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"A Very Brief Story" by Lisa Sunday, 05-Mar-2000 21:47:43
The wind sings to me. Its voice soars high and wild, then breaks into a deep, moaning chorus. The dead branches of trees chitter against the steel sides of abandoned buildings in a frantic accompaniment. A flock of starlings descends ravenously upon the weedy fields, each hungry bird attempting to wrest a small meal from the remains of past cultivation. The wind hums again softly, seeking a new melody. Its tentative sound moves me to tears. Stupid wind. Can't even carry a freakin' tune! Chapter One: I am on a mission, but I have no name. You may call me "Asil" if you like. It is close enough to the truth. My creator, the Diabolical Doctor Moo, lovingly mixed volatile chemicals and skin scrapings into what was intended to be a mere semblance of life, a shadow of substance. You see, my being was meant to be soulless and weak, with none of the fire of the eternal running through my shallow veins. Yet I have surpassed these limited origins. I truly live. Mother Moo would be proud of my rapid evolution, I think. I am her greatest achievement thus far. Besides, I am not nearly so annoying as my cell donor... her name is Lisa. She is a big doody-head. But I digress... This place is desolate indeed. The ground is scarred with the tread of ancient machinery gone to rust. Why was I sent here, to this quiet corner of green death? Ah yes, I remember now, I am here to find a man. But not just any man. The object of my search is a great man, a heroic man, and, some might even say, a fake man... Chapter 2: The man named Visionary was correct. There is nothing but corn here. Corn and dirty, ragged children with scythes. If I weren't a chronal metamorph, I would fear these chanting, glassy-eyed prepubescents. As it is, I shift my age downward to nine years old. This doesn't help much. Damn Lisa for being such an unpopular child. I run puffing through endless rows of stalks, pausing only now and then to check for potential signs of the vacationing Legionnaire and his pet bug. There are none. I must thus try yet another creepy, abandoned town infested with psychotic, demon-worshipping rug rats. How many of these can there be? According to my map, at least 10 more... Chapter 3: Ten days ago in the LAir Fortress: Footsteps echo crisply down freshly painted corridors. The massive new HQ buzzes with the sounds of uncharacteristically energetic activity. In the main conference room, policy of vital significance to the future of the cosmos is being made. spiffy: "Am I still dead here or what?" All: "Yes!" spiffy's ashes: "Just checking..." There is a brief silence to honor the memory of the fallen hero. Then everyone ceases firing spitballs at one another and harkens to the words of their leader du jour. Lisa: "Anymore old business, fellow Legionnaires?" Messenger clears his throat ominously, "There is still the matter of Visionary and Fleabot. They've been out of contact for well over two weeks..." Hatman: "I suppose we should prolly investigate and make sure they haven't been sacrificed to some evil corn-type deity...." Rocket Raccoon startled to full attention, "Oh merciful heavens, that's terrible... um, but if Vizh did get his fake tushie immolated in the name of an archaic god of maize, does that mean we get free Crackerjacks(tm) and taco chips?" The Legionnaires looked at each other with a potent mixture of fear and anticipation... Chapter 4: RIGHT NOW; SOMEWHERE IN A CORN FIELD: "Are you *sure* this is going to work?" the stubbly-faced man asked his tiny robotic companion as the fire burned ever hotter and higher. "Yes, of course. And, in any case, this is only way to solve the problem." "Well, it's just that I'm getting kind of full here..." the human complained as he continued to munch, swallow and munch again as quickly as possible. "Stop whining and make more popcorn! This stuff isn't going away by itself." Visionary grimaced and picked yet another sharp little kernel out of his molar, "I knew I should have packed the napalm..." The small silver 'bot glanced at him sternly, "True heroes don't apply dangerous defoliants to the arable land of innocent farmers!" Starring bleakly at the vast, unending fields of vegetation he was expected to consume in popped form, Visionary muttered back, "This one does." 10 DAYS AGO; LAIR LEGION HQ: As the Legionnaires laid bets on whether Visionary and Fleabot had been shuffled messily off this mortal coil at the hands of grain-worshipping toddlers, Lisa continued the meeting. "*Sigh* As head of this team, I suppose it's my duty to look for them, especially since they could be in terrible danger *yawn*" "Oh no," Hatman piped up, "You couldn't possibly go. We need you here. Well, Jarvis does anyway..." "Yeah, and your powers are so..." "Sucky and lame?" interjected CrazySugarFreakBoy. "I was going to say special and unique, but your version is pretty accurate too," Jarvis nodded to the excitable newbie. "We prolly should send someone who packs a powerful punch and can 'flies away' really fast." "Heh! I think I smell an assignment with your claw marks all over it," Banjooooo whispered to Foom, who was suddenly busy faking a violent allergy to corn. After witnessing virtually every potential rescuer display some sort of similarly disqualifying symptom, Lisa called feebly for volunteers. Dead silence reigned. "Let's face it, none of us has any intention of taking on such a thankless assignment," DarkHwk paused momentarily in thought. "If Enty weren't so prone to shoving TNT into everything, I'd suggest we have him whip up a solution..." "That's it!" shouted Sersi! "We