Parodomonium: Food For Thunk
A Crazy Tale by WritersCube
I didn't exactly put much effort into this story--or more like I didn't put much serious effort. More like I poured all of my crazy nonsensical thoughts into a word document and called it a story. So far, a lot of readers have told me it's funny and well-thought out... I dunno what part of the story they were reading, or if it was another book they were looking at at the time they were talking to me, but I didn't see anything well-thought out. Hahaha, but MAYBE I did something good by accident. You guys be the judges!!
Brain Damage Imminent... Please Wear 3D Glasses at All Times while Reading...
Enter the Flagon
The last time Darius had ever noticed his surroundings he had been in a story that was being written some few months ago. But for all he knew, the world had suddenly blown up, smashed together, and melted into a chocolate fondue all at the same time in a mad twisted miasma storm of pandemonium, confusion, and the insane sweet tooth all because the writer couldn’t figure out where to take this most random story about an ancient golden artifact molded into one of the strangest creatures in the world. In a way, Darius had died, died again, and died thrice times more while hanging in a limbo all at the same time without realizing it.
With that thought aside though, Darius realized that he was now in a tavern in some rather misshapen kingdom called Down-Wind which just so happened to resemble the derrière of a fat ogre when you look at it on the world map (just push the Select button). Examining himself, he saw that he was in a rather generic looking suit of plated steel armor. But his sword was missing. His helmet was missing too, now he thought about it, and so were his armor plated boots. Now he was in bunny slippers which squeaked at every step he took—it must’ve been enchanted or something, he thought.
He didn’t let the thought bother him too much. Since he was here, he might as well get a drink, right?
“Hey,” Darius said, trying to get the bartender’s attention. Unfortunately the bartender was busy playing Pac Man on an arcade machine, not that Darius knew what the heck an arcade machine was nor did he have any reason to—arcade machines weren’t supposed to be around yet.
After a series of wee-woo-wee-woo-bloop-bloop sounds, the bartender muttered a few curses leaving the machine which displayed the words Game Over across its black background screen.
“What is it you want?” the bartender said in a gruff voice.
“Why the hell are you in here for!? It’s plenty raining outside!”
Darius raised both of his eyebrows. “But I’d like a glass of water…”
“We’ve got a plenty o’ years before glass mugs come cheap. We’ve only got yer tin cups and such here.”
“Alright, I’ll have a tin cup of water.”
It only took a second before a small tin the size of a Dixie paper cup landed on the bar table in front of Darius.
“Drink up, that’ll be two coins,” the bartender said.
“Two coins for this!?” Darius asked, holding up the cup which was barely big enough for him to wrap three fingers around.
Without any coins, Darius had to give up his magical bunny slippers in order to drink five ounces of water. He left the tavern in his socks.
Unfortunately, the bartender was wrong. It wasn’t raining at all. This left the knight very thirsty.
It went without saying that Terra Elphchihk was, as the leading Elf heroine (according to the story script), the prettiest of the daughters of Lord Elphchihk as well as the most stunningly beautiful of Elf Ladies (Elves are ranked by their beauty in Up-Hill. The social ranks go from Lady, Maiden, Pond Scum, and [Place Colorful Insults Here]; ogling at your own reflection is actually a custom in Up-Hill) in the whole world of the story she happened to find herself in. For a quick moment, she noticed how her surname had a rather peculiar pronunciation to it almost as if to accentuate the fact that she was, in fact, an ordinarily blazing hot “Elf Chick” (unfortunately her beauty is only matched by her scummy attitude). It also went without saying that due to the overabundance of hot Elf Chicks in the Elven kingdom of Up-Hill, Humans were sure to flock to their more-pleasant-smelling neighbors from their stench-ridden land of Down-Wind. For the women of Down-Wind, there was also an overabundance of Elven men who all resembled a particular Elf whose true name has been lost to Ancient Lore—the only trace of the fabled Elf master was these words: “The Blossom of Orlando!”
Despite intense study, none of the Loremasters from Up-Hill to Down-Wind could figure out what exactly an Orlando Blossom was… perhaps it was a rare flower that resided somewhere in the mountains of Ill-Stumickz, or maybe it was some kind of phenomenon resembling that of a radioactive mushroom cloud blast except instead of debris and flash-broiled body parts it rained of endless numbers of arrows, flowers, and perfume.
