Laziness, Rebellion, and a Museum

Autumn with crisp air and golden leaves scattered on the ground. The schools paths from classroom to classroom are all outside. Covered paths that look out over an inner open area that two perpendicular sidewalks bisect. This inner courtyard is colored by green grass revealed underneath a thin blanket of colorful fallen leaves. A couple of trees in this area have only a handful of their leaves still attached to their branches. The otherwise bare limbs point towards the sky like crooked fingers. Two picnic tables at opposite ends of the courtyard provide a chance to sit and eat or talk.

This is the school from which homework and projects issue forth trying to steal my free time. Fighting them I push them towards the back of my mind. I allow them only the tail of my leisure ensuring that even if they try to take more time to complete they will fail. Battling against this unwanted work is daunting. The more it piles up the more it seems as if it might overwhelm me in an avalanche. For now I am not consumed and stand victorious. They are only battles, for the war is not yet decided.

With these grey thoughts occupying my mind I find a seat at the beginning of class. I found a great spot and am amazed at my good fortune. The euphoria lasts through the tedium of the class. Milling around in the crowded courtyard during lunch a distant girl transgresses against the institutions rules. I mention not the reprimand.

A field trip breaks through the haze. A museum of natural science. Short barely cushioning blue green carpet. Islands in each large room where a reconstructed bone dinosaur towers menacingly. Dead, their power and threats of violence can only be imagined. Even the daydream of their bones animating to supernatural hungry action fails to raise any goosebumps. Idly I peruse the exhibits with my cousin Hunter. Deja vu captures me like a pillow strangler. Dazed and caught off guard it is followed quickly by remembrance of a field trip to the same museum when I was five. Remarkably little has changed. The velvet ropes keeping people from the display of prehistoric man roasting a suggestion of an animal over an open flame. The color of the carpet. Even the curator standing guard over his scientific bounty is the same. I approach him and begin to discuss my revelation with him. As I greet him unfamiliarity in his eyes brings disappointment to mine. Of course it has been many years and my appearance is greatly changed since I was five. To remedy this failing of memory Hunter, myself, and the curator repair to the security room.

The security room is dark and somewhat musty. Security monitors sit on a lone table attached to the wall in this small room. They show a black and white herd of people milling around different areas. The security monitors unblinking eyes are untenanted but recording for posterity. The middle of the room is dominated by free standing shelves where the archive of VHS tapes are stored. Through trial and guesswork the date of my previous visit is found. Surreal, like watching myself on a TV show a young naive me is revealed on the black and white monitors. Tramping around and enjoying the bastion of knowledge despite being oblivious to the information it holds. I marvel at my small size and anachronistic clothes. We three watch an unremembered tail unfold. My cousin and I are interrupted in reveling in the shadow of the Tyrannosaurus Rex by three other boys. Their childish insults are thrown silently at the two of us. The videos record no sound but the words are imagined as crude words with misunderstood meanings. Hunter confronts the aggressor and pushes him down. The bully expected cowardice and his two cohorts dart away confounded by the unexpected aggression. The fallen leader tears up and quickly follows the retreat. His arm covering his tears as he runs.

After the field trip the school day is over. Hunter, myself, and several other friends lounge at a friend's, Milkman, apartment. A government apartment, the place is old and signs of neglect are rampant. The couple staying there obviously disappointed in their home show a cavalier attitude towards the place. A large old carpet is draped over the tile floor in the living room portion. A beat up couch faces towards the television that sits in front of the front picture window. The couch separates the living room from the small kitchen. The existence of another room possibly in the back is unknown. The place is small but not depressing. After all it is only temporary. The afternoon is full of alcohol and video games with Milkman's wife occasionally cleaning something in the background. Towards the end the jokes run out and a smoke is passed around. The person closest to the large picture window at the front of the apartment glances through the blinds occasionally. He is the lookout in case police come by to investigate. The picture window looks out over an alley so the lookout has to crane his neck in either direction to get a look at each end of the alley. I take a couple of puffs from the cigarette and am completely underwhelmed by the experience.

As our time is obviously over Milkman's wife announces with an unintentional growl on her face that we are all welcome back anytime. In fact family is welcome in the apartment even if the Milkmans aren't currently there. As I roll this statement around in my head like a savored chocolate waiting for it to melt on it's own I wonder if they know I am family. My cousin Hunter is a distant cousin of Milkman, but they might not know this or even that Hunter and I are related. I promise to buy a smoke in replacement of the one I used.

Tuesday rolls around and I attend school once again. Monday I skipped but the school should think I was sick. Missing a day is a great excuse for being behind on schoolwork. I attempt to forge the perfect lie in defense of my laziness as I walk into the courtyard. The courtyard is full of students ready for the school day to start. Scanning the many clumps of chatting people I spot a distant transgression. It is the same girl as previously witnessed getting in trouble. Going to get a better look the drama is revealed to me. Whatever the first girl did it amuses the thin conservative girl. The second girl is obviously a pet of the system and is amused at the burn outs continued indifference to the rules. As the rebellious girl is carried away by a strong arm on her upper bicep from an administrator she taunts the pet. The pet shouts out an insult in response. The rebellious girls plan to get the pet punished alongside her is successful. As a result rebellious, pet, and all the onlookers are gathered by the administrators. They herd us all into an alley branching off of the courtyard. Away from the eyes of the rest of the student body we are lined up against the wall and lectured to by the administrators. Their words float over my head as I turn and look towards the beginning of the line in the direction of the opening of the alley for this is where the rebellious girl and the pet were placed. As the irate administrator continues I watch the faces of these two for their individual responses.

