SHUTTLE to BAD MOUNTAIN

 “A has-been athlete discovers the key to 

winning a supernatural badminton tournament hosted by God.”

A blue giant rips through the foliage with sweat dripping down his brow. The Herald’s stony muscles twist underneath his dark leotard with superhuman strength, shoving tropical trees aside like shower curtains. He escapes the green of the jungle and sits at the base of the mountain. 

Goddamn, thinks the Herald. Long-ass walk. He covers his eyes from the sun, looking up. The equilateral triangle of the mountain reaches past the clouds. A bright, reflective light shines at its peak. 

The Herald is nearly at the top, now, blending in with the sky as the air turns purple. He grabs the edges of the peak, sheer cliffs, and pulls himself atop the summit. There’s a flat camp with a pyramid-shaped tent in the very center. Smaller than my office, he thinks, I don’t believe I can fit inside. 

“It’s alright, you can come in,” says a kind, crisp voice. The Herald lifts the white flap and kneels, his head tangent with the fabric ceiling of the entrance. Inside the tent is blackness, and the unnatural sense that something is alive here. The thin glint of light reflects on deep human eyes, puncturing that darkness

“God,” says the Herald, “we have a visitor.”

“Mm.” There’s a calculating pause. “How curious.” God watches ants crawl in a thin line through the flap into his tent. “Then let the tournament begin.” 

SHUTTLE to BAD MOUNTAIN

By Jack-Henry Lee

Space. A flaming, silver shuttle hurtles towards Earth. The spaceship pierces through Pangea, shredding the mass into the continents. The spaceship pierces through the crust, pierces through the mantle, and pierces through a second crust. The shuttle flies into the Earth’s hollow center. Another planet spins inside, an artificial star rotating around its axis. A massive mountain juts out of the planet like an ice cream cone. Forests and jungles surround the base, with an advanced supercity sprawling over most of the surface. The crashed shuttle sends smoke out of the forest border

✱   ✱   ✱

Lucy sits in the forest outside of Agartha, the metropolis. She watches prehistoric ants the size of her titan fists crawl out of their anthole. She wears furs, a gigantic bear’s pelt covering her back. The bear’s dead mouth engulfs her face, two sharp eyes peering out of the maw’s shadow. A twig snaps. Lucy heaves herself off the ground and curls her fingers into vicious fists. A gray being, only a couple feet tall, teeters from behind the trees. He wears oval, white sunglasses accentuating his large round head. A transparent green visor barely touches the top of his shades. He waves a stick around, batting at a fly as big as himself. 

Lucy rubs her chin with two fingers, tilting her head. The little being makes contact with the fly. Lucy blinks, and the fly is gone. The being is gone too, and in his place is a three foot tall magenta man. His arms are muscular, compound eyes, and he wears the same glasses and visor as the previous figure. Lucy’s eyes widen.

“OHOHO!” She runs over to the little man. “Ahem, my name is Luciford M-O-U-R-N Mourningstar. Call me Lucy for short.” She holds out her hand to shake. “Are you in need of an agent?”

“Oigobonino,” responds the magenta man in a deep, masculine tone. He holds out a business card. ‘The Pro’ is typed across it in a generic sans font. Lucy takes the card.

“PLEASURE to meet you, Pro,” she says with the fast speech of a lawyer. “You’re my prize player, we’re gonna make it big, I guarantee you!”

✱   ✱   ✱

“EVERYBODYYYYYY PUH-LEEEEEEEEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR THE NUMBER ONE BADMINTON SUPERSTAR! THE PRESIDENT OF THE ARCHANGELS CLUB! THE ONE… THE ONLY… SEEEEEEX MIIIIIIIIIIIIKE!” 

