Smithy

Smithy was about to kick a door down.

“Drew, I’m about to kick this door down!” he shouted at his brother on the other end.

“Dude, don’t kick me! That hurts.” said the door.

“Drew, give me back my…wait…what?”

In that one moment, Smithy’s mind was almost completely emptied. He no longer remembered what he wanted his brother to give back, or what his brother’s name was. Every piece of homework, every test, every math question that he had to do yesterday in school disappeared from his mind. A single question remained.

“Did the door just…talk?”

“Listen man,” said the door. “You know what it’s like being the bedroom door of a sixteen year old boy? Every time he gets into some stupid fight with your stupid parents, who does he slam into the wall frame? Me.”

Smithy wasn’t sure if the door could hear him if he spoke. He looked the door up and down but couldn’t find any trace of an ear or any other sort of hearing apparatus, so he decided not to waste his energy to talk to him. Then, he noticed that the door was also able to talk to him without a mouth, so he supposed there must be some new form of biology, previously unseen by him, that this door functioned on, and it was worth a shot.

“Um, I’m sorry, Mister…Door…sir…”

“Yeah, you better be!” It was shrieking now. Smithy jumped back. “Do you have any idea how much this dude smokes in here every night? It’s like being the door of a gas chamber, man.”

It suddenly returned to Smithy’s mind that his brother’s name was Drew. Drew was a year older than Smithy, and a grade behind. His school did not allow him to move past Grade 9, so they held him back. The other students who were held back hated Drew, because he reinforced the stereotype that everybody who are held back a grade are oafish, uneducated bullies. They also hated Drew because he beat them up a lot.

It then occurred to Smithy that he was thinking about what he already knew about his brother when he was talking to a talking door. Perhaps his brain was trying to distract itself from thinking too much about this new discovery.

“Listen,” Smithy said slightly louder. There was no way he was going to get defeated by his brain once again. “I’m kinda new to talking to doors. How exactly are you talking to me?”
Although the door didn’t have a face, Smithy couldn’t help but feel like if it was looking at him like he was an idiot.

“How? Man, what do they teach you kids these days? I’m communicating you through our spirits.”

“Sooo…you’re haunted? By a ghost?”

“What are you, retarded? There’s no such thing as ghosts, kid,” the door clearly did not care for Smithy’s feelings. “No, you see, I’m actually talking to you through the spirits of dozens of bugs, birds and squirrels that have died and been absorbed through my roots.”

Smithy didn’t say anything. He assumed the door wasn’t finished, and did not need him to ask the obvious questions he was going to ask. The door noticed this, and groaned.

“Look kid, I’m made of wood, right? And wood comes from trees. I used to be a couple of trees. When those morons chopped us down and made a door out of us, our personalities merged into this one.”

After another moment of silence, Smithy said something.

“Trees have personalities?”

“Yeah.” The door almost sounded offended. “Trees have more personality than anyone. You see, when an animal or a plant’s physical body dies, their spirit remains trapped. Then, their body rots and their spirits disintegrate into bits and get mixed into the soil. Trees grow from that soil, with a brand new spirit made from the spirits of many, many previous living things. Then, one day, they decide to chop you down and liquefy you into artificial wood, and build shit like this out of it.”

Somehow, this made perfect sense to Smithy. “So nothing ever dies?” he asked.

“Not really, no. You might not remember it, but a small part of your personality was once a chicken that your mom ate when she was pregnant with you.”

“But why can I talk to you?” Smithy’s mom was a vegetarian, but he didn’t bring it up. “Is communicating with spirits something that everybody has the potential to do, but we never knew it because of how distracted humanity has become?”

“Nah man,” The door was laughing now. “You’re just weird, or something. Anyways, I suppose your brother still has that notebook of yours.”

“Oh right. My notebook. Thing. I don’t suppose you could…”

The lock built into the doorknob clicked, and the door swung itself open. Drew was fast asleep with half his body on his bed, and the other on the floor. The notebook was on the table next to the bed, surprisingly untouched.

"Well, what are you waiting?  Get your stuff."

Smithy speed walked to the table, grabbed the notebook, and speed walked out, so he didn’t have to inhale the tobacco smell. Then, very gently, he closed the door, and walked away.

Jennette

                 Jennette was chugging tea.

               

                “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Jones.  Am I hogging all the Earl Grey?  Feel free to help yourself.”

                “Oh no, I’m fine, but-“

                Before Mr. Jones could finish his statement, Jennette had inserted a cup of tea in between his fingers.  He glared at it for a while, and glared at the smile and the humongous saucer eyes on the fifteen year old girl’s face on the other side of the table.  He sighed, and took a small sip.  Hopefully, this friendliness will pay off. 

“Look, Ms…?”

“Jennette would do, Mr. Jones.”

“..Jennette.  You must be wondering who I am, and why I made an appointment with you.”  Mr. Jones had put on the most formal of his suits, which was as black as death itself, and his most expression-concealing pair of sunglasses.  He had not been expecting the tank top, flip flops and flying goggles that his new business partner now had on, all of which she had decorated rigorously with rainbow feathers and glitter glue.  They were sitting in a white gazebo, in a park where a blond and an Indian boy were eating sand in the sandbox.  Jennette had chosen the location.

