orange feet. "Arrrrgh! This shitty little body!" it shrieked again.

"Heh," said Becky.

"Ahem," said Stubs.

"Wonk," said Tony's original body.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Granola Prose XIX

The interaction with Gulliver had been so strange and fart-worthy Stubs had not noticed the tremors that had begun shaking the ground until they were so violent as to cause the television to jerk across the cave floor, its base making horrid little screeching sounds as it went. 

“We hasn’t the patience for a timequake. Does we, Samuel?” Gulliver bent his head toward his breast pocket and waited for a moment. Then he looked at Stubs. “We hasn’t.” 

Stubs was finding it difficult to maintain his balance as the cave floor began to pitch and buck. “What’s a timequake!” He had to yell the question, as the shaking was now accompanied by a roar that increased in volume with each passing moment. 

Gulliver responded by slapping forward to save his endangered television. “Must take television with us!” 

“For the love of mead!” Stubs yelped, as rocks began falling from the cave roof. “What is happening?” 

The tremors caused the perfectly-sized boulder to pop out of the hole and Stubs heard Tony and Edward chortle and wonk respectively. 

“Gotcha this time, you shitty dwarf!” Tony’s face appeared at the hole. It was menacing and gross. He squeezed through the opening and dropped to the floor with a good deal more aplomb than Stubs had managed. Edward sashayed through as if he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“Would someone please tell me what is happening! I’m about to lose my patience and hammer someone!” Stubs felt himself losing all sense of dignity. 

“We called in a little favor from a nasty wizard friend of mine,” Tony said. “He happens to be an expert in timequakes.” 

The cave was shaking so badly Stubs could barely hear anything the antagonist was saying. Even Edward’s piercing wonks were muffled by the roar. 

Just then a giant boulder detached from the cave roof and fell toward Gulliver, who was still attempting to steady his television. He was howling with fury at the interruption. “We must knows what happens to Don Draper!” Locked in the battle of his life, Gulliver failed to notice as Edward the Cookie fell out of his pocket and landed on the floor in a little cloud of lint. 

“Gulliver!” Stubs waved his arms, trying to warn the weird little dude of his impending doom. 

The boulder hurtled downward and Stubs braced himself for impact. It promised to be squishy and awful. Instead, Gulliver melted before the impact, as if the boulder were eating instead of crushing him. A rain of fragments showered the cave room, several of which struck Stubs on the legs and arms. The dwarf stared at the points of impact. The bits of rock had passed directly through his clothing and flesh, gone straight through, leaving pinpricks of emptiness behind them. As he stood there, frozen with disbelief, another piece of the roof fell. He looked up just as it dropped onto his right shoulder, which promptly disappeared without a trace. 

Stubs looked at Tony, fear gripping his throat. “By all the beards in Whimsidor, what’s happening? 

“Your dwarf, doom! I mean, your doom, dwarf!” Tony said, barely able to speak between his snorting laughter. “The timequake will be your undoing!” 

“And yours too, it appears,” Stubs said, watching a chunk of rock eat away Tony’s left foot. 

“Ah, but that is the plan.” Tony grinned evilly and picked up Samuel. He blew off a bit of lint and then popped the cookie into his mouth. “The timequake spell dismantles everything in its target area down to its molecular level, transports it to another time and place, and then reassembles it! The beauty of the spell is that the person responsible for the spell always reassembles first. Aaaaaand, that would be meeeeeee!” Tony sang this last in a jolly tone quite unsuited to him. “That means when you finally reappear, I’ll be there waiting for you! You’ve led me on quite a chase, over hills and dales, through swamps and forests, past insane rulers sitting on thrones made of compressed clown wigs, and off the sides of cliffs. But now I will have my rev--” 

Just then the entire cave roof collapsed in a deafening rumble of rock and dust and magic.