“Throwing Pennies at God”

You wake up under the clouds. And above them. Rain falls down and up around you. Somehow, you’re neither wet nor cold… and you don’t remember how you got there. In fact, you don’t remember much at all.

There’s pressure on your shoulder. You turn to see a young man without a smile. He does, however, have wings. And a goatee. His hair is dyed bright purple and his wings a dark green.

“My name is, Dilgone,” he tells you. “Do you remember your name?”

“… no,” you tell him.

“So, you probably haven’t figured out where you are, yet.” He rolls his eyes and sighs before taking out a laminated card from a pants pocket. "Close your eyes and clear your mind," he reads. "Focus on yourself, pushing out everything around you that you do not recognize. Let your memories flow back to you." He puts the card back, then pulls a joint out of another pocket. "Quicker would be better than slow."

You close your eyes after taking a few steps away from Dilgone. You see flashes of people, but not clearly enough to see faces or even genders. There's a smell you can't place, but find comforting. Someone is screaming. It sounds like they're far away, but you can almost make out...

"So..." Dilgone interrupts. "What's your deal?"


Who are you...

1. Sara: A 23-year-old man. Tall, average weight, brown hair. You have fingerless gloves on and black pants. There's a tattoo on your right index finger that reads, "is".

2. Reggie: A 34-year-old man. Average height, average build, blonde hair. You're wearing blue-jeans and a puffy sweater with an open hand, palm out, on the front. There's a long scar along the length of your neck on your left.

3. Erin: A 17-year-old girl. Short, thin, black hair. You have on motorcycle boots and steampunk goggles. There's a stud in your tongue.

September Ducksworth

A Pre-Chosen Adventure Story, still in progress. Follow the adventure of Captain September Ducksworth: Surrealist Pirate, Extraordinaire, in her first story.

Christmas in September

It's a yellow school bus with a prow made from house's deck in the front. There's a wooden hull wrapped around the bus and the windows are stained-glass. The stop sign on the side has a Jolly Roger biting its tongue painted in green. And for the mission at hand, it has snow tires stolen from a used auto parts store.

The captain sits on the roof of the bus-ship, dangling her legs through an emergency exit. She wears a thick, black fur coat and puffy, worn ski cap to keep her warm. Her long, brown hair tied in the back, below the hat, is starting to freeze at the ends. Blowtorcher's goggles keep the snow and bright glare out of her eyes. Down inside, her skellingtons man the ship and get ready for the job. The knives are sharpened, the guns are loaded, bones are bleached, and Alice in Chains is playing over the bus-ship's intercom system. As he passes the sign, Derek, the driver, motions to the others that it's almost time.

North Pole: 3 miles

Captain Ducksworth jumps down into the bus-ship to inspect her crew. The navigator, Shelly, has a crude drawing of the Northern hemisphere drawn on her skull, and there's a small candy cane sticking out to mark the North Pole. There's also a rifle strapped to her back. The one they call Tool has a denim, Sex Pistols jacket open, revealing his ribs, which have a machete and a handgun inside for easy gettin' to. Morris and Joplin clean their guns, sitting together in the back. Ron paints his vertebra, alternating red and green. The belts hanging off his shoulders and wrapped down around his ribs have been painted bright white, clashing against his off-white bones.

The captain opens her coat to show a rapier hanging from each side of her belt and a nine millimeter hand gun sticking out of her waste-band between them. She takes a moment to pose, a hand on her hip, and pictures bold text across her waist: "Captain September Ducksworth: Surrealist Pirate, Extraordinaire."

"It's almost time, crew. We'll perform a frontal assault on the compound the moment Derek pulls up to the stables. Hit anyone and anything that gets in your way. I want us to move fast before they can mount a counter attack; if they get a chance, they'll hit us hard. If anyone's too injured to continue, fall back to the ship and have Derek signal me." The captain looks out the windshield and sees another sign. "The fat man is mine..."

Reindeer Crossing Next 500 ft.

☠

Derek slides the bus next to the reindeer stable and everyone else hustles out of the bus-ship. Tool pistol whips Rudolph so he can't alert the Claus. Once they're sure the stable is locked up tight, the team makes for the compound. A hundred feet from Santa's compound, they separate and dive behind snow banks for cover. September peers behind the snow to survey the battlefield. A handful of elves are already packing the sleigh with brightly wrapped boxes, but only two bags are full... there's still time. She waits for the elves to go back inside for more boxes before September signals her skellingtons forward.

The team doesn't get more than fifteen feet before the snowmen sentries shoot out from the snow and pull rifles out of from inside themselves.

"FALL BACK!" September yells.

They each fire off a few shots as they retreat to the snow banks. Ron's skull is grazed and two holes are punched through Tool's jacket.

"Shelly! Morris! Joplin! Suppressing fire!"

The three run to the top of their snow banks and fire at the snowmen while the other three charge with swords drawn. September plugs a snowman's rifle with one sword and takes several swipes at it with her other. Ron slices one snowman in half and then tosses his sword into another's head. Tool jumps straight for a snowman and drives the machete down the top of its head. The other three now focus on the remaining snowman and decimate it with bullets. September waves the whole team to move forward. She's sure Santa heard the gunfire.

As they approach the compound, doors in the snow burst open, throwing snow behind them. Clowns and jesters on springs fly into the air to reveal jack-in-the-box guards. Four of them take aim with shoulder mounted cannons and fire wooden train grenades. The team runs through explosions and fire back. The guards can only fire one shot every few seconds, and the grenades are easy enough to dodge. It's not long before they're dispatched.