A crowd full of titans and demigods cheers as the celebrity enters the badminton arena, a glorious stadium in the middle of Agartha. He’s colossal, pecs as big as boobs. Muscles ripple across his golden skin like coiled machinery. A leopard thong is the only thing covering him, his groin adorned with an impressive shuttlecock. Thin lips and cruel eyes on an almond-shaped head are surrounded by shoulder-length blonde hair. Sex Mike waves to the crowd, suave and confident, only breaking his even stride to pose ridiculously for the excited audience. He spins his racket with one hand like a ball and chain, catapulting it into the sky. It disappears. The crowd goes silent. 

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh… 

THWACK.

Sex Mike catches the racket, arm extended into the air, staring at the ground with a proud smile. His opponent already stands before him, a chartreuse giant sweating profusely. The two take to their places on either side of the net. 

Lucy and the Pro watch from the audience. The Pro now stands five feet tall, with orange skin and new dark hair pulled back in a topknot. Lucy has shed her primal outfit for a sleek leotard and a tie around her neck. A wide wrestler’s mask continues to hide her face from view. 

“This guy’s a real douchebag-- I mean, that’s what everybody keeps telling me. BUT he’s also God’s favorite athlete right now, a great first contender--”

“Igobigobogo…” mutters the Pro.

“Wh--What? You’re not excited?”

The Pro shrugs his shoulders. 

“This, uh, this is the most infamous badminton star we’re talking about here! What better way for me! I mean for us -- for YOU -- to make an entrance?” 

Sex Mike swings his racket, the tendons in his arm stretching and dislocating like putty. The shuttlecock shoots forward, a rocket colliding with the chartreuse giant’s forehead. It slows down as it sinks into the skin, before it accelerates in an instant, shooting out the back of his head and spraying the court with violet blood. Sex Mike motions jacking off with his hand on the chartreuse giant's corpse as the crowd roars with laughter and applause. Then silence. Everyone looks up, way up the mountain. A glint of light reflects from the top. The mountain is still. The crowd erupts once again.

“LADIEEEEEEES, GENTLEMENNNNNN, FRIENDS OF ALL KINDS! SEX MIKE TAKES ANOTHER YEAR’S TROPHY… that is… unless anyONE WANTS TO CHALLENGE HIIIIIMMMMMMM?!”

 Lucy elbows the Pro. “This is our chance!” She scrambles to put away her briefcase, and stumbles into the aisle with the Pro in tow. “WE challenge!” 

Sex Mike squints his eyes. “Well, well, well… Luciford! Great to see you! Did you get a new condo in the city? Because last time you showed your smelly face you were living outside! In NATURE! BARF!” The audience reacts, half gasping and half acting as a laugh track for Sex Mike. Lucy and the Pro walk through the crowds into the arena. 

“Nah, I still live in the woods,” says Lucy genuinely, “by the way, love what you’ve done with your penis! I didn’t know tiny cocks were back in style!” Sex Mike quietly fumes, trying to keep his fake smile straight, eye twitching. 

“HA! Hahaha! Funny! We’ve got a comedian over here, gang!” The audience laughs awkwardly, the mood shifting in Lucy’s favor. Lucy cautiously steps over the corpse of the chartreuse giant, pulling the Pro by the wrist. “You know you can’t challenge me, right Lucy? You’ve been cast out of Agartha; fallen angel alert! Literally God’s least favorite person!” Sex Mike lets out a confident laugh. The light atop Bad Mountain glimmers, the base starts rumbling softly. 

“I’m not challenging you… he is,” she says, pushing the Pro in front of her.

“Bogoingogo,” says the Pro nonchalantly.

“Pfft, hilarious, you make me laugh, honestly,” remarks Sex Mike, not laughing. “God?” The mountain stills, the rumbling stops. He furrows his brow for only a second before squinting his eyes: “Then let’s DANCE!”

The referee tosses the shuttlecock to Sex Mike’s side of the court. The Archangel sets it on the shuttlecock attached to his crotch, and pelvic thrusts it into the air. Sex Mike spins, and serves diagonally.

THOOM.

