The oldest man in the universe was bored. Which made sense, really: if you've lived for as long as he had, you would probably have run through all the things you could possibly do in a life several times over.
He hired me to read the newspaper to him each morning. "My eyes aren't so good any more," he would have explained, but since he spoke a dialect of Akkadian, I wouldn't have understood him even if his vocal chords had still worked, which they didn't. Since his ears weren't so good any more either, it really didn't matter. Mostly he napped.
I went through the stuff in his house. Junk, mostly: moldy pieces of bread, the odd dusty clay tablet with cuneiform on it, and a shocking number of shoes. I guess he saved his shoes, and since he was so old that he'd probably been around since before shoes had been invented, that had given him plenty of time to collect them.
He tried to pay me in copper ingots, but I wouldn't take money. It was part of my community service for spray-painting things on fences. Mostly stuff like, "Hey, get a load of this fence," or, "I don't respect boundaries." Typical punk stuff.
The police only caught me because I got careless and put my name, address, and Social Security Number on a fence I was particularly proud of. I think it said, "Fences are tools of the state to keep us in our yards." Heady stuff.
Anyway, I guess I got my Social Security Number wrong, so the police wanted me to change it, but I claimed that it would lead to people stealing my identity, and then the detective pumped his fist and said, "Gotcha, scumbag!" like on TV. I was just happy to be part of it. They gave me 15 hours of community service and I had to repaint a few fences. Which is how I wound up reading the newspaper to the oldest man in the universe.
I didn't have the heart to tell him that newspapers didn't exist any more, what with the internet killing print journalism and all, but since he couldn't see or hear me, who was really fooling whom?
A Traumatic Experience at Sea
I was haunted by a traumatic experience at sea.
Well, to be fair, the experience hadn't happened at sea. But it was within sight of the sea, on a boat. I could smell the sea.
It wasn't really a boat. It was more a pickup truck. But it probably would have floated for a few minutes if I'd kept the windows rolled up.
The truck wasn't running at the time.
In fact, I don't think the truck would have run even if I'd had the key.
Which I didn't. But really, since the engine was missing, there was no need for a key.
The truck was stolen. I admit that.
Not by me. I found the truck.
And it really wasn't a truck as much as it was the bed of the truck.
It was on fire.
I don't like to talk about why the bed of the truck happened to be on fire at that particular moment.
It was very traumatic, and if I couldn't smell the sea because of the fumes from burning plastic, I could have if the plastic had been less on fire at that moment.
And I wasn't really haunted by it. More in awe that I was able to steal that truck bed.
I was tied up at the time, which is why I was in awe. Usually it's difficult to steal trucks that have wheels when you're not completely immobilized. But somehow I managed to steal just the bed, no wheels, without being able to move. Somehow.
I don't remember how.
This is a problem.
When the aliens showed up, they were impressed. I could tell, even though I couldn't understand their language. I suppose I'm a bit haunted by the beauty of their spacecraft.
Well, to be fair, the experience hadn't happened at sea. But it was within sight of the sea, on a boat. I could smell the sea.
It wasn't really a boat. It was more a pickup truck. But it probably would have floated for a few minutes if I'd kept the windows rolled up.
The truck wasn't running at the time.
In fact, I don't think the truck would have run even if I'd had the key.
Which I didn't. But really, since the engine was missing, there was no need for a key.
The truck was stolen. I admit that.
Not by me. I found the truck.
And it really wasn't a truck as much as it was the bed of the truck.
It was on fire.
I don't like to talk about why the bed of the truck happened to be on fire at that particular moment.
It was very traumatic, and if I couldn't smell the sea because of the fumes from burning plastic, I could have if the plastic had been less on fire at that moment.
And I wasn't really haunted by it. More in awe that I was able to steal that truck bed.
I was tied up at the time, which is why I was in awe. Usually it's difficult to steal trucks that have wheels when you're not completely immobilized. But somehow I managed to steal just the bed, no wheels, without being able to move. Somehow.
I don't remember how.
This is a problem.
When the aliens showed up, they were impressed. I could tell, even though I couldn't understand their language. I suppose I'm a bit haunted by the beauty of their spacecraft.
A Minor Skirmish in the Endless War Between Good and Evil
No one told him to be punctual, but there sat Grimp, Demon of the Third Circle, five minutes early. The kid hadn't even been born, but hey, traffic and all, and you never knew.
"Any ETA on that lady?" it asked the nurse. "I thought they were going to induce."