Winding down the administrator concludes with some statement regarding the promise of our future. With his speech concluded we are all released. The courtyard emptied several minutes ago into the various classrooms. I slowly meander over to my first class kicking the leaves as I cut over the grass. Despite being the last to enter the classroom my great seat is still available. Taking it once again the old happiness returns.

Giant Raven Humanoid Monstrosity

Staring at a tall chain link fence, separating my backyard from my neighbor's backyard, enlightenment infuses me for reasons not remembered. In the middle of my neighbor's otherwise nondescript backyard a zebra munches grass. As I approach the chain link fence that separates us the zebra looks up still chewing his cud. I begin climbing the fence and notice that the zebra has become more curious. After a couple of steps towards me it stops as if not wanting to scare me away from completing my vertical circumvention of the fence. Briefly I am alarmed that the zebra will nip, cause my fall, or otherwise harm me. Impossible! My enlightenment is like an armour protecting me from any serious threats. Climbing gone. Somewhat confused by my newfound enlightenment and how easily I wear it, I become afraid it will easily slip unnoticed away.

I must utilize and define with detail my surroundings. Focusing on the zebra he suddenly freezes and loses all semblance of life. Standing like an inanimate alabaster statue it is as if he never had life. Startled and not pleased with this development I look nowhere in particular hoping that with my focus pointed elsewhere he will reanimate. Looking back at the zebra he is chewing cud and displaying no sign that he noticed his transitory state. Focusing again on the zebra I try to ascertain cause and effect behind the previous result. With my complete focus the same thing happens and the zebra freezes again. Frustrated and confused I turn to a raven standing in the grass of the far right hand corner of the yard I am currently in. My gaze merely registers him not concentrating for the zebra is the subject of those experiments. Looking back hoping that the zebra is once again whole and unharmed by my apparently uncontrollable power to render life into never born I am shocked. The zebra's head and neck stare at me lifelessly on the grass beside it's body. There is no blood or wounds visible, merely a body with a head set beside it. Greatly disturbed I look away and towards the raven. I merely see the raven but pray in my mind for the undoing and normalcy of the zebra.

The zebra is gone replaced by a 5 meter tall giant humanoid raven. Standing on two feet and with arms still at its side it's feathers appear ruffled and unhealthy. I immediately abhor this abomination and am weary of these focus experiments. Still as lost as I was when I started with only a monstrous giant raven man to punish me for efforts. Enlightenment is not so enjoyable as I thought it would be. However, I have not tried the easier and joyful task of flight. Joyed by my epiphany I dart from the grassy ground into the air above the backyard. Still disturbed by my lovecraftian prodigy I proceed to dive bomb the giant. After a couple of swoops upon it my thoughts turn to quicker and more complete destruction. Shooting fireballs from my arms should make short work of the offending target. I try to shoot one but nothing emerges. Looking at my arms I am unable to definitively picture the exact process by which a fireball would be generated and thrown. My confusion morphs the world into swirling mixing paint. I think of spinning but dismiss the idea as not truly applicable. How would spinning correct the crumbling of reality?

All this concentration is not truly restful. What I need is solid regular sleep. I try to get situated in my bed but find it is unreasonably short. Perhaps I should decline the head to a more horizontal position. Thinking these thoughts I realize I am not in a bed at all but in my car seat. Sleep?! I should be concentrating on driving, but my greatly reclined and relaxed position make this extremely difficult. Gaining a look at the passing road I am able to skid aside from smashing head on with an oncoming vehicle. Not even attempting to break I run a stop sign and make a hard right. I need to stop but the break does not seem a viable option. After my hard right I unintentionally pull off into the grass just to the right of the road. Seeing a large tractor or some other type of farm vehicle just ahead I pull hard right on the wheel and manage to swerve to a stop barely avoiding impact. Relieved but unsure about the lack of damage down to my car I get out to inspect. The clothes I wear ensure that no one will recognize me. A leather jacket, helmet, some cloth perhaps a scarf around my neck, and sunglasses obscuring my vision. Taking off the sunglasses reveals my eyes and allows me to hunt for any damage done. Looking carefully at my bicycle I see nothing obviously wrong. While I gaze my bicycle, unbalanced, falls on it's side to the grass.

Noises outside my realm of understanding. Children talking in the hall. Unsure I listen closer from my bed. Distinct noises from down the hall make me confident that my roommate is definitely in bed, possibly preparing to sleep. The puzzling noises were most likely imagined but my listening remains attentive. My patience is rewarded by a repeat of the noise confirming my initial suspicion that there is a child talking in the hall. In the total darkness I take the leather glove from over my mouth and put it beside my head on my bed. Along with it I discard my hard helmet and under cap. Vaguely I remember donning these items. Casting them from my bed to the mattress beside me a door at the foot of my bed is opened. A door being there doesn't seem right but in comes a woman. She informs me that I will soon need certain items. They are the same things I just discarded. After delivering the message she leaves the door open and I see her go through a living room into a distant room to discuss something with someone. I try to shout a question after her to resolve my confusion. She either does not or chooses not to hear my question.