Alas, the secrets of the Orlando Blossom remained elusive to all of Up-Hill Kingdom…
However, with that thought aside she steered her mount to the right so she could better turn to call for her aide to catch up to her.
“Ivy, could you please hurry it up? It’s not exactly comfortable to be sitting on this horse for the past five hours without even a restroom break.”
Ivy Lily was a rather ordinary Elf Maiden; by ordinary, she was stunningly beautiful. She was actually more beautiful than Terra, but due to the casting producers she ended up being Terra’s number two because of her rather soft cooing voice.
“We passed about fifty gas stations along the way, Your Highness,” Ivy said quietly as she drove up beside Terra in her go-kart which was also equipped with a pintle-mounted .50 Cal Machine Gun.
“My horse doesn’t need refueling!”
“But you could’ve gotten off to use a restroom; I would’ve stabled your horse for you, Your Highness…” Ivy looked up at Terra with tired eyes.
“True… well, since we can’t go back, we can stop by that tavern over there with a rather ill-dressed knight stumbling out of it,” Terra pointed towards the log-built tavern, smoke lazily drifting out from its chimney, and the smell of cooked food permeating the air around it.
Meanwhile, Darius could’ve sworn he saw the most beautiful thing in the world. An ordinarily blazing hot Elf Chick. And then it happened. In a blur, he got hit by a low-lying go-kart as the barrel of a pintle-mounted machine gun jabbed into his stomach at 30 miles per hour.
Where Recyclables Generally Go To Suffer… Service with a Smile…
The last thing Darius saw before everything went fuzzy was the fast-approaching face of a very gorgeous Elf Maiden, what he didn’t notice was the go-kart that the Elf woman was in as well as the machine gun attached to it.
Fortunately he was wearing his heavy plate armor; unfortunately that armor did nothing except add jagged shards of steel to the machine gun barrel which skewered him through and through. In other words, he was screwed.
“Are you ok, mister dead sir?” Ivy squeaked. “I’m sorry; my foot brakes seem to have broken again.”
“He’s dead, you moron…” Terra grumbled.
“I’m not dead…” the man groaned as his liver fell out of him.
“He’s not dead, he says,” Ivy said looking back up at Terra.
“Damn it, I wanted to loot the stupid talking corpse…”
“I think we should help him,” Ivy said looking back at the bloody mess slumped over her .50 caliber machine gun.
“He’s going to die for the gods’ sake, just push him off, run him over a few more times until he’s beyond recognition, and that way we won’t get in trouble.”
“But he’s the main protagonist, milady,” Ivy said in her quiet voice.
“Who cares? We’re main characters too!” Terra plunged a hand into her robes, searching for her personal copy of the Story Script.
“But he’s the main protagonist—because of plot device and character prioritization, this man can’t really die…”
“Bullocks…” Terra muttered. With an effort of will, Terra spoke in her most Lady-like tone of voice. “Very well, let us bring this wreck of flesh with us to the tavern. You can heal him, and I will use the restroom.”
Ivy nodded and began working on getting the man off her machine gun.
In the process, Darius blacked out after his intestines spilled onto the dashboard.
Geoffrey von Baldwin Alexander Malik had lived and died about three times in his career as a short story character. The moment he was able to see light rather than the inside of a gargantuan alien crocodile’s belly, he knew he was in for yet another world of hurt.
After a few moments of concentration, he somehow remembered that he was in the kingdom of Down-Wind, the kingdom of Humans, the scummy kingdom, the place that no one really wanted to be in.
Pulling out his driver’s license, he saw that his last name had been changed yet again as well as his middle name. He was Slavic in the last story he was in. In every story he was dumped in, his last name was changed but the rest of him was more or less recycled.
He rubbed a hand over his short-cut trimmed beard for a moment… wait a minute, since when did he have a beard?
And why did he have a driver’s license and his old wallet in a medieval fantasy setting? He wasn’t in 2011 AD Planet Earth of the Solar System, he was in some place which didn’t have cars or television or subterranean alien things! (Obviously he doesn’t know of the go-kart.)
And now he thought about it, why was he dressed like a rogue? He was supposed to be a US Army soldier for heavens sake…
Then after a click in his mind, he remembered something and pulled his personal copy of the Story Script out from an inner vest pocket.