Jennette poured herself another cup while Mr. Jones held his first awkwardly.  “Oh, not at all.  You’re Mr. Jones.  You’re an agent sent from the government agency known as The Super-Ego, which is bent on keeping order and balance in The World.  And you’re here to have some tea with me.”

Mr. Jones placed his full cup of tea back down onto the table.  He was frowning.  It wasn’t a psychological defensive mechanism as his therapist had told him.  He was just really upset.

“Well, you got that last part wrong, Jennette,” Mr. Jones said.  “I am actually here to negotiate the Super-Ego’s purchase of your-“

“OH I KNOW!”  Jennette tossed her cup of tea out of the gazebo where it landed in the sandbox.  The little boys stared at it with a mixture of curiosity and fear in their eyes.  Feathers flew everywhere.

“You’re here because you wanna buy the prototype to my “Patented Portable Pencil Protector” which I invented last week!”  In reality, it did not actually protect any pencils, and she forgot to get it pantented.  It was hardly even portable.  But he didn’t know that.

A cough sound came from Mr. Jones’ throat, although no part of his exterior expression budged.  He hated that nauseatingly friendly smile on her face.  He thought about smiling back, as revenge, but then he realized that his smile was horrible to look at.  His sudden insecurity made him frown harder.

“No, Jennette.  I was referring to the-“

“Oh wait, no, I’m sorry, Mr. Jones!”  Jennette’s knowing smile grew wider.  “The PPPP broke down yesterday, but let me make up for it.  You can have my Homemade Teleportation Ray instead!  I made it with a refrigerator box and some branches.”  Her Homemade Teleportation Ray, made with a refrigerator box and branches, only worked once.  And it was an accident.

Mr. Jones groaned on the inside.  Why must teenage girls be so sadistic?  He felt ill, like if he was going to vomit from the stress.  A small bubble of anger suddenly appeared inside his chest, and he felt like he was about to explode in fury.  He took a silent breath and tried to calm himself down.  Don’t do that Tim.  You’re never going to get what you came for if you go crazy at her.  Just settle down. 

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Jones?”

Oh crap, she’s looking at you.  Don’t mind her, just talk when you’re ready.  Stay calm.  That’s right.  Calm.

“Um, no, we are not currently interested in your Teleportation Ray.  I actually came to ask about your-“

“OH I KNOW!” Jennette stood up on her chair in one fluid motion, without her feet touching the floor.  Loose feathers rained from her clothes, most of which got caught in Mr. Jones’ brown hair.  “You just have to buy a pound or two of the new element I discovered!  Element Number 928-Jenneteum!  Of course, it isn’t quite as stable as-“

Mr. Jones stood up and slammed his hands onto the table.  His tea, along with whatever shred of self-control he still had, spilled onto the gazebo’s floor and shattered.

“The JET-PACK.  I want.  To buy.  Your jet-pack!”  He shouted, saliva spraying with every syllable.  Aw, crap.

Although Jennette’s face showed no reaction to his outburst, Mr. Jones had enough experience with her to know that inside, she was celebrating another victory.  As Mr. Jones bared teeth and breathed deeply with his fists on the cloth, she nonchalantly sat back down, and threw her sandaled feet onto the table.

“Oh!  Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

Mr. Jones’ bared teeth relaxed a bit with hope.

“But unfortunately, the Jennette-Mobile is not for sale at the moment.  However, if you would still like that Jennetteum…”

“SHUT UP!  JUST SHUT UP!”  Mr. Jones put his hands under the table and flipped it over on its side, making Jennette’s legs fall back onto the floor.  The teapot rolled onto the green grass without shattering, somehow.

Anyways, Mr. Jones was still screaming like a madman.  “EVERY SINGLE WEEK, THEY SEND ME TO ASK FOR YOUR JET-PACK!  WHEN I TELL THEM YOU’RE NOT COOPERATING, THEY JUST LAUGH SEND ME AGAIN NEXT WEEK.  WHY CAN’T YOU JUST COOPERATE WITH ME?  I OFFERED YOU GAZILLIONS OF DOLLARS, BUT NOOOOOOOOOO.  DO YOU HAVE ANY.  IDEA.  HOW MUCH PAIN YOU HAVE CAUSED ME FOR THE PAST THREE MONTHS?  I DON’T WANT TO PLAY YOUR STUPID GAME, SO WHY DON’T YOU JUST….”

Jennette was smiling.

“..cooperate…”

Well.  I lost again. 

Mr. Jones fell back into his chair like a ragdoll, and covered his eyes with his hands. 

He knew what was going to happen. 

He didn’t need to look as Jennette stood up brushed some loose feathers off of her outfit and pulled her flying goggles over her eyes. 

He didn’t need to look as Jennette scolded him for being “rude” but that she was forgiving and they should do this again some other time. 

