Please, tell me what you think.

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

This is a ten-part roleplay I wrote for an E-fed in October of 2001, but I feel it's so good that it can stand on its own, and, as such, I want to expand it into a formal novel or something.

 

However, some backstory is needed. This was a match for the #1 contendership of the unified North American/Telvision title. It was a Fatal Four-Way elimination format, to be held at the Anarchy PPV in Kansas City, MO.

 

The people in the match:

 

The Spoon: Me, my character, a guy who snapped on his partner at a tag match the previous week and disappeared.

 

Marcus Steel: A guy with a boxer gimmick.

 

Kon-El: A superhero gimmick at the same time the Hurricane became big. Based on some Superman thing.

 

Baali: An anamorphic creature who was the physical embodiment of desire, and took whatever form you wanted him to take. Don't even ask.

 

Other Information: Superstar Billy Hogan is an old has-been who is Spoon's manager.

 

That's about all you really need to know, so be warned that I never actually address any of my opponents directly, but it's pretty obvious where I talk about them through other things like the names of towns or the behaviors of people.

 

I'll be posting two installments at a time, so people can have stopping points if they're bored with it or something.

 

And so, it begins:

 

(It was outside of a strip bar in some major metropolitan area that wasn’t very discernable that this not very discernable story began that concerned a not very discernable character who was losing it, whatever “it” was. We would have been led to believe it is somewhere in the Midwest, as Warpath ended not too long ago, and several house shows were planned before Anarchy. The Spoon sat on a bench outside of the building, wearing a long khaki-colored trench coat. Under that was a simple pair of black dress pants with white dress shirt and black tie. Spoon’s face was shrouded in shadow from his fedora, which matched the trench coat. It was getting cooler outside those days, and puffs of condensed exhalations came from the shadows. Spoon’s dark, drab demeanor contrasted sharply with the rowdy establishment behind him. A bouncer at the door, wearing all black and appearing very muscular, walked up behind Spoon.)

 

Bouncer(tapping Spoon on the shoulder): Hey man, you going to come in, or just depress the people coming in?

 

(Spoon turned around to speak to the bouncer, and it was obvious he hadn’t gotten much sleep when his face became visible. His eyes seemed receded into his head, dark rings under them. A two-day stub-beard was developing into a scraggly facial accessory. Spoon began to speak, but hadn’t spoken to anyone in so long, that he had to wet his lips before he does so.)

 

Spoon(sounding tired beyond words): Oh, I’m sorry sir. Am I disturbing the customers or disrupting business?

 

Bouncer(now realizing that maybe he should have left this poor guy alone): Well it isn’t exactly that, it’s more that you’ve been sitting there the last two hours. This place stopped being a bus stop long ago. A lot of stuff isn’t here anymore.

 

Spoon(now returning to his study of the curb): Yes, so it goes.

 

Bouncer(patting Spoon on the shoulder): Come on Mac, what’s the problem? Why so glum? Does the world not seem to have a point to you anymore? Do you see all as worthless?

 

(Spoon looked up at the bouncer, surprised that he’d gotten this good of a conversation with a person he had assumed to be not very bright.)

 

Bouncer(noticing the surprise): I just work here to pay for college. I’m currently a Junior at Northwestern, majoring in Philosophy.

 

(Northwestern... Northwestern... ah, that was in Evanston, Illinois, Spoon knew that much. Or was it? Evanston was really close to Chicago, so that must be where he was. Spoon had been staring at the curb for so long, and that single drainage grill for so long, the world seemed to be just the pigeon shit and dripping noises in his field of vision. Spoon looked up to the skyline, and it’s Chicago all right, the Sears Tower and John Hancock center rising above the other buildings, like a pair of fighters ready to fight, but too held down by their foundations to do so. Spoon felt sorry for the buildings.)

 

(It should be noted at this point that Patrick Spoon was going insane, and had been in a steady descent since his match with Chaotica. Only after his senseless beating of Baali did he really stop and think about what he had been doing the last five weeks. None of it made any sense. He remembered giving a speech at the Angels convention, and then something happened to wipe it all out almost. A snapping noise pervaded the buzz of his memories.)

 

Bouncer(snapping): Hey man, you still with us? You’ve been staring into space for a good minute now!

 

(The bouncer had sat down on the bench without Spoon realizing it.)

 

Spoon(shaking himself from his haze): No, I’m fine. Do you like it at Northwestern?

 

Bouncer: I suppose so. I have no complaints. People have too many complaints, and are too busy doing the complaining to actually do anything else.

 

Spoon(befuddled at the digression): Um.

 

Bouncer: Never mind that. Like I said, I’m a Philosophy student, so I go off on stuff all the time. Don’t mind me.

 

(Spoon knew he wasn’t going to mind this person anyway, since he was obviously mad. What job could come of being a Philosophy major? Spoon thought and thought, but could only come up with “Philosopher” as an occupation. This didn’t seem like a very promising field. Spoon thought about this while the bouncer continued talking.)

 

Bouncer: The best part about the field is that there are no wrong answers really. You don’t even need evidence to support what you think. If you can just say what you think effectively, you can’t lose, that is, if the professor believes in grades.

 

Spoon(trailing off as he says it): Belief... the one thing that holds us together yet tears us apart...

 

(The bouncer looks back to the entrance of the strip club and remembered that he had a job to do, one that required little thought, but gave plenty of time for it if you wanted to do it anyway.)

 

Bouncer(walking back to the entrance of the club): You take care, man. You should probably find somewhere for the night, this place can get ugly late at night.

 

Spoon(standing up): Yeah, I probably should find somewhere...

 

(He walked away from the club, where all sorts of sordid things went on inside that Spoon really wasn’t concerned with. Where would he go, he thought. Hourly rate motels beckoned to him, but the rates were astronomical for a whole night, and Spoon hadn’t really thought of how much money he did have. He reached into his trench coat, no wallet, shirt, no wallet, other side of trench coat, no wallet, pants, jackpot. Spoon had $367.58 on his body. When he arrived in Kansas City, he would have only $12.97 left.)

 

(How this would happen he didn’t know yet.)

 

(He continued walking, all through the night. He had forgotten what he was looking for, or how he had managed to get to Chicago in the first place. Wait, now he remembered.)

 

Spoon(quietly): The bus.

 

(Spoon had indeed taken a bus to Chicago from Warpath after he had assisted the Darkside people in beating Baali down. That was something else he had to figure out, but that was for later. Right now he tried to figure out why he had taken a bus to Chicago. He had walked through the night, as has been stated already, and stopped to ponder what he was looking for in front of a high school on the East side of town. The name of the school was Stephen Douglas High School. It was the school Spoon had gone to as a teenager. It was still used, and in good upkeep. Since Spoon recognized the place, he figured this was what he was looking for. He also figured that the thing was inside. That would have to wait, because it was 5:00 am, and no one was there yet. He sat on a bench across the street from the school. Then he began talking to himself, something he had done increasingly over the last two months. He had been talking to himself longer than he had been slowly going insane. He shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth, as the bench was cold damp metal.)