I am trapped on this bed unable to move or escape. Escape is foremost in my thoughts. The door at my feet is closed but I will escape through it if it takes all my will power. Briefly I entertain the notion of lucidity but dismiss it as insane. My body has no energy for moving but I manage to flop to the end of my bed. Throwing my arm over the door knob gradually I am able to drag it off turning the knob. Fear infuses my whole being of the horrors that I might see on the other side of the door. The woman may already have returned and catch me trying to escape. Successfully opening the door only after great concentration and patience reveals the woman outlined in the door frame. Seeing this drops my weary frame to slump on the foot of the bed. Outlined in the darkness she appears inhuman and empty like a shell. Yelling in fright the strange shackles of tiredness hold me down. Coming into the room the sinister appearance becomes more human and recognizable. Still she has prevented my escape. I try to shout at her to leave but it comes out low and barely audible. She refuses to leave me in my state. Unable to produce words easily I growl my anger and displeasure at her. Ignoring the low guttural growl she sits on my bed waiting for me to calm down. The position of my head prevents me from seeing her. Sprawled in bed surrounded by the terror hiding darkness of night. Movement sapped from my limbs, I wish to ascertain if her unwanted presence persists. Summoning enough of myself to flop an arm out to where I think she is I touch an ankle. A while later I repeat this and touch only bedding. Relieved that the strange terror is gone I look at my ceiling and see the bright red light of a smoke detector clearly through the otherwise impenetrable dark. This clue brings the great relief that this is my home and not some horrifically strange different house.

Japanese Talk Show Interview

Upon receiving news that I am wanted on a Japanese talk show I become very excited. Not waiting for any details I quickly buy a ticket and fly to Japan. I arrive on the set without incident. It is a simple set with no other furniture but a simple green table in the center. The low table means we sit on mats as we talk. The other three guests are already sitting around the table and greet me as I sit at the obvious opening. As the show begins my inability to speak Japanese quickly becomes a hindrance. I try to ham it up and get by with as little talking as possible. Fortunately their English is better than my Japanese and I am able to get across a few simple ideas. The idea is bandied about for me to take a job here in Japan teaching English. Regretfully I explain how my current responsibilities prevent me from taking any job. disappointedly but understanding, the show cuts to a commercial break.

I utilize this break to stand from the table and approach the off camera director. The plane ticket here was paid for out of my pocket and I want to take care of reimbursement as quickly as possible. Startled by the idea that I expect reimbursement the director relates that this is a volunteer talk show. They do not have the money to reimburse or even pay the guests. The other guests are here just for the opportunity to be on television. The idea startles me and depresses me. I was so confident that I would be repaid for flying here to Japan. That is close to a thousand dollars gone for a short segment on a television show that I don't even really understand. The director apologizes and states they did not know I currently live in the United States when they extended the invitation.

The despair however quickly lifts. The lack of information I had before I flew. Traveling all this way just to talk on a Japanese talk show. None of it makes much sense. It is all to unreal. I realize that it can't be very real. If this lack of continuity can pass so easily then time travel must not be that far out of my grasp. I will simply rewind to when I got the invitation while still keeping my memory of what happened. Armed with this knowledge I will not be so foolish as to buy a plane ticket without guarantee of reimbursement. This idea is great but it needs to be more fully thought through. I will do so after I buy a plane ticket home.

As I am flying home I contemplate and work through all the details for my planned trip unraveling the past events. While I am doing so I realize that if realities laws are so fragile as to allow me to travel back in time then practically anything else is possible as well. Sitting in my coach seat with the plane in mid flight I decide to rid myself from the shackles of gravity. Casting them off only requires the wish to do so. Soon I float out of my seat and pass through the top of the plane as if it were so much mist.

Passing through the top of the plane does not place my in the sky above the plane however. It seems to transport me to some type of null dimension. Where nothing is or was. The unreality only registers as empty black. Empty like an unused slate. Understanding that my consciousness will quickly resolve into unenlightenment in this state I formulate a plan. I could spin. This seems unpromising so I quickly dismiss it. I could try to create a world from this nothingness. This seems the best approach though the size of it is intimidating. Not sure where to start my lucidity falters.

. . .

As a ninja I am supposed to live in the shadows revealing myself only to strike. Exposed as I am in day light in a crowded outdoor public square, most likely in a downtown commercial district of some kind, I become exposed and vulnerable. A hostile agent seeks to apprehend me. In an instant I see a plush circular red chair untenanted at the corner of the court yard. Near this chair is a low overhang for an entrance to a building. It is only about 15 yards up. Unaided the type of jump would almost certainly be fruitless but if I use the chair as a trampoline I might be able to make it. I run to the chair and jump. It does not have as much spring as I hoped and I fall well short of the overhang I was aiming for. Instead I painfully fall flat on to the cement near the chair. Indulging me the agent sets up a chair much taller than my current one next to my original trampoline. Understanding his idea I jump from the first chair to the second one to the overhang. From this vantage point I can jump to other nooks and overhangs climbing quickly to the top of the urban jungle. Now the chase is on.

