. . .
Hours had finally passed; no one yet spoke or moved. All was still until finally, Joe pointed out that the sun should have risen, instead, the night continued. Simon than pointed out that there weren’t any stars, though this was far less unbelievable. Joe would eventually decide that he and Goerge check the house for any openings, which is exactly what they did. Upstairs Joe directed Goerge to check the other rooms while Joe boarded up his own. Inside, he finally looked at the pages he had written the night before as he was sure he would get some answers. As he sat down and read the pages, he became lost in the narration that was a part of him but different. This different self-was both connected to Joe as the fictional version of Silga's father which was now Mr. Dystopia. These estranged influences took hold of Joe’s subconscious just as it went into full gear while he finished reading. Upon finishing, his mind was no longer his own and he began typing;
January 1st, 2013
Hello Joe... I know you are reading this. In fact, you may even think you are writing this. I'm here to tell you-you're wrong, but by the time you figure this out it will be too late.
I am using you, Joe. Mr. Dystopia has taught me how to take control over matters, how to take over the house. He has given me his precious Compound Paradox which he has held on to for a long time. He told me this you know.
I'm going to use it, Joe, I'm going to use it and we will meet. I am about to meet my creator; can you believe it? It's funny; I've never even done drugs before. Well, I guess you know that. Yet here I am with a six-inch syringe about to inject the God particle into the back of my skull. Pretty far out, right Joe?
Anyways... I'm on my way.
. . .
And just like he said, Jim injected that syringe into the back of his skull. He did not miss, he could never have missed. He was not designed to miss. Within this injection, he too became susceptible to dimensional transcendence. This was an opportunity that provided just what he needed. The Professor knew it would happen just that way, that by emptying his soul from the realm of super fiction and into the dark matter of the realistic dimension he would embody the void so conveniently provided by the rogues, X and Y. X and Y who had so carelessly impregnated Bush while monitoring an anomaly that was spiraling out of control. It was then that Jim erupted from within Bush's skin, exploding into a taller, wider framed being. The blood and guts splattered across X and Y and the dead hobo by their side.
As Jim took his first breath he smiled a foreign smile and gazed upon his parents unto the new world;
"Ma... Pa?"
Jim laughed hysterically before approaching the two outer world beings that did nothing.
"You know who I am associated with, don't you...? You two have found yourself meddling in matters beyond your control, and I know you couldn't have such authorization... HE knows you don't. But I tell you what we're going to do; we're going to let you go. You can still observe, we can appreciate an audience. But no more will you interrupt our doings, do you understand? Leave this matter to us!"
And with that Jim was teleported to the ground, outside of the house. Meanwhile, X and Y began discussing communication with their mother ship and applying for permission to perform a time barrier before things got out of control. Till' than they relocated to the clouds where they would boldly augment to a city-wide level hologram. Now completely out of their depths, a whole city was now lost in between time as the future alter ego and more desolate version of the town became its reality. What was known by most average beings as the city of Moncton was no more, now; a comic book reality was its basis. Joe now resided in that which he had created where he should have feared, as would the rest as they try to survive their bloody welcoming to Monkey Town.
Chapter Five
Trans- Dimension Communication
The Next morning rose unlike any other morning, that is, it didn't rise at all. Deep within the citywide quantum quarantine, characters that were once fiction now tested their wits in this slipstream reality. Jim Welsh, the frustrated archetype created by Joe in his own frustration towards a plot he never any a hand in. No one including Joe could fathom that their own existence was the product of a convenience store clerk (at the time). Only I and my prized design that is all my own hate and frustration that I know is the doing of perhaps another alternate and perhaps alien dipshit throwing doom and mishap in my life, button mashing my emotions until I start thinking I'm not real or that maybe fate does exist but at the end of the day its design is as primitive as our own selfish desires. When I start to feel and think this way I think about archetypes or tarot cards; I'm not playing the fool, I'm certainly no saint. Who is it than that knows all this yet can smile at the end of the day? Who sees this complex, beautiful cluster-fuck for the slightly amusing pictogram that it is? We're all just swimming in a cesspool. Who's got the balls to say it? Whose got it in them to hate authority but, who’s got the will to make the world a better place? To kick out the suit and wear a new one; I hope for whoever takes the stand of corruption at least has a sense of humor so that when he tells us we're fucked, he laughs about it afterward. Let's face it, no one wants a utopia; do the right thing, do the human thing.... VOTE MR. DYSTOPIA!
. . .
Joe placed the pages down and was motionless for as long as he could. This was what he wrote last night, in another one of his blackouts writing sessions. It had been his only escape, a strange coincidence led to only hope of feeling alive, even if it wasn't in his universe. What was this he was reading? Who was he? And why did he claim Mr. Dystopia to be his creation? The tone, Joe was bitter, but he was not cynical. Who would want that, to send a creature such as Mr. Dystopia rampaging from one dimension to another? Now he was here, outside while the house remains silent, waiting for something. No one has yet to even make anything to eat, their bellies growl until finally as they expected a large banging on the door;
"Hello?"... BANG BANG BANG... "Hello??"