 

Spoon(staring at the empty school across from him): That building was my home away from home for four years between 1992 and 1996. I graduated 1st in a class of 57.

 

(Spoon had gone to a private school. His tuition was paid by his father’s drug money that Spoon had no idea about. The total enrollment of the place was 500 students roughly. Only 50-60 graduated because their parents couldn’t afford the hefty $10,000 a year tuition.)

 

Spoon(still staring): I had no friends here, that probably helped me to study all the time. I didn’t ask to have that horrible affliction.

 

(This affliction was his glasses. He had always considered them not to be aids of his senses, but a horrible growth on his face. They were glasses of the best make, but everyone else wore contacts. Spoon thought because he wore glasses that they were the fault of all that happened in High School.)

 

Spoon: They laughed at me. They excluded me from their groups. I might as well as been called Rudolph.

 

(Now that I think about it, Spoon was insane long before anyone realized it.)

 

Spoon(shouting): Reindeer Games!

 

(He did this occasionally. A phrase would fit a situation, and he would shout it spontaneously. He had been doing this since he was ten. The occasion was his mother’s funeral. He attended her wake, and said, upon seeing her dead in her coffin...)

 

Spoon(shouting again): See you in forty days!

 

(He repeated this phrase now, thirteen years later, because it wanted to be said. The original instance had been when young Spoon was still a Christian. He had just read about Jesus rising from the dead in Sunday School. He expected his mother to do the same.)

 

Spoon(now whispering): Still waiting for you, mother.

 

(His mother was far from being Jesus. Spoon wasn’t even his father’s son. He was the son of one of his father’s customers. His mother was greatly relieved that Spoon didn’t have brain damage from the high drug concentration in the real father’s bloodstream. When she found out that she was pregnant, both her and Spoon’s father figured that it was the father’s child.)

 

(Spoon had stopped being a Christian when he witnessed a shooting in the not-so-nice part of Chicago. One man, who was consequently one of Mr. Spoon’s assistant salesmen, shot another man for not paying up. The sum that had prompted the shooting was that of $500. Spoon had no idea of any of this, he just knew that terrible things happened, and God did little to stop it. His son didn’t accomplish much either for someone who had died for mankind either. This was when Spoon was 16. It was the first day he had a driver’s license, and wanted to take a drive down Lakeside Drive. He never made it there, he drove back home in a shocked frenzy at what he had seen. None of this was on Spoon’s mind as he waited for the school to open its doors.)

 

Spoon(still staring, but in a normal tone): I’ve always waited for things. People always wait for things. No one thinks about the present, it’s always the future that concerns them. I only know what is happening right now and what has happened already. No one that I know waits for the past.

 

(he laughed.)

 

Spoon(loudly): That would be absurd!

 

(At this point, some people were walking past the bench, since the day was beginning and they were on their way to work. They saw Spoon talking to himself and quickly skittered off. Spoon didn’t notice them and continued talking.)

 

Spoon: Not that we can control the waiting. We’re waiting organisms. We wait to be born, wait for our food, wait to have the shit scooped out of our diapers, wait for television shows to come on, wait for money, wait for things to begin, wait for them to end, wait for waiters!

 

(Spoon didn’t know any waiters, but had waited for many of them to attend to him.)

 

Spoon: Of course, there is also the not waiting, the not wanting of something to happen. But then people are waiting for the not being born, not scooping shit, television shows not coming on, reception of money, beginnings, or endings. Waiters too. Humans are just screwed, and surely they aren’t waiting for that realization to happen. They are waiting for the not waiting to happen.

 

(Spoon had managed to confuse himself. It wasn’t hard to do, now that his brains were the equivalent of scrambled eggs. He had been going nuts, but the abuse of wrestling had drastically accelerated the process.)

 

Spoon: I hereby declare myself to be here and now, and in the past! And my thoughts will follow suit!

 

(Spoon had very few coherent thoughts left, except for that which he already knew. He knew he was in front of his old High School, and he also knew that he had to be in Kansas City by Sunday. It was Monday. He also knew that he had to figure out how he got to Chicago in the first place. He could utilize this information to get to Kansas City. He vaguely remembered that he had to wrestle someone, no, three other people there. For now, he sat on the bench across from Stephen Douglas High School. He kept talking about the here and now.)

 

Spoon: For instance, I am waiting for this school to open up!

 

(Fortunately, no one was around to note the irony of this statement. In Spoon’s frail mental condition, he could harm them. The wind blew some newspaper across the street. Somewhere, a dog barked.)

 

(He continued to wait.)

 

***

 

(It took a little while, until 9 actually, for Spoon to realize that it must have been a day off for students, because that school never opened. This was no fault of his own.)

 

Spoon: I guess the school isn’t what I was looking for.

 

(He stood up, and began looking around for something, somewhere to be more precise. He was very tired, and needed sleep. He pointed into the air.)

 

Spoon(triumphantly): I was looking for a hotel! Taxi!

 

(A taxi never showed up. Spoon had been conditioned to think, thanks to movies and television, that a taxi was supposed to show up whenever someone yelled for one. Spoon was dismayed, but thought that maybe it was his yelling that was scaring them away. He stood with his hand still raised in the air, and talked some more to amuse himself.)

 

Spoon: This school didn’t know what it had with me anyway. I was the best student in Northern Illinois. I had a 4.0, made a 36 on the ACT, 1590 on the SAT, bundles of scholarships to Ivy League schools, a national powerhouse of an Academic Team, but I couldn’t succeed because of my disease.

 

(Once again, he looked at his glasses as a horrible bubo on his face, the result of being infected with some kind of horrible virus. It made him think and act the way he did, he thought. His glasses had been black plastic-framed numbers, not too unlike what Buddy Holly once wore, but more rectangular in shape.)

 

Spoon: Black Plague!

 

(A car passed, and the driver, a younger person, no older than 19, looked at Spoon as he passed. His eyes grew wide, and he quickly turned around to pull up next to the curb where Spoon stood.)

 

Spoon: Aha! My theory is vindicated.

 

(The door opened, and the kid had a huge smile on his face.)

 

Kid: Where to, Spoon? Can I call you Spoon? How about sir? Where to, sir? It’s such an honor to be picking The Spoon up! The airport maybe? You got a big match this weekend in Kansas City!

 

(Spoon immediately clutched himself and girded himself for an imminent attack. This kid terrified him. He knew so much about Spoon, but how? He even knew what Spoon was going to be doing in the future!)

 

Spoon: Who are you?

 

Kid: Oh, just a fan, sir! I have every single match of yours on tape, and every single promo!

 

(This assuaged Spoon’s fears somewhat, and he got into the car. The door closed, but Spoon refrained from locking it just yet. He had reason to believe he had just gotten into a car with a madman.)

 

Kid: My name is Graham Manning, sir. You can call me whatever you want though, it’s so amazing to be in a car with you!

 

(He accentuated the “so” by drawing it out. The idea that this kid kept saying how he was in a car with Spoon put Spoon back on alert. The car was only going 20 in the current traffic. He could conceivably throw himself from the car if he had to. He had no weapons but his wits on him. Graham kept talking.)