September eyes Santa's cottage a short way down a path away from the compound.

"Tool, Morris, and Shelly, inside. Make sure no one comes after us. Everyone else with me."

September, Joplin, and Ron run down the path, keeping their eyes open for more sentries and guards, guns ready. Gunfire and screams are heard behind them. As they get closer to the cottage, Santa's mechanical robotic soldier calibrated for logical assassination and ultimate sabotage jumps out from behind a metal Christmas tree and slings ninja stars shaped like the Star of Bethlehem. Ron and Joplin change course towards Mrs. Claus while September heads right for Santa's front door. She twirls around and lets her back hit the wall, next to a window. She takes a glance at the others fighting Mrs. Claus before spying inside the cottage. Santa is sitting at his desk, checking his list. She sidles towards the door and takes deep breaths.

Captain Ducksworth kicks in the door and fires towards where Santa was sitting, but he's already gone. Gun first, she inspects the cottage for fat men in red. As she starts to peak inside a bedroom, September hears boots hit the floor and she spins around.

"Ho, ho, ho! And what are you doing here, little girl?" Santa asks.

"I'm here to stop you, fat man!"

"Ho... but I only bring happiness to children around the world! Why would you want to stop me?"

September takes a few steps forward, making sure the gun is between the two of them. "You only bring happiness to the children you want to! And then you break into their houses while they're sleeping. Who are you to decide who's naughty and nice?! Getting children to write you letters about all the toys they want, then toy makers and video game studios mark-up the prices and push the goods you tell them to! And there's that whole elf-slave thing. I'm on to you. Oh, I'm on to you so good..."

"Ho, ho... ho... You're a naughty, little girl, Ms. Ducksworth." Santa puts his hands on his belt and laughs, making his belly shake like evil bowl of pudding. "Santa's going to have to put an end to you..." He whips of his belt and it snaps straight into a sword.

September tries to take a shot with her gun, but Santa is a fast, old elf. She draws a sword with her other hand and blocks Santa's belt-sword. She takes aim with the gun, but with his free hand, Santa grabs it and pushes it to the side. He pushes her against the wall and smiles. She kicks him in the knee and he falls to one side. With Santa wavering, September cuts his sword arm at the elbow and escapes his hold. She gets off five shots into his belly, but Santa just laughs. The bullets are pushed back out from his belly and hit the floor. September looks Santa in the eyes just as they start to turn as red as his suit. He takes a look at the cut on his arm as it heals itself, and then the suit mends itself with a loud hissing sound. He slowly turns his gaze back to September and continues to laugh. She runs into the hallway and shoots at Santa's face, but his beard bursts up to cover his face, and the bullets just bounce off. In the hall, September realizes she's gotten herself cornered. She's only one idea left.

Santa calmly walks over to his desk and opens a drawer. From inside, he pulls out an old, ordinance pistol from the 19th century. It's been customized with a Christmas tree shaped sight and red and white striping.

"Santa got this little baby from the Easter Bunny last year. Ho, ho, ho... I've been waiting for a chance to try it out."

As Santa takes aim, September ducks low and start running. She takes a few blind shots at Santa's head, causing his beard to cover his face. With Santa effectively blind, September pounces on his chest, stabbing him where his heart should be. She kneels on his stomach, no longer shaking, and pushes the sword in deeper.

"No!" Santa screams. "My heart has been pierced! My cold, dark heart... Ho, ho... oh..." Santa coughs and starts to falls backwards. September pushes off and lands on her feet a few feet in front of where Santa now lays. "You've been a very naughty... Oh, God..." Santa's juices spill onto the floor and start to bubble. His eyes slowly turn back from red to blue and his beard begins to melt. September stands above Santa, victorious. Outside, Mrs. Claus explodes.

The team walks back to the stables followed by a horde of newly freed elves. They release the reindeer into the custody of the elves and turn Rudolph over to some elf chefs. Derek opens the door and lets the other skellingtons board. As September gets on the first step, a taller elf named Hermey walks up to her and tells her that he'll take charge of the compound, and plans to turn it into a dental school. She smiles and walks onto the bus-ship.

As she turns the heater onto high, she looks at her crew and asks, "Who's for coffee?"


This story is not a part of the on-going Choose Your Own Adventure thing. It takes place some time before she meets Lit Wick. This has been; Christmas in September (AKA: September Ducksworth Vs. Santa Claus). Your usual September Ducksworth programming will resume... later.

Church

It used to be a church. After the pastor who ran the church died, a local couple bought it and renovated it into a 24 hour diner. They took the crucified Christ down and hung a large reprint of Munch's Madonna. Under the painting is where the counter was built. The two small rooms to either side were converted into kitchens. The pews were all taken out and replaced with picnic tables. The couple added booths to the walls on either side of the church's main room. The confession booths were left where they were.

I started coming here over the summer. While driving home from a party one night, I got a craving for a burger. I pulled into the diner's parking lot to turn around and go back for town, when I noticed a sign above the doors advertising tuna melts for $3.99 on Tuesdays. I decided to check it out, and I've been coming almost every night since then.

During the day, you can see wooden boxes all around the church. Underneath the boxes is where the stained glass windows are. Inside the boxes are flood lights. After the sun goes down, the owners turn the lights on. Aside from a few lamps scattered around inside, the is no other light except for a dim spot light pointed towards the painting.