The nurse just shook her head. "I guess they're going natural."
"Pisses me off," growled Grimp, but there wasn't much it could do about it.
In the next town over, the actual target of Grimp, a nondescript baby who would one day defeat Satan's latest plan named Joe, was being born, but due to a mixup with forms, he was being born a girl whose parents would name her Sally. Grimp didn't know this.
Eventually, after what seemed like hours, the nurse finally let Grimp into the delivery room, where it raised its ceremonial dagger. "Take that, Joe Hildermink!" it cried, plunging the dagger into the baby. It ignored the panicked shrieking from the parents, nodded cordially to the nurse, and vanished in a gout of fire.
Twenty years later, in the front line of the battle to claim Cleveland for the forces of darkness, no one in the horde expected Sally Green. Odd how things work out.
The nurse went back to her coffee. She had served her dark master faithfully and well. Her story is much more interesting than this one, full of sex and violence, but most stories are, and you get what you get.
"Any ETA on that lady?" it asked the nurse. "I thought they were going to induce."
The nurse just shook her head. "I guess they're going natural."
"Pisses me off," growled Grimp, but there wasn't much it could do about it.
In the next town over, the actual target of Grimp, a nondescript baby who would one day defeat Satan's latest plan named Joe, was being born, but due to a mixup with forms, he was being born a girl whose parents would name her Sally. Grimp didn't know this.
Eventually, after what seemed like hours, the nurse finally let Grimp into the delivery room, where it raised its ceremonial dagger. "Take that, Joe Hildermink!" it cried, plunging the dagger into the baby. It ignored the panicked shrieking from the parents, nodded cordially to the nurse, and vanished in a gout of fire.
Twenty years later, in the front line of the battle to claim Cleveland for the forces of darkness, no one in the horde expected Sally Green. Odd how things work out.
The nurse went back to her coffee. She had served her dark master faithfully and well. Her story is much more interesting than this one, full of sex and violence, but most stories are, and you get what you get.
The Box
I bought a box which had no inside. Four walls, a bottom, and a lid which folded up, but when I tried to put something in it, even something very small, it wound up on the floor.
I looked in and saw blackness. I'm not sure what I expected to see, really. A wormhole to another dimension? No, because that would just mean that the box contained a wormhole. It didn't contain anything. It couldn't. It had no inside.
I was warned by the manager of the box store where I bought it. She said, "Be warned, nothing can go in this box." But I like a challenge, so I bought it and proceeded to try to put everything I owned into it. Somehow nothing fit.
Except that's not accurate. It wasn't that things didn't fit, although I suppose that's also true. It's true in an uninteresting way though. Things wouldn't go in the box because even with it open, there was no inside. From the outside, the box looked perfectly normal, but inside... well, there was no inside, so it can't be talked about.
Finally I put it on my shelf and forgot about it. I think it was supposed to teach me something, but whatever it was, I didn't learn it. It gathered dust for a few years, mostly because I don't dust, then I sold it to a used car salesman named Grant who had a wooden leg. Genuine wood too. I know because he let me knock on it by way of proof.
I looked in and saw blackness. I'm not sure what I expected to see, really. A wormhole to another dimension? No, because that would just mean that the box contained a wormhole. It didn't contain anything. It couldn't. It had no inside.
I was warned by the manager of the box store where I bought it. She said, "Be warned, nothing can go in this box." But I like a challenge, so I bought it and proceeded to try to put everything I owned into it. Somehow nothing fit.
Except that's not accurate. It wasn't that things didn't fit, although I suppose that's also true. It's true in an uninteresting way though. Things wouldn't go in the box because even with it open, there was no inside. From the outside, the box looked perfectly normal, but inside... well, there was no inside, so it can't be talked about.
Finally I put it on my shelf and forgot about it. I think it was supposed to teach me something, but whatever it was, I didn't learn it. It gathered dust for a few years, mostly because I don't dust, then I sold it to a used car salesman named Grant who had a wooden leg. Genuine wood too. I know because he let me knock on it by way of proof.
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time, when animals could speak and humans were all still living in trees, the porcupine and the manta ray held a poker tournament to determine who got to live on land and who would be exiled to the ocean. The result is apparent.
Once upon a time, in a far-off kingdom, the evil advisor to the king tricked him into offering said evil advisor the hand of the beautiful princess, but she preferred to remain single and while she respected the advisor as a capable administrator, she couldn't have him usurping the royal authority, so she stabbed him several times and left him to bleed out in a ditch. Absolutely no one blamed her.