“Ah, yes… I’m supposed to go this way to find out more about this land… I’m… supposed to go…”
“We should go back to Up-Hill after this,” Ivy said coolly as she continued casting a spell of healing over the gaping hole that used to be Darius’s stomach. Because they had money, the bartender had forced them to rent a room… with a very persuasive double-barreled shotgun.
“What for? Everyone there wants us dead!” Terra said her eyes wide and her voice tense.
“Speak for yourself, milady. Remember in the script, I’m actually the prettier of the two of us. They want me to be Lady of Up-Hill.”
“Well you can be Lady after you fix your damn stupid voice!” Terra said throwing a slipper at the wall.
“Yes, milady,” Ivy said, shrugging to herself.
“I didn’t even do anything,” Terra said almost whimsically.
“You ran your husband over,” Ivy said flatly in a whispery voice.
“By accident…” Terra said, shrugging. “I didn’t see him.”
“He was standing right in front of you with his arms raised and his voice raised twice as high as his hands,” Ivy said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Well, he should’ve stepped to the side.”
“You cornered him in the stables, milady…”
“He could’ve jumped…”
“Jump over an eight-foot tall stallion that was reared up to fourteen feet high?”
“Sure… why not?” Terra said, flapping a hand as if swatting a fly from her ear.
“It’s physically impossible, milady.”
“Oh, damn it all…” Terra said, throwing her other slipper at the wall. “I hated the man anyways…”
All the while, Darius was laughing in the back of his mind. Here he was, resting his head on the lap of a very beautiful Elf Maiden while listening to one of the most humorous yet dangerous conversations he’s ever eavesdropped on… all the while, acting like he was half-dead. Absolutely perfect!!
“So where ARE we supposed to take this man anyways?” Terra asked Ivy.
“You’re asking me, milady? Haven’t you read your script?” Ivy asked in her soft voice.
“We’re supposed to take him to Up-Hill.”
“But we… I can’t go there!” Terra was getting flustered.
“Then you can stay here, milady, and I’ll return after I take this man to Up-Hill.”
“Don’t!! I need you, Ivy! Without my personal aide, who’s going to get my tea!?” Terra’s head might’ve spontaneously exploded had it been physically possible.
“You will,” Ivy said calmly and coolly as she gently patted the unconscious man on the forehead.
Darius had to fight to keep a smile from creeping on his face.
“That’s… just mean!” Terra cried out.
“Too bad, milady; the story must go on,” Ivy suddenly took on a very serious expression and Terra backed down. “Besides, your next part of the story won’t be for a while, if you actually read your script, which is why I’m miraculously able to sound more authoritative than I was twenty minutes ago.”
Within a few more moments of healing, Darius’s gaping wound had magically sealed itself; organs, muscle, skin, all with a free complimentary chocolate wrapped in gold tin foil sitting on his chest with a Thank You card from ‘Norm’s Magic Emporium’.
Darius opened his eyes, picked up the chocolate and began unwrapping the fancy candy. “Thank you,” Darius said, looking up and smiling at Ivy.
“You’re most welcome, mister not-so-dead-anymore sir,” Ivy said, her small lips curling up into a smile.
Before he could react, the Elf Maiden stood up, and the back of Darius’s head met a new acquaintance: the hardwood floor.
A headache soon followed.
And Terra officially became a minor character as well as Ivy’s number two.
“Where the hell do I find Up-Hill!?” G.A. Malik muttered as he stood in the middle of an eighteen-path crossroad without signs.
Thanks for the Directions… Now We Don’t Like You…
Imperial-Captain Pierce last remembered himself getting cut in half by a giant pincer-armed alien that looked like a praying mantis with a giant carapace dome over its back, just before he could fire his HK416 into its gaping maw… that was in the last story he was in. All of a sudden though, he found himself plucked from oblivion and sitting on a horse, riding at the front of an Imperial patrol team.
Looking down at himself he realized his armor had a total downgrade from Army-issue body armor to a full suit of black-painted plate armor. At least he had a sword and a single-shot flintlock pistol.
He really missed his assault rifle.
By some random behind-the-scenes events, Goflimbo found himself hiding behind a bush along with his long-time friends Illif and Boliff. These three goblins had been through a lot together, these three goblins had also died a lot together usually by some bunch of high-explosives tied to their backs in the midst of attempting a sapper-strike against a fortified enemy. But thanks to the script, they had yet another chance to prove their worth as cannon fodder.