The first night I was there, I went down the isle to the counter and waited for someone to come out from the kitchen. The menu was written on a blackboard behind the counter. They never have any dishes all that special; your standard affair. While waiting, I looked up at the painting and started to stare. It's an odd choice of artwork for a diner. The image doesn't exactly inspire hunger. It didn't take long for a woman to come out of the kitchen. She was in her sixties and wearing an apron and a hairnet.

"What can I get for you, Sugar?"

"Burger?" I said it that way you do when you're somewhere new and not sure what they have.

"How you want it?" She had a weak smile on her. Genuine happy-like.

"Medium-well. No tomato."

"Be ready in 'bout fifteen minutes, Honey. Want anything to drink?" She wrote it up on a ticket without taking her eyes off me.

"Pepsi?" Again, more a question than a request.

"Go ahead and grab a bottle from the 'fridge," she said, pointing to a small refrigerator leaning against the wall. "That'll be five fifty. No credit cards or checks." I handed her a five and two quarters and she told me to have a seat where ever I found one.

Nicole was a punk rock chick in the mid-90's. In the summer of 1999, when she was 19, she decided to give up her punk rock ideals. "Raging against the machine sounds good," she tells new friends, "but doesn't mean a whole lot when you're just waiting in line at McDonald's." She'd just finished her teaching degree that summer I met her. She decided to help her parents with their green house before finding a teaching job. She stops by the diner every night for a steak salad and glass of red wine, and still dyes strips of her hair bright blue.

In the front of the diner, on each side of the doors, are confession booths. It seemed like an odd thing to leave in, so I went to check them out. The door where the priest would sit was locked, but the other doors were open. Inside, were slips of paper and a few pens. It was set up so you could write a confession on a slip of paper, and slip it into the booth behind the locked door. There was a laminated sign taped to the wall inside saying you could leave your name off. One the first of each month, the owners take all the confessions and stick them to a wall in the diner. If there was a name on the confession, they'll cut it off. There are more than a hundred stuck to the walls of the church.

Dan was one of the diner's first patrons. He walked in one Sunday morning, not knowing the church was now a diner. He was only in town visiting friends, and meant to go to church. The owners told him he was more than welcome to kneel at a table and pray to the sketched Madonna. He did. He comes in every Sunday to pray, then stays for the day. He wears an old, Army jacket every time he comes in. If you ask if he was in the service he'll ignore you. But he still keeps his hair short and never slouches.

When my burger was ready, the woman brought the burger right over to me. She sat it down in front of me and waited. I thought she maybe wanted a tip, so I started to reach for my pocket.

"No, no. I want to know how it is," she said, still smiling.

"Oh." I took a bite, chewed, and stopped. "Wow." There was no emotion in my voice. The burger was so good, it stunned me of all emotion. I finished the bite and looked up at the woman, "This is excellent."

"Thank you, Sweetie. My name's Fran." She turned and walked back to one of the kitchens.

Tom won't come to the diner at night. He claims the bright light coming in from the stained glass gives him vertigo, even thought he's never seen the diner at night. Nobody knows too much about Tom. Each time someone new asks him the same question, he gives a different answer. The only constant is that his name is, 'Tom'. One night, he claimed to know a guy who did too much acid in the 70's and is stuck in a mental hospital now, because he believes he's a full glass of water, and if you touch him he'll spill his water on the floor. Once, he told us he knew Robert Redford back when he was still cool.

I went into the bathroom before I left that first time. In the men's room, someone had been drawing a comic on the tiled walls. A detailed comic about a man attending Duke University's branch in Hell. He had friends in the form of devils and demons, and Satan taught English Lit. The man in the comic lived in a dorm, but is originally from Ohio. There was enough art work on the wall to fill three full issues and the forth was started. Either the original artist or someone else had started to go back and color the comic in. I think with small tipped Sharpies. I heard recently that the comic is being published by an independent company.

Ryan used to steal cars and move them to the next block. His crowning achievement was the night he moved all the cars from one block a block north in just under an hour. He never stole a car or anything from inside anyone else's car, except for a false nail that had fallen off someone's finger. It was black and had a skull and cross bones painted on it. He poked a small hole in it and put a string through the hole. He wears it around his neck to this day. His girlfriend once told me he doesn't even take it off in the shower. Ryan works as a teacher's assistant at the state college. He teaches students, and some teachers, how to cross wires and build remotes to open other people's garages.

Just before I left that night, I went into the confession booth and wrote down, "I didn't wash my hands." I didn't think it made that big of an impression on me. But at lunch the next day, I needed a burger. Two days later, I was back again. When it was time to go back to college, I decided to find a job instead. I've been working for a landscaping company mowing lawns. Most of my money comes from tips. At least half of my money is spent on food at the diner. I can say in all honesty, that this is the happiest I have ever been. Some days, I just sit at a table sipping a drink and watching the people hanging out. Some of them just watching me. Most of us regulars could tell you who wrote each confession on the walls, even if we've never spoken to everyone else.

A few of us are planning a party for some time in the coming months. Three days without leaving the church, without sleeping, and without any connection to the outside world. Meaning, no TV, radio, or cell phones. That's as far as we've gotten. We don't know what we'll do once we all get here. We probably won't plan anything, either. If you're ever driving down the street and see an old church with wooden boxes stuck to the walls, advertising cheap tuna melts on Tuesdays, come on in.

