Tagged: gun

The Elevator Opened Into Another Kitchen

  • by jenrepeat episode of the game show Wheel of Fortune
  • “So, I made this decision…”
  • “Ciao… Adieu… Auf Wiedersehen… Via con Dios… GO AWAY!”
  • but the same can not be said of murderers
  • women taking up their rifles

Tune in next time part 211                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The elevator opened into another kitchen, this one dusty from disuse. With her finger to her lips, the bartender signaled that I should keep quiet. She led me out through the swinging doors into a dining room lit only by dozens of televisions, all playing a repeat episode of the game show Wheel of Fortune, the Contrarian edition. It was time for the bonus round, and the contestant said, “So, I made this decision…” but he didn’t look very decisive. “Pat,” he went on, “I’m going to go with X, Z, Q, and Å.” Pat gave him a pitying look that I remembered well from the first time this episode aired and I watched it with Fleur back in Contraria. Of course none of those letters appeared in the puzzle, and the guy had very little to go on. He started spewing random phrases, hoping to hit upon the right answer. “Ciao… Adieu… Auf Wiedersehen… Via con Dios… GO AWAY!” But of course none of those were right. Time ran out and the poor contestant fell to his knees, bawling. Pat put on his judicial wig and robe and smiled into the camera. He said, “Many thieves and adulterers can be rehabilitated, but the same can not be said of murderers. Silvio, I’m afraid to say you’ve lost your chance at parole.” Uniformed guards marched in from both sides and hauled Silvio to his feet. They tied a blindfold around his head. The last thing I saw before the bartender pulled me through another door was Vanna and the other women taking up their rifles.

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My Stomach Growled

  • by jen“Tell us more about these scorpion angels,”
  • got married just a month after they met
  • a lie from start to finish
  • his accomplice killed him
  • been required to eat cold meat

Tune in next time part 169                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My stomach growled. Donuts sounded amazing right now. The last time someone with a gun foisted food on me I’d been required to eat cold meat off the body of a lithe young man. He’d been sent by the White Faces mime syndicate to infiltrate the ninjas while disguised as a platter of sushi, and his accomplice killed him after discovering that his life story was a lie from start to finish. He must have been a very convincing liar because he and his accomplice had got married just a month after they met.

My trip down memory lane ended abruptly when my gun-weilding friend directed me to turn down Memory Lane. There, between a hot pink wedding chapel and a stall selling furry handcuffs was a donut shop. We entered and perused the very unusual menu board. There were flavors here I’d never heard of.

We approached the counter. “Tell us more about these Scorpion Angels,” my captor said to the clerk, who was dusted from head to toe with powdered sugar. “Are they made with real scorpions?”

“We couldn’t very well call them Scorpion Angel Cremes if they weren’t,” huffed the fastidious donutmonger.

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Crossing The Park

  • by Kent“Goldstein!”
  • cradling it pensively in his hand
  • except for the terrible, half-healed scar
  • carbon nanotubes might one day come to the rescue
  • “I’d love to see you eat a donut.”

Tune in next time part 168                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Crossing the park, I hoped that the impractical fabric of my jumpsuit would relax and begin to afford me greater freedom of movement, but the reverse was happening. The lace dug into my flesh more ferociously the more I moved around.

“Goldstein!”

I kept moving, despite the grim certitude that I was the target of the exclamation.

A man ran up to me with a gun, cradling it pensively in his hand, a hand that didn’t match his complexion. I might have thought that this man just made a habit of wearing gloves, except for the terrible, half-healed scar encircling his wrist.

“You’re not Goldstein,” he said. “Whew. I wasn’t looking forward to that.” He tucked the gun away, wincing. “New medical technology using carbon nanotubes might one day come to the rescue of people like me, but it seems until then I must suffer.”

I continued toddling toward the exit.

“Wait,” said the man, pulling the gun back out. This time he held it in his left hand, which was something I’d hoped he wouldn’t think of.