With an environment so demanding of speed, agility, and balance non-ninjas don't stand a chance of catching me. Quickly working my way up the building I soon reach the top where a helicopter is ready for the agents to pursue me in. Thinking to play with them I secure myself to the landing struts just before it takes off. Now they are carrying me through the sky oblivious that their target is just beneath their noses. Once they are airborne for a while I untangle myself and silently infiltrate through the open door of the helicopter. Quickly disposing of those inside I take control of the helicopter. Unfortunately this also alerts my pursuers to my location. Undaunted I quickly teach myself how to fly.

Flying all over the sky I am not too concerned. As I am over the ocean a plummet should be survivable. The sun glints off ocean as far as the eye can see. As I flit about the sky I dart dangerously close to the top of the tall ocean waves. Skimming the crests with the struts I manage to balance it out and gain a couple yards of air. A down draft catches the helicopter and I just barely skim through a wave. As if the water caught my strut the helicopter suddenly noses down and plummets completely into the ocean.

Princess Children Fighters

My task protecting the princess as she journeys to her home seems to be nigh over. The ethereal morning daylight reveals us in a gently rolling glade of bright green ankle high grass. The air is crisp and cool. Forest surrounds, a couple hundred yards away on either side, this secluded spot. The normal surroundings have one glaring anomaly. A hole in the air with rippling energy dancing around its borders. It is a perfect circular hole about 2 meters across suspended half a meter from the ground. The doorway is hazy preventing one from seeing what exactly is through this dimensional tear. Before entering the princess informs me to very carefully do everything she says. The rules in her home are too many to relate right now. Just follow her lead because I do not want to know the type of consequences not following the rules hold in her realm. Agreeing we both dart through the mystical portal.

Arriving I immediately notice the sharp stench of brimstone. We stand on a sooty mountain surrounded by bubbling and spitting lava. Occasionally tall columns of fire leap out of the lake of lava climbing surprisingly high into the sky. The rare crackling thunderclap of these devil's fingers stroking the sky obliterates all other sound for the moment of their existence. Soot covers the sky leaving the lava as a dark orange illumination from the bottom up. This must be hell. An elevated sidewalk, held up by pillars stretching down into the lava, leads away from the mountain to a convoluted elevated town. Everything is supported by twisted dark stone pillars. The heat causes all my skin to bead with sweat. Wiping my brow I follow the princess into the town.

In between the fire thunderclaps she explains her situation in her home dimension as we journey through the hell realm towards the palace, her home. Her brother is twisted and evil. Being the next in line, with only a senile father who is incapable of exerting any control over him, he gets whatever he wants. His dementia has had many evil and disastrous results. She had run away because his latest obsession had him wanting to marry her his own sister. Forced now to return she must somehow avert his horrible wishes. To undermine her side even more women have no rights in this land. Living at worse as pets up to as good as having their opinions tolerated but never seriously entertained.

We enter the palace without incident. As we recline and feast after the journey in a private chamber her brother hearing word of her return comes to apprehend her. All thoughts of plans or reasoning is gone as the guards immediately seek to grab her. She fights like a wildcat and I quickly join in her rebellion against the guards. Disposing of the first several guards who enter the room we are soon overwhelmed by a seemingly endless supply of them.

For my traitorous acts against the rightful authority of the realm I am to be tortured. I am placed in the car seat of a deadly roller coaster. At the end there is a large clown face through which the cart goes through. Inside this devilish clowns mouth are whirling knives and spinning giant band saws. Clearly I am about to minced and diced beyond any reasonable thought of survival. The cart jolts into action. I put my head down and close my eyes for the entirety of the roller coaster ride of death. Surprisingly the ride ends with a halt and I have survived. I do not question my good fortune.

. . .

We are a cadre of children kept away from the softening society which we are being trained to protect. Our martial training for the day is over and it is time to sleep. I have a deck of cards secreted about my sleeping garments. Armed thusly I escape from our compound to the town under cover of night. Living so stringent a life has left my thirsty for the delights of common people.

Walking through the town the first thought is how poor and badly kept the place is. Thin boards with gaps make up the majority of walls for the shanties that abound. Ruffians lounge about and diseased prostitutes walk among them soliciting. To make matters worse no one seems to be speaking English. Definitely out of my element and finding all the offered pleasures seedy I quickly grow weary of the town. Returning home through the compound's gates I meet 3 or 4 of my peers sneaking out with the same ideas I had. I quickly disillusion of them of their fun seeking.

Persuaded we all walk back towards where we are supposed to be sleeping. At the side of the place we currently call home there is an elevated wooden deck. The other children are just beginning to awake here with the creeping early rays of sunshine proclaiming the beginning of sunrise. The many meter elevation of the deck along with the small amount of time before we are discovered are our main obstacles. We are currently at the same height as the deck but we are at the corner of the house. At this corner of the house the grassy lawn ends and slopes downwards into a dirt grotto for many meters towards the deck. Too far to jump from the ledge we stand at and the deck to high to jump to from its dirt foundation. Finding a ledge along the house starting where we are and running to the deck should be manageable. Reaching up and gripping one with the tips of my fingers I find the ledge icy cold. Enduring the searing cold I slowly inch towards the deck. I work carefully to avoid the bits of glass scattered randomly among the icy ledge. Making it across the ledge to the deck the rest soon follow. Moments after we are all among the other children as if we had spent all night there, the adults arrive to check on us. Our brief escape goes unnoticed.

