Red Door
He cut a slab of mutated insectoid flesh away from the edge of the door. It fell to the floor, muttering: "All of this: to mint, or to establish.." As he yanked at the sweaty knob, Tom Binsir sacredly danced a little in his crusty navy suit, picking a piece of dried avocado off his sleeve- "What a D-grade sandwich that has been-" The words chunked out from between patches of scruff, much like a cabbage. Table and awning slid under the door, ready to bestow the buildership of a new sunken-eyed deli king. Tom hustled back, startled, pulling the spirit leads from his shoetips, directing us to the proper sector in due time.
Harnessing, the three-eyed bird, perched on the butt of the old ax handle Tom had driven into the wall days prior, watched the entire scene from within. She winked a hologram on to the mind of Tom. Leaning into the pull, with a red glare, he drew open the door, with a sharp snarl, as he has been learning at a snail's pace. The scarred hunter green bug flesh, grown over the corner of the door, ripped- and violet blood dripped out of the wound, pooling on the floor at Binsir's feet. It rose up, forming a fist, and punched him in the face, bruising his cheek and staining his ever-timely arrival.
Doer
J. signaled the forward way of the wave. "You, too, must follow me into the future." He informed in a stern, monotone voice; mouth straight as a razor. "The lines in the road bend and weave. Paths cross, uncross, and recross at varying intervals. The inherent value of this will present itself on the one occasion when the waves synchronize and the tsunami swallows the edge." J. repeated once again. He kept a smallish notebook of mind bending parables. The words "Straight Jacks" were etched into the handmade black leather cover of the book: a backpiece of an old jacket. The idea was handed across to him by his most trusted and respected colleague: a Catholic mastermind of a previous generation.
* * *
K. was lying nearly nude, covering her voluptuous breasts with a blanket. The mattress lay directly on the ground. My backpack unpacked, I was able to see most of my belongings scatter'd across the tiled floor. M. stood in the doorway attempting to wave me thru. "You have to come with me." He plead, needing a friend in his lonely and frightening world. My look shifted between him and the supple, relaxed young woman who was clearly ready to offer me her flesh. She loved me already, and I had just met her the previous day at the Coffeehouse. "Go with him," She advised with a vague wisdom and a certain longing in her eyes. "What about my things? Should I bring them?" I asked. M. replied: "You can just come back for them later."
Undoer
The red vortex swirls and swells above the main drag. I see this. I see my own eyes reflected in a particular mirroring sector of one of the six arms of the ethereal crimson whirlwind. I pull this arm into my loin and with a self-directed double swing of the atomic death scythe, I let go a scream: "BLAST!" Cloudhand punching and eye masking my way out of dodge, I let the blood of my demonic line into the sewer drain as an offering to the gods of the underworld. I beam the Cat's Eye across Rockstar Corner, drinking tea from the Princess Crown, supping emerald green dew drops off of her long-obscured rose petals. I awoke from a half-dreaming hide-a-bed fantasy and opened the closet door revealing myself as a lunatic caught between veils. Up on stage again, lasers fly from the Serpent's eye back into his own. A single cherry branch falls and lands in the barrel of a psychic turret, its masculine flowers quivering in terror. I take note of this and light up a cig bummed off a private investigator. Firing sarcastic arrows across the cornfield, I order them all out of my house. They had been far too loud and far too smelly. They frequently did the wrong voice at a bad time and told the truth much too often.
* * *
L. flushed yet another bloody piss down the toilet. "How am I still bleeding!?" She asked her roommate, K.. "Long cycles happen, lady," K. replied. "Urgh! I'm ready for this to be over already!" Just then, L. noticed she had received a text. "Oh, thank God! My hero has arrived." She said before putting on her shoes. L. hopped in her car and drove downtown to the bus station. She walked in thru the door and even though I hadn't seen her in yrs., I of course recognized her face. She was dressed stylishly in a slim-fitting black jacket. I approached her and we shared a half-decent hug. On the way out of the station, an old black hobo asked us for change. She handed him two dollar bills.
Redoer
He chopped onions in the kitchen, eyeing a chaotic reference point in order to temper his will for the next encounter with Doorway Jack. A chunk of onion fell to the floor. He swiftly nabbed it, and popped it in his mouth. Waving his razor-sharp dagger back and forth, the man whisper'd to the fraidy cat: "This is one of my favorite smells and tastes." Bill Fiction had made a habit of summoning and capturing demons in a few days time. It was an entirely new and foreign practice to Bill, but he had somehow become a master overnight. He rearranged his member and mutter'd: "Sad. I express sorrow over the thought of that being my path." His green wrap was really coming together: a full fistful of beetnicks grated, seeds spread, one big apple shredded. With a vinegar and soy dressing drizzle, he wrapped it up smoothly and bit off one big bite: just enough for him to chew. Bill felt the roughness of his clean-shaven chin with his fingertypes for the simple textural pleasure, and glanced at the clock.
He lit up a cig after finishing his meal, third eye burning white-hot. Eyeing the notch he'd jacked into the door frame, he noticed a smudge of turmeric on his right hand, he took note and pour'd himself a cup of tea. Recalling memories of Chicago, his eyes narrowed and he licked the back his hand to test the sodium level of his skin. "Goodness! Level five!" Lightly fingering the star ruby wrapped around his neck, the rush of a neighbor's adrenaline hit him like a paper fan. He was quick as lightning and quickening. He suddenly zapped his left hand out the window, pointing at the notch with two fingers and growled: "AHMZZ".