“We really ought to go on strike some time…” Illif muttered behind Goflimbo.
“Seriously, I had to suffer for a few hours buried under that wall rubble,” Boliff said glumly.
“Hey,” Goflimbo snapped, “We were all suffering under the wall rubble for hours before dying.”
“The director left us to bleed to death!” Illif whined.
“What are you talking about? You died instantly when your sapper-pack exploded. Boliff and I managed to get ours off! WE bled to death, not YOU!”
Illif looked down at his feet. “Oh yeah…”
“What ARE we doing here?” Boliff asked.
Goflimbo pulled the Story Script out of his satchel pouch. “Apparently we’re supposed to follow this group of mounted patrolmen, and eventually ambush them before… before…”
”What is it?” both Illif and Boliff asked in unison.
“Before we get gruesomely hacked to bits…” Goflimbo snarled as he stuffed the script into his satchel pouch. “That does it! We’re going on our own! I’ve had enough with this stupid script!”
Pierce read along in his script until he came to his part. “Umm… I’m supposed to have heard something…” The Imperial-Captain looked to his patrolmen. “Did anyone hear those three goblins that were supposed to ambush us until we hacked them to pieces?”
All of his men either shrugged or shook their heads.
“That’s funny,” Pierce looked at the Story Script. “Could’ve sworn they were supposed to attack us here… this was supposed to be my first action scene! Wait a minute… who goes there?”
Geoffrey von Baldwin Alexander Malik raised his hand. “Hello… I don’t think the script said I was supposed to meet you until later…”
Pierce raised an eyebrow. “What part are you playing?” The Imperial Captain flipped through the pages in his copy of the Story Script.
“I’m no longer an immigrant serving the Army; I’m a Down-Wind rogue… and they changed my name again.”
“Aw that sucks…” Pierce said. “They let me keep my name.”
“Don’t rub it in; I’ll see you later in this story. And remember, we don’t know each other yet!” Geoffrey crossed the dirt road and disappeared.
“See you later… stranger,” Pierce said, watching the rogue disappear into the itch-bush. Maybe he should’ve warned the man about the rather irritating vegetation. Problem was the script-implanted memory of the itch-bush and its characteristics only came to his mind AFTER the rogue had left the scene.
Hot Wings, Wing Dings, and Painkillers…
Meanwhile… in the woods of Down-Wind… close to the South-East border of Up-Hill…
“What the hell does box-bird-triangle-car-tank-wing-bird-triangle mean? Do my lines even make sense!? I mean what kind of font is this bloody thing, anyway?” Maurice Gatsby said as he looked at his script, walking amongst his fellow Northern Patrolmen.
“Maybe the director accidentally switched the font simply to Wing Dings,” Gang Jouster said as he reviewed his own copy of the Story Script. “Mine’s in Rage Italics…”
“Mine’s a mix of Terminal and Pristina…” Leonard Davis muttered as he stuffed his script back into his shoulder-slung satchel. “Aside from our messed-up scripts, where are we supposed to be walking?”
“Last I heard we were supposed to be heading towards the Elven border…” Gang Jouster said, reading off from his script as he nearly walked into a tree. “I don’t even know where that is…”
“Triangle box grape truck monster tank cow dog bowl,” Gatsby said affirmatively, “House truck cat boat!” Gatsby then nodded as if understanding what he just said.
“Aye… I guess…” Davis said, unsure of what was going on.
“I wouldn’t mind crossing that border for a few nights…” Jouster said, already daydreaming about Elven Maidens.
“Square square square square… square square dash plus dash square triangle,” Gatsby said wishfully.
Davis proceeded to open a plastic packet of ear plugs. “Tell me when you’ve gotten your script fixed, Maurice…”
“Is it just me or did we three get lost in these woods due to plot device and now we don’t know where the other forty-seven patrolmen have gone?” Jouster asked looking around himself as if waking up after having nodded off in the middle of school. “I mean… how on Earth do we lose forty-seven heavily armored soldiers loudly clanking around in a quiet forest?”
“Hurry! Before those patrolmen find us!” Illif squeaked as the three Goblins ran through a long stretch of itch-bush. In the next half hour they would all break into rashes, but until then they had to keep running.
“I think my left prosthetic bunion just fell off! The make-up department’s gonna kill me!” Boliff muttered as he almost tripped over a twig.