The Most Aweseomest Guy Ever

So, I was sitting there in the dentist’s waiting room, right? I’ve been there a while and I’m struggling to stay awake. The TV had a cheesy, dental infomercial thing. They were advertising all sorts of whiting, cover-ups, replacements, how much your gums kick ass... Apparently, some people are born with really large mouths that let others see their wisdom teeth just with a simple smile. To correct this, some people with freakishly large mouths have their teeth whitened so it blinds people whenever their mutant teeth find light. I was starting to get cramped, so I start changing positions. I put my right ankle on my left knee. Crossed my arms. I leaned down and put my head in my lap. I pulled up my other foot. I sucked in my arms. Eventually, I was a perfect ball laying on the floor. It makes for a great, full-body stretch.

Just as I start to untangle myself to get back in my chair, some kid snatches me up. He put me on the inside of his elbow and held me between it and his side. He had managed to put his arm right on my knee, which was the first step in unballing myself. I needed to pull my leg to the side before I could move anything else. My mouth was crammed into my wrist, so I couldn't say anything. The kid, with Mom in tow, leaves the office with me. What the Hell? I mean, I knew I wasn't his. I knew I wasn’t one of the toys left for kids to play with. For all intensive purposes, this kid just stole a ball. Just came in and picked me up. Plus, the mother didn’t say a thing. She just let him run off with me. The kid doesn’t let go until he threw me in the car. I couldn’t unball then. That would have just been weird. If I had popped out to normal size, the kid would have been scarred for life, and the mom would probably kick the crap out of me. What could you possibly say after unballing in stranger’s car? So, I just stayed where I was thrown.

The two didn’t say a word to each other on the way to their house. Mom had on a top 40 radio station, and the kid had a Disc-Man with 50 Cent playing. I could hear both at the same time; 50 Cent coming from the seat in front of me and latest pop hits coming from the speakers in the back of the car. Three 50 Cent songs and five pop hits later, the car stops in a driveway. There was some quick banter about cleaning rooms, taking an older brother to soccer practice, putting the dishes away... I couldn’t tell who said what, because the music had made my ears bleed and pop.

They were leaving the car without me and I was hoping he had forgotten me. I was wrong. With a little bag of tooth aiding products in one hand, he picks me up with the other. Damn. I was going to have to wait until I was alone in this house, unball, and sneak out of the house without being seen. Or, I was going to be thrown at the basketball hoop once, fall to the ground, and left there. It was the second. I hit the backboard at the very bottom, just touching the net. I fell straight down and bounced three or four times before stopping in the side yard. That’s where I sat for several minutes to make sure no one was around. With no human sounds in audible range, I started to unball. It took a lot longer than it should have since I had cramped up horribly. I had to lay there a bit to get myself together before getting up.

When I finally got to my feet, I turned around to see an old man looking at me. He had on a baseball cap with two cones of bushy white hair on each side. There was a bike with him, but he was just holding it next to him. A small radio was in his breast pocket with ear-phones attached. He was the most awesome guy ever.

“Hey,” I mumbled. His eyes looked me over, trying to figure me out, but he didn’t say a word. “Uh, do you live here?” I pushed. Nothing. As awesome as the guy was, I was getting uncomfortable. “Well, I should be heading back home, now.” It was like being with a store mannequin gone wrong. Sad that he wouldn’t talk to me, I just gave a languid wave and made my way to the road. I only got to the end of the driveway when I realized I had no idea where I was. I looked down both sides of the street, but nothing looked familiar. I was mentally flipping coins to pick a direction to go, when I was suddenly very aware of someone behind me. I turned slowly, and it was the silent, awesome guy. He was still just staring at me, silently. “You, uh, wouldn’t know how to get back to Alliance from here, would you?” I don’t think he’d even blinked yet. I started looking around for a pay phone or a sign, anything that might be useful. When my eyes get back to the man, he turned to his left, went to the right side of the road, and started walking. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back at me. Awesomeness turned into creepiness for a second. He was the only helpful person/item around, so I started after him.

I couldn’t hear any music coming from his earphones, but he was bobbing his head to a silent beat. The bike was rusted and looked old, but it didn’t make a sound. It was like he was in a cone of awesome silence. Creepiness melted right back to awesomeness, even though I knew there was still a possibility he was leading me to some dungeon instead of my car. The houses along the way lacked enough character to really warrant description. There were a lot of them though. We were walking slowly, apparently taking our time. After maybe twenty minutes, we were walking out of the neighborhood complex and into a pretty busy street. Proving his awesomeness, the man walked into the street without moving his head, and without stopping at all. Cars flew passed him, stopped, swerved within inches of him, but he never jumped or stopped once. There were two or three minor accidents because of him, but nothing serious. Less confidently, I started across the street. I ran, jumped, dodged, and had things thrown at me. On the other side of the street, I gasped for air while the guy waited for me. I wanted to ask why we couldn’t have used the crosswalk up the street, but I honored our non-spoken agreement to stay quiet. A few seconds later, he started moving again. I still had no idea where we were. There were shops, gas stations, restaurants, but nothing familiar. Picking up his bike a few inches off the ground, he stepped up onto a sidewalk. He made no effort at all to get out of anyone’s way. A few cocksure folks played chicken with him, but they all lost. Not once did he flinch or even turn his head. “Is he blind?” “Get your grandpa off the sidewalk.” “Jackass!” No one seemed to like him much.