We are a group of child fighters training to one day go out and make the world a better place. Currently engaged on a training patrol along a two lane cement road cut into a mountain slope covered by a thick forest the eldest of us is running scout. Encountering a stopped flatbed truck he ducks down to hide underneath the flatbed. Just as he gets a grip on one of the rungs running along the bottom of the flatbed the truck starts up and drives away. Pulling himself further underneath via the horizontal ladder rungs he is surprised to hear a beeping just a little further forward of where he is. Pulling himself forward he discovers a small black box secured to the bottom of the flatbed. Observing it he sees the green blinking light go out to be replaced by a formerly dead light start blinking red. Seeing this he suddenly becomes afraid and drops from the rungs to the cement flying by beneath him. As soon as the last pair of tires passes him he rolls to the side of the road. Before he can regain himself enough to attempt to stand the speeding truck, now a couple hundred yards in the distance, explodes with a tremendous fireball.

After a couple of the squad check that the leader is unharmed we gather him up to investigate the wreckage. Several jump into the open tank of water which the flat bed was carrying. Swimming about and enjoying the water they leave the exterior exploration up to the rest of us. The oppressive sun along with the dank wet air of the surrounding forest is now much more noticeable as we are not zoned in on our patrol. The leader regaining his full senses directs most of us to fan out into the jungle and set up a perimeter. Soon however the investigation yielding no fruit is given up and we all return home.

Resting from our days training outside the house we enjoy the cooler air of the evening. A large muscle bound guy and his two slightly smaller but still imposing friends come to the perimeter fence to challenge us. They have the scarred and tattooed look of ruffians from the village. They must be either the bosses of the village or seeking to make a reputation among the village by challenging us. Though since our elite training is supposed to be secret it is anyones guess how they found out about us. The teacher accepts and directs one of the taller children and two others to meet the mens challenge. Their boar like rushes are soon defeated by lightning quick punches and kicks. The men after a couple of minutes wagging their heads trying to shake off their defeat leave in amazement.

Full of ourselves for such one sided defeats we pour outside the compound into the village and proceed to fight the rest of the ruffians. We are too quick and agile for the lazy muscles of the brutes to make a difference. We take many captives which we continue to assail. The captives grow very belligerent for our technique is too good for them to stand a chance against. Despite them not resisting or instigating we punch them and they begin to complain about being punched for no reason.

Our home, our compound, is a large pleasant affair. Surrounded by a high gated fence most of the compound is a grassy lawn. In the middle of this half an acre our large house stands like a jewel. Marble columns, pale white adobe walls, and tall glinting windows make it seem a small palace. Inside thick white carpet covers all the floors. The dominating centerpiece of the living room is a large circular marble table. On it sits an ornate marble sword. The only light comes from the stars and quarter moon. Night time has brought an eerie calm to the entire compound. No crickets or locusts chirp. Everything is still and silent. Asleep we are scattered about the living room enjoying the soft carpet instead of traditional bedding.

Seeking to enjoy a lapse in our security, due to our sleeping, a cop approaches the main gate to the compound. Getting right up to the gate a sudden hand darts through from the inside and grabs him. Swiftly pulling him against the bars and delivering a series of quick punches through the fences bars the cop is knocked unconscious. A door in the fence is unlocked and the attacker gathers certain items from the prone cop. The attacker goes to a window of the house and knocks discretely. A swift message about what has just occurred is passed on.

. . .

The cop must have called in his position before investigating for in the morning the compound is crawling with policemen. The unconscious initial policeman is revived and treated to a bowl of soup to speed the gathering of his wits. Detective man sees the initial policeman sitting on the hood of a cop car in the front yard of the compound. Gathering from the blanket draped across his shoulders and the tentative sips he takes from his soup that the man will not be able to give any details for some time yet he heads on to the interior of the house where the forensics team is already hard at work.

The detective and his partner marvel at the complete lack of evidence or people in the house. The comment seems out of place as the place is littered with various food crumbs. Apparently this is not the type of evidence these two sought. The detective has been trying to track down these vigilante children for some time but it seems they have eluded him yet again. The tentative story, of the initial cops presence forewarning the children that the authorities were hot on the trail and thus abandoning their home for more anonymous pastures, is easy to piece together from the relative little facts. The detective casually strolls through the house hoping something will catch his eye. Dusting the circular marble table reveals only that it has a special type of finish that doesn't retain fingerprints. However on the bench for the table his dusting reveals half a print. Elated he opens his mouth to exclaim only to have his partner preempt him by shouting to the forensics team that they have a partial. Annoyed the detective squats besides the bench and cocks his head to look at it from a steep angle. His hope for discovering another print this way goes unfulfilled.