 

Graham: What were you doing on a bench? You should be training! Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sure you know better than I do as to what is best. After all, you are the best!

 

(Spoon thought of people who had been killed by their biggest fans.)

 

Spoon: If you would, I need to be taken to the airport.

 

Graham: And where are you headed to?

 

Spoon: I have yet to worry about that. It is not a present concern.

 

Graham: I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to tell me what it is, I understand sir! Oh, the car is still unlocked! We could get jacked, and I’d be inconsolable if something happened to The Spoon!

 

(At this point, Spoon decided it was a good idea to throw himself from the car, before he was locked in with this maniac. He stalled Graham for a moment, until the car slowed to an appropriate speed. When that happened, he made his move.)

 

Graham: What the?

 

(Spoon rolled as he opened the door. Graham crashed into another car as he tried to pull Spoon back into the car. Spoon looked over to the wreck as he stood back up.)

 

Spoon: That was your plan! Sweet talk me, then crash me into another car!

 

(He ran from the scene, as Graham tried to crawl away from the crash without the use of his left leg, which was broken in three places. He was not wearing a seat belt. He was also bleeding profusely from the head where he had cracked against the windshield. He will not be spoken of again. Spoon continued running, until he came upon a railroad station. He frantically ran to the ticket booth, where the middle-aged man manning it was unsettled by this raving person running toward him.)

 

Spoon: Give me a ticket to...

 

(He looked at a map of the Tri-State area nearby. He saw something that rang a bell in his head. It was the name of the only person he ever considered anything close to a friend. It was this person who had always talked to Spoon after he was rejected by a girl, or helped him with car troubles, or consequently, kept the information from Spoon that his father was a drug dealer. Spoon saw this as a time to talk to this person again, His last name was Charles. His first name was...)

 

Spoon: Gary! I need a ticket to go see Gary!

 

Booth Operator: Okay son, that’ll be... $48.75.

 

(Spoon gave him the money. He now had $318.83 left.)

 

Operator: Are you feeling all right, son?

 

Spoon: I’m in bad shape right now, but when I see Gary, I’ll feel great!

 

Operator: May I ask why?

 

Spoon: Because Gary always helps me out of the tight spots! He’s a real pal!

 

Operator: Um.

 

Spoon: You can’t even begin to understand how much he’ll help me out! He’s the MAN!

 

(This baffled the operator. He had never heard of a going to a particular town helping someone so much. He figured it was best to play along with Spoon, because he was obviously dealing with a demented person.)

 

Operator: Well, you’d better hustle, young man. The train leaves in five minutes.

 

Spoon: Okay!

 

(Spoon ran away, as the operator shook his head. He was worried about that kid, but he seemed mostly harmless. Spoon boarded the train, feeling as if he could take on the world now that he would be getting all the answers he needed in a couple of hours. He sat down in his compartment of the train, ordered a drink which cost $3.65($315.18 left), and gave an enthusiastic hello to the person he was sharing the compartment with. He watched a clock outside count down the time until the train left. It reached zero, and as it lurched away from the station, Spoon only had one thing to say.)

 

Spoon: Happy New Year!

 

(The person he shared the compartment with was a rather dignified looking man of sixty or more. He was a steel magnate that no one knew about. No one knew of any steel magnates since the days of Andrew Carnegie. That sure was a long time ago. He was fabulously well-to-do. His name was also Andrew by coincidence. Neither person in the compartment knew who the other person was, but the older man took the opportunity to learn a little about his fellow traveler.)

 

Man: Howdy there son, how are you today?

 

(Spoon wondered why everyone called him son.)

 

Spoon: My name is Patrick, sir. Yours must be Andrew.

 

Andrew: How did you know?

 

Spoon: You look like an Andrew.

 

Andrew: I didn’t know that people had looks about them that told you their name.

 

Spoon: They don’t.

 

(The man now regretted ever trying to talk to this odd person. Instead he looked out the window at the city that they were getting farther and farther from. He stayed courteous though, still talking to Spoon, who flinched every time a passing tree blotted out the light from the sun.)

 

Andrew: So what is your reason for going to Gary?

 

Spoon: Because Gary is the best at figuring out problems.

 

Andrew: That is true. Gary has a wonderful can-do spirit. Maybe that’s why so much wealth is concentrated there.

 

Spoon: Gary sure does, the old dog!

 

Andrew: Er, yes. At any rate, what field of work are you in, young man?

 

Spoon: Oh me, I’m a wrestler.

 

Andrew: Oh... how... delightful.

 

Spoon: A lot of people don’t like us. They see us as a bunch of morons who beat each other up, hardly worth the television time we are given. I ask them if we’re so terrible, why does the news get so much attention, when people are having horrible things happen to them for real?

 

Andrew: Because the people like to see real things.

 

Spoon: Real things just upset people. If everything was fake, people would be so much happier. Of course, fake people exist, but this does little to help the world become a less real place, and thus does not help the people be happier.

 

Andrew: I’m afraid I don’t see your reasoning.

 

Spoon: Neither do I.

 

(Spoon had confused himself again. Maybe Gary could help him stop doing this.)

 

Andrew: I suppose we’re in agreement.

 

Spoon: Why are you in a suit? Are you someone important? Important people wear clothes like that.

 

Andrew: I’m on my way to a shareholder’s meeting. I have to tell them that we are going to acquire another smaller company.

 

(Spoon thought about the time that his father had acquired a smaller company. He was very happy about it. He had really just eliminated his competition in the city. His mother would have been ecstatic about it if it hadn’t involved killing the head of the competition, Spoon’s real father. She cried a lot, and Spoon asked her why she was so upset that his father was so much richer now. She said that she had lost a relative that Spoon had never heard of, an uncle named Michael. Spoon had never heard of Uncle Michael, even though Spoon was 50% Uncle Michael.)

 

(The train rode on, and Chicago passed from sight. Spoon and Andrew were silent. The rest of the train was silent as well as it watched the city pass below the horizon, like a sinking ship. The whole train, with the exception of Spoon and the employees of the train, was businessmen. They were leaving Chicago because they had lost almost all of their money in the markets there. There was a recession going on.)

 

(The Sears Tower dipped below the horizon.)

 

(The train rode on.)

 

***

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

(In Indianapolis, Gia boarded a plane for Chicago. The Spoon didn’t know this, or who Gia was. She would be a big part of his life though, although neither of them were aware of it. Spoon, instead of contemplating things he had no knowledge of, continued to speak to Andrew as they passed Fort Wayne.)

 

The Spoon: Do you know why I’m crazy?

 

Andrew(expecting the answer): No, I can’t say I do.

 

Spoon: Because I’m the only rational person left on this planet. If there is one rational person in a populace of irrational people, of course he’ll seem like the crazy one.

 

Andrew: But if irrationality is the norm, doesn’t that make ration abnormal?

 

Spoon: Yes, but it shouldn’t be that way.

 

Andrew: Do you have a way to fix this? I’d love to hear it.

 

Spoon: Nope, but I’m sure Gary knows.

 

Andrew: Are you sure you’re on the right train?

 

Spoon: This train is taking us to Gary, right?