As slow as we were going, it didn’t seem I’d have to worry about him running into anyone’s back. But after a while, I spotted a group of people standing in a small circle talking down the way. When we got closer, I looked around the man to see trendy clothes wrapped under Letterman jackets. The awesome man was about to run into pop-jocks. I just knew these were the type of high school guys that would throw down at any time to prove their balls were still in their pants. I looked around for a cop car or anyone that might be helpful. Everyone was useless. I was attacked by panic. I felt like I couldn’t do anything to stop the collision. It’s like when you’re about to hit a deer and he’s just all metaphoric; all you can do is hit the breaks, but you’re still going to hit him. I slowed my pace and as we got closer to the group, I stopped to watch. The bike the awesome guy held next to him ran into the leg of one of the pop-jockers. The jocker fell forward a bit then turned around.

“What’s your problem, man?! Nothing to say?” The kid moved closer to the man, trying to threaten him. The most awesome man ever moved his head for the first time since I started following him to face the boy. He didn’t change his expression or say a word, but the boy started to look as if his plan, which he never had, was just killed. The man reached out an arm and patted the boy on the head, almost lovingly. Like you would pet a dog that had just brought you the tennis ball. And just like that, he was back on his way. The boys on the other side of the circle moved out of his way as he went, just as if nothing had happened. I ran to catch up, then just followed.

I didn’t care where we were going at this point. I didn’t care if I ever got back home. He was a super hero, and I was his sidekick. Our secret identities were nameless people walking the street in silence, not worth a second glance. I still kind of wish I had gotten my teeth cleaned that day.

Operation: Decepti Freedom

Timmy, the kid across the street, and I had been in negations for years now. War was inevitable. He refused to hand over the Megatron figure, which was mine to begin with. According to his little brother, he lost it. I knew it's there though. And by Mega Man, I'd get it back...

Firstly, I needed to send out some reconnaissance. Taking a radio controlled toy car, I added a camcorder with some Play-Doh. I sat downstairs by the front door for hours waiting for the Play-Doh to harden. As soon as it had, I set it on the sidewalk outside and ran to my room upstairs. Pulling out the antenna of the remote control, military/commando style, I duck below the window facing Timmy's house just far enough that only my eyes peeked over the ledge. I start the car out slowly moving it up and down the drive way to test the connection. It seemed okay. Once back in front of my house, I moved it into the street. It was immediately ran over by a car. Crap. Dad'll be pissed about his camera.

Plan B: Footwork.

I still needed to get some more information on Timmy, but without a camera, I'd have to do some dirty work. I made sure to set my alarm clock for early the next day. I snuck out the back door, across the street, and into Timmy's yard before he was up. Shortly thereafter, Timmy's mom came out the front door. Hi there, Stevie. Timmy isn't up yet, but you can wait there until he gets up. She got into her car and left for work. I stood up, dusted myself off, and strolled into the back yard. I started to climb up the white, crisscrossy thing with the flowers wrapped around it. Again, I find movies and television had lied to me. I was only a few feet off the ground before it broke off above my hands and I fell into the flower bed. Getting up and dusting off again, I look around for a new Idea. There was a Playskool see-saw in the yard and when I saw it, cartoons started playing in my head. If I just could have found something heavy enough, I could have chucked it onto the other side of the see-saw, and I would've flown up on to the house. But it would have to had been heavier than I was for this to work. How could I lift something that big and throw it. A few hours later, I snapped back into consciousness. By that time, painters had come by to do the house. I jumped onto their ladder and made it to the top of the first story. I passed one of the painters and looked into Timmy's second floor playroom. Scattered Lego pieces, G. I. Joe arms, and Lite-Brite lights were all over the floor. Timmy was on the other side of the room playing Zelda, and was completely immersed in the game. Then I saw it: In an opened toy box, what very well could have been Megatron's arm was sticking out of the random G. I. Joe, Transformer, and rip-off figures. That's it: This was a declaration of war.

I knew it would be messy; I knew the other kids in the neighborhood wouldn't like it or back me; I knew my parents would protest... but it had to be done. I walked back to my room standing tall. I called Timmy to let him know he had 48 hours to return Megatron before I may take action. Right after I hung up, I started blowing up the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles blimps and charging up my Super Ninja Robot Ferrets. The troops will be ready in two days. I'm coming Timmy...


I don't have your stupid Megatron. I think you should give me YOUR Optimus Prime!

His demand was ridiculous. Prime would never leave my room. Twenty-four hours after making my ultimatum, Timmy started to prepare for war. He set up G. I. Joe and various rip-off vehicles on the roof in front and on top of his toy room window; each with bright orange, spring-propelled, surface-to-air missiles. It looked like he had put something in the gutters of the house, too. I couldn't make out what it was at the time. Timmy may have been a little snot, but he was clever enough to camouflage his gutter-surprise with leaves and dirt. Timmy's window was shut tight. Specks of gold and silver shined brightly from his roof top. He must have set up remote firing agents. I guess Timmy got a Little Professor's 'My First Servo and Diode' Play Set last Easter, as well. He obviously wasn't prepared to give back my Megatron.

The blimps were blown up and ready to go; the ferrets were at full power; remote controls had been taken apart to add to my servos and diodes... I was almost ready. I paced back and forth waiting for him to crack and send over Megatron. I planned to stay up that night. I just paced... back... and forth... for hours. The whole scene is just a blur now. All I remember is the Muppet Babies singing another cheerful tune right before I told them what fools they really were and pulled the plug on the television. I woke up around eight in the morning using the Nintendo as a pillow and my Alf window curtains as a blanket. I got up and ran to the window to survey the soon-to-be battle ground: No changes.