An excited cop rushes towards the detectives with an inflatable sword he just found. It is an exact, though inflatable, version of the sword the group of children are known to prize. If not held tightly the well done marble feathering of the sword inside its sheath looks like real marble. The detective takes the inflatable sword from its inflatable sheath and proceeds to fence with the air in joy. At last this is a solid clue. Calling the local sketch artist to the scene they ask him who he knows that could have done such exquisite marbleizing. Despite the artists cluelessness about who would specialize in such a thing the detectives are undaunted and decide to focus on running down the origin of this sword and the original it was rendered from. At last a solid clue on the children vigilantes they had been hunting for so long.

Now far away and en route to a new safe haven the teacher and children realize the one item that had been left behind.

Apartment with Fish is Under Siege

The bright city lights render the late night sky almost completely starless. Walking home to our apartment Fish and I realize that something very serious must have happened at our residence earlier. The whole apartment complex is crawling with media and reporters. Half a dozen police cars are pulled up haphazardly in front of the cube like building. Their lights still running flash the surroundings with bursts of different colors. Briefly surveying the media vans and sidewalk trees so strangely illuminated our eyes are pulled to the main commotion. Most of the media seem be quite animated behind a police cordon. Craning their necks and elevating video cameras above heads to get a better glimpse at what is happening.

The whole circus is only a distraction from getting home. The main obstacle being the police barricade. Circling around to the left of the building there are less people and excitement. Still a policeman guards one of the entrances. Our pleas to enter are not heard. Thinking quickly Fish and I follow some Scientology reporters who are being allowed to enter the apartment courtyard. Our act of belonging with the group passes without a second glance. Our charade is assisted by the fact that Fish does carry a video camera leading credence to our non voiced claim of being reporters. Past the security wall and in to the inner courtyard our whole group is stopped by another policeman.

The courtyard away from the outside commotion is lit by faint moonlight. Most everything is briefly outlined but details are hard to distinguish. It is a cobblestone ground with two dirt plots at opposite corners where a tree and some shrubs have been coaxed to grow. Policemen inside the courtyard are not pleased to see us and quickly gather us together. We are all lined up against a brick wall of the courtyard to be questioned as to our intentions. Everybody else is really a reporter except for me and Fish. Trying to prevent footage of what we will see inside the police confiscate the tape from Fish's video camera and destroy it. That was only the recorders low quality tape. This type of recorder can carry two tapes at a time, however a sliding cover obscures the existence of the high definition tape. I must prevent the other more expensive tape from being destroyed as we can not afford, monetarily, to lose it. The policemen begin to question Fish's cover story of being a reporter and examine the video recorder he brought much more closely. Knowing that if I allow this to continue they will soon discover the hidden tape I speak up.

Of course we are not reporters. We have no company logos or gear beside our lone personal video recorder. Our appearance clearly shows that we do not come here looking for news footage.

The policemen briefly listen to my statement and then ignore it as they continue to play with Fish's video recorder.

Look at us. We are poor students with no affiliation to the Scientologists or any other reporting group. The only reason we are with them is so we can get back to our apartment. We are residents here.

This explanation seems to satisfy them as they let us go while they continue to interrogate the rest of the group. As we cross the corridor we approach the elevator and stairs. Taking the elevator would be a risk as we do not even know what the nature of this emergency is. The elevator could fail midway trapping us until someone deigns to rescue us. We ere on the side of caution and take the steps up.

Fish and Sales

The time edges on towards evening giving little but still sufficient light to illuminate clearly the children playing in the middle of the suburban street. We march in a small formation of 10 or so kids. I bring up the back of the group holding the guidon high and proud. The rest of the kids march in front holding instruments but not playing them. Our practice winds down due to the late hour so we all gather up our stuff. I briefly put the guidon down as I get my American flag. The rest of the children manage to secure their instruments and their flags and we all gaggle over to the large two story house where our sleep over is hosted.

As we enter the trimmed green lawn with immaculate garden against the house an old man leans out of the upper story window. He yells and carries on but is almost completely inarticulate rendering the source of his agitation unknowable. An adult amongst us on the lawn calls on us to be truthful and reveal if anybody knows anything about what has just occurred.. Most of us our confused by these statements not understanding their context. Clearly one child understands as he holds up a half empty bottle of wild turkey. The adult asks him a simple why. The culprit child selflessly replies that he was trying to help the fish. Inside the house he had noticed a fish tank which the old man had foolishly put both regular and gold fish together. Everybody should know that goldfish are highly toxic and are the only fish that can survive the amount of filth they build up. Clearly the regular fish's lives were going to be prematurely cut short. The answer once revealed as logical and sensible passes muster with myself and the adult. Despite this the adult explains how both the fish and the wild turkey rightfully belong to the old man. Taking without any explanation or permission is stealing and wrong. With his head hung low the child solemnly walks into the house to return the wild turkey to the old man.

Once inside we all gather in a second story common area to fold our flags. Children pair up but I am the odd man out. While I await someone to finish and assist me in my flag folding I decide to put the guidon away. Gathering up and tightly clutching the flag to my chest so as not to let it touch the ground I put the guidon away in a hall closet.