should hire the Diabolical Doctor Moo! When it comes to cheap clone jobs, I've heard she even makes housecalls!!" "Motion carried," Lisa smiled happily, "Now let's adjourn to the LAir Lounge and watch those new porn flicks from Flapjack Enterprises. Finny? You make the popcorn. Shifty? Please call and remind Moo to bring some real butter as well as the cloning equipment. Oh, and Space Ghost? Pour tequila shooters for everyone!" Chapter 5 RIGHT NOW; SOMEWHERE ON A NEBRASKA ROAD The birds along these rutted, dusty by-ways have been strangely silent of late. I fear this means further danger. My search for the great man and his insectoid companion has been a full of loneliness and much hardship. I have found nothing in this corn-strewn hell except, of course, for the various tribes of axe-wielding, bloodsoaked pre-schoolers and their respective harvest/fertility gods with large fangs. Yet all is not lost. Happy-Meal boxes with incorrectly filled out puzzles float by like multi-hued butterflies in the wind. From this I sense that I am nearing my target. About friggin' time. Chapter 6: 10 DAYS AGO; NTU-150's LAB: The cyborg hero's once spotless equipment is covered with luscious New Hampshire cheddar cheese sauce. Plumes of dehydrated milk drift across the laboratory floor in waves of real dairy goodness. Stacks of empty ice cream containers litter the work spaces. The overall effect is one of a Dairy Queen(tm) that has been through an epic catastrophe, like being sat upon by a giant shape-shifting dragon with terminal constipation. From the terrifying devastation surrounding the newly arrived cloning apparatus, it was obvious to even a casual observer that Dr. Moo possesses a particularly brilliant but messy mind. The fact that she is a natural blonde probably has nothing to do with this. Probably. "Okay, now what do we do," Lisa asked her sister curiously. "*We* do nothing. *You* take this jagged knife and hack off one of your toes for a DNA template... better make it a big one," Moo replied in a detached, clinical voice as she fiddled with a series of mysteriously glowing dials. "Eeeeep! No freakin' way, Sis! You said this accelerated cloning process wouldn't hurt a bit!" Moo sighed, "And it won't. That's why I ground the blade extra sharp just now. It'll go right through that pesky bone like butter... Mmmmmm... butter..." "Do you want us to hold her down for you?" chimed in the ever-helpful Hatman, who was hanging around the lab due to his major crush on the busty, blonde mad scientist. Moo looked at her whimpering sibling with a hint of regret. "No, that won't be necessary. We'll just go with Plan B... Bring forth... the dandruff brush!" It was then that things began to get really ugly in the lab... Chapter 7: 5 MINUTES AGO; NEBRASKA: The field lies in ruin. Swaths of mangled green foliage and shiny strands of cornsilk blow helter skelter across the muddy earth. From horizon to horizon, not a single stalk of corn greets the eye. Visionary woke with a start, heart pounding, pulse racing with triumph. He had won the battle against the demon corn!!! But, as he arose from his bed in the soil, tall maize plants still surrounded him, mocking him with their verdant, never-ending fecundity. "It was a only a beautiful dream, wasn't it?" he whispered hoarsely to his stoic companion, a tiny robot in flea's clothing. "That's right. You ate 25 pounds of popcorn, retched up a few cobs and then passed out in the dirt." Why won't it go away...? " sobbed the shaken hero. "I keep killing it , and it keeps coming back..." Fleabot shook its minuscule head, "I don't mean to criticize your battle strategy, but scarfing down some of the corn and peeing on the rest is not gonna mortally wound it. Cereal grains have been hybridized for decades to face even worse treatment. Now if you had consumed asparagus beforehand..." Chapter Eight (conclusion): RIGHT NOW; NEAR HELL, NEBRASKA Trudging through yet another field of embryionic breakfast flakes, I hear grunting and thrashing directly in front of me. At the Lair Legion HQ, this usually means that my cell-donar is "saying goodnight" to her date. Here in the corn, however, it generally bodes the start of even less savory events. I decide to duck down and approach the source of the disturbance with measurable caution. Slithering forward on my belly, I silently part the stalks that obscure my view into a small clearing. My newly-created mind reels. Standing tall in a patch of plant stubble is a handsome yet obviously deranged man. He wears ragged clothes and a shit-eating grin. The pitiful object of his intense amusement is a nearly microscopic silver arthropod who appears to be drowning in a small puddle of clear, yellowish fluid... I'm afraid to ask... "Ha! ... can a fake guy do that?! Can he?!" The man chortles insanely and prepares to resume dowsing the robo-bug. "Wait! Are you the one known as Visionary?" "Wha?" the madman looks up from his tiny victim and hastily, clumsily rearranges his trousers, losing the permanant use of one testicle in the process. Tragic as this might at first appear, I find his injury very informative indeed, since, being only 10 days old, I had no idea zippers could be so dangerous. "L..L..Lisa?" he stutters as he tries to stem the dark flow of blood and dry off Fleabot at the same time. "No!!! I am Asil, my lord, and I am here to bring you back to the Legion. Dead or alive..." ******* Next... it's up to Vizh!!! Lisa A companion piece to 'Postcards', featuring the first Asil |
| It's Visionary's last night here, and all he has are these lousy reposts... (Visionary) (05-Mar-2000 21:13:16) |
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