With less than 12 hours until the deadline was up, I started to prepare my Super Ninja Robot Ferrets. I only had to program one ferret with the plan; he could train the rest. The Turtle blimps would go first to implement the air campaign and take out what they can. Afterwards, the ferrets would storm the house. The first wave would take the front porch to make Home Base. They would be able to make repairs, recharge damaged troops, and keep enemy troops held captive. The second wave would climb the support beams of the porch to take the roof. If the air campaign wasn't too successful, it would take the bulk of the ferrets to take the roof. Once the roof and porch were taken, all that's left is the toy room. The third wave was programmed to brake through the window and enter the room. First, they'd take out any other enemy troops in the inside. With so many enemy positions outside the room, very few were expected inside. After taking hold of the toy room, they only had to transport Megatron back to my room. They were well equipped and programmed for the job. I kept a forth ferret infantry separate from the others in case something went wrong or if something unexpected came up.

After programming the ferrets, I checked the blimps. They were all full and floating a few inches off the ground, tied to Creepy Crawler metal molds to keep them from making it to the ceiling. Each blimp held two, heavy, orange, non-explosive bombs. Each bomb connected to remote triggers. Each trigger set up to my Little Professor's 'My First Servo and Diode' control box. I would be able to control the release of each bomb from the safety of my room. An air campaign immediately followed by a ground campaign; constant attacks until I reach my goal. It's genius, I kept telling myself.

With everything set up, I went back to watching Timmy's window. I saw him looking back at me. As soon as he saw I was back at my window, he grinned evilly. He pulled up a Sound Wave figure and a book of matches. He turned his head to the side slightly and eyed me with an upturned eyebrow. Just a threat, but a serious one. The world's Transformer figures are important to everyone. Destroying them would be sad and upsetting for kids everywhere. This wasn't going to stop me though. It just made me move faster...

Timmy had only minutes to back out and turn over Megatron before we were officially at war. My parents were still trying to make me put my troops away, but to no avail. I had waited too long with no results to back down now. They did make me wonder if I was going about this the right way, though. All these troops, all this planning... even to an eight year old it seemed a little weird. As I was thinking, it happened; there it was: I could see it through the front window. Megatron. Timmy apparently just threw him on the ground to get to other figures. I was given the opportunity; I had to take it. Only minutes after the 48 hour deadline was up, green blimps leapt into the air and out my window. They glided slowly across the street towards Timmy's house. Once they were in the air, Timmy's eyes widened; coming straight towards him was a green wave only birds could surf stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was like a metaphor or something. Seeing that I certainly wasn't playing, Timmy snapped into action, sending Lego men out to reinforce the Joe protective barrier. Covered in plastic helmets and wielding tiny, grey swords, the Lego men were positioned by each vehicle to assist in firing if the remote failed. I assumed they were also there to fight hand-to-hand if the situation presented itself. After the Lego men were set up, Timmy looked more at ease, but only for a while. As the blimps made their way closer to his house, he saw that they didn't just carry bright orange bombs, but Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Paratroopers. After seeing Timmy threaten to aflame Sound Wave, I stepped up the first assault. The ferrets had to be victorious. To lighten their load, the Turtles would try to take out as many troops on the roof as possible. Still, they were few, their joints were over-used and loose, and I had to scramble to get them each weapons. None had their original ninja weapon; some had hand-me-down weapons from the troops before them and others had swords from other units' soldiers taped to their hands. They would most likely fall to the ground below, breaking their plastic casings. There was little doubt that they would soon be in a garage sale; but it was worth the risk. These brave Turtles would not brake in vain. It took close to half an hour for the blimps to make their way to Timmy's roof... the battle had started. Plastic missiles fell to the ground like a Nintendo controller after playing too much Marble Madness. Lego heads and legs flew into the air like the die in a Pop-o-Matic from the game Trouble. Plastic swords and guns made their way across the street like so many metal hats and wheelbarrows across the room after family game nights. Oh, the Monopoly!

Heavy casualties were taken on both sides. Few of my blimps had made it to Timmy's backyard, none of the Turtles made it in one piece. About half of Timmy's force remained. It was more than I wanted to keep standing. I wasted no time in deploying the first wave of ground troops. The ferrets went into action, diving out my window onto the ground and scurrying across the street. In no time, they were in Timmy's yard approaching the porch. Just as they were about to climb the steps, Timmy unleashed his gutter surprise. Slime from so many Ghostbusters sets oozed from their containers onto the ferrets. The slime made its' way into their circuits and joints, slowing them immensely; some stopped in their tracks. Only a third of the ferrets made it to the porch; the rest stuck on and in front of the steps. Programmed to only help the troops in the following waves, the ferrets on the porch waited for the second wave to start. I had underestimated Timmy. He was smarter than he let on.

