Munmun

by Jesse Andrews

  The guards fished us all out with a net and plopped us in a blank little bedless cage together and I thought, here we go, battleroyale, before anyone attacks me I should probably attack dopey Starling, he fights the least good, let Nick and Puppyneck jack each other up.

  But the guards didn’t put the cage down, so we couldn’t get our footing, so no fight.

  “Okay, littleshits,” said Wilt. “Here’s what’s happening. We have someone here who wants to run an experiment on violent kidprisoners, ay kay ay, you.”

  We just stared at him, Nick spat on the ground.

  “Great,” said Wilt. “If you don’t want to be in an experiment, speak now, no one’s saying anything, okay great, let’s get started.”

  Then they carried us outside and there was someone huge in the yard.

  But it wasn’t an old scientist, instead it was a middlerich girl there waiting for us, our age even. This girl was doublescale atleast, closer to twoandahalf, that’s why they took us outside to meet her, this lucky richgirl’s not squeezing into Littlebighouse.

  She seemed familiar to me, I had no idea why.

  “So these are the worst ones, for sure,” said Wilt to this girl. “The kid with the neckpuppy is a squadleader, baldy is addicted to everything, crazy eyes over here yells at ghosts, and then the frowny jacked one in the corner is just mean and stupid, we call him Grumpyrat, he stopped even talking months ago.”

  “Hello boys,” said the girl, and the voice was familiar too, dark and rich, my mind spun like wheels in mud.

  Nick immediately called this girl something terrible, Starling suggested ideas for how they could bang, Puppyneck and I stayed quiet.

  “You see what I mean, these scumbags are awfull,” said Wilt.

  But she opened her mouth, hesitated, then said, “They’re perfect. Guys, my name is Kitty, and I’m doing a schoolproject on dreams.”

  She said this and I got a sick feeling behind the eyes, like I wanted to cry and couldn’t.

  Puppyneck maybe felt what I felt, because he told her rightaway, “Sorry, richgirl. We don’t dream.”

  She thought it was a joke, realized it wasn’t, slowly dropped her smile, turned to Wilt.

  “None of them dream?” she said.

  “Prettymuch, nope,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said. “Well, that’s a problem, because for the project, I need to dream with them.”

  “Look, you wanted to meet them, here you are, didn’t make any promises about what they could do,” said Wilt.

  “Don’t any of you dream?” she asked us.

  I should have spoke up, but didn’t, couldn’t, I don’t know.

  To this girl I was Grumpyrat, the mean dumb jacked one who says nothing, and it broke my mouth, my tongue was dull and fat, my voicepipe had no tread to catch the air.

  So I stayed shutup as Nick called this girl another horrible thing and Starling said, “Sure I dream, sweetieboo, everynight I dream about life in that tittycrack.”

  “Well,” said Kitty and paused, and finally said, “thanks for your time, I guess, and sorry for bothering you.”

  And she got up to go, a little creaky and shaky I guessed from disappointment or just crouching down to talk to littlepoors.

  The guards took us back into Littlebighouse, dumped us back into our cages, laughed at these dumb scumbags.

  Two or three days went by, sad days of trying not to think about how I used to dream, try not to try to remember how I know this girl, probably I can’t remember and anyway my memories are like a hot painfull Dreamworld, torture to enter.

  Puppyneck was eyeing me from timetotime, having talks with the faceboys, maybe it’s time to bust my face and gutbones again.

  Then he stepped to my bunk one evening.

  “Warner, time for us to talk, bro to bro,” he said.

  He was talking kind of low and he didn’t have his faceboys with him.

  “Heck you want,” I said.

  “No grief, no crap,” he said, hands open.

  “Heck you want, face,” I repeated.

  He twinkled his eyes and said, “Dave, I respect you. You’ve taken many pulpings from me and my guys, you’re tough as heck, I respect you and I like you even.”

  “Get to the point, scumbag,” I said.

  “In a week it’s my birthday,” he said. “I’ll be sickteen. So I’m headed to grownjail.”

  “Congrats,” I said.

  “I have one piece of unfinishedbusiness,” he said. “That’s you, dave. When I leave here, I need you to be one of two things. A faceboy, or not breathing anymore.”