I stopped. “Look, I’m just trying to leave this place.”

“Not so fast,” the gun-waving man said. “I’d love to see you eat a donut.”

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With the Tinsel Garrote Out of the Way

  • by jenWhen you owned your own world
  • for I was born in the North Country
  • put those running shoes on the feet of
  • engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK
  • “Your own son?”

Tune in next time part 151                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

With the tinsel garrote out of the way, I recognized the man. It was my great uncle, Jinx Damocles! He groaned again, but in not quite the same way he had with Lyudmila in that Rhode Island church basement.

“Never mind me, Jason,” Jinxy said, fixing me with his one good eye. “Don’t let Hildegard escape!”

“She’s long gone,” I lisped, imitating my twin. “How did she manage to overpower you?”

He looked down at his missing left arm and then glared at me.

“Sorry.”

I tried to think. What could Jason and Uncle Jinx be doing in Harmonia? When Jinx was presumed dead, I had inherited TinselTown from him. Was he perhaps here to reclaim it? Could he be the one who had rebranded it Valentine Village, in all likelihood destroying whatever message I was meant to find there?

Grabbing his right (and only) hand, I hauled him to a standing position. “When you owned your own world, your own amusement park, why on Earth did you give it a Christmas theme?” I asked.

The old man stared hard at me. “It reminded me of home, for I was born in the North Country.”

That struck a chord with me. My mother chose to deliver Jason and me at the North Pole. She said it was a family tradition, but both she and Father were born at military facilities in the States, as were the majority of my siblings. My head was swimming. I found my mental Nikes and put those running shoes on the feet of my dark thoughts, and let them race. They ran laps around all the inconsistencies I’d heard through the years about “Uncle” Jinx. They reminded me of how Mother was unusually close to her alleged uncle, and how no one else in the family had the surname Damocles, and how Father refused to ever be in the same room with him. They finally came to rest in front of a sign that was engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK BUT MOST LIKELY YOUR REAL FATHER.

“You’re not my uncle at all, are you?” I asked.

“And you’re not Jason.” He pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at me.

“You’re going to shoot me?” I asked. “Your own son?”

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“Speaking of Prince Edward”

  • by jenI lost a lot of sleep
  • didn’t tell him to fire his pulse-gun
  • the young lady’s whereabouts
  • The result is awesomeness.
  • Speaking of Prince Edward

Tune in next time part 94                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Speaking of Prince Edward,” I said, in reference to Fleur’s grandfather, and trying to hide my dismay at the thought of a transoceanic voyage at this particular moment, “wouldn’t he want you to stay out of Contraria? I believe it was he who said, ‘When a Contrarian lass weds a contrarian lad and they mingle their stock, they should do so on neutral ground. The result is awesomeness.‘”

Fleur quirked her eyebrow. “You certainly have been studying, I’ll give you that. But I know you aren’t really concerned about the customs of my tribe.” She smiled coldly. “You are concerned only for Tessa. And even now, here in our marriage tent, naked with me, you are wondering about the young lady’s whereabouts. You and I may not care for each other over much, but we are married and it is imperative that I get knocked up this year. You’re coming to Contraria with me.”

She snapped her slender fingers and a hulking brute stepped into the tent with us.

“This is Viktor,” Fleur said. “I didn’t tell him to fire his pulse-gun if you try to escape, but I didn’t tell him not to either.”

I lost a lot of sleep over that comment, or I would have if Fleur and her relations ever gave me a moment’s peace. In between rounds of copulation and Contrarian Q&A, Fleur and I and all of our belongings were packed onto her father’s waiting zeppelin and we began the long flight to Contraria, a region I had never visited.

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The Pathetic Noises

  • by Kentbut you grab it between finger and thumb
  • struck the ground emphatically with his stick
  • asked Jerry for a gun
  • sell you a chainsaw in the desert
  • is biological in nature

Tune in next time part 71                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The pathetic noises came from a dilapidated station wagon limping along the dirt road, chuffing and squeaking and dragging several of its body panels along the ground. The man at the wheel wore a moldy top hat and sunglasses made of gummi worms.

