Hopefully you, my adoring public, will enjoy reading some of whatever gets dredged up and thrown down here. Comments and critiques are appreciated.
---Adult finds himself in a place he thought was fictional---
“OW~!”
Joe awoke with only the fuzziest recollection of what had occurred. Something had fallen off the shelf and struck him in the back of the head while he’d been bent over moving large cases of creamer. What had hit him? Was it Swiss cheese? Whatever it was had hurt like hell and knocked him unconscious.
“Bart, what happened?”
That voice was familiar. Except it wasn’t his assistant Hank. It was a girls voice.
“I didn’t do it.”
This one was a boy, also familiar, though Joe couldn’t place it either. Opening his eyes would probably clear the picture, but the thought of moving those particular muscles wasn’t working for him just that moment. One thing was certain; the two people hovering over his prone body were kids. They sounded somewhat younger then Hank who was seventeen and only working through the summer before he went away to college in Mississippi.
“Did you kill him?” The girl again.
“It’s a distinct possibility. Quick, you drag him home and get him in the bathtub. I’ll get a hacksaw and some lye and meet you there.”
Joe’s eyes fluttered open.
“Ahhhhh!”
“He’s not dead!” screeched the young blonde girl with the huge pearl necklace.
“Well quick! Kill him!” screeched the young blond boy with the spiky hair.
“Whoa. Hold on there kid”, said Joe sitting up. His hand crept to the base of his skull where a large painful lump was protruding.
The children lost all pretense of fear and the girl offered her hand to help Joe to his feet; which he accepted.
“You look fine now mister”, said the boy hopping on his skate board, “So, I guess it’s adios.”
With a deft hand the girl grabbed the boy by the shirt collar just as he was about to roll off. The board bounded down the sidewalk without it’s rider. “What my brother Bart is trying to say is that he’s sorry he almost accidentally killed you when he hit you with his skateboard”, and to her brother, “Say you’re sorry Bart.”
“You’re sorry Bart. Can I go now?”
The sour expression on the girls face explained everything her brother needed to know. His shoulders slumped as he realized he was there for the long haul and might end up getting in trouble over this situation to boot. “I’m sorry, mister.”
“It’s ok”, said Joe looking around quizzically, “Where am I?”
Bart’s eyes opened wide and he turned to his sister, “Lisa, he’s got that ambrosia thing where he can’t remember anything.”
“That’s amnesia, Bart”, corrected Lisa and then to Joe, “You can’t remember who you are?”
“I remember who I am”, answered Joe, “I’m Joe Patterson. It’s where I am or how I got here that I’m having a problem with.”
“That’s easy”, said Bart, “You’re in Springfield.” With that he freed himself of Lisa’s grasp and scurried after his skate board which had coasted to a stop a few houses down the block. “Well, my work here is done. Joe Patterson, I wish you all the best. Come on Lisa, we’re gonna be late for dinner.”
Lisa looked up at Joe, her enormous eyes nearly identical to her brothers. They were definitely siblings.
“He’s right Mr. Patterson”, Lisa began, “I do have to get home for dinner or I’ll get in trouble. But, my parents are having a dinner party tonight and I’m pretty sure Dr. Hibbert will be there. I’d feel much better if you came to my place and let the doctor take a look at you before I let you out of my sight.”
Joe wasn’t too good at telling people’s ages. Certainly Lisa was no older then eight or nine, but her demeanor belied a much older woman as well as someone imminently trustable. And since he really didn’t know where the hell he was and the bump on his head was pretty painful, the thought of seeing a doctor seemed sound advice. He accepted Lisa’s invitation and the two began strolling down the sidewalk together just as Bart skated around the corner way ahead of them.
By the time Lisa had led Joe into her home a complete sense of unreality had overtaken him. Not only was he unsure of where he was and how he had arrived there, but his surroundings had begun to look and feel pretty strange. He’d heard of having problems with one’s sight after a head injury. Concussions can cause a person’s eyes to dilate and with the increased light everything would appear so much more bright and colorful. However ‘bright and colorful’ didn’t even begin to explain how the world looked to Joe. Almost cartoonish was more like it.
There were people milling about the living room of Lisa’s house and she wound her way around them with Joe tagging behind until she stood before a tall portly black man in a blue suit. She introduced him to Joe as Dr. Hibbert and then enlightened the doctor about the accident which had occurred moments before. In no time Dr. Hibbert was poking and prodding Joe with instruments from a leather satchel that had been stowed out of the way under the end table beside the couch.
“And you say you can’t recall Bart running you down with his skate board?” asked the doctor in a deep mellow voice. He was shining a flashlight into Joe’s eyes.
“It’s not true I tell ya!”, shouted Bart from across the room with a mouth full of hors d’oeuvres. “It’s his word against mine. I wasn’t even there.”
“Shut up, boy.” Bart’s dad Homer was in no mood for any guff. Apparently this wasn’t the first time his son had been up to mischievousness that had followed him home. He smacked a fat hand across his forehead and ran it over his balding pate before stuffing a deviled egg into his own mouth which made his next few words rather slurred, “And stop eating all the appetizers!”
Homer’s wife Marge had come out of the kitchen and made a huge fuss over Joe. She’d introduced him to all the guests and invited him to stay for dinner. Joe refused until the overall friendliness of the groups insistence won him over.
“All I remember is coming too on the sidewalk”, answered Joe.
“What do you recall?” Dr. Hibbert had finished his exam and began putting tools back in his bag. Marge suggested that Joe tell his story once they were seated at the table as dinner was ready.
“I was working at the restaurant, putting stock away in the walk in fridge when something must have fallen off a shelf and hit me in the head.”