  “Is that right,” I said, deciding, be tough and who cares.

  He was relaxed but not casual, a tough smart squadleader style.

  “That’s right,” he said, “because if you’re neither of those things when I get to grownjail, they’re not going to be very happy with Puppyneck,” he said.

  “That’s sad for you,” I said.

  “It would be sad for sure,” agreed Puppyneck. “You know in grownjail they mix littles and middles. So if I don’t take care of my faceboy responsibilities, probably the way I die is, get eaten. I’ll get dunkfried by some faceboy with kitchenprivileges, then munched by some middles. That’s how I guess they’ll do me unless I finish my business with you.”

  “Nice to think about,” I said.

  “Goodnews is, you get to decide,” said Puppyneck. “So look into the future and tell me. Are you dead in a week or did I draw a face on you.”

  “Funny, I’m not seeing either of those,” I told him.

  Puppyneck smiled at me, the puppyface on his neck bulged and frowned.

  “Warner,” he murmured. “Don’t waste yourself. It would be sad and needless. Don’t waste your brain, don’t waste your body.”

  And he leaned closer to tell me, “I’ll make you a squadboss after I go. My guys respect you. You’ll run these cages, dave.”

  I wasn’t expecting that and so I had to shut up and just think about it.

  “Take tonight to think about it, then tomorrow tell me that you want to live,” said Puppyneck, and before I could stop him he squeezed a knot of my hair in his fist like we were bros, locked eyes, bumped skulls.

  So my choices were death or scumbag life forever.

  A ghost murmured in one ear, a ghost muttered in the other, angel and devil, the angel was the cowsoy girl Grace, the devil was enormous judge from before.

  Grace said, you can’t be a faceboy, faceboys are scum, you’re not scum.

  Judge said, oh for sure you’re a scumbag, admit it, no need to die pretending you’re not terrible.

  Grace said, if you say yes to the faceboys, they’ll never let you back out, it’s a new kind of tunnel with no end.

  Judge said, the tunnel gets a lot nicer if you’re not digging alone anymore, imagine it, friendly diggers next to you and no more worrying about beatings and pulpings.

  Grace said, Faceboy Church is like New Planetary, like any cult, they want your goodworks for life, except instead it’s badworks, works of, steal, pimp, beat, kill.

  Judge said, what’s better than joining a church, a church gives you friendsforlife, in this case tough friends, a squad, a team, many savage daves all helping you, not like your old dumb team of a sis who scales up without you and a bud with bad stuttershakes who is probably dead.

  Grace said, say you join the faceboys and finally you graduate from jail, you’re out on the street, say the faceboys ask you to rob that foodstand there and they’re pointing to mine, Grace Family Cowsoy, would you do it? Say my dad scrambles for a knife, would you kill my dad? My mom scampers for a gun, would you kill my mom?

  Judge said, shut up Grace, listen Warner, the world has been terrible to you all life long, you owe the terrible world nothing, not even a girl who gave you water once, then in the morning said you can’t even live in the garbage.

  Grace said, what about the Lord King God.

  Judge said, what about him.

  Grac
e said, when you die the Lord King God will ask you, what did you do with your life, were you evil because it was easier, and what are you going to say.

  Judge said, Warner, you know you don’t believe in any of that dumb crap.

  Grace said, the point isn’t if you believe in the Lord King God, the point is he’s right, ask yourself, do I need to live so much that I’m okay with making the world worse.

  Judge said, it’s your only life, don’t lose it pretending to be someone better than you are.

  I fell asleep to them, not knowing who to trust, liking Grace, believing the judge.

  For the first time in a year I dreamed and I didn’t know why rightaway.

  I was in the cages, mostly alone, a few other jailbirds fuzzily floated, drifted, and tumbled.

  Then POP POP POP, Wilt jumped out of a doorway and shot me overandover, roaring joyfully. I was reddrenched like in shootemups.

  “Okay, you got me,” I said.

  “Bang bang bang bang bang,” he said. “Thought you didn’t dream, redshit.”

  “First time in a while,” I said.