He rolled down his window as the car crept alongside us. “Name’s Jerry. Can I give you folks a ride?” Svetlana coyly allowed him to see that her wrists were bound with electrical wire. Jerry didn’t seem to mind.

“Sure,” I said. I put Svetlana in the back seat and went around to the front passenger door. Jerry didn’t ask us any more questions. As he drove he told us about his thrilling career as a race car driver, and how he spends his time in retirement inventing edible eyewear. “The design inspiration is biological in nature, i.e., worms. It’s just like normal glasses, but you grab it between finger and thumb and off comes a snack!” He demonstrated. He boasted about the many high-class boutiques that bought his designs, saying, “I’m the kind of guy who could sell you a chainsaw in the desert.” Like that was a thing. At one point Svetlana interrupted and asked Jerry for a gun. I thought I might need to take the pistol out of my pocket, but he ignored her.

Predictably, the station wagon wheezed to a halt and wouldn’t move despite all of Jerry’s swearing, even when he got out and kicked dust on it and threatened it with a stout tree limb that he brandished like a club. Even when he struck the ground emphatically with his stick.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said. “We’ll leave you to it.”

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Aphrodite Snarled At Me

  • by jenme, I want a hula hoop
  • I consider you a rascal
  • burn the air you breathe
  • live long enough to get into space
  • without a hug and kiss

Tune in next time part 64                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Aphrodite snarled at me, “I want a hula hoop‘s width between you and Svetlana.” She gestured with her gun. “No more, no less.”

She didn’t want me to help Svetlana, who was still being throttled by Heinrich, but if I moved too far away she wouldn’t be able to monitor both of us with her single eye.

“I consider you a rascal,” she continued, “not a great threat. I will deal with you once the contortionist bitch is no more.”

Svetlana writhed beneath her former lover/sherpa, her lips a blue grimace, her eyes wide and angry.

Heinrich’s grip faltered and Svetlana drew a gasping breath. While Aphrodite was distracted by that I raised my hand and plucked a jellyfish from my hair. During my years developing the underwater excavation machine I had developed an immunity to jellyfish stings. I was counting on that not being the case for my captors. I flung the gelatinous creature at Aphrodite’s face, hoping to temporarily blind her, but my aim was off and it landed in her mouth just as she inhaled.

I knew from sad experience that man-o-war venom in your esophagus will burn the air you breathe, turning your lungs to fire, and making you doubt whether you will live long enough to get into spaces not built of agony. In other words, it was an effective distraction.

Aphrodite’s gun clattered to the floor and she soon followed it, gagging and coughing and clawing at her mouth. She drew Heinrich’s attention long enough for Svetlana to break free and somersault out of reach, gasping.

Should I take my chances and team up with Svetlana, or leave now, without a hug, and kiss my ass goodbye?

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“We Can’t Use the Front Door”

  • by jen“Keep your hands above your head.”
  • I hate that little fucker.
  • people with no job or family
  • overwhelming and compelling
  • attack was largely fueled by anger

Tune In Next Time Part 56                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We can’t use the front door,” said Tessa, “or the back. They have spies everywhere. We’ll need to leave through the skylight.”

I was just relieved that she didn’t say sewer.

“Keep your hands above your head.” Tessa squatted down and laced her fingers together. “Put your foot here and I’ll lift you up so you can reach the rim.”

Her plan worked beautifully until I hoisted myself onto the roof and found myself face to face with Heinrich Hunter. He stood there, casually holding a katana in one hand and an uzi in the other, a sneer protruding from beneath his floppy red mustache. Man, I hate that little fucker.

“All alone I see,” Heinrich gloated incorrectly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. People with no job or family are often alone.”