“Which restaurant is that?” asked Dr. Hibbert’s wife Bernice.
“Luther’s Steak House.”
“I’ve never heard of that place”, Professor Frink chimed in while scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate, “Where is it?”
“Magnolia and Eversong.”
“I know every road in Springfield”, said Chief Wiggum around a mouthful of corn, “and those two streets aren’t in Springfield. Where are you from, Joe?”
“I live in Los Angeles.” The questions were starting to unnerve Joe. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
As if to illustrate the point Homer said, “You hit your head in a refrigerator in L.A. and woke up on the sidewalk in Springfield?” He was filling his mouth at an alarming rate and no one besides Joe seemed put off by the chomping noises he made while eating.
Everyone at the table was at a loss. No one spoke for a few minutes and the only sound, aside from eating, in the room was little Maggie sucking on her pacifier.
“Well, believe it or not”, said Professor Frink, “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of something like this happening in Springfield.”
All heads turned in his direction except Homer and Chief Wiggum who appeared to have begun some sort of scarfing competition between themselves and the platter of ribs.
“A few years ago I met a strange bearded man leading a horse on the beach wearing nothing but a loin cloth”, Frink continued.
“Oh”, said Marge a little flustered at the image.
“He was babbling on about a city of apes and the statue of liberty buried in the sand and all sorts of craziness. His story was barely coherent. Needless to say I thought he was insane. However, the more I questioned him the more I came to the realization that he was from an alternate dimension.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” asked Hibbert with a laugh.
“Oh yes, doctor. It’s no laughing matter. Alternate dimensions do exist. In fact, it just may be where this unfortunate gentleman is from.”
“So, what happened to the bearded stranger”, asked Joe barely able to contain himself.
“Oh”, said Frink matter of factly, “I took him back to my laboratory and sent him home in my alternate dimension collation machine.”
“Alternate… Dimension… Collation… Machine?” Marge voiced the question on everyone’s lips.
“Basically it’s a machine that keeps track of all the alternate dimensions in existence. If you put ten different objects from ten different dimensions inside it and turn it on, each object will be sent back to the dimension it comes from.”
“That’s amazing Professor Frink!” exclaimed Marge, “How does it work?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It came with the laboratory.”
“What are we waiting for?” said Dr. Hibbert rising from his chair, “Let’s put Joe here in the collator and send him home!”
With the most pitiful expression ever before seen on the face of a human being Homer asked, “Does this mean we don’t get dessert?”
After it was agreed that dessert would be served the moment they returned home the entire group loaded up into a few cars and raced to Professor Frink’s lab at the other end of town. It was a cluttered mess of beakers and Bunsen burners, cages of white mice and vials of smoking liquids. Alone in one corner stood a machine that looked very much like one of those booths where you get inside and for a nominal fee it takes a few snap shots of you. Printed on the front just beside the maroon curtain that acted as a door were the words “Alternate Dimension Collation Machine”.
“And you say you don’t know how it works”, whispered Joe, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Nope”, said Frink with a little too much cheer, “But it sure does work. That bearded guy disappeared like that.” She snapped his fingers for effect.
There was crash accompanied with a hiss and smoke billowed out into the room.
“I didn’t do it!” called Bart.
“Bart! Don’t touch anything”, warned Marge.
“That’s ok Mrs. Simpson”, said Frink nearly choking on his words, “It was just an experiment that I’ll never be able to duplicate that may have been a cure for cancer.” He paused and added, “As they say. Back to the old drawing board.”
It was Chief Wiggum who got the ball rolling, “So, let’s get the show on the road. I can’t wait to get back and try some of Mrs. Simpson’s apple pie.”
“Apple pie”, intoned Homer as his eyes glazed over and a string of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth.
Professor Frink pulled back the curtain and ushered Joe Patterson into the device. There was a padded bench on one side and Joe took a seat. Frink whipped the curtain closed. He began patting down his white lab coat, a confused look stretching his face which suddenly cleared when he said, “Hey, does anyone have a quarter to turn this thing on?”
Mrs. Wiggum dug one out of her purse and so she was afforded the honor of dropping the coin into the proper slot on the machine.
There was a hum followed by a loud bang and bright light that caused everyone to be momentarily blinded. When vision returned Bart ran up to the collator and whipped back the curtain. The machine was empty.
The show was over. Everyone filed back to the cars for the trip back to the Simpson residence.
“But how do you know it sent him to the right place?” asked Bart. “I mean for all we know there was a trap door in the floor of that thing that opens up to an incinerator in the room below.”
“I suppose you're right”, said Frink over a slice of apple pie, “But I’m fifty percent sure that trap door was nailed shut.”
The Simpson’s theme song rang in Joe’s head until he opened his eyes and it stopped. Directly in front of him was the small TV in his office. An episode of South Park had just begun. Joe was lying on the couch. Hank must have found him knocked out in the fridge and carried him in here. The Simpson’s had been on the tube while he was unconscious and that was obviously the impetus for that ridiculous dream.
Joe sighed. Thank god he was awake now. Still, he should definitely see a doctor. He could hear someone approaching and he swung his legs to the floor and sat up just in time to see an obese little boy in a red parka with a blue beanie on his head enter.
“Oy! Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?” yelled Eric Cartman. “Get out of here or I’ll kick you in the nuts!”
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Really clever, wonderfully entertaining. I knew you could do a short story! By the end of this challenge you may grow to love it, and write a lot more, or discover you hate it and have the confidence to say "It's not my medium."
ReplyDeleteI think you're going to surprise yourself!!!