  “Brap brap brap brap chukka chukka chukka,” he said, shooting me with many guns.

  It was a strain to dream anything with all the gunshots but I dreamed up some hard rubbery skins for myself, unshootable.

  “Maybe it’s a dumb question, but why are you shooting me,” I said.

  “I’m waking you up,” he said. “Can’t let you sneak out and terrorize lawfull citizens in Dreamworld.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t leave,” I said.

  “BOOM,” he said, now bombing me.

  “We could just talk, I could dream things for you,” I offered.

  “BOOM BLOOM, BLAM BAM,” he announced with his smoky bombs.

  “Fine, bytheway who was that girl Kitty,” I said.

  He spun bombs in his hands, not wanting to say anything.

  But he couldn’t not talk, that was how much he hated this girl.

  “Ugh, the bitch daughter of the jerk cityboss of Wet Almanac,” said Wilt. “What can I do, my boss tells me I need to do this favor, let her talk to you, I got no choice. But it makes me sick, doing anything for that family. Political nitwits trying to make everything about scale, classwarfare, it’s disgusting.”

  “What do you mean,” I said, but Wilt was done talking to me, back to bombing and gunning, the room was flashing, thundering, bombsaway, impossible to stay asleep, I woke up and couldn’t get back to Dreamworld.

  In the morning finally I couldn’t dodge what I knew and it smashed me over my poor dozy head.

  How did I know Kitty, I knew her from the seedflowerbirdhouse, that’s how.

  Kitty was the girl with the richdrink voice of notes made out of notes made out of notes.

  Kitty was the only dreamer better than me, the dreamer who could sing.

  And what I thought was: I need to find Kitty in Dreamworld, listen to that voice again, one last time.

  What I allofasudden knew was: If I hear her sing one more time it will make everything clear somehow, I know it.

  I need to hear that voice again and whatever happens next will be okay, me pulped to death, me tatted up and in a squad, me killing innocents, it will be okay.

  So when Puppyneck wanted my answer I told him I needed another night.

  “You shouldn’t,” he said.

  “Why would your faceboys let me boss them,” I said.

  “For one thing, because they like tough smart bosses,” says Puppyneck. “But here’s the real reason: because I told them to. We’re not psychos. We got deep respect for rules, systems, orders, loyalty. It’s not a hard decision, dave. It’s a better life than you ever had, better friends, better world, and I’m troubled to see you whiffing and waffling like this.”

  “One more night,” I said.

  He frowned, fingertapped my skull, walked away.

  Prayer came to visit around lunch, tearstreak cheeks, trembly jaw, more badnews.

  “Paddy lost a ton of munmun,” she told me. “Ohmygod, so much.”

  “How,” I made my mouth say.

  “Freaking vidpoker,” she trembled. “Freaking riggedup cheating robots on vidpoker, our munflow is cleanedout and he owes payments on the Quickstand, payments to New Planetary, it’s suchamess.”

  I saw Belt listening in and headshaking sadly like, I’ve heard that bedtimestory before.

  “So what happens now,” I asked.

  She stared me down, took two hard breaths, and said in a driedup voice, “Well, one of two things can happen now, either we lose the stand, or he loses me.”

  “When will you know,” I asked.

  “I think I know already,” she shivered.

  “Dang, that breaks my heart a little, gotta tell you vidcards are pure poison,” Belt told me after she left.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Neverforget, those robots are smarter than you, and if you think you’re smarter, that’s exactly what they want you to think,” Belt informed me, caging me up.

  “Belt, can I ask you to show me something,” I said.

  “Depends on what, redfish,” he said.

  “I just want to look at a high school, like pictures of it,” I said.

  He didn’t question me, instead just opened picsearch on his foldout phone, probably weird and old but still amazing tech to me.

  “How about Wet Almanac Middlerich High School,” I said, heartthumping.

  “Sure, that’s a nice one,” he said, typing it in, and pics came up, maps, threedee zoomthroughs.

  Yeah it was a nice one, unbelievable honestly, basically a hotel resort getaway on a beautifull cliffside, gyms, pools, gardens, theaters, screenrooms, planetariums, canyonviews, paradise.