Once upon a time in a little cottage by the woods, a poor woodcutter and his wife realized that they couldn't afford to feed their two children on the meager earnings of a woodcutter, so the woodcutter and his wife both took night classes and got lucrative jobs in the financial sector. They sold their cottage to an artisanal haberdasher who did quite well, considering the location.
Once upon a time, there were three brothers who were left various items when their father died. The eldest got the farm, the middle got the cow, and the youngest got a handful of beans. The eldest was crushed by a falling plow, the middle killed the youngest in a fight over the farm after the eldest died, and the cow ate the beans and lived happily ever after.
Once upon a time a fairy godmother was on her way to visit her god-daughter when she was hit by a bus. It was sad, but that's what you get for crossing against the light. Later it turned out that she was drunk at the time.
Once upon a time, St. George and a dragon had a protracted argument, and St. George wound up doing a dime in dragon prison for manslaughter. He saw some stuff in the joint. It changed him.
Once upon a time, in a far-off kingdom, the evil advisor to the king tricked him into offering said evil advisor the hand of the beautiful princess, but she preferred to remain single and while she respected the advisor as a capable administrator, she couldn't have him usurping the royal authority, so she stabbed him several times and left him to bleed out in a ditch. Absolutely no one blamed her.
Once upon a time in a little cottage by the woods, a poor woodcutter and his wife realized that they couldn't afford to feed their two children on the meager earnings of a woodcutter, so the woodcutter and his wife both took night classes and got lucrative jobs in the financial sector. They sold their cottage to an artisanal haberdasher who did quite well, considering the location.
Once upon a time, there were three brothers who were left various items when their father died. The eldest got the farm, the middle got the cow, and the youngest got a handful of beans. The eldest was crushed by a falling plow, the middle killed the youngest in a fight over the farm after the eldest died, and the cow ate the beans and lived happily ever after.
Once upon a time a fairy godmother was on her way to visit her god-daughter when she was hit by a bus. It was sad, but that's what you get for crossing against the light. Later it turned out that she was drunk at the time.
Once upon a time, St. George and a dragon had a protracted argument, and St. George wound up doing a dime in dragon prison for manslaughter. He saw some stuff in the joint. It changed him.
How That Mountain Got There
It was decided after careful consideration that Alima the Destroyer was not a good queen.
"It's not that I mind our eternal subjugation," said Gregor the Weaver. "It's almost comforting, in a way, to have that level of stability. Before Alima, cruel despots came and went, but you never knew when the next one would be popping up."
"True," said Famke the Cobbler. "And yet I can't help thinking that maybe, if we didn't have a cruel despot at all, we might be better off."
"Alima's been quite good for the economy," Hester the Grave Digger put in.
"You would say that," scoffed Gregor. "Sure, plenty of graves need dug, but just wait until she runs out of the skulls of the barbarian tribes and needs to shore up her mountain of skulls with local stock."
"I'll still dig graves for the bodies."
"But without the head, people won't want holes as big and they'll pay less for the work and then where will you be?" Gregor had a point, and they all knew it.
"I don't care for her laws," said Jurgash the Thief.
"You don't care for anyone's laws," said Famke.
"Well, under Grugg the Horrible, property crime was punishable by flogging, but I could get behind that because I could bribe the guy doing the flogging to go easy," said Jurgash.
"He did many a time," laughed Jillian the Flogger.
"But now Alima instituted a mandatory amputation for theft, to be carried out by herself, and I'm worried," said Jurgash.
"To say nothing of the loss of flogging jobs," sighed Jillian. "How will I feed my family when there's no thieves bribing me?"
"Frankly, I'm for the law and order stuff, mostly because I was tired of Jurgash always stealing my money," said Gregor.
"I still think we might be better off without a cruel and omnipotent despot," said Famke.
"Well who do you suggest? A lizard? A pot of ale? Come on, someone's got to rule the kingdom," Hester said with a degree of sarcasm in her voice.
"Well, why not one of us?" Famke asked.
She was being facetious, but the idea sounded so good to everyone that a riot started, the castle burned to the ground with Alima in it, and Jillian the Flogger found herself God-Queen of the realm. She didn't really want to be queen, but the masses wouldn't take no for an answer. As she embarked on a reign of terror by beheading Jurgash the Thief in the city square, she wondered just what had been so bad about Alima the Destroyer after all.
