Munmun

by Jesse Andrews

  “Boss, I need little stuttershakes,” I told him. “Gotta take him somewhere more secure.”

  Shoulderheads looked up at me now, confused.

  “What’s your name,” he said.

  “Sharktum,” I said.

  He looked at my tum.

  Okay whatever, no more pretending, I thought.

  I pointed my gun at his tum.

  “Okay look,” I said. “I’m stealing that little guy. Your choices are, be chill and quiet, or bleed a lot from the tum.”

  He chuckled a little.

  “Man are you dumb,” he said, swiping at the gun, but I was twitchy and tweaky, too fast for this slow strangler, immediately I had bashed his throat.

  He slid off his stool, did some medium gasping and writhing, meanwhile I picked up Usher.

  “Don’t worry, it’s me,” I told him. “It’s your buddy, Warner.”

  “I kn n know w,” squeaked little gray Usher.

  He looked bad, stubbly pimply shaved head, the back of his skull all tatted up like in Dreamworld, dirty and reeky too. But he locked eyes on mine, blinked, gave me a loopy smile.

  And my dry dusty heart couldn’t take it, it started flooding, my eyes stung, my throat lumped like somebody had bashed mine too.

  “Let me call us a ride,” I said quickly, squeeze the words out before I can choke on them.

  Because a fourth huge cleverness smacked me in the face, Warner you idiot genius, Markfive can drive right up to us through the reservewar, it’s just a dry completely waterless bowl.

  He drives a freaking tank, all doublecars are bulletproof, even if they start shooting he’s got nothing to worry about.

  He can drive right under our window, we can jump in through the sunroof, tear on out of here, rescue Usher.

  Ride to Votech, take the test, celebrate my new Mathy life with my rescued friend.

  I whipped out the phone to call my getaway driver like a brilliant hero.

  But my phone had stopped being a phone.

  Instead it was now a scolding Fresh But Chill employee.

  “Fresh But Chill had a rough time balancing your account, please press here to call Fresh But Chill to restore chill to your balance,” said my phone.

  “Dang dang dang,” I said, fighting panic, tred to swipe away the freshbutchillscreen, nope, phone’s locked.

  I tried resetting and restarting, noluck, the phone remembered that it hated me still. Fine, I punched CALL FRESH BUT CHILL, comeon comeon you evil peenheads.

  “Hello Warner,” said the Fresh But Chill robot,

  “Comeon comeon comeon,” I muttered,

  “We’ve partnered with Bankfinder to find you the nearest bank where you can rearrange your finances,” said the robot,

  “Dang dang dang,” I gritted,

  “In order to put some munmuns in munflow and resume a chill, stylish account relationship with us,” said the robot as automatically my phone became a Bankfinder, this way to the nearest bankbranch, how about you scale down a little.

  “Okay,” I told Usher, tucking him under my arm, shoving the babbling phone back into my pants, “it’s fine, it’s chill, let’s just cruise on out of here,” and maybe we could have, maybe we would have.

  But when I opened the door my dumbluck ran out, I walked right into Puppyneck.

  That dave was faster than me, a gun nosed my neck immediately.

  “You’re lucky I know you,” he joked.

  DREAMWORLD

  And thatwasthat, gameover.

  Didn’t beat the level in the shootemup, didn’t even shoot the gun once, instead they captured you, unfortunately in this game you get no extralife.

  All will be explained, Warner, first though here is what happens to you, you get a good carefull pulping.

  Instead of Mathy Retrack at Eat Votech you are now enrolled in Painy Track at the Sitadell, firststep, biggest faceboys take you into the bloodyroom, toss you backandforth like a ball, sometimes they miss, oops, you hit a wall, crash through chairs, land on glass, ourbad, lol.

  Then it’s time for some whippings, grab whatever’s handy, belt, twig, shoelace, cactus, let’s all team up and stripe Warner’s skin.

  Shoulderheads drowns people as a personal hobby, it turns out, dunk your head in some filth and hold it there, rinse, repeat.

  Finally Puppyneck takes a littlehammer and pounds your fingers flat, toes flat, ears puffy. He’s not happy about it, not sad either, just a dave doing his bloody bruisy job.