“Leave it! They’ll just have to give you a new one when we get off the set!” Goflimbo snarled. He no longer cared about being in-character in a story that intended to have all three of them, him and his good friends, slaughtered by a bunch of knights. His goal now was to buy a nice gun and kill those nasty sword-swinging knights!! “Just you wait, we’ll set things right!”
“What are you going to do?” Illif asked as he barely missed stepping on a random bear trap.
“Not me, WE!” Goflimbo sneered. “WE are going to kill those knights!”
“But how?” Boliff asked as he tripped on a random mouse trap which would’ve triggered a camouflaged flamethrower, frying the three of them. The goblin was beginning to suspect that the director really wanted them to die…
“Simple! We find the nearest gun dealership and buy ourselves two Glocks and a Springfield,” Goflimbo leapt over a trip-wire that would’ve set off five concealed assault shotguns.
Gregori Frost opened his eyes to find himself in the command seat of a large tank-like machine as it rumbled and clanked about.
After surveying his surroundings, he realized that he was at the front of a large army, and they were all in some generically vast desert heading towards some unknown destination.
“Oh crap, where the heck am I now?” Frost quickly scrabbled for his Story Script.
Now that he thought about it, he was no longer in his Army-issue body armor; instead he was wearing a black-painted suit of plated armor with a royal crest resembling… a headless chicken on fire!? “What? That’s just… stupid!” Frost began trying to pry the crest off his breastplate but quickly returned to looking for his Story Script. “What on Earth am I supposed to do in this story!?”
After finding his character description, he quickly skimmed over it. “Ah… great… I’m a villainous warlord heading towards the kingdom of… Up-Hill? Who names a kingdom Up-Hill!?”
Terra sat in her room, feeling rather sad that she was being mentioned at the end of a chapter which had nothing to do with her at all.
“I’m sad…” Terra muttered as she began putting her slippers back on. As a minor character, her career seemed ever bleaker…
Push the Action button!! Push the Action button NOW!!!
Darius sat manning the machine gun, or at least acting like he was since it felt cool, as Ivy drove twenty over the speed limit on the Down-Wind dirt path.
“Where are we going again?” Darius asked. “I know it’s been said a few times, but the readers might’ve skipped our first meeting, so they probably want to know where we’re going.”
“We’re heading to the kingdom of Up-Hill,” Ivy tried speaking over the roar of the go-karts twin-turbo engines.
“What?” Darius shouted over the engines.
“We’re heading to the kingdom of Up-Hill!”
“Never mind, so long as the readers know…” Ivy said, shrugging.
Darius looked at Ivy in confusion; he couldn’t tell what the Elf Maiden was saying so he decided to speak so the readers could understand what was going on. He pulled out his portable camcorder camera and looked at the lens as he pressed the record button.
“Alright, mates,” Darius yelled at the camera, “We’re about to embark on a great journey to the kingdom of Up-Hill!! Isn’t that great!? Now you know what’s going on!” He gave his best smile before stopping the recording and stuffing the camera into his trusty Ultra Man design backpack, it even had an Ultra Man keychain dangling from it as well as one of those mini-calculators.
Ivy just shrugged to herself.
Imperial-Captain Pierce felt proud about how the narration kept mentioning his official title. Finally he was getting some good recognition instead of having Alexander smacking him in the head every time he complained about something. And now Alexander is just a lowly rogue; Pierce though—was an Imperial-Captain!! This story rocked!!
“Hahaa!! Hehe… heh… I feel awesome!!” Pierce said to himself, smirking.
“Did you say something sir?” one of Pierce’s patrolmen asked.
“What?” Piece almost fell off his horse. “No, I was just thinking out loud… yes, I was saying something about the weather and my laundry back home…”
“Ah yes, now I think about it… I’ve got laundry back home too…” the soldier said with a spark of amusement and perhaps a bit of homesickness.
Soon all of Pierce’s patrolmen were discussing about their wives, laundry, and their woes of trying to hang their pajamas out when the winds are so terrible in the late morning.
The Imperial-Captain palmed himself in the forehead with an armored gauntlet.
“Would you stop coming back to me at the end of every damn chapter?” Terra said at the ceiling as she lay in bed, more bored than a Goblin Kamikaze in peacetime. “I know you can hear me!! Stop it! Go away! I don’t want to be at the end of your stupid chapter!”