The shuttlecock smashes into the ground on the Pro’s side. Fault. He looks back at Lucy. She cups her hands around her mouth: 

“DON’T WORRY, PRO! BUT ALso everything is on you, bUT THATS OK DON’T WORRY its just entirely up to you…” 

The Pro straightens his visor. His posture strengthens, muscles tightening. Sex Mike serves again.

THWA-DOOM.

Sex Mike laughs heartily. Smoke rises from behind him. A crater fills his side of the court. Fault. Sex Mike looks appalled.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME!” screams Sex Mike. “Oh, it’s ON! You’re PULP! You’re FUCKING ORANGE PULP ON THE HEEL OF MY FUCKING SIX-TOED PERFECT FUCKING FEET.” The two athletes serve, hit, and return in an endless barrage of shuttlecocks. 

THWICK, WHACK, CLAP, SHOOM, FOOM, CRACK, FWACK.

21 to 21. Tie game, win by two. The Pro stands tall, gigantic. He’s hulkingly muscular from his point victories. Deep indigo blue skin, cool marbled obsidian, purple veins pulsing, and it’s the Pro’s serve.

 “Ogo,” says the Pro in a voice deeper than an ocean, “Igobigobo.”

Sex Mike shrieks and pulls at his blonde hair. “I’m gonna rip out your GODDAMN ARMS! I’M GONNA FUCKING RIP OUT YOUR GODDAMN ARMS AND PORK YOUR TORSO HOLES LIKE A HORNED-UP PUP!”

The Pro concentrates and serves, a diagonal arc of energy beaming into Sex Mike’s court. Sex Mike bunches up the muscles in his arms, his golden skin bursting, revealing fiery muscle mass underneath. He connects with the Pro’s volley, the shuttlecock wrapped in energy, suspended on Sex Mike’s racket. Sex Mike’s arms catch fire, and in an explosive burst, he releases the hit and sends the shuttlecock rocketing towards the Pro. The Pro dodges the doomsday missile at the last second. Fault.

Fuck, thinks Lucy. If the Pro tried to return that serve he’d have been split in half…

22 to 21. Sex Mike’s serve. The next point wins. Sex Mike’s arms are burnt crisps at his sides. In an instant, his limbs explode, uncovering brand new arms made of brilliant diamond. He swings his racket in a circle again, like a reaper’s scythe. 

“Mmm…” moans Sex Mike, licking his lips, “You think you can beat THESE bad boys? The GUN SHOW? My diamond DOGS?” He flexes his gem-encrusted arms.

The Pro shifts his feet, nervously. He looks back, wiping sweat away from his sunglasses. Lucy can feel the fear behind his shades. 

“Fuck…” she mumbles under her breath. “I’m sorry, the Pro!” shouts Lucy from the sidelines. “Fuck it…” she mutters. “Do what feels right! For you this time.” She looks down at the ground. “I can find my own way,” she says, looking up at Bad Mountain.

The Pro nods, and gives her a thumbs up. He faces Sex Mike, and lowers his visor. “Ref,” commands the Pro in his deep voice, “I yield.” 

Sex Mike’s eyes burst wide open. “WHAT! Oh, c’MON, referee! Can’t you see this poor, alien soul is dumb as rocks? He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, poor thing!”

“Pretty sure I know exactly what I’m saying,” responds the Pro. Lucy gives two thumbs up from the sidelines. 

“FUCK. LET ME MURDERIZE YOU INTO MILLIMETER CHUNKS,” shouts Sex Mike. The referee waves his hands, the audience in murmuring rancor. Suddenly the mountain rumbles. God has chosen.

“It’s decided,” says the referee. “Sex Mike wins this year’s tournament!” The crowd erupts in confused applause. Sex Mike paces in a circle, screams into the air, and snaps his racket over his knee. The Pro jogs back down to Lucy. 

“You can speak now!” she exclaims.

“Yeah.”

“Well, my prize player: we’ve always got next year!” says Lucy. 