Even with the loss of much of the first infantry Super Robot Ninja Ferret brigade, I gave the word to start the second wave as planned. They flew from the window like the last team and made it to the others. Instead of trying to go over the frozen and stuck ferrets, they went to their sides and climbed up the support beams making their way to the roof. With no other surprises, it was little work for them. Once at the roof, the second battle took place. Some of the enemy vehicles had no more missiles to fire. They took the only action available to them: They took off the brakes and ran into any ferrets in their path, taking them to the ground with them. Again, I was taken back by the tactics of Timmy and his troops. They were crude and old, but highly effective. The battle was over quickly, with the remaining Lego troops surrendering to the ferrets. The roof was secured, and the third wave commenced. They followed the second wave perfectly and were at the window very quickly. The leading ferrets used their tails to break the glass tot Timmy's toy room. Timmy ran to the back corner and watched in awe; shocked that such an attack could take place. Still, he had one more surprise. All over the floor were Weebles; apparent human shields. They held no weapons and had done nothing wrong. The Weebles, forever standing, wobbled back and forth taunting the ferrets. Splattered among the Weebles were soldiers from all over. He-man, Aliens, Go-Bots, M.U.S.C.L.E., even the chair from Pee Wee's Playhouse. To get to Megatron, the resistance would have to be quelled. I had not programmed the troops to injure innocent civilians, but they were being fired upon from behind the Weebles. The ferrets clung to the walls and spat Super Robot Ninja Ferret stars at the enemy. The stand off lasted almost a full hour. In the end, the resistance had been taken care of. No civilians had been harmed in the battle, all the enemy troops had been defeated, but few ferrets were left. The troops left standing started to plan a path across the walls to Megatron, trying to find a way around the many posters that decorated the room. In a last ditch effort, Timmy pulled out a Nerf bow. Amazingly, he was able to knock out the last two ferrets. The third unit had been destroyed. Units one and two needed to keep their positions to stop any counter attack that Timmy could throw together. At this point, I wasn't taking any chances. With no choice left, the fourth ferret unit was on the loose. This final unit was small, but new and fresh. Following the troops before them, they made it quickly to Timmy's toy room. He only had one arrow left, but he made it count. The Nerf arrow flew across the room and hit a ferret, knocking him into another, and pushing both out the window. They rolled off the roof and fell to the ground. The ferrets broke into two different divisions. One made its' way to Timmy, the other to Megatron. I could hear Timmy shriek as the shiny, red-eyed devils came at him. In the heat of battle however, Timmy took out the ferrets barehanded; some crushed under foot, others smashed against a wall. It was a distraction well made, though. Megatron was all ready on the roof. I saw Timmy make his way to the door. I did the same. We both reached our front lawns at the same time and ran as fast as we could towards the prize. Timmy swept up some slime from his porch while running, and threw it at the ferrets carrying Megatron: Direct hit. In the middle of the street was three Super Robot Ninja Ferrets holding a Megatron, stuck in green ooze. Timmy and I both dove from the sidewalk as if in slow motion, flying right at each other. Neither of us made it very far into the street. Getting back up, we started running again and met in the middle of the street. We both grabbed Megatron from the ferrets at the same time and started a vicious game of tug-of-war. People came from their houses to watch, only to find they weren't interested and go back inside. After a few tugs and spins, Timmy fell to the ground. Fine. Take your stupid toy. Megatron in hand, I turned my back to Timmy and walked towards my house. Once at the walkway to my front door, I threw a fist in the air and jumped as high as I could. I tripped and fell on my face, breaking my nose and chipping two teeth. Megatron was fine.

You and Me and the End of the World

"So... what do you want to be when you grow up?"

She stopped dancing on the edge of the sidewalk for a moment to think. "Remembered... loved... the last standing." She takes another moment to consider what she'd said. She closed her eyes and raised her arms in victory.

He kept staring at the page taped inside the store's window, "HELP US WELCOME REBECCA BACK TO OUR FAMILY 6/24." His eyes stayed on the note as he turned his face towards her. "Hey. Rebecca's back."

"Who's Rebecca?"

"Don't know. But I feel reassured."

A car blows by Eve going at least 50 and the two almost meet in a very awkward way. She shuts her eyes lightly and savors the wind. Adam leans into a light pole and watches with a smile.

He looks at the bank's digital thermometer turn into its digital clock. "We're going to be late. Let's go. We'll miss the good freaks."

Stopping her twirls, Eve walks backwards to the car outside the pharmacy, and leans the back of her head on the roof. "I'm not going."

He turns to leave, knowing she'll be right behind him soon. "It's the end of the world. Of course, you're going."

*****

The recent graduates from [any] High School started to gather at the park hours ago. It was decided that tonight shall be the party to end all parties. Because, not only is today the last of high school, it is the last day. By the time the party's over, there will be no more parties. Whether or not they all know, nobody really cares. The two to survive the night, we shall call; Adam and Eve.

*****

Sara transferred to the school a few months ago. Her 'use your rules to go fuck yourself' attitude won over classmates who thought she was "nu-punk" which meant something to whoever said it first. In reality, Sara's just a punk. She goes to the parties because there's always booze and usually drugs. She gets them free. When she doesn't thank you for them, that means you're cool.

Eve pulls on Adam's sleeve, as if that's the on switch for his ears. "Why are we talking towards Sara? She hates everyone."

"I like people who hate everyone. Very relatable. Good liars, too."

Eve goes to the opposite side of the picnic table Sara's sitting on and grabs one of the drinks Sara didn't thank anyone for.

Sara mostly ignores Eve, but turns a cocked eye towards Adam. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Avoiding responsibility." Adam nods to a wristband on Sara's left arm. If nothing else, accessories tend to bring attention. Sara wasn't one for attention, really. Then again, someone like Sara knows how to cut one's wrists properly. A horizontal cut along one wrist must be Sara's way of saying, 'oh yeah?!' What ever the answer is to that questions is, it isn't 'yeah!'