Returning I find that I need no assistance to fold my sleeping bag. As I am folding I converse with the same adult who now watches over us in this second story common area. The topic being the recent incident with the old man and his fish. Yes, the fish aren't mine but they are still living creatures. I don't really know how other people treat their fish but it must be better than the old man. Everybody knows goldfish are toxic to other fish in a tank as enclosed as theirs currently is. As we talk the adult notices how raggedly my sleeping bag folding is proceeding. He decides based upon this that I should come work for him as a sleeping bag salesman. It would be a brief apprenticeship after which I would take over sales for the whole county. I agree with this great offer and let him help me finish folding the sleeping bag.

Now if I am selling combat boots the first issue to address is the competition. Both the army and navy have a lucrative business in the combat boot market. The navy always claims that it is only a side business of no real interest. That their main focus is of course land. This public mission statement of theirs however is clearly not to be trusted due to the great profits they reap from boots. As the adult and I discuss different ideas for marketing boots the hurdle of an appropriate logo is brought up. Clearly we need something obviously patriotic to sell. A flag emblazoned on the side of the sneakers might work. With the logo decided upon our conversation steers toward a theme song for our sneakers.

From this common area we are discussing there is a regular sized window overlooking the front lawn. I am sitting on the floor with my back to the window, but the adult is standing facing me so he notices two volunteers entering the house. We both rush to the stairwell to get a proper look at them. Three people have just entered the front door. The adult seeing these three proclaims that they will all think differently. Even as a child I recognize this truth for I am pushed to succeed. As a child I could just play and be happy without worrying about sales, but my motivation fills me with good ideas for who would be an appropriate sales representative among the three. All three wear the same T shirt and agree to my proposal to help sell.

Soap Opera Paramour

The establishment is a private one. Smokey and dark it is dominated by a large bar taking up a third of the area. There are a couple of tables which are currently occupied. All attention is focused on the lone mid sized television hanging near the front and facing towards the open room. The blinds are pulled and no solicitation signs are posted. This a private sports bar owned by the Soap Opera Paramour (SOP) and his followers.

I am a guest this night as we watch the game. Not one of the many body guards, attention seekers, or fledglings. Rather a friend of one of those. As the game progresses the reception becomes more full of static and noise. Eventually the game becomes unwatchable. It is decided to just go outside and listen to it on the radio. The bar empties and several cars are pulled opposite the street facing away from the bar. Several recline on the hoods of the cars and the car stereos are turned up so that the game can be enjoyed while purveying the urban night scenery.

A crisp clear starry night prevails upon the whole city. Towers and office buildings stretch away to the horizon. As we relax in the night, listening to the game in the background, I strike up a conversation with the SOP's wife. Obviously the family is rich. Why no satellite? A sports bar could be opened to the public with a big screen television and many small televisions scattered around the bar. The little screens would be around 20in in size. A satellite would feed crystal clear sports games into the bar. Opening it to the public would see this comfortable establishment pay for itself.

The cars are overlooking a lower street perpendicular to ours. It dead ends to a brick wall at the side of our street. This lower street could be dropped into with the little effort. As my conversation winds to an end with the SOP's wife the SOP spots a powerful enemy of his walking alone in the lower street. He decides to handle this enemy once and for all by himself. Against the advice of his bodyguards he walks around the building hemming in the dead end alley alone, not deigning to ruin his atmosphere by dropping into the alley, especially in front of this enemy.

The enemy stands near the end of the alley, closest to us. The SOP approaches him from the distant opening of the alley. The SOP reaches his enemy and proceeds to beat him with a baseball bat. Just as he is getting started the enemies bodyguards appear blocking the exit to the alley armed with swords. Dressed all in black and wielding swords they resemble ninjas. Their deadly intent clearly evident I drop into the alley to protect the SOP and catch one of the swords by clapping it just before it strikes me. With the captured sword I make short work of the bodyguards, eventually chopping them all up.

The SOP and I walk with an entourage through the city. Attempting to shake off the adrenaline of our recent encounter. We notice child prophetic twins mid kidnap. We thwart the kidnapping of the psychically powerful children. It is decided that they must be sent on their way, so that they will not become embroiled in the deadly long term struggle we definitely seem to be in. The twins think we do so because we do not recognize their worth. This insult they perceive stops them warning us about the clone problem we are about to encounter.

Tired of walking the SOP's limousines are retrieved. Being the hero of the night I ride in the same vehicle as the SOP. While we a drive a baby chicken walking on the sidewalk is noticed. Even while driving by this tiny tattooed warning is perceived on the back of the pedestrian chick's neck. The SOP orders the limo to stop. We bring the chick in so that we might decipher the warning she wears.

Before the examination is begun the limousine continues driving. Within moments the chick with the tiny tattooed warning begins to expand and change colors. From the chicks natural golden yellow to blue to brown to orange. The shades are not as disturbing as the alarming growth rate of this chick. Thinking quickly someone tosses the now basketball sized chick out the window. Like a lazy balloon she floats for a minute with the wind. Soon however the chick explodes into a shower of confetti.

Alarmed by this explosion, and the idea of sacrificing an innocent beings life for bomb delivery, panic briefly ensues. A knowledgeable soul calms us all by explaining that the chick was harmless. The person's father used to make them. They are born to due that, sometimes only living a couple of hours in execution of the gag. That there purpose in life is to explode mitigates the disturbing philosophical underpinnings. The joke is recognized but not its deliverer. Was it meant to be a joke or a warning of worse things to come.

