(For those not familiar with NaNoWriMo, it’s the National Novel Writing Month – in brief, slap 50,000+ words onto the screen as a “zeroth” draft of a novel. It’s not pretty, it’s not even a first draft, it’s simply an exercise in “Just – Keep – Putting – Words – TOGETHER!” and seeing what comes out the other side. I’ve done it five times and “succeeded” twice. I’ve decided to be incredibly self centered and foolish open about my process so I’ve put my work up here on this site for the last three attempts. Just do a search to see some of the crap I’ve inflicted on my loyal readers in the past. Actually, that might not be totally true – while being “zeroth” drafts, at least three of them had stories and characters that I actually thought were pretty good if I ever managed to get past the NaNoWriMo stage, finish them, and then start editing.)
A good start on getting caught up. Not a lot over the 1,667 target word count per day, and I do have ground to make up after missing three and a half days, but I feel like I’m back on track.
I’m also so sleepy it’s not even funny. The last half of this may be complete gibberish. If so, just assume that it’s truly hilarious but being told in Elvish or Leprechaunese and I’ll translate it back into English for you later.
All comments will be welcome.
ANY BAD SITUATION CAN BE MADE WORSE
CHAPTER FOUR (continued)
Just as with the light, sound was returning. Suddenly noticeable but with the knowledge that it had been there earlier, gradually getting louder, some spinning, whining, mechanical sounds mixed with…purring? Like the biggest cat she had ever imagined was just out of sight somewhere, breathing heavily, purring with utter satisfaction of being scratched behind the ears and distributing loose hair across the universe. But with a base line that would make any heavy metal hair band bassist jealous.
The mint green light grew a dot right in front of her face, which split into a line heading off in opposite directions toward her head and toes. With that her field of vision either came into existence or into focus, or both, and she could see in her peripheral vision her chest and arms down below her chin. Good, she had started to worry that the leprechaun army had left those behind and just kidnapped her head.
Kidnapped! That’s what Bubba had said he was doing to her! She wasn’t sure how kidnap victims were supposed to react or what they were supposed to do after being gassed or drugged, but she was pretty sure that coming back to reality as a disembodied entity in a green, minty fog was on the far end of the reality spectrum.
The line started to separate, pulling apart like a clamshell or the payload fairings on a rocket after it cleared the atmosphere. Smoothly, steadily, way out of focus since it seemed to be only a fraction of an inch from her face, it wasn’t clear if it was solid and opening or simply dissolving from the crack outward in a steady motion.
It turned out to be irrelevant. Quickly it was gone, only to be replaced with a featureless, yellowish-tinged, off-white something. It was like being inside of a giant egg shell with no floor, walls, or ceiling. Everything curved into everything else, no corners.
Whatever it was that she was lying on (she WAS lying on something, wasn’t she?) started to transform, the back sitting up with a hinge behind her butt while her feet went down from a hinge behind her knees. The flat surface transformed into something like a dentist’s chair and swung “up” to somewhere short of vertical by about 20º. Her inner ear told her she was sitting up.
“You may proceed. The seat will absorb and remove your bodily waste products.”
Deb suddenly had second thoughts. “Wait, am I just supposed to piss on the seat? I can’t even SEE the seat! Is there a hole I’m supposed to hit? And can I have a little privacy?”
“The seat will absorb your bodily waste products. We can modify it to have a hole to aim at if you wish, although in our experience that is more useful to males. Privacy is not needed.”
“Well, maybe not for you,” Deb said, “you exhibitionist little monster. Fine, whatever you want for your jollies. None of this is real anyway. I don’t know what you put into that crap you blew into my face, but this particular acid trip needs more colors and music and less weird bullshit.”
Deb waited for a response but got nothing. Who knew that the little monsters would get their feelings hurt by being cussed at?
She tried to twist around to get a look at the chair or surface she was sitting on, but there wasn’t anything to see. She was held pretty firmly to the surface along her back, butt, and thighs, almost like she was glued there but without any real discomfort or pain. She could move and slip and shift a bit, but she couldn’t get loose and get off onto the floor. If there was a floor. She really couldn’t see a distinct surface or a floor, just the inside of a giant egg shell. Or the inside of one of a ginormous version of those plastic eggs that panty hose used to come in.
She was still wearing the bikini she had been swimming in before being kidnapped by a not-a-leprechaun into the inside of a humongous egg. Since it was the only clothing she had, she wasn’t going to soil it if she could avoid it. She found that she could lift her hips a bit, so she untied it and slid it off.
“I hope you get a good view, you psychotic little pervs. And I’m not going to clean this up!”
With that, Deb let her bladder cut loose.