The Pro rubs his shoulder. “Actually, I don't think badminton is what I’m meant to be a pro at. I want to experiment, try new things. I saw a cafe was hiring on the way into the city.” He shrugs. “I don’t want to lock down my career that fast, I guess.”

“Oh,” Lucy looks down. “No, yeah, good for you, the Pro.” God’s white pyramid glints down at Lucy. An intimidating reminder of rebellion. “Yeah, yeah, go for it the Pro! And if you’re ever in need of an agent of any kind, even a barista agent, you know where to find me.”

“The woods?”

“Yes, the woods,” says Lucy.

✱   ✱   ✱

Sex Mike shatters his trophy into the corpse of the chartreuse giant. He exits the arena and hops inside a stretch limousine. Two figures sit in the back, cloaked in shadow.

“Pathetic,” says a lean silhouette in a seductive, syrupy voice. “‘Number one superstar,’ my ass.” 

“Seriously a failure, man. Like, I know you just won the whole thing, but you kinda came across as lame, dude,” adds the stocky silhouette in a baritone voice. 

Sex Mike seethes, holding himself back from shoving their faces through the car’s window. 

“Next time, take out the encore opponent when you first have the chance,” says the first voice. She leans back into the seat. The limousine speeds around a corner and drives deeper into the city of Agartha. 

1. The Hunter

 1. The Hunter

A dark stain on the anichromatic hills. Closer, closer. The stain blooms into a burnt barn, creaking gray planks of dry, dead wood. Lightning flashes white and the barn grows darker. The tall grass at its base is whipped into a violent celebration by the wind. A harsh groan of splinters sliding against splinters as the double doors open slowly, so slowly, and the wind howls the piercing cry of a wintry train, and inside is a blackness that makes the dark silhouette of the barn pale against the storming sky. He backs away, the building retreating once more into the hills, the doors closing, slamming, and lightning flashes so brightly that the dimness cannot return. 

The Hunter sits up out of bed. There’s a clock on the wall that is silent in its brokenness. The house he’s in is a brick one painted over quickly in white. His bed is quite plain. A nightstand of vibrant orange wood with a mason jar atop it. No windows in his bedroom. And a scratched hardwood floor that wheezes under every pressure the pads of his feet relinquish. Inside, it is always very quiet.

In the yard is a man bent over on his hands and knees. Naked, his ribs press through his thin veined skin, and his spine forms a ridge down his back like some prehistoric predator. Like a man made into dog. A rabbit twitches as the man rips into its belly with his teeth. The man makes a soft grunting noise as he pulls against the beast's skin. A squeaking whistling call rises in the man’s throat. Bees buzz in the garden, the buzzing growing louder, incessant. The rabbit's white coat has turned fully red in its blood, pumping out of human-sized teeth holes to a musical rhythm, and the only white remaining is the creature’s eyes as its frightened pupils roll back to gaze at its own dying brain. In a fluid, uninterrupted movement the Hunter opens his front door and grabs a  softball-sized rock from the garden and dashes it across the back of the man’s head. His hair and skull crumple inward as if being flushed into a drain. The man’s body flattens to the yard, over the rabbit, and it is disappeared.

The Hunter looks back and in the doorway stands a three-foot-tall man-thing, a dark stain of sickly thin limbs dark and viscous in tar. Patches and pieces of loose hair stick to the surface. The Sun above reflects and creates the illusion of twinkling bodies of light across the thing’s dripping obsidian flesh. The whites of the thing’s eyes shine so brightly. It closes the door to the Hunter’s house. The rumble of a distant thunder shakes through the yard. What is Death afraid of?

RIMISH

 House Icon Beach City 

or, “RIMISH” by Jack-Henry Lee

Scene 1

He stands in front of a sink full of dishes on his phone. On it is the app House Icon: Beach City. It is a small beachfront property with the supports for a large building. He taps the “shop” button and selects a new “Tool Pull.” A box drops onto the property. He taps the box and it cracks open. A creature emerges, a Tool, and it starts wandering the property. 