Another day the SOP (Paterfamilias) is engaged in a conversation with a gentlemen of similar social stature in a hotel lobby. Surrounded by Victorian furniture and fake plants in the nigh empty lobby their conversation is only audible to the few attendants of each. The gentleman desires to purchase old family land of the Paterfamilias. Indignant the Paterfamilias declines. The land has been in the family for generations and there is no way he will ever sell. The rival seems unconcerned by this declaration. His unconcern strikes an ominous chord. Like the Paterfamilias he is one who does not easily give up on what he wants. The rival makes a cryptic statement indicating his faith that the toppling of the Paterfamilias from power is soon to come.

Unknown to the Paterfamilias, or anyone loyal to him, clones are infiltrating his staff. The clones are mean, sneaky, and dedicated to his overthrow. Their only weakness is that they are relatively skilless in the jobs they are supposed to be expert in. Besides this they mimic their counterparts almost indistinguishably. Fortunately they do not retain the true peoples' memories or skills. The memories were not perceived as a problem in the planning of the clone infiltration as those servants care for rarely know the servants personal lives or history.

Concerned about his rivals confidence that his fall is quickly coming the Paterfamilias goes to the capital seeking assistance from an old ally. In a near identical hotel lobby he engages this old ally, a foreign dignitary. The dignitary refuses to help seeing great profit in the fall of so mighty an individual. The Paterfamilias pictures him as a vulture waiting to get a scrap of meat after his betters have expended all the effort. However his cowardice and lack of loyalty goads him into threatening the dignitary once the Paterfamilias has dealt with this recent threat. Vowing an eternal goal to do whatever he can to damage the foreign dignitary the Paterfamilias shouts curses and retribution. Growing livid and explicit the dignitary begins to doubt the safety of his position as carrion feeder and stately walks away.

One of the corner stones of the Paterfamilias's empire is a large chunk of land analogous to the size of Rhodes Island. The whole area is contained within a translucent dome which allows natural lighting through but prevents gazing through its solid white glass. The sides of the dome have a large 400 yard canvas stretching from the dome to the interior of the dome. This canvas is elevated about 300 yards up and stretches to the grass floor of the dome. Filled with air the canvas makes a kind of bouncy sidewalk though that is not it's intended purpose. I however use it this way. Bouncing about the dome I reach heights of a 100 yards. An easy, quick, and fun way of traveling I explore this magnificent domed area. I see bits of land like islands among the canvas. One time I notice a hammock situated by itself in a nook. The various bits of land and toys are spread infrequently and seemingly randomly.

From my airy vantage point the clone conspiracy is steadily revealed to my eagle eyes. Resolving to make a difference I befriend the clones and do not reveal my knowledge of their ulterior motives. They see through my duplicity and seek to capture me so that I might not spread word of the clone plot. Briefly I vow to teach them the skills of their jobs. In return for these valuable lessons they briefly stop their pursuit. This time my scheming pays off and I teach them their skills incorrectly. They do not know it but their foul nature will be revealed by their shoddy job performance. Instead of keeping the dome in ship shape they will steadily destroy it. What could be a more obvious sign that things are wrong. As they demonstrate their mis work I grow weary of their slow progress. I start jumping around pulling the canvas down so the problem will be noticed sooner. Their incorrect skills means not only will they not be able to repair it, but most likely their efforts will just make the damage worse.

The SOP's daughter was held by clones because she had discovered their foul nature. While I am tearing down the canvas she escapes and runs out a side door of the dome. She runs through my neighbor's backyard and through his left hand side gate into the cul-de-sac. Police and the Paterfamilias are exchanging pleasantries in the yard across the street. With the clones only a stride behind her she screams for their help. About halfway to the SOP she is tackled by the clones. The SOP calls on the police to do their duty and assist against the attackers. The clones forestall the policemen's help by claiming that they are the family of this mentally disturbed child. They state that any effort against them would really be against the proper welfare and safe keeping of their obviously over excited daughter. The daughter tries to deny their familial ties and at the same time assert her correctness of mind. The cops unsure of whether to interfere in a family's handling of the situation slowly come to a solution they are happy with.

The daughter obviously does not wish to stay with those who claim to be her rightful guardians. Will I take responsibility for the raising and protecting of this girl so that she may, at least temporarily, be free of those she claims are abductors. Reluctantly I agree to the burden and take her home.

The task is arduous because this troubled girl trusts no one. Doing my best to provide garners not the trust given automatically to those of the same blood. Eventually due to her uncertainty of the gallantry of my intentions, she decides to run away. While I am away she steals various valuables and seeks to sell them at a pawn shop. I had been alert for just such a situation and followed her to the pawn shop. As I walk in she is shocked and I notice that the proprietor of the shop is protected by a mesh wire fence that extends from his counter to the ceiling. My belongings are already on his side of the fence. Approaching the fence I ask for my belongings back. He disagrees over their proper ownership, seemingly unconcerned with whether it was the girls place to rightfully sell or not. His lack of cooperation upsets me and I reach for his throat. As my hand darts forward the wire mesh parts around my hand like butter. Grabbing him by the throat I tell him that if he goes for the gun under the counter I will effortlessly kill him. Kowed he returns my belongings. My stuff returned, my reluctant daughter and I return home.