Monday, November 01, 2004

Chapter 1: Revelations in Paradise. (part 1)

Word Count this post: 1727
Total: 1727

The sun was setting on suburbia. Skip Harding was driving his new BMW convertible well above the posted speed limit. He chuckled to himself as he flew past a sign that read "Caution: Children at Play."

"Fuck children" he thought. "they should be kept on leashes anyway."

The speeding black sports car zipped smoothly over an extra wide speed bump.

"They must put those there for people who drive shit cars" Skip thought.

The Christina Aguilera song Skip was enjoying came to an end just as he pulled into the driveway of his 6-bedroom summer home. He exited the vehicle, whistling with glee at the ease of his life, and walked to the front doors. The doors were large and gaudy, and to his surprise they were unlocked.

Entering the house Skip was even more surprised to find his father sitting on his couch watching TV.

"What are you doing here Dad?" Skip asked.

"Nice to see you too Son. You're fired." His dad replied, turning off the TV and getting off the couch.

"What? What do you mean I'm fired? I'm your Son, you can't fire me!" Skip yelled, his face turning red.

"Fuck you Skip, you're a lousy Son. What's worse, you're a lousy business manager. I don't care if you're my Son, or the fucking Pope, you've nearly run Blamtech into the ground, and you're fired." Skip's Dad wasn't joking around.

Skip stared in disbelief. "Well what am I supposed to do then?"

"Oh don't worry Skip. I'm not going to let my only idiot Son shame the family by being unemployed. I've set up a nice little job for you in our customer service department. You talk on the phone as much as your mother, so I figured you might as well do it for a living."

Skip continued to stare at his father with wide eyes. "But I'm still getting paid the same right? And wait, who's going to do my job? And Dad, I'm not your only Son, what are you talking about?"

"I said my only IDIOT Son. And please, don't act like you give a shit about what happens to the family business now. I've handpicked one of the customer service workers to take your place. You will be taking his place. And you'll be trading wages too. I've tried nepotism Skip, and it looks like it only works 50% of the time. So from now on I'm going to be paying you what you're worth. Which is about $8.50 per hour."

"$8.50 per hour?" Skip was screaming now. "How do you expect me to live on that? That's not even enough to pay for my car insurance!"

"I guess you'll have to sell the beamer and buy a bus pass. You can use the rest of the money for a deposit on an apartment. But don't worry; you'll be raised to $9.50 once you complete your 3-month training period, if you haven't been fired. And you'll have yearly raises based on performance reviews." Skips Dad was now heading for the door.

As he opened the door and prepared to leave he turned back. "They'll be expecting you in the customer service department at 8:00am sharp tomorrow. If I were you I wouldn't be late, the manager of that department is a real prick when it comes to punctuality. Oh and I almost forgot, I was in a generous mood so I bought you a week supply of uniforms for your new job. You'll find them in your closet. I'll be back in 60 days. You have until then to find a new place to live. Good luck."

With that Skip's Dad walked out the door. Skip just stood there, trying to process everything he had just been told. He didn't move until he heard the sound of his Hummer H2 starting up. Skip ran outside to see his Dad pulling out of the driveway.

"What the fuck are you doing!" Skip shouted.

Skip's dad rolled down the window and shouted back, "I'm repossessing the Hummer, what does it look like asshole?"

Skip would have shouted something back, but his words were drowned out by the sound of squealing tires. The smell of burned rubber filled the air as the H2 disappeared in the distance. Defeated and confused, Skip walked back inside.

Still unsure what to think about what just took place; Skip plopped down on his fine Italian leather sofa. Without any clear idea of what else to do, he reached for the remote. He pointed it towards the 72 inch plasma TV hanging on the wall, and turned it on. There to great him was an image of a news anchor.

"Who is this fuck nut?" Skip muttered.

The news anchor shuffled some papers looked at the camera and said, "The following is a message from your creator."

Before Skip could make another remark four giant metal fingers came crashing through the ceiling, and one giant thumb came through the wall. The house shook as the entire side of the house was ripped off and tossed aside like a handful of sand.

Outside, standing as tall as a building, was a terrifying image of the grim reaper himself. Rather than the traditional skeletal look he appeared to be robotic. At least his hands did, a great black cloak concealed everything else. Rather than a scythe he held a sod off shotgun, which he raised toward Skip.