It wasn’t clear what she was expecting, but the fact that things worked pretty much like Bubba had said they would was not what she would have bet on. The urine just disappeared into the seat beneath her, there was a small chime and a table reached out from where the wall would be if there were walls, and on the table was a small package of tissues of some sort. After cleaning herself, with no further instructions, Deb simply put the waste tissues back on the “table” and it proceeded to vanish. Deb put her bikini bottom back on.
“Hey, Babadook, can I get off of this thing? Whatever it is? I seem to be stuck and I’ll bet you know something about that and can let me go.”
There was a pause, some skittering noises like rats in the walls, and then a voice from her left. Not Bubba’s voice.
“You may not. You should not be uncomfortable. If you are uncomfortable, which you should not be, please tell us and we will adjust you.”
“Wait, are you not Bubba? Are you Bubba’s boss? Who’s in charge around here and what’s going on? I want to talk to your supervisor!”
“I am not-Bubba, correct. There is no supervisor. You are being saved. Are you uncomfortable?”
“I’m fine, but I want to be released. I want to know where I’m at and what is going on!”
“You are here. We are saving you, as you requested.”
“Saved? Requested? Where are you? Who are you? Get in here where I can see you, or let me loose to come and see you. This whole disembodied voice setup isn’t working for me. Let me see you!”
“I am here. I am non-Bubba. I will request permission to come to you.”
“Permission! From who? Why? Just get in here!”
“I must request permission from God. God will know if it is safe for you if I come to you. One moment.”
Twelve years of Catholic school hadn’t prepared Deb for that answer. She had long ago given in to skepticism about God’s existence at worst, his efficacy at best. Being kidnapped by not-leprechauns had ways of making her more open to the improbable, but it was also a LOT to take in over a very short time span.
The thought of just going back to sleep until the drugs (which she had OBVIOUSLY taken) wore off was sounding better by the second.
“I may join you,” non-Bubba said. “Stand by.”
Far off in the distance, a form appeared. Barely a dot, it quickly grew as it approached. Perspective kept shifting, trying to make sense of the bizarre visual inputs being received. The scene finally snapped into focus when she remembered that Bubba had looked like he was about 18 inches tall. Assuming non-Bubba was about the same height, he was there quickly and had never been that far away. Maybe.
An off-white sort of appendage appeared from where a wall should be and not-Bubba sat there, cross legged. Deb tried to see how he sat with his tail like that, but she couldn’t get a good view. She did notice that there was a bright yellow ribbon-like something tied near the end of non-Bubba’s tail.
“You have a thing on your tail,” Deb commented dryly.
“It is to help you distinguish me from Bubba for you.”
That most certainly made sense. Except for the tail ribbon, it would have been almost impossible to tell them apart.
“Are you a leprechaun?”
“I am not.”
“What are you then?”
“I am a scientist. Or an engineer. Or a biologist. Or a medical doctor. It is all the same.”
“Obviously not human then?”
“Obviously.”
“So, you are a hallucination.”
“I am not.”
“Reality doesn’t include tiny dudes with tails and magic powders. Reality also doesn’t include me being this calm after being kidnapped by the aforementioned tiny dudes with tails and magic powders, so whatever’s in that green dust, I’ll have a dozen.”
“Reality is what it is. You are here. I exist. No hallucinations or visions are currently occurring. Yes, there is a sedative.”
Well, that was an interesting admission. But wasn’t that exactly what she would expect a non-reality based, kidnapping hallucination to say?
“You said I was being saved. Why are you saving me?”
“You requested it. We have our mission which happens to align with yours and we have the means to save you. We have chosen to use those means to our mutual benefit.”
“What did I request?” Deb was getting more confused by the moment, but had a feeling there was something important to learn here if she could just ask the correct question. “What am I being saved from? Or is it a who am I being saved from?”
“You said, ‘getting old sucks.’ We are saving you from getting old.”
Deb just sat there for a few long seconds, mulling that one over. For one thing, she was starting to miss reality. Yes, she had been thinking of all of those things which were annoying her and seemed to all be tied to getting old, but she didn’t think she had asked to be rescued from that condition. Reality might be particularly fluid at the moment, but even here, wasn’t the only way to not get old…
“Are you going to kill me?” Deb shouted. So much for the sedative.
“Of course not.” Not-Bubba hadn’t even bothered to flinch or pull back from her.
“Thank you. So, enlighten me. What’s your mission to rescue me from getting old if it doesn’t involve death?”
“We’re going to make you immortal.”
Deb swore that for the briefest of moments a facial expression drifted across the tiny dude’s face. It was a self-satisfied, smug smirk.
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 