His Partner: “Honey, I’ve got to leave for work soon! Did you wash me a bowl and spoon yet for lunch?”

He says: “Um, just a minute…” And he watches his phone. There’s a timer above the bare supports for his future house. Ten minutes ticks down to nine and fifty-nine seconds. Fifty-eight seconds. Fifty-seven seconds. The Tool jumps up and down.

Scene 2

He’s at his desk. The window is open and it’s beautiful outside. His phone is on speakerphone. He’s on the computer reading a post on a stranger’s blog. 

His friend on the phone: “We really missed you last weekend, man.”

The blog: [... is not part of the game itself. I have found that Bastotron is a kind of Thoughtform, linked to the game by its history…]

He says: “Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you guys in person next time.”

His friend on the phone: “Have you talked to Joe at all recently?”

The blog: [...app years ago went by a different title, ‘Creator Carpenter,’ and has retained a small but obsessive following, allowing Bastotron to retain relevance, and amass spiritual energy…]

He says: “Uhh, no. Did he do something?

His friend on the phone: “Yeah, man, he’s a part of this, like, Christian-music-cult or something. He’s started posting all about it on Instagram. He deleted his other posts, it’s all promotional reels for this, like, $300 retreat you can do to learn psalms on an acoustic guitar.”

He says: “I haven’t talked to Joe since high school, really.”

His friend on the phone: “It’d make a good film, huh? You could do one of those crazy documentaries you used to do. Where you couldn’t tell what was supposed to be real or not.”

The blog: [...manifests in other people, strangers, dreams, meditative visions. The more you build your house, the more you draw him closer to you. I’ve experienced profound personal development since finishing my house. It’s free to play. If you click the link at the bottom of this post you can start the game with 500 free gemshells, and help support me…]

His friend on the phone: “He grew out his hair Charles Manson style and he’s got this big, bright grin. I went down the rabbit hole and Joe even got on this podcast with a few thousand regular listeners. He was talking about how he was going to start his own radio station. Freaky stuff. … You still there?”

He says: “Sorry. I was thinking about, uh…”

His friend on the phone: “Don’t tell me you’re playing that goofy “Clash of Clans” iPhone game while talking to me right now.”

He says: “I promise I’m not, I’m just reading some stuff at the same time--”

His friend on the phone: “Dude.”

Scene 3

He’s locking up the front door as he leaves his house. He’s also on his phone. On the app House Icon: Beach City. He now has a small house on the beach. Several Tools wander the property. A notification appears above the house. He looks up. A man crosses the street towards him. As he gets to the bottom of his stairs the man looks at him like a good friend.

The bizarre man: “Hey! Have fun at bingo tonight. It’s the usual crowd, but the ladies’ll be doing four or five parts so you’ll have that to look forward to. See you soon, man!”

The man turns the corner and walks away. He looks over his shoulder, straight ahead, back down at his phone. The notification above his house is gone. He opens his messaging app and taps his partner’s number and types out: “crazy event of the day: guy just came up to me like he knew me and was talking about bingo tonight. and ladies doing four or five parts.” After he types it he looks it over, and then deletes the entire message and never sends.

Scene 4

He’s on the couch on his phone. His house in the game is much taller. Tools scale the sides and balconies. He gets a message from one of his friends. It’s a video.

One of his friends: “Partyingggggg tonight!!!!! We are DRUNK! As SHIT! Just wanted to let you know we LOVE you, bro. You’re a real one. You’re so money, man.” His friend’s demeanor shifts and the music in the video lowers to a blurry, bassy, background rumble. “You have to keep going. Prepare for the worst and you’ll be preparing for something you never intend to experience. Prepare for the best and you’ll be preparing for your dreams. You have to know for certain.” The music starts to swell again. “We miss you MAN! Fly out sometime soon, OK? You can-- You can always stay at our place, broh. We’ll get some BEERS.” The video ends.