Skip scrambled up with a total lack of grace, fell over the back of the couch, and ran in the opposite direction. He flung open the doors only to come face to face with Death. Well, Death's shotgun to be specific, only now it was only slightly larger than a normal sod off shotgun. It was still just as frightening to Skip, who had now shit his pants.

In a voice that sounded something like James Earl Jones after a bender Death said, "That's disgusting." The gun then fired, and Skip went flying back towards the couch.

As he lay in a pool of blood, Skip looked down and gasped at the site of his own intestines. He tried to scream but could not find the air. Death walked toward him with malice. A hand resembling the one that had just destroyed half the house reached down and grabbed Skip by the neck.

The few sad rays of the bloody red sunset dimmed as Skip was lifted high above the ground by the icy metallic hand of Death. He groped at the arm of his tormentor in desperation. Skip could no longer see the marble floor, but he could hear the sound of his own innards landing on it. He could no longer see any features of the elegant summer home. All was in darkness, except for the sinister being that held him by the throat.

An ominous glow the color of pure evil swirled around the cruel reaper as it spoke again. "What's the matter Skip? Are ya gutless?"

The last thing Skip heard before his eyes rolled back and he slipped into unconsciousness was the sound of sadistic laughter.

When Skip awoke he found himself in a room lit by a single bulb hanging from an unseen ceiling. The light was bright, but it failed to reveal any walls. It did reveal a man sitting in a chair directly across from Skip. The chair was identical to the simple folding metal one to which Skip realized he was chained.

Seeing that he was now awake, the man picked up his chair and moved it just a few feet in front of Skip. He lit a cigarette and sat back down to face the pitiful captive.

"You look just like Antonio Banderas." Skip stammered.

"That's because the guy upstairs, he was thinking about the movie adaptation when he wrote this scene." The man replied.

"Huh", Skip couldn't think of anything else to say. He had never been more confused.

"You on the other hand, you'll probably be played by some no name actor. If you give a good performance, it might jumpstart your career. Or maybe you'll be typecast, and end up like Mark Hamill." With this the man blew a ring of smoke into Skip's face.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Skip hardly noticed the smoke.

"Now Skip, you're not going to win any praise for brilliant dialog with language like that." The man chided. "Here try this, say 'I say good sir, what's this all about? I demand your release me from my bonds and explain yourself will all haste.' Now don't you think that sounds better?"

Skip just stared, not knowing what to say.

"Not much of a conversationalist, are you Skip? Well that's Ok. Since a much better actor is playing me, it's only fair that I get more lines in this scene." The man looked at skip to see if he would respond. Skip was catatonic.

"Ok then, I suppose I will get on with it. I'm here to set up the premise of the story. Your story Skip. See, you are just a figment of someone's imagination. You and everything you know are nothing more than the product of some sick bastard attempting to write a novel.

You want to know who that someone is? It's me Skip. I am your creator. I am your God. At least I'm the guy playing him. You don't really exist Skip. You're only here for my amusement."

"What the fuck are you talking about" Skip said yet again.

"You know Skip, I really should have given you more brains. In my world I deal with idiots everyday. Hard core idiots Skip. I hate them Skip, and I hate you just as much. Now, seeing that this is my fantasy world and all, I don't see any reason I should have to deal idiocy. So for the rest of this conversation, I'm going to give you the ability to conduct an intelligent conversation."

Skips fears melted away, and he somehow felt detached from this bizarre situation. "So you're telling me that you are God?"

"That's more like it Skip. Yes I am God. Well, in your world I'm God anyway. In my world I'm just another corporate slave, chained to a mountain of debt with the shackles of obscurity. Obscurity or mediocrity, I'm not sure which."

3 Comments:

Blogger Dave R said...

That was purdy cool actually...

9:32 AM  
Blogger James said...

I've read shit a lot worse than that published... granted, it was in an e-zine I stumbled across late one night when I was really bored, so it wasn't exactly high class literature, but I'll be back.

2:50 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dude, go you! At least you're actually writing something. And it's actually very good and interesting. I like the wit.

10:46 PM  

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