 

Andrew: Well yes, but...

 

Spoon: So there’s no problem.

 

Andrew: Um.

 

Spoon: See, here’s where ration is skewed by all but me. I saw Gary on the map, and like a sensible person, asked for a ticket to him. An irrational person would look him up in a phone directory. I eliminated the middleman.

 

Andrew: Middleman?

 

Spoon: Rational Economics!

 

(Spoon now lapsed into silence for the rest of the trip, because Andrew asked to be put in another compartment. Spoon was fine with this. It gave him time to think.)

 

(So he thought.)

 

(His thoughts were mainly trying to piece together the events since Warpath. He must have blacked out... or not. He remembered leaving the show. He also remembered ripping his locker room apart, and raving how he shouldn’t have lost to Tiger, even though that was the previous week. Then Hogan stormed out, saying that he’d be at the house in New York, and Spoon had better shape up, and start telling him when he was going to pull shit like that. Spoon then went outside, and got to the Greyhound Station somehow. He said that he wanted to go to the nearest big, big city, assuming it to be New York, since New York was the only big, big city that he knew of in his deluded state. Then he crashed a rental car in Chicago. He ended up at the strip club somehow. He didn’t know how.)

 

Spoon: Make me feel better! Ha!

 

(He had been handed a flyer by a man on a corner who said that if Spoon went to this place that he would feel a lot better and have all sorts of good things done to him. He found a building, and a bench. He sat on the bench, and waited for things to get better. At least now he was up to speed on what he had been doing.)

 

Spoon: I sure have done a lot of waiting today. Maybe Gary can tell me how to cut down on it. After all, humans are only 23% efficient as machines. We could up that by 20% if we didn’t sit around so much. What am I saying? I’m sitting right now! I think I’ll stand, and at least accomplish something.

 

(He stood up.)

 

Spoon: I can feel my efficiency at 30% already!

 

(The train jerked to a sudden stop, and Spoon hurtled toward the opposite side of the compartment. He cracked his face against it, and the stinging pain of his nose took his attention off the fact that his nose was bleeding prodigously. The train was abuzz with noise of frightened passengers now, but Spoon took this as noise of attack. He panicked with the idea of the idea of angry businessmen attacking him for being the only logical person left on the planet. Man had wiped out other endangered species, why not this one as well? He fought the emergency exit on the window. As he did so, he yelled at his pursuers.)

 

Spoon: Smear the Queer, the name of the game!

 

(Spoon wasn’t gay, but as the only logical person on Earth, he was rather queer indeed. He finally got the window open. His nose had dripped blood over most of his coat and shirt, but he still hadn’t noticed. He hopped out of the train, and rolled as he hit the ground. Some change left his pocket as he did all of this. He now had $314.87 left.)

 

(The train had crashed into an eighteen-wheeler. It was carrying steel piping that Andrew’s company put out, or at least used to before its stock plummeted on Friday. Andrew really was acquiring a smaller company, by shutting down its Gary plant and laying 2,500 workers off.)

 

(They would react angrily about this, but I’ll get to that later.)

 

Spoon(upon regaining his bearings): Psychos. Where am I?

 

(He noticed a sign behind him, it was tall and large. On it read...)

 

Sign: WELCOME TO INDUSTRIOUS GARY, INDIANA!

 

(The sign yelled at Spoon with its large letters and bright colors. He cowered at its foot, asking for it to stop yelling at him. He wanted to know where Gary was, since he had just put a sign here.)

 

Spoon: I suppose I should head toward the direction of the town, because Gary was always the center of attention. Even buildings are drawn to him!

 

(He began walking toward the city along the highway the destroyed truck and its dead driver had been riding on. Several people stopped and offered a ride into town. Spoon declined each one of them.)

 

Spoon: This little protein needs no transport vesicle!

 

(Spoon may have been absolutely batty at this point, but he still retained all of his knowledge from school. He was referring to the transport vesicles that took proteins around a cell, secreted by the nucleus. Patrick was a crazy bundle of proteins. Andrew was a not-so-wealthy-anymore bundle of proteins. I am a writing bundle of proteins.)

 

(The bundle of proteins named Patrick Spoon noticed many dilapidated steel plants as he got further and further into the city. Gary was the steel capital of the Midwest. These factories were built when steel was still a big deal in this country. Since then, plastics and aluminum had become cheaper. Even spoons were plastic and aluminum now. These plants had seemed like such a good idea, but then fell apart since no one knew what to do after the initial good idea. Now the city resorted to boxing as an industry, one that wasn’t very productive. Spoon knew nothing of the boxing, but steel he was familiar with. He had just cracked his nose on a wall that was supported by beams of it.)

 

(He passed a steel plant with about 2,500 angry people in front of it. Spoon thought maybe they were locked out of the factory, and wanted to get in, since it was 5 in the afternoon and they wanted their paychecks before they went home after taking a smoke break.)

 

(Told you I’d include the angry workers later.)

 

(Spoon walked up to the congregation.)

 

Spoon(to the nearest burly blue-collar man): What is going on?

 

Man(looking at Spoon’s blood-encrusted lower face and shirt): Cripes man, what happened to you is the question!

 

(Spoon didn’t want to reveal that he knew about the grand plan to exterminate him, so he played it off.)

 

Spoon: You should see the other guy!

 

(That should throw him, Spoon thought.)

 

Man: Whatever. We’ve all just been laid off. Company lost a bunch of money in the market, and shut the plant down.

 

Spoon: So what is the problem? Find another job.

 

Man: We know we won’t be able to. This town is in bad trouble. The recession is killing us all.

 

Spoon: Then just get your job back. If working at a steel plant is making you happy, then go work in it.

 

Man: What do you mean?

 

Spoon: Naturally, humans don’t want good things to end, right?

 

Man: Right...

 

Spoon: So they do what they can to keep it going. I say seize the plant and establish your own company. That way, you’ll be self-employed and do what you enjoy. Is the place still in working order?

 

Man: Of course, it stopped operations only an hour ago.

 

Spoon: And what is stopping you?

 

Man(pointing): Them.

 

(Spoon looked to where he was pointing. A line of policemen was holding the crowd back from the doors. There was about 100 of them. Spoon thought it odd that wanting a job had become illegal now.)

 

Spoon: You outnumber them 25 to 1. They aren’t even armed.

 

Man: They have clubs!

 

Spoon: If clubs stopped men from doing things, we wouldn’t have a very advanced civilization today.

 

(Gia, a traveling bundle of proteins, waited to board her connecting flight in Chicago to Kansas City. The flight from Indianapolis had been short. She paid little attention to a news broadcast reporting on a steel plant being overtaken by disgruntled former employees as she sat outside the gate. With little else to do, she watched it anyway.)

 

(It was a scene from the air of a group of people surging into the doors of a factory. A reporter, male, spoke while this scene played.)

 

Reporter: Never in my life have I seen this, such a show of force by workers. We have a man down at the scene now, can you hear me, Bill?

 

(It now switched to Bill, a man in a business suit, with a microphone. A burning steel garbage can was not too far behind him. Also, an unconscious police officer was lying on the ground, blood trailing from his temple.)

