"Five By Five"

by Dom B.
2001.10.18

In last week's column, I posted the first few sentences of a short story, and asked for someone to finish the rest. Here's the first offering by the distinguished Ted, and my version of the story will follow his. If you still want to send something to me, go for it.

Here it comes:

Ted's Story

I cant sleep and ask to be let out for a cigarette. After they do some checking I hear a few beeps and they let me out into the courtyard. I only ever left once (well, twice actually, but the second time didn't really count). Its cool and quiet. One of those nights that would be described as "too quiet" if not for the actual sound of silence.

We stand there and try to sift through malfunction(s) but it doesn't really work. After a few we look across the street and see a fellow walking too slow, left to right. Obviously something is wrong but we have no idea. May be the film came out backward or something and when he comes around to 90 degrees he stops, with no apparent rationale. And then something happens.

He sways back and forth twice and almost looks up at them but doesn't quite make it. Then he continues on with his stagger. And that's the kicker. It is too much of a coincidence to either be one or not. Is that the kind of "freedom" they are offering us? An upward glance that does not hit the mark? Just somewhere between the Heroes and Villians?

I finish the cigarette and forget, like always (even though I reminded myself before), to take the appropriate precautionary measures and head back inside with the question marks and uncertainty tagging along behind. And Mr. exhaustion shows up to my comfort. It's gonna be a long 5 years.

Dom's Story

Yes, five years is a long time. Especially long, when, like me, you are a super-intelligent disembodied brain living in a glass jar.

I shit you not. I used to have a body, but it got blown out from under me by some steroid monkey in purple tights who was spouting some garbage about "stopping your vile plan for world domination" or something. World domination my disembodied ass.

Let's just imagine this: You're a super genius, and your apartment is too small, and you would want somewhere else to live, but you need your space, and you like to live alone. Someplace like Mexico. I mean, all of Mexico isn't too bad, is it? It's hardly the entire world. Anyways so I got toasted, but my henchmen rescued my head and got some captured scientists to preserve my brain (with my super genius instructions) so that I could still command my forces while a new body was being made for me.

Only it's going to take about five damn years for them to finish.
I mapped out everything for them, and hell, I'd do it myself, but I'm just a brain. I can communicate and stuff, because I'm hooked up to a computer. Well, not really a computer. An iMac. When I get real pissed a little bomb pops up on the screen. The screen which has a pink case. First thing I do, when I get this body, I go and kill all the people at Apple.

Slowly. With giant ants or something. Yeah. Giant, horny, ants. We're running out of money though. We had to sell the mountain hideout, and lay off most of the henchman. Luckily, I don't have to pay the captured scientists too much, they say the money they're making now is better than what they would get through tenure, and the benefits are good. We've got dental.

Sigh. I wish I could have sex. Or eat a hamburger. All that I can do now is download porn. And all that I get to eat is high fructose corn syrup that they squirt into my jar. I wish I had eyes. I see the world through a crappy webcam. A crappy, pink webcam. Tubes in, tubes out. Wires in, wires out. I'd like to think up some new ideas to make money, but I've been depressed lately. Why? Oh, no reason. Though it might have something to do with the fact that I live in a jar. Shit, shit, shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

I'd really like to just be able to shit. I don't even have a colon.
Five years.