He cut a slab of mutated insectoid flesh away from the edge of the door. It fell to the floor, muttering: "All of this: to mint, or to establish.." As he yanked at the sweaty knob, Tom Binsir sacredly danced a little in his crusty navy suit, picking a piece of dried avocado off his sleeve- "What a D-grade sandwich that has been-" The words chunked out from between patches of scruff, much like a cabbage. Table and awning slid under the door, ready to bestow the buildership of a new sunken-eyed deli king. Tom hustled back, startled, pulling the spirit leads from his shoetips, directing us to the proper sector in due time.
Harnessing, the three-eyed bird, perched on the butt of the old ax handle Tom had driven into the wall days prior, watched the entire scene from within. She winked a hologram on to the mind of Tom. Leaning into the pull, with a red glare, he drew open the door, with a sharp snarl, as he has been learning at a snail's pace. The scarred hunter green bug flesh, grown over the corner of the door, ripped- and violet blood dripped out of the wound, pooling on the floor at Binsir's feet. It rose up, forming a fist, and punched him in the face, bruising his cheek and staining his ever-timely arrival.
Doer
J. signaled the forward way of the wave. "You, too, must follow me into the future." He informed in a stern, monotone voice; mouth straight as a razor. "The lines in the road bend and weave. Paths cross, uncross, and recross at varying intervals. The inherent value of this will present itself on the one occasion when the waves synchronize and the tsunami swallows the edge." J. repeated once again. He kept a smallish notebook of mind bending parables. The words "Straight Jacks" were etched into the handmade black leather cover of the book: a backpiece of an old jacket. The idea was handed across to him by his most trusted and respected colleague: a Catholic mastermind of a previous generation.
* * *
K. was lying nearly nude, covering her voluptuous breasts with a blanket. The mattress lay directly on the ground. My backpack unpacked, I was able to see most of my belongings scatter'd across the tiled floor. M. stood in the doorway attempting to wave me thru. "You have to come with me." He plead, needing a friend in his lonely and frightening world. My look shifted between him and the supple, relaxed young woman who was clearly ready to offer me her flesh. She loved me already, and I had just met her the previous day at the Coffeehouse. "Go with him," She advised with a vague wisdom and a certain longing in her eyes. "What about my things? Should I bring them?" I asked. M. replied: "You can just come back for them later."
Undoer
The red vortex swirls and swells above the main drag. I see this. I see my own eyes reflected in a particular mirroring sector of one of the six arms of the ethereal crimson whirlwind. I pull this arm into my loin and with a self-directed double swing of the atomic death scythe, I let go a scream: "BLAST!" Cloudhand punching and eye masking my way out of dodge, I let the blood of my demonic line into the sewer drain as an offering to the gods of the underworld. I beam the Cat's Eye across Rockstar Corner, drinking tea from the Princess Crown, supping emerald green dew drops off of her long-obscured rose petals. I awoke from a half-dreaming hide-a-bed fantasy and opened the closet door revealing myself as a lunatic caught between veils. Up on stage again, lasers fly from the Serpent's eye back into his own. A single cherry branch falls and lands in the barrel of a psychic turret, its masculine flowers quivering in terror. I take note of this and light up a cig bummed off a private investigator. Firing sarcastic arrows across the cornfield, I order them all out of my house. They had been far too loud and far too smelly. They frequently did the wrong voice at a bad time and told the truth much too often.
* * *
L. flushed yet another bloody piss down the toilet. "How am I still bleeding!?" She asked her roommate, K.. "Long cycles happen, lady," K. replied. "Urgh! I'm ready for this to be over already!" Just then, L. noticed she had received a text. "Oh, thank God! My hero has arrived." She said before putting on her shoes. L. hopped in her car and drove downtown to the bus station. She walked in thru the door and even though I hadn't seen her in yrs., I of course recognized her face. She was dressed stylishly in a slim-fitting black jacket. I approached her and we shared a half-decent hug. On the way out of the station, an old black hobo asked us for change. She handed him two dollar bills.
Redoer
He chopped onions in the kitchen, eyeing a chaotic reference point in order to temper his will for the next encounter with Doorway Jack. A chunk of onion fell to the floor. He swiftly nabbed it, and popped it in his mouth. Waving his razor-sharp dagger back and forth, the man whisper'd to the fraidy cat: "This is one of my favorite smells and tastes." Bill Fiction had made a habit of summoning and capturing demons in a few days time. It was an entirely new and foreign practice to Bill, but he had somehow become a master overnight. He rearranged his member and mutter'd: "Sad. I express sorrow over the thought of that being my path." His green wrap was really coming together: a full fistful of beetnicks grated, seeds spread, one big apple shredded. With a vinegar and soy dressing drizzle, he wrapped it up smoothly and bit off one big bite: just enough for him to chew. Bill felt the roughness of his clean-shaven chin with his fingertypes for the simple textural pleasure, and glanced at the clock.
He lit up a cig after finishing his meal, third eye burning white-hot. Eyeing the notch he'd jacked into the door frame, he noticed a smudge of turmeric on his right hand, he took note and pour'd himself a cup of tea. Recalling memories of Chicago, his eyes narrowed and he licked the back his hand to test the sodium level of his skin. "Goodness! Level five!" Lightly fingering the star ruby wrapped around his neck, the rush of a neighbor's adrenaline hit him like a paper fan. He was quick as lightning and quickening. He suddenly zapped his left hand out the window, pointing at the notch with two fingers and growled: "AHMZZ".