 

Bill(frantically looking around): Yes I can, I’m going to try and look for someone to talk to... Oh!

 

(he sighted and pulled over a man to talk to. It was the same man Spoon had been talking to. He had a cut above his eye from a scuffle with a police officer, not the one lying in the background though. He was short of breath, but happy as a lark.)

 

Bill: Sir, could you tell me what in the world is going on here?

 

Man: Why, the best undertaking in labor history! We’re going to establish a steel mill right here, employed by former employees of Carnegie IV Inc. and using a Carnegie IV factory, whether they like it or not!

 

Bill: You’re serious?

 

Man: Of course! We love being paid, and we love working here, so we’ll employ ourselves!

 

Bill: Could you point me in the direction of the ringleader?

 

Man: Oh, he’s the best! He’s right.... um... he was right here...

 

(The camera pans around to look for someone who looks leader-ish. Leaving the light of the fires and noise of revolt is a person with a khaki trench coat walking off. Over the din of the revolution you hear...)

 

Spoon: Eugene V. Debs!

 

(The announcement was made to board the plane, and Gia stopped paying attention to the news. She boarded the plane for Kansas City, forgetting about the news almost immediately, not realizing that that khaki blob in the distance was going to be meeting her soon.)

 

(Spoon finally reached downtown Gary.)

 

(The plane took off.)

 

***

 

(Gia thought about what she had seen during the flight to Kansas City. It was pretty odd. Only one of two kinds of people could make such a thing happen as workers employ themselves by taking a shut-down factory over and establishing their own business. Either an incredibly good public speaker, or out of their minds and a grand motivator as a result. Considering that the person disappeared, it was probably the latter.)

 

(Spoon was close to seeing Gary finally. He had managed to dispose of 2,500 assassins and countless other assassins who showed up to see what the first group was making so much noise about. Spoon knew that although he had managed to get rid of this sizeable amount of killers, over 6,000,000,000 were still out there, and he had little chance of stopping them all. Gary would know the answer though. Gary had always been there for Spoon when Spoon needed him.)

 

Spoon: My confession booth.

 

(Spoon also talked to Gary. Gary always listened to Spoon’s problems with no complaints, and always had something to offer in the way of a solution.)

 

(Spoon thought Gary was a great guy.)

 

(Spoon walked through Gary, Indiana that evening. The place was a disaster, horribly disorganized, and wondering why it just didn’t give up existing, since it was destined to lose the game of civilization. It had tried to be a great steel town, but failed. It tried to be a great boxing town, but only had mediocre success at this. It was rumored that this steel town was going to try its hand at wrestling, but it had neither the funds nor good enough workers.)

 

Spoon: Gary sure talks to a lot of people.

 

(This was true. Gary either was, or had, spoken to everyone in town. Everyone was always talking about what Gary had said last night, or the day before, or that afternoon. They said how Gary made them laugh, helped them build their backyard shed, just made them happy in general. No one knew what they’d do without Gary.)

 

(Everyone else thought Gary was a great guy too.)

 

(Gia knew Gary too. He had told her about how wonderful a vacation spot Nassau was. She was going to go there soon after she visited her family in Kansas City.)

 

(Meanwhile, Spoon staggered about the main street of Gary, Indiana. People thought he was drunk, he was really just overwhelmed by the tremendous input of light and noise that accompanied the main street of downtown. He was also operating on two hours of sleep that he had gotten not last night, but the night before, on the bus apparently. Spoon found a nice place to sleep on the sidewalk and took it before anyone else did. He leaned up against a bakery and pulled his coat over his head, zipping it up also, so no one would see it was him sleeping there. He knew that sleeping made him ripe to pick off. He fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. No one bothered him sleeping there, assuming him to be another homeless person. There were a lot more of those around here lately.)

 

(No one bothered Spoon, but they may as well have, for his turbulent dreams didn’t allow him to get very good rest. He had terrible visions of a factory eating him alive, Gary laughing at him for a change, the State of Missouri declaring war on him whenever he entered the State to get to his match, and he was assassinated five times. He woke with a start, not because he was killed five times, but because Gary laughed at him.)

 

(He woke up at 3 am or so. A town curfew had everyone in their houses, snug and getting ready for another day of attempting to live in a rotting steel town. Spoon realized, much to his relief, that he was still alive, nor was he even wounded.)

 

Spoon: I’m death-proof!

 

(Gia was sleeping too, at her parents’ house in Kansas City, Missouri. Her parents were all abuzz about her being a Senior at Indiana University. Her travels made her weary, and so did answering all of the questions. They watched more coverage of the situation unfolding in Gary, Indiana before turning in for the night. They were nice and snug also.)

 

(Spoon sat there on the sidewalk in front of the bakery. He pondered why everyone was trying to kill him. Of course no one was trying to kill him, but he thought being a rational person made him a marked man. He needed to escape as long as possible, maybe even have offspring, with the hope he could make the Rational breed of human an actual population again.)

 

(It was them who were the crazy ones.)

 

(Spoon told himself, four times over, that he was the logical one.)

 

(Gary would make it all better.)

 

Spoon(staring at the empty asphalt in front of his feet): Gary, I sure hope you can explain what’s made the world so topsy-turvy. I’ve always been like this, why do they have a problem with it now? It’s like I’m a bad metaphor or something.

 

(Spoon thought for a moment, and then made what I consider a very true statement.)

 

Spoon: Authors and Artists made metaphors because they were too big of pussies to say whatever they wanted to outright. To disguise it, they encoded it in a way that on purpose so they could look like really sharp people when they explained it.

 

(He put two small gravel pebbles next to each other in a crease on the sidewalk.)

 

Spoon(making waving motions over them): The crease is the straight line of life that we are destined to follow, and the pebbles are people who can’t get out of the rut!

 

(He then grabbed a pinkish pebble, and put it on the outside of the crease.)

 

Spoon: Voila! The gray ones are boring, upstanding people! The colorful one is on his own! He can do whatever he wants to! Nothing to hold him back!

 

(His enthusiasm quickly faded.)

 

Spoon: He has nothing to protect him either. He must stay in the bounds of social standards to stay alive though.

 

(He put the colored pebble in the crease with the other two. All alone on the street, he made this observation:)

 

Spoon: Observe! Paul Gauguin, one of the greatese artists of all time, goes back to his old job as being of being a stockbroker!

 

(His voice reverberated off the walls of the empty buildings, and this startled him.)

 

Spoon: I’m all alone here! No one to protect me!

 

(He jumped to his feet in a panic. He began hyperventilating as shadows contorted themselves to create nightmarish creatures to attack him as soon as he left his guard down. His mind began manufacturing noises to go along with these shapes. They were haunting noises, terrible, ghastly. Spoon had to get away from here. A car drove by, and Spoon threw himself on the ground with his hands protecting his head. He screamed for mercy to the car, which was gone by the time he began doing this. He looked up to see if the land demon had relented. It was gone. Spoon had been spared.)