  “Be nice to go there, huh,” said Belt.

  “Yup,” I said, furiously memorizing it.

  “What a life,” said Belt, and he folded up his phone and took me back to the cage.

  • • •

  That night I tried hard to sleep and dream, not just doze, but it was hard. The psycho Nick was in my cage that night, more tweaked than usual, Wilt had played shootemups all afternoon and now Nick was glaring and sweating and making wild threats.

  “Go to sleep, allofyou, nightynight, can’t wait to bite through your necks,” he yelled, stuff like that.

  I glanced over and vampire psycho was staring right at me.

  Ohwell, I thought.

  I relaxed, breathed deep through the nose, closed the eyes, slowed the heart.

  In Dreamworld, Wilt was waiting.

  “POP POP BOOOOOM,” he yelled, sniping with rifles, then following up with a bazooka, overkilling, joyfull.

  “Crap, I’m awake,” I yelled to make him happy, and fell through the floor, notawake still.

  I tunneled down into the ground and all the way through to the nightsky bottom, fell out of the sky like a diving kite, wild and wobbly because no control, outofpractice, skidded facefirst into the highschool roof, rumpling tiles like carpet.

  And here I was above the big beautifull campus, comfortable middleriches allaround, lacking homework, being naked, banging in the grass, typical schooldreams.

  But no Kitty anywhere.

  “Here we go,” I thought, also said, and made a grumpy rat.

  My plan was to make a huge one, a giant scowler you can see for miles, Kitty sees him through the window or wherever she is and thinks, “Grumpyrat, why is that familiar, AHA.”

  And then she will come find me, I will ask her please sing to me one more time, she will sing.

  I will hear it and then know, can I die or do I need to live.

  So I sat on the roof of the beautifull high school and made a rat with a funny grumpy cartoon face, red, jacked arms and legs, a perfect rat to signal that Warner is on your schoolroof,

  only one problem, the rat was tiny.

  Get big, I said to the rat.

  But it didn’t.

  I tried to dream it bigger.

  But it was
nightmare dreaming, flailing and failing, no control.

  Mom and Dad used to tell me some mornings, beautifull dreaming, little redfish, and I know it feels effortless, but just remember kiddo, most people can’t just dream whatever they want, you’ll learn this too one day, dreams are out of your control sometimes.

  Manohman would that be terrible, I used to think, good thing I’m special, it will never happen to me.

  No, it can happen to you, Warner, infact after a dreamless year in kidjail, ofcourse it’s what happens.

  Come on, I begged my perfect grumpy rat, holding him in my hands, trying to make him big big big, but he refused, just kind of lolled around and if anything shrank.

  What a new bad feeling, the feeling of you don’t control your own mind.

  “No no no,” I pleaded.

  In a panic I gripped him and tried to throw him up in the air atleast, but he had the weight of a brick, unthrowable.

  “RAT,” I yelled. “GET HUGE.”

  The little rat cleaned his whiskers, chuckled, scuttled around on the tile.

  First I felt despair.

  Then another feeling, a funny tickle on the neck.

  I realized what it was, told myself WAKE UP, but couldn’t rightaway, frozen, paralyzed.

  The tickle became pain, prettybad, darkred, hotsmelling.

  Last thing I saw in Dreamworld was, furious rat finally swelling up like a balloon.

  LIFEANDDEATHWORLD

  So, Nick bites my neck and here’s what happens next.

  I elbow his face before he finishes murdering me, but still major damage to the neck area forsure, permanent scars, hospital time for Warner, in jail they call it coreandteen.

  The bitewound gets an infection, no surprise because it came from a psycho’s mouth, fever, rot, basically the doctor sprays me with poisons, hope the infection dies and not Warner.

  A week goes by, pills and liquids keep me sleeping dreamlessly, dozing painfully. Somewhere out there my sis is maybe getting divorced and losing everything. Somewhere out there Puppyneck graduates to grownjail, maybe they kill him, eat him, no idea. Somewhere maybe Usher is alive.

  One morning I wake up, the neck is throbbing but the air in my lungs feels clean, the worst is over.

  “Better,” asks the doc.