  Funny how you can not get pulped for a year but when it starts again it’s like it never stopped, backinthesaddle again, you remember all your old techniques, fight until you can’t and then let go of everything, just float high above yourself, watch yourself bleed and choke and bellow, feel every color of pain, dark, bright, every highlow note, every dullsharp smell.

  After you let yourself go it’s hard to get yourself back, takes a few days this time.

  A few days, a few nights, no visits to Dreamworld though, too much pain, too hard to breathe.

  Markfive’s drugs are draining out of your body too, that’s part of becoming your sad self again. No more robot focus, no more confident babbling, goodbye orderly brainshelves and spooky spacey weedchill.

  Now you’re a sad animal again, feeling emotions, licking wounds, realizing terrible truths as your body tries to tie its broken bones back together.

  Puppyneck came in, answered questions, explained things, patiently painted What Happens Next, spoileralert, it’s notsogood.

  First question, obviously, what’s Puppyneck even doing alive, why did the grown faceboys not fry and munch Puppyneck when he got moved to grownjail. Answer, he admits now that was all a lie, the grown faceboys didn’t care about Warner, Puppyneck made it all up to convince him to join.

  Next question, what’s Puppyneck doing out of jail so soon, how’d he get to halfscale, here’s how. The faceboys have been exploring corporate partnerships. Maybe you’ve seen the notable bigrich named Guy on the news, he’s the one striding around with a dozen beautifull middlerich ladies dangling from his arms on swings. He owns Rich Guy Credit, the corpo that umbrellas all kinds of lenders, Mun World Credit, Halfcar Easy Loan, Leafy House And Yard, Amerrycan Dream Garage.

  The faceboys wanted to expand into the loan business, meanwhile businessman Guy has always admired the hungry fresh tactics of a bloodthirsty street squad, so whatdoyousay, boys, let’s make a deal, Guy bought out a bunch of faceboy prison sentences, now they’re out free including yourstruly Puppyneck, scaledup, roaming the streets recovering overdue loans for Guy, everybody wins.

  And Usher, what happened to him, here’s what. Some frummy lawstudent adopted him as a pet for some reason, took him to classes where he learned all kinds of usefull details and strategies, gave him minty limewaters to drink and a pillow to sleep on like a little gray prince. I heard this and felt a little joy, dang, Chess, gave a home to Usher afterall, I really didn’t think you would.

  But then a few months ago Shoulderheads ran into him on the street and realized, this kid looks familiar, ohsnap it’s one of those nitwits who shot a gun at me, but before he pulped him he realized also, hmm, this guy is attending lawclasses and can probably read contracts, how usefull, so Shoulderheads swiped him, didn’t mash his head to bits, instead tatted the head and started pulling lawadvice out of it.

  And now Usher is the inhouse faceboy legal department, that little gray stutterer is a freaking genius, he’s prevented Rich Guy Credit from dismantling and selling the faceboy corpo like three different times.

  “It’s badnews he was able to dream himself to you,” realized Puppyneck, “usually we drug that guy good enough that he can’t make it to Dreamworld, might have to start giving him solodream.”

  And me, what’s going to happen to me.

  “Well ofcourse we want to take your scalemun,” said Puppyneck. “So the first stop is the bank. Then either we stomp you, strangle you, or sell you to todds, I’m not sure yet which one but trustme, you do
n’t want the todds.”

  I looked him in the dull stern eyes, is this even real, can this really be it.

  “Which bankbranch,” was my first stupid question somehow.

  “Whichever one has the earliest opening, it’s usually Dockseye, they specialize in littlepoors, tons of them over there,” said Puppyneck.

  “Okay well hey look, I was all set to take the Mathy Test, live the Mathy life, what if you let me out of here and let me make tons of munmuns and pay you a nice facetax first day of the month,” I offered.

  But my panicky words bounced off his shaking head.

  “You attacked us, dave,” he grimmed. “Shot a gun at Shoulderheads, then set off a bomb at the Sitadell. We can’t let you live.”

  “I didn’t come to attack you, only came to rescue my friend,” I told him.

  He shrugged, attacks are attacks.

  “Okay, well here’s a better idea, guesswhat, dave, it’s your luckyday, you finally got Warner to join your faceboys,” I congratulated.

  “Too late for that, Grumpyrat, you know it,” he said softly.