 

(The driver consequently, was the man Spoon had incited the revolt by talking to. He was out looking for Spoon to bring him to be the head of the plant. He figured the man curled into a ball on the side of the road was some poor starved homeless sociopath who was beyond help. He sighed and drove past the ball of flesh, turning up the radio as he did. This drowned out Spoon’s cries for mercy.)

 

(Spoon stood up and cleaned himself off. He was very hungry. He had eaten nothing since before he met the man with the leaflet on the street corner of Chicago. He had eaten a steak, a baked potato, corn, and liberated a snip of parsley from its life of making other food look good by eating the parsley too, making it an equal of other foods finally.)

 

(Across the street, from Spoon, was Gary Charles.)

 

(Spoon’s mouth fell half-open. His 73 hour trek from Warpath had ended. He slowly walked across the street to Gary.)

 

Spoon(whispering): It’s you.. it’s really you...

 

(Gary said nothing.)

 

Spoon(not whispering anymore, but still hushed): You’ve given the answers to anyone who has come in contact with you, including me. You are, and always will be, my best friend.

 

(Gary said nothing.)

 

Spoon(now standing in front of Gary, in a normal tone, but still awed): What you have done for the people of this bleak town is amazing, almost unbelievable. I wouldn’t believe it myself if you hadn’t helped me so much in my life. You were always there for me, and I need you again.

 

(Gary said nothing.)

 

Spoon: You listened to me. You always had a solution. You made my skies blue when they were gray, you made my bleak days bright, you told me of faraway lands and cultures, things that are long gone and those that have yet to be.

 

(Gary said nothing.)

 

Spoon: I need you to tell me what to do now. I’ve lost it Gary, and I need help, bad. I know there’s something wrong with me, everyone wants to kill me! Can you tell me if I am a wanted man?

 

(Gary said nothing. Spoon offered an explanation before Gary could.)

 

Spoon(shouting): Bounty Hunters!

 

(Gary didn‘t comment on Spoon‘s explanation.)

 

Spoon: What’s wrong, Gary? Why won’t you answer me?

 

(Gary didn’t answer.)

 

Spoon(weaker and weaker, tears in his eyes forming): Have you turned against me also, Gary? Please... talk to me. I need you to talk to me.

 

(Gary didn’t talk.)

 

Spoon(becoming inconsolable at this point): You were ALWAYS THERE FOR ME! WHY NOT NOW???

 

(His yells woke some people up nearby. They attributed the noise to a domestic dispute and went back to sleep.)

 

(Spoon continued to berate Gary.)

 

Spoon(enraged): YOU BASTARD! WHY WON’T YOU HELP ME??? YOU’RE WITH THEM TOO!!

 

(Gary remained still through all of this.)

 

Spoon(now beyond anger): Look at YOU! Mr. WONDERFUL! You think you’re so GREAT? HUH? I’ll SHOW you how GREAT you ARE!

 

(Spoon picked up a public wastebasket nearby and held it in a throwing position.)

 

Spoon: I’ll SMASH YOUR ASS! TALK TO ME!!!!!!!

 

(Gary didn’t say a word.)

 

Spoon: TELL ME THE ANSWER!!!!!!!

 

(As he said this, he threw the garbage can at Gary. Gary Charles, Spoon‘s best friend‘s, death was quick and painful.)

 

(In Kansas City, Gia was unaware of any of this drama going on 650 miles away.)

 

(Spoon walked away from the broken Radio Shack window, to look for answers somewhere else.)

 

(He ignored the sparks popping out of the mortally wounded television.)

 

***

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

(Spoon was washing his hands furiously at a gas station near the train tracks of Gary, Indiana at 11:00 am the next day. He wished he could get rid of these hands completely, these hands calloused by hours after hours of getting answers from Gary Charles for year after year. Spoon’s fingerprints were barely discernable after all those seasons of pushing Gary’s answer buttons. Gary could be loud or soft. Gary could sometimes just communicate with placards of text only he would hold up if he didn’t feel like talking. Gary was 27 inches.)

 

(Gia was up and about, and visiting other family in Kansas City. She still had fingerprints despite spending time with Gary herself.)

 

(Gary Charles will not be mentioned much anymore.)

 

(Spoon left the gas station bathroom and was almost hit by a large truck as he went outside. Spoon was glad he still had his hands now, because they grabbed onto a concrete column and pulled him away from the danger. He stayed there, clutching the column and staring at the driver as he came up and attempted to apologize. Spoon had wrapped himself completely around the column by the time the driver got to him. It was amazing that the driver could run to Spoon as he did, for he was a terribly old man, probably in his 80s.)

 

Driver(running up): Sir, I’m so sorry!

 

Spoon(quietly): It is fine. I am prone. Strike me again. End this.

 

Driver: Are you all right, son?

 

(Spoon wondered again why everyone called him son. Only Uncle Michael could make that claim in truth, although Mr. Spoon did it a lot himself.)

 

Spoon: I’m more than fine. I am defeated. Take me away!

 

Driver(trying to gain control of the situation): It really was an accident, I shouldn’t have been going so fast. I was just heading out of town for a family reunion in Kansas City. I’m hopelessly behind schedule.

 

Spoon: I’ve been behind schedule for 23 years.

 

(This was true, Spoon was born a full two weeks after he was supposed to have been. His mother was misled at not having a Thanksgiving baby.)

 

Driver: Are you going to press charges?

 

Spoon: Why would I? The courts are on your side, the police are on your side, that guy staring at us is on your side, the whole damn human race is. I’d lose in the end.

 

Driver: So... you aren’t going to sue me?

 

Spoon: I could sue you for trying to have one last meaningful act before you died, that would be doing what people have failed to do for 23 years and counting. But the elderly must have some meaning to their lives, so I will not sue you for this, the only charge I could bring you up on.

 

Driver: Um. Are you going to let go of that post?

 

Spoon: Not until I think of how to get to where I’m going. I have an appointment for a wrestling match, and I never miss an appointment, nor am I ever late.

 

Driver: Ah, so where is it?

 

Spoon: Well, I know the words Kansas and City are in the name of the place. I can’t remember the order of the words. Sorry, the last few days have been a blur to me.

 

Driver: Um... Kansas City, Missouri?

 

Spoon: Yes, that’s the place.

 

Driver: I’m going there, I could take you.

 

Spoon: Do you promise not to kill me before we get there?

 

Driver: I can’t control the actions of other drivers, but...

 

Spoon: Aha! The alibi comes out! Leave me be, old man. Go to your reunion. I’ll get there some way myself!

 

(The old man gave Spoon the Italian “fuck you” and left the scene. He knew he had nothing to fear from this psychopath. He got back in his truck, turned up a particularly nice Glenn Miller piece on the radio, and drove away.)

 

(Spoon knew the old man had nothing to fear. The world’s lawyers wanted to kill Spoon too, so there was no way he could defend himself. They would switch sides for a moment to defend Spoon, but then go back to being an assassin.)

 

Spoon: Alcibiades!

 

(Alcibiades was a Greek who switched sides three times during the Peloponnesian War.)