Scene 5

He’s standing outside this electrical plant-thing. An electricity center, maybe. Connected to all the power lines and all this metal shit. He stares up at it. He holds out his hand and an invisible force connects him to the power. A near-invisible ripple in the air.

He says (without moving his lips, echoey): “Why do I feel so compelled? Sometimes it is easier when I am not compelled. But when I’m building my house in House Icon: Beach City I get the most euphoric rush. It’s… it’s real to me. Intense. Even just thinking about the game is exciting. I could sit and think about it for the rest of my life. I don’t know what it will be like when I finish it. But I hear… I hear that it’s great. I hope it will be right, that it will feel right. That I’ll be satisfied.”

He lowers his hand. Everything fades to darkness.

Scene 6

In the darkness, a distorted voice.

A distorted voice: “You want to listen and you don’t listen.”

He’s in bed, blinking his eyes open. In his pajamas.

His partner in the other room says: “You have to straighten yourself out, babe. It’s time to go, we have to get to my appointment…” The sound trails off into a white noise buzzing. 

He gets out of bed. The noise continues. 

A distorted voice: “FFFFFFLLLLLYYYYY OUUUUUTTTTTTT….. LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUU.”

He walks out of the room and into the next. His partner is not there. This scene is kind of freaky, creepy. He looks at the ground. It’s a Tool from House Icon. The Tool waddles across the kitchen floor. “SEE YOUUUU SOOOON, MANNNNNN!”

He looks out the window.

The view from outside, across the street. The house he’s in, and him in his pajamas in the window from far away. A mysterious unknown voice narrates: “My eyes are closed. In my head. I’m on the other side of the street. A dog is barking. It’s in a car nearby. It’s loud. The windows are rolled down. There’s a family at a table. A mother, a father, and a daughter. A young couple walks into the store. The mother from before leaves the table to take a picture of the fancy car that’s parked next to the store. This is all real.”

Scene 7

Bright White. Fading into… A strange experimental perspective. He walks to his desk and opens a tab on his computer. He starts writing a blog post on his own blog. He titles it “The Finished House:”

“When the House is Finished You Live in it. The Work is Fulfilling. The Structure is Fulfilling. It’s Face is Fulfilling. And its Roots are Fulfilling. You can only Finish the House if you Know You Can do It. You have to Put Yourself in the House. A Small Version of You. It will Live in the House Forever. You Live in Your Finished House and You See it from Outside. This Is Perfect. Please Enjoy Your House. As You build it, and After.

“But if all You ever Do is Live in Your House, You have Failed. Foster. Collaborate. Build the House and Share It. Share the House. This is how the House Lives Forever. This is the Secret to Immortality.”

He looks at the post for a while. Behind him stands the bizarre man. He highlights the blog post-in-progress and deletes the entire thing. He opens House Icon. He looks at his huge house. Some Tools at the base of the house have begun making their own small houses. 

The bizarre man: Alright, let’s wrap it up.

END.

It is life, it is humanity

It is life, it is humanity

Sef. The seagull. The spider. The explorer. Spider. The wolf. Pillar.

1. Seagull

He wakes up on the shore. Sef. The beach. He’s naked and there’s the rhythmic noise of waves lapping against hard packed sand. A seagull cries, hops over to Sef, and leaves tracks that fill up with water and disappear in seconds. Sef blinks and it’s flown away and it is like the seagull was never there.

2. Imagination

He’s lost all of his memories. He cannot remember what it looks like beyond the beach, further up land. All just white fog. Sef’s face is pressed up against the sand. Bubbles of air pop out of the seams of the grains. 

“Hello,” says a spider.

“Ahh!” shouts Sef. He remains flat against the shore. A wave washes over Sef. The spider scurries out of the way to safety, then returns to him.

“I’m sorry I was scared,” says Sef. “I can’t remember why I was so scared.”

The spider doesn’t move.

“You can talk?” asks Sef.

The spider doesn’t move.

“OK, maybe I imagined that, then.” Sef does not believe himself.