He didn’t need to look as she casually strolled out of the gazebo, pressed a button on the blond boy in the sandbox (it was always the same blond boy) who then noisily transformed into the silver jet-pack that was the Jennette-Mobile, which she then strapped onto her back and used to launch herself high into the sky leaving Mr. Jones all alone once more.

Nicholas

   

             Nicholas was running.

               

“Join us, Nicholas!” screamed the creepy bearded man who was running behind him.  His cry for his attention was followed by several murmurs and shouts of agreement from other creepy people.  But Nicholas did not want to join them.

               

Thus, he was running.

               

More specifically, he was tracking sneaker prints in the miles of thick mud behind him.  He was still in gym uniform, having been chased out of his school during gym class.  He was in a coniferous forest full of tall pine trees near the outskirts of the town he lived in, where a dam had burst, transforming the ground of the forest into a muddy swamp.  Behind him, about a dozen or so men and women in hastily put together costumes were running as well. 

"ATTACK!"  A man in pink shouted.
       
            "GRAB HER!" said an obese woman trying to fit into a Catwoman costume.  Nicholas didn't bother correcting her.

            Above, another costumed man was flying.

               

“No, Evilliam, he’s joining us.  The Good Guys.  You retard.” said the man.  He forced his voice to be lower and charismatic, but it always slipped when he got excited.  He was wearing a faded blue outfit made of some cloth or another.  Since he couldn’t afford spandex, it hung off of his thin arms causing him to cast a birdlike shadow on the ground beneath him.  He always told people it was supposed to do that.

               

The bearded man looked up, annoyed.  He was exhausted from running, but the kid he was chasing had thrown his Evihicle off a cliff.  He was in a horrible mood today.  On top of losing his Evilleague’s only mode of transportation, his favourite dark green robe was getting completely ruined by the mud. 

No point worrying about that.  If I can get this kid onto my side, I’ll just get him to lift the stain particles right out of the molecular structure of all my clothing.  Or something.

“Goodman!”  He choked for breath.  He hadn’t ran in ages.  “You won’t foil my…weeze…my plan…gasp...this time…goddammit.”

Evilliam stopped and doubled over, sucking in as much air as possible.  He now realized that wearing the metal body armour he had built for himself was a horrible idea.  Luckily, he had forgotten his equally thick helmet at the Evillair.

“Evillains, don’t let that boy get…gasp...away!  We need someone with powers like his on our side!”  The sixty-something man fell over, faceplanting into the mud, to take a short break.

Nicholas, being much younger and healthier, was able to continue running.  Although he could easily transport himself without moving his legs, and at a speed about twice as fast as he was running now, he chose to keep his breathing at a constant rate and try not to get tired.  He looked back to see the bearded man’s colourful minions run around and over his tired body, now being led by Evilliam’s second in command, Todd.  Many of the Evillains looked equally tired.  Some of them were covered in mud from tripping.

Goodman looked down as he soared like a pigeon, grateful that he didn’t have to run.

“Nicholas!  Don’t listen to that ridiculously dressed maniac!  Bring you and your amazing powers onto the Good Side!”  He emphasised the “Good”.  He had waited years for something like this to come along, and he wasn’t going to just let it run away.  “You could become my sidekick!”  A dreamy smile crossed Goodman’s face, as he thought of all the adventures they could have together.  “You could be…GOODNESS-BOY!”

Nicholas stopped. 

The minions who were chasing him stopped too, out of surprise.  They had planned to chase him until they caught him, but they were completely unprepared for what to do if he had stopped running.  There was a silence.

“My name…”  A slight shudder became noticeable on Nicholas’ shoulders.

“…is Nicholas Sampson!”.  Nicholas Sampson spun around.  He shot out his opened palm at a nearby stone.  The stone immediately jumped off the ground, and hovered in the air.  As Nicholas moved his hand, the stone aimed itself towards the flying man above it, sharp side forward.  With a movement of Nicholas’ hyper-kinetic arm, the stone suddenly shot at Goodman, at twice the speed of a bullet.

While pulling off a silly face of surprise, Goodman spun his horizontal body vertical.  The stone made a whooshing noise as it flew past him. 

A collective sigh of relief came from the Evillains on the ground.  The stone continued flying upwards towards the sky, like an upside down meteor.

There was another moment of silence, as Goodman caught his breath and thought of what to do next.  Finally, he turned to Nicholas.  

“You could have fucking killed me!  What’s wrong with you, kid?”

Nicholas didn’t say anything.  He stood, bug-eyed, realizing what he had just done.  His breaths became little sobs.  After a moment, he turned and continued running.  The Evillains all groaned and continued their chase.

“Hey, no, don’t go!  I’m not mad anymore!  Come back!” Goodman hit his forehead with the palm of his head.  Fuck.

Then, he threw both his arms up in front of him in a superman pose, causing his suit to make a loud ripping noise as large holes appeared at the armpits of his costume.  Fuck Number Two.

He ripped his blue sleeves off, and continued flying.  This was going to be a horrible day.