  I breathed, crushed the shakiness inside myself.

  “What if I tell you I’m not going inside the bank,” I asked.

  “Yeah, everybody says that,” he said. “We do some medium torturing, see if they change their minds, if not, ohwell, torture to death usually.”

  “Okay, here’s a bargain,” I bargained. “My scalemun for my freedom.”

  “Nope,” Puppyneck told me.

  “For Usher’s freedom atleast,” I begged.

  “Pretty bad deal for us, dave,” he said.

  I was quiet again, how do I get more time, what do I even do.

  “My mom’s in Dockseye, can I atleast see her one last time,” I heard myself ask, not what I thought I’d say tobehonest.

  Warner, do you sit in the cage on the way to Dockseye crushed under regrets of, Warner, ohmygod, you screwed this up so bad, so so bad, how did that happen, how did you forget what terrible things were possible, yes, yup, you do.

  Do you think, You had a chance at a goodlife, a real chance sitting firm and safe in your hands and you opened the hands and let the chance drop like an idiot, now it’s smashed on the ground, your whole stupid life, your only chance, sure, how could you not.

  You could have ignored poor Usher, atleast for one day, you could have taken Mathy Retrack like you were supposed to.

  You didn’t have to try to rescue him alone, could have found some middleriches to save Usher instead, sure the one cop was a peen but other cops are surely fine, sure maybe it would have taken a few days but some middleriches truly want to help, Hue and Kitty took a chance on you afterall.

  You could have waited, been patient, never risked yourself, done everything the middlerich way, plan and prepare, acquire and collect.

  Fill your body with time, turn the hours into inches, days into killagrams. Lose your quickness, nimbleness, littleness.

  Never lift heavy things, instead wait years and years to lift if you have to. Wait until you are huge and the things are puny.

  Never fight anyone bigger than you, only fight the people you can crush. Only rescue Usher from faceboys when you can step through their roof.

  That’s what you were in Hue House to learn, idiot, not math and not words. You were in Hue House and Hue Family to learn the secret patience of How To Be Rich.

  But you didn’t learn it, now you never will.

  Are those the sad songchoruses you sing to yourself as the halfcar rattles toward the ocean, yes they are.

  And you could tell yourself, it’s not my fault, drugs made me dumb, gave me huge blindspots, I mean why did I think I needed to buy Fresh But Freaking Chill.

  But drugs are pills and powders and syrups, dummy, they’re not people, they don’t make mistakes, only you do, and now you deserve your sad doom.

  • • •

  It was sonday and out in front of the Dockseye Middlechurch of the Lord King God surenough there was tiny Mom in her doll’s chair, wheeling around squeakily, banging a pot and yelling for all to come pray this fine morning and personally say thanks to the Founder And Manager Of Everything.

  Tiny little Mom, a fifth of my scale, bonewhite in the hair, face wrinkling up like a walnut, it’s been a hard twoyears but still fiery in the eyes.

  “Hey Mom,” I said in a crackedinhalf voice.

  It took her a second to figure out who was this bruisy middleteen, then she shrieked and gasped, I lifted her into my arms, tinymom and middleson hugged and cried.

  “Oh you’re so big, oh look at you, son you look so dinged up though, your fingers are purple and crooked, let me look at those rubbery ears, is everything allright,” she cried.

  “Oh it’s fine,” I lied, “it’s just Lifty Track, we get dinged a lot, trapped under rubble, nobigdeal.”

  “And your culty crackpot sister, did she get brainwashed again,” fretted Mom.

  “Nono,” I said, “she’s never going back to the cult, remember, she’s learning at school with me.”

  “Oh what a relief,” sighed Mom.

  “She’s a superstar at school actually, studying business, Mom you should be proudest of her, she’s doing way better than me,” I said.

  “Look I’m just glad she’s out of that cult, oh you wouldn’t believe how I’ve prayed and prayed for the two of you, and now my prayers have come true, praise you, Lord King, I mean is He good or what,” yelled joyfull Mom.

  “He is,” I said. “He really is.”

  “You’re happy, you’re healthy, you’re learning, it’s a miracle,” she cried.

  I couldn’t talk, just nodded, sick with guilt.