The seasons changed, the plague came and went, and when the elements had stripped Jurgash's skull to the bone, Jillian the Flogger added it to the pile. It wasn't a mountain, per se, but she wasn't trying to prove a point. It just seemed a pity to waste skulls.
"It's not that I mind our eternal subjugation," said Gregor the Weaver. "It's almost comforting, in a way, to have that level of stability. Before Alima, cruel despots came and went, but you never knew when the next one would be popping up."
"True," said Famke the Cobbler. "And yet I can't help thinking that maybe, if we didn't have a cruel despot at all, we might be better off."
"Alima's been quite good for the economy," Hester the Grave Digger put in.
"You would say that," scoffed Gregor. "Sure, plenty of graves need dug, but just wait until she runs out of the skulls of the barbarian tribes and needs to shore up her mountain of skulls with local stock."
"I'll still dig graves for the bodies."
"But without the head, people won't want holes as big and they'll pay less for the work and then where will you be?" Gregor had a point, and they all knew it.
"I don't care for her laws," said Jurgash the Thief.
"You don't care for anyone's laws," said Famke.
"Well, under Grugg the Horrible, property crime was punishable by flogging, but I could get behind that because I could bribe the guy doing the flogging to go easy," said Jurgash.
"He did many a time," laughed Jillian the Flogger.
"But now Alima instituted a mandatory amputation for theft, to be carried out by herself, and I'm worried," said Jurgash.
"To say nothing of the loss of flogging jobs," sighed Jillian. "How will I feed my family when there's no thieves bribing me?"
"Frankly, I'm for the law and order stuff, mostly because I was tired of Jurgash always stealing my money," said Gregor.
"I still think we might be better off without a cruel and omnipotent despot," said Famke.
"Well who do you suggest? A lizard? A pot of ale? Come on, someone's got to rule the kingdom," Hester said with a degree of sarcasm in her voice.
"Well, why not one of us?" Famke asked.
She was being facetious, but the idea sounded so good to everyone that a riot started, the castle burned to the ground with Alima in it, and Jillian the Flogger found herself God-Queen of the realm. She didn't really want to be queen, but the masses wouldn't take no for an answer. As she embarked on a reign of terror by beheading Jurgash the Thief in the city square, she wondered just what had been so bad about Alima the Destroyer after all.
The seasons changed, the plague came and went, and when the elements had stripped Jurgash's skull to the bone, Jillian the Flogger added it to the pile. It wasn't a mountain, per se, but she wasn't trying to prove a point. It just seemed a pity to waste skulls.
Job Application
You wouldn't think that being an expert on ancient Sumerian greeting cards would have much market value in the current world, and you'd be right, which is how Gordon Primpt found himself applying for a job with MaximoCorp, world-wide seller of pornography to tapirs. He regretted everything as he sat in the waiting room, waiting, as should be tautological, for his number to be called. He sat and he waited and he regretted everything.
It wasn't that he'd had a bad life up to then, nor had he made any truly incorrect choices other than being interested in historical greeting cards in an era when most people thought greeting cards were for the elderly and/or insanely wealthy. In fact, had that been true, Gordon might have found a patron for his fascination. The reality was that greeting cards of ancient Sumer weren't applicable to modern life, mostly being about hoping the terror of life ruled by capricious and cruel gods would be short. No one wanted them.
So Gordon Primpt was forced into seeking a job with global tapir-pornography concern. It wasn't that he felt it was immoral. Tapirs need pornography too, and MaximoCorp was well-regarded for their fair business practices and their ethical treatment of their actors. And this job would have nothing to do with the production of pornography anyway. It was an accounting job. For a global tapir-pornography concern, it is true, but beggars can't be choosers.
No, Gordon regretted everything leading up to this moment because he was a profoundly unhappy person and was unable to admit to himself that he would have been happier as a forensic dentist, but also because forensic dentistry had been widely debunked as junk science and so he'd gone into ancient greeting cards, which had been his minor in college until the aforementioned debunking.
Then his number was called and he walked through the door and found himself face to face with an all-powerful sorcerer.
"I am Vomana the Burned, Keeper of the Sacred Runes of Rakhesh," said the sorcerer. She was wearing traditional ermine and sable robes of her calling, carrying an orb in one hand and a staff in the other, and the air about her crackled with invisible flames.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Gordon Primpt." He could never afterward recall why he'd said it, or how he'd managed to overcome his surprise at seeing her. Perhaps he'd merely thought it and her almighty puissance had plucked it from his brain.