3. Whose body is this

“What are you? What can you do?” he asks.

The spider starts crawling away.

“Are you like a dog? I can remember dogs. An animal.”

The spider disappears into the white wall beyond the shore. Sef groans and picks himself up off the ground. He wriggles his toes in the sand. They aren’t his.

4. Frame

Driftwood frame of a home. No walls, just support posts inferring an enclosed space. Sef sits in the center and draws a face in the sand.

Knock knock!

An explorer stands in front of where the door to the driftwood house would be if there was one.

“Hello. I’ve brought cookies,” says the explorer.

5. I love cookies

Sef and the explorer are halfway through the plate of cookies. They sit in the sand across from each other.

“I love cookies,” says Sef.

“I’m a casual fan,” says the explorer.

The cookies are all gone. Now what?

6. Evil animal

The roof of his driftwood house is finished. Sef walks along the outside to admire his work. The spider, assumedly the same spider, crawls towards the shelter. Sef picks the spider up off of the sand and places him into the tide. The spider drowns, sinking to the bottom of the shallow shore. The submerged sand swallows the bug corpse.

7. The vision

Squinting his eyes, Sef can see a shape in the whiteness beyond the beach. A triangle. It unfolds like paper into a rectangle. He starts building a conical structure out of driftwood.

8. House

The walls of Sef’s driftwood house are completed. It is effectively constructed. He is working on his cone shed in the yard behind his house. The explorer introduces a new guy.

“He’s new to the area,” says the explorer.

“My name is Spider,” says the new guy.

Sef turns to face them. “Oh. Hey.”

“I’m here to help you,” says Spider.

“I don’t need any help, but you can hang out and watch me work,” says Sef.

9. Recognition

Sef and Spider have finished the cone shed. They are taking turns drawing faces and shapes in the sand. Adding features to each other’s drawn faces and making crazy geometric bodies that continue under the neck.

“I wish I could show someone this driftwood house I made. And the cone shed we made,” says Sef.

“I’m here,” says Spider.

“Yeah, but you saw me making it. And helped me.”

“The explorer liked it.”

“He said it was cool?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t have anything negative to say about it.”

“Huh,” says Sef.

10. Nighttime

It’s dark out. Nighttime. The sky is full of stars. Some red or green and most a vibrant white-yellow-gold that look like pinholes of distant flame. Sef lays inside his house. Spider is outside. He’s made a fire. The light shines through the gaps of driftwood onto Sef’s face. A deep rumbling. The explorer.

“I do like the house. And the cone shed,” says the explorer.

He holds out his hand and lightning streaks out, snapping against the house and shattering the wood into brittle pieces that fall to the beach like hard rain. The house is destroyed. The cone shed remains. The explorer leaves. Sef pounds the sand with his fists, holding back a sob. Spider watches everything, silently.

11. You’ve done that already

Morning. New driftwood frame of a house in the same location. Sef builds it alone. Spider sits in the entrance of the cone shed. 

“Don’t you want to make something else, now?” asks Spider.

“I want to sit in my house under the stars again and make it through the night,” says Sef. “And display my creation to the far celestial bodies above.”

“You’ve done that already,” says Spider.

Sef continues searching for driftwood on the beach.

12. Wolf

Progress has halted and the second house remains a frame. A wolf appears from the white beyond the beach. Shaggy, blue fur that shines nicely, beautifully, softly. 

Sef lays flat on the sand much like he did before. “Oh,” he says, and raises his head slightly.

13. The bench

The frame of the second house is gone. The driftwood has been repurposed to make a bench beside the cone shed. Spider sits on the bench and pets the wolf, who happily pants. Sef sits outside the cone shed and draws a triangle in the sand. He brushes it away and draws a rectangle over where it would’ve been. 

14. Exploration

Sef has walked a long ways from camp. He’s walking along the shore until he finds a tree. He gathers the leaves and some bark in a piece of driftwood carved into a sled or bowl shape. Sef pats the tree on the side of its trunk. The bark makes a nice noise.