  “Now how about you carry your proud little mom into the middlerows and thank the Emperor Of All The Universe for cherishing you among all His subjects, letsgo, redfish,” she said, and Puppyneck shook his head no but I picked up my mom and took her inside and he didn’t stop me, he let me have a couple hours in church singing songs of praise and getting beseeched by the churchmeister and sitting next to my proud godhappy mom.

  I glanced around for cover but it was a wideopen middlechurch, peered at escaperoutes but the only one that fit me was the streetfront, Puppyneck hovered there with his minimiddlegun, Warner if you try anything it’s a bloodbath, dead me and dead mom too.

  Stupid stupid me, I really am in here to say goodbye.

  For once in church I wasn’t fiddly and fidgety, wasn’t squirming and squinting and hating every second of the dry dusty slog through the goddesert.

  No, I just sat there and tried to believe in a god who didn’t hate me, who could still have pity on me, in this life or the next.

  The churchmeister heard my thoughts maybe. His sermon was God Loves Littles The Most.

  “Who is the great Regent Master Emperor’s favorite on this earth,” he boomed. “Surely it’s the riches of Balustrade? The lumbering giants He seems to have blessed with ridiculous size? The great big hulks whom no animal can harm? No poison can kill and no virus can enter without getting lost and drowning in their giant blood? Are they the great King Boss’s favorite?”

  Everyone hushed and murmured, we knew the answer.

  “NOPE,” confirmed the churchmeister. “In His kind and cruel wisdom the merciless Top Executive has cursed them, cursed them double infact. He has cursed them with a terrible appetite numberone and numbertwo a horrible thirst, and the appetites and thirsts will never be satisfied, when you’re that big you have to eat and drink nonstop and it’s still not enough, your stomach is the size of a freaking house. No, God has no love for the bigs, the ones He has cursed to stomp the earth taking and taking, gulping and panting, mushing and smushing and crushing to fill the terrible emptiness inside themselves, and meanwhile they know that every housefull of food they take, God hates them that much more.”

  “Stomach the size of a freaking house,” murmured Mom, shaking head and clucking teeth.

  “So is it the middles?” continued the churchmei
ster. “Are they the favorites? Comfy middlecitizens who seem to fit the world so perfectly? Because afterall, they are small enough to love the shade of trees, but big enough to pick their fruits. Small enough to use a road, big enough to drive a car. Small enough to hug a dog, big enough to fight a cat! The middles must be the favorites of the Lord King God, right?”

  Again murmuring from the churchgoers, again the churchmeister cried, “NOPE, AGAIN NOPE. God hates the comfortable. God hates the soft. God cursed them too, and here is how. God cursed the middles with the fear of getting little. The fear that is inside them every day of losing scale, shrinking lungs, shrinking stomach, getting robbed, getting pulped, the fear turns every bite of food to crap in their mouths, turns soft clothes to sandpaper on their skins, eats them alive every minute like a fire eats a forest.”

  “Eat that forest,” muttered Mom, waving a littlefist. “Eat it.”

  “No, God loves littles most,” whispered the churchmeister, dropping to a stagey hush, “and let me give you the proof. God loves littles because He can trust them to carry the heaviest burdens. Think about that a second, you know it’s true. The heaviest burdens in the world are worn on the littlest shoulders, we all know it. The cruelest sufferings, darkest bleakenings, the endless frights and terrors.”

  Everyone shivered, sorrowed, but a crackly warm sorrow because we know what it means when the churchmeister goes to the stagey hush, guesswhat’s around the corner, joyous shouts and amens.

  “But God loves those shoulders most,” said the churchmeister, climbing back up to a yell. “Because on God’s ballteam, the littles are the stars. What do you ask of the star of your ballteam, thatsright, you ask your star to carry the biggest load. And God has entrusted littles with what!”

  “The biggest load!” yelled Mom and a churchfull of poors.

  “Because who are the stars of the Lord King’s ballteam!” cried the churchmeister.

  “Littles!” shrieked the littles.

  “Glory be to the tiniest!” triumphed the churchmeister.

  “Hallalooyah!” wept the littles.

  And we rose, and sang, and I tried to believe in it, I really did, maybe I even got there.

  Maybe I even did believe, God treats His favorites the worst, God gives nightmare lives to His most precious, just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s not right or true.