Goerge finally snapped out of disbelief reason again. "I'll get it", he says with a grin. Elize quickly resumes their group panic;
"No, wait! We don't know if it’s, one of those things...He'll kill us all, it's a trick Joe?"
"Homeless."
"What?" Elize replies.
"They looked homeless... This dude doesn't sound like a hobo."
"Hello???"
"Hold on I'm coming!"
Silga, who had been quietly sitting on the couch, finally broke her own silence;
"How do you sound homeless?"
Goerge was taken back, though not for long.
"I don't know... Less polite, that's for sure."
As Goerge opened the door he returned his glance to his front, all the while Jim who was a bit larger than Joe sucker punched Goerge in the face, quickly retorting; "That's for leaving me out there so long, you're lucky they didn't catch up with me otherwise you'd really be in trouble." Goerge was on the ground with his hand over his nose which was bleeding. Jim then reached down to help him up while Silga proposed her concern.
"Did you say they were following you? That there are those, things behind you?"
"On their way to the mall, I would guess. Got to this street before the bend so they couldn't have seen me make the turn."
"How sure of this are you?"
"Pretty sure."
"Who are you?" Joe finally snapping out of his disgruntled haze would finally voice out. He continued to mumble to himself, "Why do you look so familiar..."
"Pardon?" Well, my name is Jim Patrick Welsh. Mother was a Door's fan; my father was a Welsh."
"You don't sound Welsh."
"Oh, what does a Welsh sound like, miss?"
"Um... Elize. And I dunno, Scottish, ish?"
"Well, the truth is I've never met him. But I'd love to get all this getting to know each other maybe say with both my feet in the door which we could then board up again which you had so famously done before."
"Why you getting so wise with us, we just saved your life?"
"You, you are just as lovely as he said. You must be Silga."
"Who said that?"
At this point of the introductions, Joe makes his leave, unable to accept the thought of Jim Welsh, another one of his characters taking on a life of their own and abolishing what he believed the impossible to be.
"What's with him?"
Goerge by now had risen; he looks Jim straight in the eye still in disbelief as he now interrogated the self-proclaimed weary traveler;
"Who the hell are you, man? What makes you think you can come in here and just start punching people! Get your ass back out there and treat the homeless with your caviar presence so I can watch them rip you apart!"
"Wow now big guy, we might have gotten off on the wrong foot here... My name's Jim Patrick We"/POP.
Goerge smiles and then begins to laugh as he sees the now bloodied Jim on the ground. "Not so wise now, are ya?"
"Alright alright, I deserved that... Now can we end this grand meeting and start acting like a hand full of reasonable human beings trying to survive the apocalypse? Dear Elize, could you get me a rag?"
"Sure thing Jim!"
"Elize, what the hell?"
"You need to start explaining what happened to you, where you're from exactly. Goerge, board up the door before any more of those fuckers get in here, homeless or not."
"Well, Silga, nice to meet you," Goerge replies. He then proceeds to do just that, smiling as he enjoyed this new and seemingly far from timid Ms. Noel they had residing with them. Jim sits down on the chair to the left of the couch Silga sat upon. "Would it be too much to ask for some water?"
"Elize, get this guy some water... Now start talking dammit!"
"Well, I'm from the north of town. You know, the Magnetic Hill?"
"No, I don't know I'm not from here."
"No, of course, you're not, are you Silga?"
Silga instantly jumps just far enough to her left to connect a discipline jab which connected with Jim’s Jaw.
"Quit speaking ominous riddles and get to the point before I let Goerge do as he pleases and kick you out to feed the homeless!"
"Alright dammit just stopping hitting me! I'm from the other side of town. There was a concert at the Coliseum, some Goth band/"
"Marilyn Manson!"
"Yes that's it Elize you're absolutely right dear! Now, folks that attended, well anyone who listens to that kind of scene is a little off, aren't they? I mean they're almost sub-human, to begin with."
"What's your point?"
"My point is, just like your junkies and hobos took to the streets here; north of town was overrun by Goths. Deranged, psychopathic and very unstable Goths who seek nothing more than to inflict pain... and not on themselves this time either. They want to hurt you or I, believe me."
"Jesus Christ, you really expect us to buy that crap? Savage Goth's have taken over the north of the city?"
"Yes, and Silga, we don't really need to bring Jesus into this do we?"
"It's an expression... what's it matter to you?"
"Never mind… So, I was out with my mother getting clothes when she was torn apart. I barely escaped with my shirt, ran as fast as I could. I didn't know where I was going; I was just running when I knew I wouldn't be able to run much faster. That's when I see the opportunity to take a quick left and god forbid; I found you all held up here. I swear, I must have run all night and not seen a single person. Not even the bodies they've all just, disappeared. Just those crazy hobos and grungy Goths look for what I think maybe the last source of fresh, untainted homed- folk here on..."
"Harpers Lane!"
"Thank you, my dear! My you are a sharp one, aren't you? And ever so lovely, too bad not as much could be said about the rest of your comrades, can it?"
"Well, everyone’s just really scared, you know? Lots’ has been going on what with, people dying and all..."