I struggled to keep my eyebrows from furrowing. I had both a job and an overabundance of family, and with Tessa about to climb up through the skylight I was hardly alone in my danger. I had to keep Heinrich distracted so she might have a chance to escape notice.

“Your evidence is overwhelming and compelling, Heinrich,” I muttered. “I am alone. So, so alone.”

I felt the merest breath of air against my ankle, my only indication that Tessa had joined us on the roof. I’m not sure when she became such an adept ninja, but in the moment I was grateful. Later, not so much.

Heinrich threw back his head and laughed, and that’s when Tessa struck. Her attack was largely fueled by anger. I could tell because Heinrich’s head stayed firmly attached to his shoulders. She pummeled him about the midsection, her ninja stealth faltering and allowing me to catch a glimpse. The next thing I knew, Heinrich lay groaning on the rooftop and Tessa was handing me his uzi. She kept the katana for herself.

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Lyudmila Speared Me With Her Gaze

  • k-avatarescape from one calamity
  • in a variety of frownings and snortings
  • I’d like to have another kiss
  • no longer aimless
  • “I screwed up. I screwed up bigtime.”

Tune In Next Time Part 39                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Lyudmila speared me with her gaze through the sights of her pistol, and I could tell she recognized me instantly. Secret service agents began diving on top of Freya, thinking they were protecting the president. Soon they were heaped up to the ceiling. Aunt Züg flung herself behind the dogpile.

That left just Lyudmila, the phony Tessa, and me.

The strange noise coming from Not-Tessa climbed in pitch and volume, then she bolted for the exit, moving with superhuman speed. Rather than give chase, Lyudmila kept me squarely in her sights and approached. “Forget her,” she said, still training the weapon on me. “Let’s go, back steps.”

Story of my life, to escape from one calamity by being engulfed in another. At least this meant the conspirators in the White House didn’t have the real treasure, which was with the real Tessa. I hoped. As she directed me along the passages, Lyudmila finished ridding herself of cake and toothpaste in a variety of frownings and snortings. “You don’t need the gun,” I told her. “I should be thanking you.”

“Shut up,” she said. “Do you know what I’ve been through to track you down? And where the hell is John?” I shrugged, my thoughts and concerns now aimless. Much as I worried about Tessa, I couldn’t help thinking how I’d like to have another kiss from Lyudmila. “Well? Where is John!” she demanded.

“You told me to shut up,” I said. “And anyway, I have no idea where he is, or Tessa. And I think we need to find them.” My concerns were no longer aimless. “Something’s going on here, and one or both of them are mixed up in it.”

Suddenly Lyudmila collapsed in tears. She holstered the Glock and said, “Don’t you think I know that?” After three great, heaving sobs, she said, “I screwed up. I screwed up bigtime.”

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Tessa Lowered Her Hood As Directed

  • by jenShe trembled and twitched
  • throb of blood-vessels in my ears
  • worms were in a frenzy
  • the nude celebrity site
  • Others were silent.

Tune In Next Time Part 38                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa lowered her hood as directed, and stood. Something about her seemed wrong, her movements were not the fluid, graceful motions of the girl I knew so long ago. She trembled and twitched, her skin seeming to crawl across her frame. The throb of blood-vessels in my ears sounded as if my head were packed full of worms and the worms were in a frenzy. I hadn’t been this disturbed since the time I saw my father’s scandalous pictures on the nude celebrity site.

“Never mind about those ninjas and pirates,” I said, forgetting to employ Jason’s trademark lisp. “That’s not Tessa! That’s an impostor!”

Not-Tessa twisted her head to look at me, emitting a faint keening sound. Some of the secret service agents began muttering into their radios. Others were silent.

“Then I suppose we are all impostors!” The voice came from the direction of the birthday cake on the table, which suddenly erupted, pelting us all with chocolate crumbs and minty blue frosting. On the platter, Lyudmila, contortionist and John’s sister, finished unfolding herself and stood, brandishing a Glock.

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