 

(Spoon sat there, wrapped around the post, and thought of ways to get to Kansas City. A train slowly lurched past the gas station. It was leaving the Gary, Indiana station. Spoon saw a slightly open car near the end of the train. He shot off toward it, knocking over a large part of the crowd that had assembled to watch the crazy man wrapped around the post. He hopped onto the slow-moving car, but couldn’t get himself all the way on before a train policeman tried to deny him a free ride. The policeman kept pace with the train, and Spoon was holding on only by a handle on the car door. The policeman had his ankle. Spoon used his other foot to kick the policeman in the face. He let go of Spoon’s foot and fell down to the gravel adjoining the railroad track clutching his face. The train accelerated further, and the policeman was left behind. Spoon closed the door, and made a bed out of sacks of flour the car was carrying.)

 

(He slept, a sleep that was much needed. This sleep was so deep, be barely dreamed anything. What there was in the way of dreams was limited to surprisingly normal content. Spoon had sex with some celebrities, and then fell off a building but discovered that he could fly, and woke up in the middle of a dream about him owning a cat.)

 

Spoon(relieved to see himself in the car still): Ah, things are going well for me this day. I cheated death again, found a way to Kansas City, got some sleep. It’s all good.

 

(Meanwhile, the driver Spoon had almost been hit by named Joe, was thinking about seeing the whole family together again for the first time in 20 years.)

 

(Gia thought about seeing her Grandpa Joe again. It had been so long, almost 10 years, since she had seen him.)

 

Spoon: Things are finally falling into place. Even my thoughts are starting to clear up!

 

(He was right in one aspect, very, very wrong in another. To Spoon, a good rest was all he needed to make the choppy seas of his mind smooth out. In fact, the sleep had allowed his mind to become a maelstrom of random thoughts now almost. His objectives were still the same: Get to Kansas City, Find the Answer, Avoid the Masses of Killers, and so on.)

 

(And so on.)

 

(The train stopped in Metropolis, Illinois, to drop its supplies. Spoon saw the stop as a signal to get off the train, because it was in Kansas City. Had he continued on the train, he would have been in Miami. Luckily Spoon had picked a good place to get off the train. It was a peaceful place, no unrest, prosperous, no despair, and to top it all off...)

 

(The World’s Greatest Crime Fighter lived there.)

 

(Gia had read a work involving The World’s Greatest Crime Fighter once. It was boring. Gia had little taste for comic books.)

 

(Spoon had no idea of the nature of The World’s Greatest Crime Fighter.)

 

Spoon(standing at the city limit): Yes, with my head on straight again, and The World’s Greatest Crime Fighter to protect me from assassins, I can find the answer finally!

 

(He walked into town, but not before stopping at a small restaurant for some much-needed food. He ate like a madman, because he was one. He ate a 20 ounce Porterhouse steak, three baked potatoes, drank six glasses of iced tea, and had three slices of cheesecake. All the while that he ate, he thought about what the Answer could be.)

 

(It was painfully obvious, if he’d listened to something other than the buzz of dementia.)

 

***

 

(A jukebox was playing behind Spoon. It had the answer, but he didn’t hear it. A buzz of thoughts was keeping his brain busy, with little time to listen to whatever the jukebox was playing.)

 

Jukebox(with a slow, swelling tone all the while): We’re playing those Mind Games together.

Pushing the barrier.

Plant and seed.

Playing the Mind Games forever.

Chanting the Mantra:

“Peace on Earth.”

We’ll all be playing those Mind Games forever.

 

Some kind of Druid dude

Lifting the veil

Doing the Mind Games forever.

Some call it Magic

To search for the Grail.

 

Love is the answer

And you know that for sure.

Love is the flower.

You gotta let it

You gotta let it grow.

 

So keep on playing those Mind Games together.

Faith in the future

Not in the now.

You just can’t beat all those Mind Games gorilla.

Absolutely elsewhere

In the stones of your mind.

Yeah we’re playing those Mind Games forever.

Projecting out images

In Space and in Time.

 

Yes is the answer.

And you know that for sure.

Yes is surrender.

You gotta let it

You gotta let it go.

 

So keep on playing those Mind Games together.

Doing the ritual

Dance in the Sun.

Millions of Mind Games gorilla

Go and gone so far

In the Comic Wheel.

Playing those Mind Games forever.

Raising the Spirit

Of Peace and Love.

 

Love.

 

Want you to make love, not war...

 

(The song faded out at this point. It was “Mind Games” by John Lennon. Spoon left soon after it ended, paying for his food, and taking a fistful of toothpicks. The toothpicks were free of charge. The meal was $35.98. He now had $278.89 left.)

 

(Spoon walked onto the streets of Metropolis with a full stomach and a chest swelling with the feeling of security the town gave him. He was in Kansas City now, he thought, and thus safe from being killed since he had reached where he was supposed to go. He just had to worry about staying alive after the match now. The place was small, a population that was pushing 3,000 with a generous estimate. It was limited to a main street with shops and small eateries lining it on each side. The place didn’t have a supermarket, rather an apothecary.)

 

(Kansas City was about one hundred times as large, population wise.)

 

(Spoon spent the night at a small motel in Metropolis. One night of rest cost him $95.21. He now had $193.68 left. He left the place after killing Gary Charles again, who was waiting for him in his room. He thought he was doing the motel a service by killing such an unfeeling bastard. He remarked upon the killing...)

 

Spoon(in the motel room, holding a smashed cathode ray tube): That’s my Public Service Announcement for today!

 

(He wandered around the town, and asked what people thought about the big match that was going to be held there on Sunday. No one knew of any matches, but they knew of the cockfights that went on behind the apothecary that night. Such things were illegal, but Spoon didn’t think it could be, because what kind of World’s Greatest Crime Fighter would allow his town to have anything illegal? Spoon resolved to see these for himself. He had never seen a cock fight before.)

 

(Neither had Gia. Neither had Grandpa Joe. Neither have I.)

 

(Andrew had seen one once on vacation in Kuala Lumpur back in 1975.)

 

(That night, behind the apothecary, Spoon gathered along with about two hundred others to see the spectacle of cock fighting. Spoon couldn’t wait for it to go down, since the town was so abuzz about it. The town had little else to be abuzz about. Not many people talked to Gary Charles there. Everyone went to their little jobs, did their part in their little town, lived their little lives, like organelles in a little cell.)

 

(This wasn’t to say they were without vices. Outside of town were grown fields of plants that were made in to all sorts of amphetamines. Spoon’s father got 25% of his supplies from Metropolis. Most of the males over 35 were drunkards. And the town loved to gamble. Thursday Night was Must See TV for some, but for the people of Metropolis, it was must see blood-y. The town’s economy never grew, because all the capital of the town was neither imported nor exported in any way. It was all exchanged within the citizenry of the town.)

 

(It was time for the fights to begin, and Spoon surveyed a list of cocks he could bet on. They all had predictable names. Slayer. Killer. Superman(after the World’s Greatest Crime Fighter). Superrooster(after the World’s Greatest Crime Fighter’s chicken). Spoon saw one that was rather intriguing.)

 

(He bet on El Kon.)

