  |
|
Sorry about the absence. I hope to be back by September 15 October 6, with a full explanation. Or, at least, a decent excuse.
Lissa followed Chuckie into the acid shed. This is all part of my plan, she thought. I don't know what my plan is, but I bet this is part of it. I bet it's a really brilliant plan, too. Very intricate, with every possibility considered. God, I wish I knew what I was doing! I wish Banny was here. He'd... He'd... I just wish he was here!
"Lock the door behind you, Melissa," Chuckie said.
"Hey, Chuckie, why do you call everyone by their formal name, you know, like, 'Melissa', 'Banner', 'Robert', but you want us to call you 'Chuckie'?"
"I don't know. I'd started that back when I was human. Who knows why humans do what they do?"
In the acid shed was a large vat filled with, not surprisingly, acid. A weak diluted acid used to clean paints, plastics, et al., off metal holders. The holders, which were about as big as Lissa and weighed anywhere from 20 to 300 pounds, would be placed on a hook attached to a motorized chain winch. You'd hook up the holder, press the button to raise it up, slide the winch across the track on the ceiling, press the button to lower the holder into the acid, and let it soak. After a couple of hours you'd raise it back up, slide the whole assembly away from the vat, and hose the holder off.
Lissa knew the routine because Banny had told her about it, excitedly, on the way home. He thought something like it could replace their dishwasher.
In addition to the vat and the hose were several mean-looking barrels. Chuckie tapped his finger against the biggest, meanest-looking barrel of them all. It was big, black, and all the other barrels gave it plenty of room. It said: HIGH GRADE PURE FUREITONIC ACID! DO NOT APPROACH! EXPLOSIVE, CORROSIVE, LAXATIVE!! and had a bunch of little pictures of all the horrible things that could happen to you if you didn't read the handling instructions, which you probably didn't know how to if you were looking at pictures so for your own sake just stay away. But among the other symbols and warnings was a Trycryptogon, somehow looking right in place.
Chuckie pulled a cup from behind the barrel, a simple plastic cup, and took off the barrel's lid. The slime in the barrel was sickly-green; it looked like snot from a runny nose. It bubbled, each bubble-pop sounding like a fart and smelling worse. Slowly, reverently, using both hands, Chuckie dipped the cup into the farting snot, getting snotty fart all over both his hands. "Drink this, and the universe will be a kitten in your hands. You can play with it, or crush it, as you wish."
Lissa took a step back, right against the safety barrier around the vat. "I don't know. It looks..."
"I know it looks bad. And it smells and even sounds bad. But it tastes... actually, it tastes worse than you can imagine. You'll be tasting it for days. Juice, soda, beer, even hot sauce won't help." Chuckie took a step forward, holding out the dripping cup. Each drop disappeared before it hit the cement floor, which was good, Lissa supposed, or it would eat right through. "But that is a small price to pay to gain power." Chuckie could see in her eyes, he was losing her. He had to find the right tack. "Power which you so rightfully deserve. Power which has been denied you. Power to pay back all those who had power over you." He wanted to ask her blouse about her heart rate, her breathing, but she'd hear, and Chuckie decided not to take that approach.
"I don't know... What if I..."
"What if you can't handle it?" Chuckie knew that that was not the question she was going to ask. "If you become a gonner, and you truly wish to be human again, you can. But once you do, you'll never be able to go back to being a gonner. Another one of those rules. Now what do you want? Power? Money? Respect, friends, love, knowledge, wisdom? Revenge? Go on. The universe never gave you anything. Now is your chance to take all those things the universe said you were not supposed to have!" That was the right tack. That tack was so sharp, she practically jumped when he jabbed her in the butt with it.
Okay, so maybe 'the right tack' comes from boating, and not from thumb tacks. So what? Lissa was sold.
She stepped forward. She reached out her hands. She voluntarily took the cup from Chuckie.
And almost dropped it. The slime felt... gross! Even worse than you'd expect farting snot to feel. The tactile equivalent of fingernails on a chalk board. Somehow slippery and sticky at the same time. She'd never get it off her hands, and thank God she didn't have fur right now.
"Eeeyeeugh!!!"
She lifted the noxious cup to her mouth. And gagged on the stench. She wanted to throw up; it might improve the odor in here.She considered holding her nose, but the muck was already on her fingers, and she didn't want it on any more of her skin than absolutely necessary. She closed her eyes.
Straighten up, girl, she commanded herself. You've had worse things in your mouth. Now drink this, and make them all pay for everything they've ever done!
Go to Chapter 16: Join Us, Mr. Bond.
Go to Chapter 18: Where Everybody Knows Your Name, And They Want To Eat Your Brains
Bring your friends into the Gonspiracy! Tell them about
Banny
And
Lissa
and get their eternal gratitude, and a chance to win $10,000 and a Sony DVD Player, because using your friends for your own personal enrichment, and having them owe you for it, is the gonner way!
Home |
The Most Recent (Mis)Adventure |
Notes |
E-ditorials |
Letters |
Fan-Art |
The Message Board |
The Store |
Links
Copyright © 2003
Dave Lerner Stories (note that to use the mailto you'll need to edit it in your 'send to' window. I apologize, but I've already lost one address to spam, and if I get inundated again, I won't have time to read your letters.) - All Rights Reserved. Note that this includes images of the Tricryptogon, and the name "Tricryptogon".