"I’m not scared." Says Goerge as was followed by Silga;
"Neither am I... I'm pissed."
"At what exactly if you don't mind me asking?"
"You to start, for we know you're leaving a lot out if you're telling the truth at all... Opposed to that, this whole situation is just... Insane."
"You don't think that would be the point?"
"What's that now, insanity? When would insanity be the point of anything? There's no meaning in insanity there's just..."
"Chaos! You're exactly right my dear/"
"Don't you fucking call her that!" Goerge approaches Jim who is quick to apologize.
"The universe itself is a product of chaos, what makes you think this one would be any different?"
"What do you mean this one?"
"Hmm?"
"What did you mean by this one, as in this universe as if it were different or separate from another one?"
"Ya man, what universe are you living in...? Silga, I don't think this guy is as sane as we were led to believe. He might be ready to snap like the rest of them."
"Just because I am smarter than you does not make me insane... I'm just, delighted to be here and now I'm very tired... I think we should all get some rest, I would imagine a supply run is due soon enough."
"What's that now?"
"Supplies run... You know food, smokes, and liquor. You can't expect me to write during an apocalypse sober, do you? Talk about climbing a mountain uphill."
"Oh, so now you're a writer?"
"Hey, Joe's a writer too!"
"Shut up Elize! God dammit women!"
"Goerge watch your tone with Elize! And you Jim... You go to sleep. Tomorrow we'll get some supplies, but just know that I'm keeping a close eye on you and I'll tell you with certainty that I don't trust you one bit."
"Fair enough sweet Silga, I'll be keeping an eye on you as well." Goerge sighed as Jim finally left the room, thinking he was done causing trouble. Jim went upstairs as downstairs Goerge took watch while Silga and Elize prepared food followed by sleep.
Upstairs Joe was frantically searching through the pages while Jim crept in.
"Oh hello, Joe... So I see, you really are a writer aren't you."
"I... I know who you are."
"I told you who I was Joe... I am Jim.
"You're not real."
"Is any of this real, Joe? This, governor you have terrorizing you, Mr. Dystopia, does he sound real to you?"
"How do you know about Mr. Dystopia?"
"I know him quite well Joe. You see, I've read the little book you've been working on. Read it from the inside out, do you understand?"
"Perfectly... You're here for revenge, aren't you?"
"No Joe, father... I'm here to be alive! To exist! Is that so much to ask for? To depict my own fate?"
"It's not you I'm worried about..."
"Oh ha-ha, you mean the professor?"
"Professor?"
"Let me tell you a little secret Joe; Mr. Dystopia really is Silga's father. That's the only reason any of you are still alive because he beckons it!"
"And what about you, what's your angle... Why are you alive?"
"Because Joe I too have decided I would like to become a creator and with this desire, I had found a way to face my demon, the demon you created for me. Not only that, but I learned from him Joe, learned how to separate my mind from my being, to look at life as the twisted joke it really is. That is, how insignificant we are and how little we know."
"So, is that it, you loathe your species?"
"No, Joe, I loathed my universe, which is why I left. Is that really so hard to believe, to understand?"
"No... I'm sorry."
"No, you're not Joe, but that's ok. I don't blame you, in fact, I've learned from you. As I've said I too have begun to write. I'm expecting that with your help, it'll be a real heart stopper!"
Jim smiled and
then left. Joe tore his pages out and tore them apart. He unplugged his typewriter and took out the ink. Pushing the typewriter unto the floor he left for downstairs.
As if timing it all himself, Goerge had been rousing a fire in the pit between the common room and the kitchen. While walking straight into the kitchen he tossed the ink in the fire.
"What's gotten into you, Joe?"
"Nothing." Joe looked at the girls who were both sleeping. "It's just; I think I might have some answers to what's going on..." Goerge carried on patiently stoking the fire while giving Joe an intrigued expression. Joe sat beside him on a log and began to explain his theory;
"You see, this isn't going to make sense but... Well, I think I may have somehow summoned Jim, from an alternate dimension."
"... You did what now?"
"My writing I, it all came true, all of it... Mr. Dystopia, Jim Welsh... I tortured him Goerge, in his version of this story everybody dies and... While I was sleeping I wrote his communion with Mr. Dystopia who taught him how to come here, to our reality."
"... That's a lot to figure Joe I mean; how would this Dystopia fellow know or be able to do that? If it were that easy wouldn't we just as soon see little red riding hood and the three pigs reigning hell in the city?"
"This is the tricky part that I don't quite fully understand myself; Mr. Dystopia was supposed to be my super villain but, somehow he became or was Silga's father... Or maybe both I don't know. All I do know is he has embodied my created super villain but hates us and wants his daughter. That's why we're still alive."
"How did the two combine?"
"I don't know..."
"Right... What I want to know is where does this leave Jim? Where does he fit in?"
"I don't know. I thought revenge at first. But he says he's just here to live, to create. There's something about him that seems, malicious though. He's not entirely the character I created."
"What is he then?"
"Something worse... But he may also be our key out of here... All of us."
"Out of here? Where Joe? We haven't gone anywhere, they came to us."
Apocalypse at Harpers Lane Page 4