my attempt at trying to write or create something every day.
I have a headache and don’t feel like writing tonight, but I’m going to anyways. I realized I haven’t worked on the book I was trying to write for a while, and that I probably should, so I’m going to do that tonight. But for continuity sake, I’ll post the first chapter. Feedback in the comments section would be great, thanks.
Chapter One: Making a Mess
"everything will be fine" she tells me in her cold rang-fangler voice "just lie down and close those slow eye lids of yours."
"they aren’t slow" I try to elucidate "they’re stifled"
"oh yeah?" she says with a smirk "what happens to be stifling your darlectablous eyes?" flacktackler, if she wasn’t from the old school of trolling for adoration
"why, what else but your ramtakulous face?" krackel-whore, if I wasn’t from the old school of trolling for tapulation
"ramtakulous?!" it sounds even more nillfangled coming from her. And that’s when I feel the sharp *PSCHFFFT* of the sedative shooter against my neck
and my eyelids
I wake up and remember little, I always remember little, she is still fast asleep in the red courde flayre chair. waking her up would probably kill her, which would probably be the best idea, the word “best” meaning most righteous towards my physical and mental well being, but my being was one of the moment and required fast-paced instant gratification, the word “gratification” meaning most righteous sex towards my schlock-tockler, as she likes to call it. what a schlock was, or how I was able to tockle it is beyond my understanding, but I trust her, because she makes the blood rush back and forth, which makes me smile and feel like I could be somewhere else. Waking her up and killing her would also kind of roipoister our twenty something something somewhere relationship that we’ve had for twenty something years. I open my pack that’s laying next to the flayre chair, being extra soupduperliouschly quiet, so as not to wake the fantasmajekyl woman of a companion I have. I’m using the sufix “jekyl” instead of “gical” for a specific reason which will be astoundowfishly clearer as our story progresses.
Layla Ford, being my companion, and Zero Upton, being my selfpanion, had both grown up in the Django Institute for Underestimated Power, under the brain power division, in the Little Django Brains Orphanarium. I don’t remember much from growing up there, just a lot of white and Layla’s sparkarklorious face. The Django Institute was owned by a man named [___] Django, who started the institute to discover untapped power in certain life forms.
Over the course of my childhood, most of the other divisions were shut down. apparently, plants can’t use electronics, and cats can’t learn morse code. However, a minute amount of anomalies occur during a child’s birth, specifically anomalies of the psychic nature. For example, when I was born, all the doctors and nurses who were in the room, as well as my mother and father, who were ofcorhorse in the room too, forgot the word “light”. Now, in any normal instance, this would probably go unnoticed, the word “light” isn’t a crucial word for a doctor or a nurse to use in an average day at work, and eventually they would hear the word and remember it. But the Django Institute has eyes and ears everywhere, eyes and ears that can hear and see everything, everything including this event. How you can hear or see a word being forgotten, I don’t know, but the institute did, and that’s how they found me and bought me from my parents for a flankliculous flank-ton of current currency. Now, my parents were not poor by any means, my dad worked at somewhere, and my mom worked at somewhere else, and they both got payed something, and they were both expecting to live somehowly something ever after with me as their beautiful perfect child. Which means, when I use the phrase “flankliculous flank-ton” that clearly means a flankliculous flank-ton.
So instead of me growing up as so-and-so’s beautiful perfect child, someone else did, someone else not so acutely cute in the headwich. Although, you should keep in your headwich, that all of this infofni isn’t home phoned. This is all what the institute has told me, so for all I know, I could be a clone, or an alien, or some other something from butt town, new butt town, on the united butts of butt huggers. I like butts. Butt Layla tells me I shouldn’t grain taim over hamhum like that, that its way easier just to accept what they tell me, and get on with gettin it on. So I listen to her, and we get it on, even though I don’t know what it is, or where to get it. I guess Layla just gives it to me.
Layla Ford wasn’t born in a hospital like I was, her parents planned her birth to be at home. Why they did this no one has the slightiniest flu of a clue. Anyways, Layla was born completely asleep, at first they assumed it was a still birth, but they checked her vitals and she was completely healthy, if not a bit stealthy, which is to say she was not concious. Everyone was trombonedously scared and confuzzed in the hud. But that night, everyone sleeping in the house shared a dream with her. The next morning everyone was bewildered to find that each one of them had experienced a dream where Layla was awake and crying for the entire dream. They decided that Layla was stuck in some strange dream trance, and had to bring her back to the conscious world through sharing a dream with her. Unfortunately, the institute found her before anyone there was able to bring her back. Layla’s parents were wealthy, and considering Layla’s potential, she was bought for much more than I was. The institute was able to enter her dream and bring her back to the conscious world to be studied.
and that is the short story of blah blah something.
but back to the story of blah blah something else.