"I was trying to... shave... my wrists..."

Eve stands and turns. Grabbing Adam's jacket, she walks them off. "Well, better luck next time."

*****

When they woke up yesterday, they both knew. The world would end and whatever comes after would begin. Selected by God, Fate, sheer force of will... they don't take the time to consider it. Why the world ends, how it will end, why they'll survive... doesn't seem to matter. Even if the flow happens to be in the molten steel coming from the skyscrapers that used to live in Main City up north, go with it. Adam can't stop his nose from whistling when he breathes too hard. Eve can't even stop the ends of her hair from curling up when it gets too long. The end of the world is over their heads. The world will end, and they will watch.

*****

Alan and James had taken down the Christmas lights from one of the gazeboes in the park, and are now replacing them with 9-volt batteries and many small strings of wire.

Eve tiptoes up on the outside of the gazebo and gets her finger up close to a battery to see how hot it is. "Where'd all the batteries come from?"

James kicks the box full of 9-volts. "Smoke detectors. Snagged on our way here."

Adam chuckles. "I guess the chance that the fire finally starts the night two toasters steal the detector batteries are slim."

"Eh," Alan scoffs. "It's my stance that if a fire starts, the race needs to remember 'Fire bad' without the piercing beep noises. Otherwise, Baby Darwin cries."

Eve touches a battery and jumps back a little. "So, uh... why?'

"Is pretty," Alan moans.

"Never thought you two would be much for aesthetics." Adam offers Eve his cup of what tastes like paint thinner and sadness to cool off her finger. She dunks her finger in the cup, and takes a swig.

"We're seeing if it can get hot enough to actually start a fire." James puts a battery to his tongue to see if it's alive enough to use. "It's an expression of anger, irony, and boredom. Mostly boredom."

"I'd say it's mostly irony." Adam watches Eve's face as she tries to figure out what she just drank. "Irony and 9-Volts. Should totally be a cover band."

"Electronica covers of Sixties folk songs. We ARE Irony and 9-Volts," she sneers with a rock sign, the now empty cup hanging from her singed finger.

*****

They didn't bother with graduation or the last day of school. Anyone else who survives won't care if you have a diploma. They'll just be happy if you'll share your water or aren't a zombie foraging for brain meats. They spent the last two days of recorded history together. Watching their favorite movies and shows in case it's the last chance. Talking about the advantages of a post-apocalyptic world. Such as the destruction of Wal-Marts, Starbucks, and L.A. No more ring-tones, no more spam, all the Twinkies that will never grow old. Survivor: Earth. There were jokes about that Twilight Zone episode where that guy's glasses broke.

The scariest thing about the end of the world, is whether or not you and your loved ones will survive. Adam and Eve have nothing to be afraid of.

*****

Amy is both the only student this year to have a parent in World War II and to graduate at sixteen. Seeing her father now makes her think of all the kids to be born to old, decrepit couples living and having sex far, far beyond their years thanks to modern medicine. Amy thinks modern medicine should cure young, poor people before making rich, old people live despite their decaying innards. She also drinks heavily.

Jay pierced his left eyebrow at the start of freshman year. People say he did it to make people think he was punkrock. Later that year, he started walking around school with a cigarette behind his ear around teachers. People say he did it so people would think he didn't care. Sophomore year, Jay got a tattoo of a lion pouncing on his right wrist. People say he did it so people would say he's tough. For a time, he wore a beaded dog collar. For another time, he'd speak with a fake, Madonna-English accent. People never say that Jay likes to control what people think about him, but if they did, they'd finally be right.

Alison was a cancer survivor by the age of eleven. It was touted as a miracle and the doctors all told her she was very lucky. Every time she's screwed up since then, her parents yell and scream about how she's living her second-chance, and about how most people aren't so lucky. After cooling down, her parents always try to make up for yelling with a gift, and her friends all tell her how lucky she is. Alison spends a lot of her time on Internet journals and forums trying to console terminal patients. She watches specials on TV about good people who are dying from illness. For the last seven years, Alison has never once felt lucky. Every breath makes her feel guilty for surviving.

Ryan thinks about friends who died when he wasn't around. Steven cries himself to sleep thinking about the horrible people he knows who will all succeed him. Jamie signed her name with hearts until her boyfriend betrayed her with a word.

*****

Standing across the street from the park, Adam and Eve watch their former classmates and co-inhabitors of planet Earth. They dance, they drink, they be merry despite themselves.

"God," she sighs. "They all look so happy. I hope we won't have to bury them."

"I wouldn't worry about it. We're about to inherit all the Fabreeze in the world." Adam produces a small flask from his jacket, and fills Eve's little cup back up.

Eve coughs out a little laugh, trying not to cry. "Toast?"

"Here's to the end of the world." They drink and squeeze in close.

The car that almost hit Eve earlier flies by them and the park, seemingly going nowhere. The car's stereo pumps out the bass that's probably from a song, but no one can tell for sure. The car's left headlight goes out as it hits a mailbox up on a curb. The car's driver suddenly crashes from his amphetamine high. The driver's car suddenly crashes from the driver's amphetamine crash. Neither survive the night. Somewhere, a gazebo burns. Really, it signifies nothing.

Adam looks at Eve. Eve looks at Adam. The world starts to end.

***

Of course, the end of the world isn't necessarily the end of the story...