At camp Sef and Spider twist the fibers from the leaves and from inside the bark to create a crude string. They create the string all day while the wolf runs laps along the edge of the shore. 

15. Complexity

Sef reels in a fish using a pole created from sticks and fishing line. Spider tosses a ball across the beach and the wolf runs after it. Beside their bench and cone shed is a second cone shed. A fire pit between their structures smokes as if it was used recently.

“Why do you hunt and gather and eat and build houses for yourself?” asks the explorer. “You have no reason to sustain your body or protect yourself from threats.”

“It’s just something I have to do,” says Sef. “It’s hard for you to understand, but one day you will when you see what I become.”

16. Invasion

The next day. Sef and Spider warm their hands on the fire. A cold misting across the beach. The wolf shakes his fur and sprays the camp.

“I will give you a reason,” says the explorer.

Dark armored soldiers hack their way through the white beyond the beach, making their way into camp.

One soldier kicks the wolf and another slashes at Spider with a machete. It cuts into his calf and he takes a knee on the sand. The wolf retreats into the first cone shed and Sef holds the soldiers back with a small knife as he helps Spider into the second cone shed.

17. The Star

The soldiers (3 of them) try to return beyond the beach, past the white. It is a wall to them and they are stuck on the beach.

“Crap,” says a soldier.

The three of them gather a few yards away from Sef and Spider’s camp and sit on the hard wet sand. 

Sef enters the first cone shed to treat the wolf’s wounds. He returns to the second cone shed to treat Spider’s wounds.

Days pass. Two of the soldiers lay on the shore, sleeping for a long time. A third is awake, and bored.

“OK, we’re sorry! I’m sorry!” says the soldier.

No sound from the cone sheds.

“My name is Pillar,” says the soldier. Pillar waits a moment. “What are your names?”

“My name is Sef,” comes from the second cone shed.

“My name is Spider,” comes from the second cone shed. “Why did you attack us?”

“I don’t even know,” says Pillar.

18. Nightmare

“I’m having a nightmare,” says Sef. He is atop a proud brick fortress on a hill. Rain comes, and melts the stone bricks like acid and the fortress is reduced to a puddle. “I remember this place,” he says.

A giant troll with the explorer’s face carries a boulder, swings it and swings it and throws it at Sef.

“It didn’t happen this way,” says Sef.

Wolves howling. An octopus. The chorus of a song he knew. Darkness.

19. Community

Pillar and the other two soldiers sit around the campfire with Sef, Spider, and the wolf. They roast fish on sticks.

Around them are the two cone sheds and bench from before, and now a triangular tent-like house across from them. There is some kind of string instrument lying in the sand.

20. Music to my ears

“Did you enjoy it?” says the explorer. There is an evil-looking bat beside him.

Sef is on the bench practicing chords on his instrument. “Enjoy what?”

“Everything,” says the explorer.

“I’m fine now, thanks,” says Sef looking down at his instrument.

The explorer scrunches his face up. “You sound ungrateful.”

Pillar punches the explorer across the face. The explorer is knocked to the ground. The bat creature tries to bite at Pillar but the other two soldiers grab hold of it and rip it in half. Pillar chops the explorers legs off with a machete.

The explorer’s mouth opens up like a scream but no sound comes out.

“I have become conscious of my past failures,” says Pillar, “and aim to right them through force of will and spiritual bloodshed.”

Sef strings the chords together and it becomes a song.

21. I’m so sorry, Spider

“I feel like myself, again,” says Sef. 

Spider sheds a tear.

The wolf sheds a tear.

Pillar and the other two soldiers shed tears, under their masks.

Sef walks into the ocean, beyond the low tide.

“I’m so sorry, Spider,” he says, facing the horizon. “I hope you can forgive me and find your own way.”

Sef continues to walk into the ocean, feet planted on the submerged sand, the water enveloping his body and head until it’s like he was never there.

Written by 

Jack-Henry Lee.