Now How Does One Defuse An Explosive Bar of Soap?
Darius looked up from the go-kart as Ivy continued driving on. “What does this chapter have to do with explosive bars of soap?”
“I think the director ran out of chapter titles…” Ivy said as softly and quiet as ever.
Oh Yeah? Well How About This? The Adventures of Darius and Ivy! Now filled with Additives and Preservative and Artificial Food Coloring and MSG!!!!
“Haha! Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Darius said as he gazed up from his seat.
Ivy shrugged. “I suppose so… but what kind of adventure are we going on exactly?”
“You tell me,” Darius said, turning to Ivy, “you’re the one driving…”
“Ok… we’re going on… an adventure to Up-Hill,” Ivy said, nodding to herself.
“Sounds good!” Darius said, grinning.
“Mmhmm!” Ivy nodded again. She accelerated the go-kart until it was thirty over the speed limit. The poor doe that was trying to cross the road literally became a new dashboard ornament after it was skewered on the machine gun.
Darius fainted as the poor creature’s head flipped onto his lap, blood seeping down onto his socks.
“Why on Earth am I in this chapter?” Geoffrey von Baldwin Alexander Malik spoke to the sky. “Just end it already. I don’t want to be in this little ‘adventure of Darius and Ivy’! I don’t even know these two characters yet!”
Houston… We have a Problem… If that is the Fishbowl then where is the Fish!?
Terra Elphchihk remained in the inn, reading over her Story Script since she really had nothing else to do. She was a minor character, after all, and so her role was rather… diminished.
She didn’t do anything wrong, did she? So why did her role get downgraded!? It wasn’t fair!
Despite the frustration it caused, there really wasn’t anything she could do about it. Now all she cared about was for the story to end so she might get recycled and placed in a new role.
Then it clicked in her mind—if the Story Script didn’t exist in-story, then she could make her own choices… she could make her own decisions and create a main character role for herself! The stupid director would no longer have control over her.
If she could somehow stop the Story Script… no… if she could somehow destroy it… then she could still be Lady of Up-Hill, and she can still be a major main character!
She closed her personal copy of the Story Script, walked over to her traveling bag and began rummaging for a spell scroll…
Imperial-Captain Pierce took off his gauntlet to take a look at his Fossil watch. Despite what the producers told him, he kept his watch on… it never hurts to know the time even though the story world you’re in uses a 43-hour Day system…
“The world’s quirky that way…” he said to himself.
“Did you say something again, sir?” one of Pierce’s patrolmen asked.
Pierce almost lost a boot and almost fell off his horse. Thanks to that lack of balance and lack of attention-span to his surroundings, he barely missed a tree branch to the face.
“I was NOT commenting on my laundry!” Pierce said, pointing at a random tree.
“I didn’t even accuse you of that, sir…” the soldier said, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh…” Pierce’s brow furrowed as his thoughts wandered again. “Erm, so where are we supposed to be going? I keep forgetting.”
“I’ve no idea either, sir. But I think we got lost and now we’re at this Down-Wind tavern…” the soldier said, pointing at the tavern that stood before the whole patrol team.
“What?” Pierce looked and suddenly realized what they all had been doing. They had been going the wrong way…
The Imperial-Captain rolled his eyes as he pulled out his Story Script.
“Strange…” Pierce said to himself. “I could’ve sworn my Script was in Times New Roman before…”
“Crap… no spell scroll…” Terra muttered to herself. She looked at the generically designed amulet that she had found in her traveling bag. “I’m sure this has some kind of magic power…”
Then the amulet ran out of batteries…
“When are they getting back?” Mister Silhouetted One asked as he poured himself more coffee.
“Beats me… but the longer they take, the more time I have to make sure that the Revised Story Script’s going to work as planned… hopefully the phony script we gave out is still keeping those characters occupied…”
Mister Silhouetted One raised a shadow-concealed eyebrow. “So how’s this one going to end?”
“Quiet you!” the Director hissed. “We’ve readers listening in on our diabolical conversation!”
“Oh… right…” Mister Silhouetted One grimaced.
Just then the office’s double-doors swung open as Mister Silhouetted Two entered the conference room. “What’s going on? I heard the true Story Script was about to be activated.”
“Yes… I think,” the Director said as his expression turned from one of boredom to something of agitation and the need to buy lunch.