As I rumbummage through my pack, past all the whore of a bore paperwork, my lappity, my cloths, amm-you-nition, and other randumb things that Layla didn’t feel like carrying, searching for her audio brik, I hear our target wake up from downstairs.
his muffled vociferation “flack!” and the clash of some metallic objects startle me. Our target isn’t supposed to be awake yet, but I guess we hadn’t given him the right dosage of sedatives. Layla is still dreaming, and I have no time to wake her up. I pack up our essentials, leaving only a few oddies and endies. I throw on my pack, and heft Layla over my shoulder, I forgot about the metal suitcase handcuffed to her, and get painfully reminded as it swings and collides with my crotch. As I belt out with a finely arranged arrangement of cursive curses, I hear the door to the downstairs room open, and a series of quick loud footsteps towards the stairway. I have to move fast, the front door to the hallway is out of the question, he’ll already be on our floor by the time I get there. It will have to be the window.
I quickly check that I still have the dead-tone-nator, and that all of the explosive charges are set, fed, and red. I walk to the window and notice the fire escape. “Thank spaghetti!” I exclaim, now having a way out. I try lifting the window open, but it wont move with my grove. The door bursts open and there he stands, 10 million feet tall and 14 billion tons of muscle. No wonder they sent us in to take care of this guy. You see, when Layla and I work together, we can mess around in people’s huds to make them do stuff, think stuff, or we can steal stuff from their memories. Lately, the institute has been making us make people kill themselves, which at first we were a bit hesitant about. But the institute told us that these were bad dudes that needed deading, so we went in their huds and made them commit suicide. Shortly after each mission we were sent on, the institute would show us headlines from the info lines about crime lords and all kinds of bad dudes committing suicide, so we felt a lot better about what we were doing, or at least I did, Layla thought something was fish dish about it but didn’t really have a choice either way. The institute provided everything for us, and we wouldn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do without them.
So here I am, stuck between giant gorilla man and the immobile window. Gorilla man isn’t heppin’ toward me anymore though, our hud messing must have started to get to him, he looks a bit fancy trancy staring past me and out the window. But then he seems to clap out of it, and refocuses on me. He begins to advance toward me slowly, looking like he is torn between jumping out the windown or throwing me out of it. Layla and I were supposed to be out and about from the building before our targets awoke and put themselves dead so as not to raise any fingers from the author-eye-teas. So I would prefer to get out of here before any dead bodies are made. I put my hand up on Layla, who is still hanging unconscious over my shoulder, to readjust her hanging, or maybe just to feel her butt one last time before I die, butt as I do I feel her Swiss Kissed Farmy Life Knife™. Thinking quickly, I reach in to her butt pocket, grab her butt- I mean knife, maybe I grabbed her butt a little on the way in, but I definitely grabbed the knife before leaving. So I’ve got the knife in my hand, I flip out the car jack attatchment and wedge it under the window and start jacking. By the time I get the window jacked up far enough to throw Layla out on to the fire escape, climb out, and pull the knife out from under the window, gorilla man is only a foot away from the window. He reaches back a fist and punches it through the window, I duck and glass shards are thrown everywhere. I grab the dead-tone-nator and press down hard on the butt on the button. I hear *BEEP* and then *POP* before all the noise goes out and gravity starts shifting. I look down at where the fire escape is bolted to the building, or in this case, no longer bolted to the building. The explosives had destroyed the inside of the room, and the shockwave had sent the fire escape away from the building. It continues to break away from the building, I turn to see what we’re falling towards and notice a much smaller building across the street below us. I brace Layla and I for the fall as the fire escape continues to bend away from the building. I keep hearing *PING* *PING* *PING* each time another section of the fire escape breaks away, and we jolt further and further away from the building and closer and closer out over the street and towards the smaller building. I look down through the fire escape and see people down on the street running away and pointing and shouting.
The last section of the fire escape breaks away from the building and suddenly we’re falling downwards now. The bottom of the fire escape hits the sidewalk and then continues to swing out towards the other building. Two sections down from our top section, the fire escape hits the top of the other building, wedging itself against the roof of this smaller building and the sidewalk on the opposite side. Layla and I are pushed out of the fire escape and I roll as we land on the roof, Layla just kind of flops.
I look back at the building and see smoke rising from the top two floors where we just were. The fire escape is now laying at a diagonal over the street below. I open up my pack, find my Rhinonoculars and look through them towards the top of the building. The explosives must have destroyed our entire floor, and sent gorilla man back down to his room below ours, through the window I can see his giant lard charred body stumbling around trying to figure out what just happened.
"Did it work?" I hear Layla behind me, I look and see that she’s bruised, I run to her and kneel down next to her.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, you chug, I’m fine! What I want to know is if my staying asleep, and letting you glug my unconscious body around while you make the biggest mess ever, worked."
"Take a look" I hand her the oculars and she looks where I was just looking, and I look there too. I can still make out the charred body stumbling around, but suddenly it stops stumbling and looks out the window towards us. Then he lunges out of the window, shattering it, and sending his body flurteling towards the street below. Layla and I look at each other and smile, but then her smile breaks.
"You chugging, unlit tit face!"
"You almost got us dead!"
"Yeah, but I didn’t."
"But look at this whore of a mess you made!"
"I guess that will have to do for now, but I bet you the institute wont be happy about it, so be ready when we get back."
"Now come here you tit face, and put your face on my tits."
Layla pulls me down on her, and we pull each other’s cloths down on the roof. We make each other’s blood rush back and forth, not taking our time, so as to get out of there before the constabularies show up and start trying to figure out what happened.