"Gordon Primpt, you seek audience with me to ask a boon." Then Vomana paused. "Hold on. Gordon Primpt from East Grinnell?"
"Um... Yes?"
"Do you have a mole on your left shin that changes color with the tides?"
"No, afraid not."
"Ah. My mistake. I must have been thinking of someone else. Well Mr. Primpt, I'm sorry to say that the vacancy has been filled, but we'll keep your resumé on file. My apologies for wasting your time. Unavoidable." And with that, Vomana the Burned, Keeper of the Sacred Runes of Rakhesh, snapped her fingers and the office faded away, leaving Gordon Primpt standing alone near the front door of his house.
The mole on his right shin, which changed color with the position of Venus, was a particularly brilliant blue that day.
It wasn't that he'd had a bad life up to then, nor had he made any truly incorrect choices other than being interested in historical greeting cards in an era when most people thought greeting cards were for the elderly and/or insanely wealthy. In fact, had that been true, Gordon might have found a patron for his fascination. The reality was that greeting cards of ancient Sumer weren't applicable to modern life, mostly being about hoping the terror of life ruled by capricious and cruel gods would be short. No one wanted them.
So Gordon Primpt was forced into seeking a job with global tapir-pornography concern. It wasn't that he felt it was immoral. Tapirs need pornography too, and MaximoCorp was well-regarded for their fair business practices and their ethical treatment of their actors. And this job would have nothing to do with the production of pornography anyway. It was an accounting job. For a global tapir-pornography concern, it is true, but beggars can't be choosers.
No, Gordon regretted everything leading up to this moment because he was a profoundly unhappy person and was unable to admit to himself that he would have been happier as a forensic dentist, but also because forensic dentistry had been widely debunked as junk science and so he'd gone into ancient greeting cards, which had been his minor in college until the aforementioned debunking.
Then his number was called and he walked through the door and found himself face to face with an all-powerful sorcerer.
"I am Vomana the Burned, Keeper of the Sacred Runes of Rakhesh," said the sorcerer. She was wearing traditional ermine and sable robes of her calling, carrying an orb in one hand and a staff in the other, and the air about her crackled with invisible flames.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Gordon Primpt." He could never afterward recall why he'd said it, or how he'd managed to overcome his surprise at seeing her. Perhaps he'd merely thought it and her almighty puissance had plucked it from his brain.
"Gordon Primpt, you seek audience with me to ask a boon." Then Vomana paused. "Hold on. Gordon Primpt from East Grinnell?"
"Um... Yes?"
"Do you have a mole on your left shin that changes color with the tides?"
"No, afraid not."
"Ah. My mistake. I must have been thinking of someone else. Well Mr. Primpt, I'm sorry to say that the vacancy has been filled, but we'll keep your resumé on file. My apologies for wasting your time. Unavoidable." And with that, Vomana the Burned, Keeper of the Sacred Runes of Rakhesh, snapped her fingers and the office faded away, leaving Gordon Primpt standing alone near the front door of his house.
The mole on his right shin, which changed color with the position of Venus, was a particularly brilliant blue that day.
Slightly After the Training Montage
He was ready for everything except mollusks.
Years of training and preparation against every foe he could be expected to face. Even foes he couldn't expect to face. Foes so unexpected that his trainers assured him that he was wasting his time. That no one would ever need to know combat techniques against vampiric headgear or weremarmots. The Arena was tricky, certainly, but there were limits.
And yet he prepared for them all, with the single-minded intensity that drove away all his friends, his lovers, even eventually his teachers. He had been forced to leave his Master behind to be devoured by the very radioactive beet creatures that said Master had scoffed at. Because that Master wasn't prepared. Not like he was.
It had taken its toll on him, physically and mentally. He couldn't sleep until he sought out a new method of dispatching a wildebeest with fire breath. He lay awake listening for the telltale sounds of a piano coming to life and bearing down on him wielding twin katanas. He had forgotten everything in life but his preparations for the Arena.
And when he entered that dark gate and stepped into the blazing sun, the chanting of the crowd hitting him like a bear wrapped in infected bandages, he saw his mistake, for there, sitting before him, was a clam.
As he panicked and searched his memory, realizing that he had left out one vital section of the animal kingdom from his calculations, his former Master, who had not in fact been eaten alive by radioactive beet creatures, sneaked up behind him.
"You're a giant jerk," said the Master, and efficiently removed his head from his shoulders by slicing a large sword through his neck.
And as he fell, his last thought was, "Well damn, I should have been ready for that."
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