“Well, then what are we waiting for?” Mister Silhouetted Two sat in his assigned seat at the long conference table.
“We’re waiting for Mister Silhouetted Three and… the Author…” the Director grumbled.
The room was silent for a full minute.
“Remember…” the Director began. “We can’t let the Author know that his Story Script has been completely altered, and we can’t let him notice the incredibly obvious ‘Revised’ sticker that’s impossibly stuck onto the Story Script…”
“We can’t just knock him out?” Mister Silhouetted One asked, raising a shadow-concealed eyebrow.
“You idiot,” Mister Silhouetted Two muttered, his shadow-concealed expression changing to an increasingly deep frown. “If we knocked out the Author, then he’ll surely know that we’ve planned for the demise of the entire Story World… when he wakes up that is… we must keep him confident that his story will have a happy ending…”
Mister Silhouetted One risked an evil maniacal laugh. The conference room responded with grim silence. He went back to sipping at his coffee.
“Why on Earth is this room so dark?” the Director asked out of the blue.
“If we switched the lights on, our names would be meaningless…” Mister Silhouetted Three spoke as suddenly as he entered the conference room. “I see that our Author has not returned from his grocery shopping…”
“He’s always running out of tea…” the Director muttered, his expression narrowing, “He goes out to buy bloody tea when the rest of us drink coffee…”
The conference room was ominously silent for another full minute.
“Well,” Mister Silhouetted One began, “at least this time around we bought our own coffee—”
Before Mister Silhouetted One could continue, the Author walked into the conference room.
“Hey guys I bought us some croissants, tea, and sour straws!” the Author said cheerfully as he made his way to the conference table. It was only by ill-fortune that he tripped on his own foot and bumped into the room’s light switch.
Every Silhouetted member of the conference room screamed in unison as fifty studio lights flickered on.
The Director got up from his chair, grumbling to himself, and strode over to the office door to dim the lights once again…
After hours of driving on a road that seemed to never end, Darius and Ivy had decided to stop by a gas station to fuel up the go-kart as well as buy a few snacks. Darius’ pockets were empty of coinage, but Ivy—being the Elf Maiden she was—had plenty of money left on her Anton-Securities bank debit card.
Darius buckled up and placed the cloth sack of goods at the foot of his seat in the go-kart before turning to Ivy. “Are you sure we’ve been going the right way?”
“I think so…” Ivy said with a tad of uncertainty as she buckled up in her own seat. “If my memory serves correctly, we’ve been driving on Highway 285 North-West to Up-Hill…”
“Erm…” Darius raised a quizzical eyebrow. “We’ve been driving for the past five hours on 285 South-East to Down-Wind’s Capital Smolderon-Reck…”
Ivy’s somewhat pale complexion went even paler. “What…?” Ivy squeaked.
“I think we’ve been going the wrong way, Ivy…” Darius looked at Ivy with a rather neutral expression.
Ivy felt half-agitated… and half-lost…
“Everyone ready to begin?” the Author chirped as he rummaged through his pockets for his Story Activation Key.
The rest of the conference members had theirs conveniently on their car key chains…
“Whenever you’re ready, sir,” the Director said. “We can’t wait to get this whole thing started…”
“This’ll be an awesome story!” the Author grinned as he looked over at the Story World Map displayed on his laptop screen.
The Director looked over at Mister Silhouetted One, Two, and Three. All three of the shadow-concealed figures nodded in affirmation. It was time to bring the world of Parodomonium to its knees…
With the press of a concealed button somewhere beneath the Author’s right foot, a four key-hole console pad rose from the conference table.
“Wait… there are only four key holes…” Mister Silhouetted Three muttered in surprise.
“That’s why YOU are not participating in the activation process…” the Director half-growled.
Mister Silhouetted Three slumped in his chair, feeling rather glum.
Once all four keys were inserted into the console pad, they began the countdown.
“Five,” Mister Silhouetted Three muttered.
“Four,” Mister Silhouetted Two said, grimacing.
“Three,” Mister Silhouetted One said, crossing his eyes for no reason really.
“Two,” The Director said, a cruel smile creeping across his face.
“One!” The Author chirped as all five keys turned.
TO BE BLOODY CONTINUED!!!
YOUR BRAINS ARE MMMMINE!!!
Just kidding... but I will make a ninth chapter at some point.