 

(Considering how things would turn out, his sentimental pick would have been the only non-cock cock fighter. Its name was Gaia. She was a surprisingly tough chicken, considering that chickens have few, if any, offensive weapons at their disposal. Her way of fighting was simple: Her handler pumped her full of amphetamines before every fight. She was a pretty big winner, and Spoon’s father got a cut of the winnings.)

 

(The only part of that Spoon would have known or cared about in three days was how close her name was to Gia.)

(Spoon bet $1.00 on El Kon. Odds were 100-1 against El Kon. Spoon said of the imminent barnyard scuffles...)

 

Spoon: When Phallic Organs Collide! Live, from Metropolis!

 

(The other gambling fiends ignored this, as the first match in the seven-cock and one-chicken tournament. Spoon’s choice, El Kon, advanced. As did Gaia, Superrooster, and Killer. Spoon made $100 off of El Kon winning.

 

($293.58.)

 

(He barely won though, and the odds for his fight with Superrooster were 1000-1 in Superrooster’s favor. Spoon wondered why Superrooster was favored so much, and a drunken muralist told him why, as well as what to look for in a cock.)

 

(This muralist was also a reason that the town never grew much. Instead of putting tax dollars into building projects or education, they paid the muralist obscene amounts of money to paint murals of The World’s Greatest Crime Fighter all over town. These often supplanted advertisements, and hurt the economy of the town more when no one knew when any sales were. They weren’t smart enough to just try and figure it out for themselves, because almost all education money went to the muralist, who had been painting for 50 years now. He was 75 now.)

 

(He was an alcoholic, like most of the over-35 set in Metropolis. He wouldn’t be attending the reunion in Kansas City that weekend.)

 

(Now that I think about it, Gia had a pretty big family.)

 

Muralist(pointing at Superrooster): See that fella there? He’d probably have some bland name like Herbert or Adelai if I hadn’t painted that mural behind us.

 

(He pointed to the back wall of the apothecary, where one of his murals, this one portraying Superrooster, the embodiment of Metropolis’s secret leisure activity. Superrooster was shown as the animal equivalent of The World’s Greatest Crime Fighter. Superrooster protected animals.)

 

(Superrooster couldn’t protect Spoon then.)

 

(Consequently, Superrooster became more of an icon than The World’s Greatest Crime Fighter, and instead of “Up Up, and Away!” the populace now clucked and bobbed their heads forward.)

 

(Some superhero!)

 

Muralist(leaning on Spoon for balance and slurring his words heavily now): Yaknowwhat?

 

(Spoon didn’t knowwhat.)

 

Muralist: They almost spent that money on a huge pothole on the east side of town that kept sending cars sailing into the forest when they lost control, or hit approaching cars while trying to go around it! That hole was no bigger than a thimble! They all screamed bloody murder, and wanted my head for being the person who got the money to fix the pothole that someone could stand in supposedly. So what did I do? I gave them a new icon for their town! I’m scheduled to begin work on changing the welcome signs of the town, and putting Superrooster in the place of that other guy, who everyone seems to have forgotten about. To think, they almost spent the money on some new textbooks for Metropolis Grammar School!

 

(Spoon could relate to the story. He had stood in the pothole on his way into town. He had wondered why no one had fixed it yet. He considered balling his trench coat up and putting it into the hole to fill it. A stiff harbinger of cold weather hit him as soon as he took his coat off though, and he thought better of his way to help Metropolis out.)

 

Spoon(yelling): Who needs knowledge when you have something pretty to look at?

 

(This embodied how Spoon and I, to a certain extent, felt about artists. Sure they were great, but who said so? And who said their stuff was worth so much?)

 

(I say felt, in the past tense, because Gia happened to be an artist. She painted what was called Op Art. Op was short for Optical. This style used all sorts of optical illusions to amuse the viewer. Either that or make his head hurt. She was a big fan of Escher’s work.)

 

(So was Spoon.)

 

(So am I.)

 

(The next round began. Gaia beat Killer, and Superrooster lost to El Kon. Spoon made $1,000 this time. $1,293.58. The muralist had bet 50% of the town’s garbage budget for that month on Superrooster. He shrugged it off and went out for a night of even more drinking, paying for it all with Fire Department funds.)

 

(Odds against El Kon were 10,000-1 now, because Gaia had just been fed with some more amphetamines by her handler. Everyone bet on Gaia. Spoon kept his bets on El Kon, but this time bet all his money on El Kon. The handler for El Kon was thankful to Spoon for having so much confidence in the resourceful little cock, but bet on Gaia himself. He then said he had to go take care of El Kon’s wounds before the next match. Spoon said okay, and resumed what he had been doing all night between fights. That was staring at Superrooster. It was sad that this, this bird, had been taken as an icon of power. Spoon could understand eagles, falcons, ravens, but chickens for superheroes didn’t work. Superrooster did seem lifelike, even if he was 15 feet tall. The muralist had done a good job.)

 

(The fight between El Kon and Gaia began. El Kon was actually holding his own against the manic, frantic Gaia, but about five minutes into the bloody struggle, El Kon wobbled and fell down, almost unconscious. He was asleep, very, very asleep. Gaia won, in what is still called the oddest cockfight ever in Metropolis, by way of the opponent falling asleep. It had never happened before, and hasn’t since.)

 

(El Kon was aptly named. He really was the best cock there, but his handler always did something to him to assure defeat for the cock and a good night’s pay from the coffers of the latest poor sap to walk into town and bet on El Kon.)

 

(Spoon now had $0.00.)

 

(Gia had $24.86 on her at that moment.)

 

(I have $20.47 myself. Please don’t rob me.)

 

(Spoon slept in a field of drugs that night. He thought it was corn, and would provide a good meal whenever he woke up, since he couldn’t afford anything now.)

 

(The muralist would inadvertently burn down several shops on Main Street while Spoon slept. The muralist, as well as several others who had bet on Superrooster, decided it was a neat trick to light a sales poster on one of the shops on fire. Then they thought it was an even better idea to throw a bottle of Everclear into the flame. The fire truck would have traveled right past the field where Spoon slept, but it never did. The Fire Department couldn’t pay for gas.)

 

(The Muralist wondered sometimes why Gia’s family had disowned him.)

 

(Spoon spoke to himself as he dozed off in the field. The last thing he said before succumbing to slumber was this...)

 

Spoon(trailing off): Paintbrushes, butter, or guns?

 

***

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

(Spoon had dreams of being a writer one day. He would write works by putting a word in a specific place and then leave directions as to where the next word was to be found. For instance, his Magnum Opus would have it’s first word, “The,” on the west face of the Washington Monument, and then the reader would have to travel to Gill’s Mom & Pop Store in Keota, Iowa. That word was “day.” The next was on the right mirror in a east Singapore men’s washroom. Spoon figured this would not only make him famous, but help the travel industry out as well. The only problem was that his book was 27 chapters long, each chapter being at least 30 pages. No one lived to read the whole thing. Those interviewed before they died said “It was a good read, I thought. The first paragraph? Superb!”)

 

(Spoon then dreamt that he was being held above a pit of angry roosters, each armed to the teeth, in a cage while a man poked him with a stick to keep him hopping and the roosters excited. This was terrifying enough to wake Spoon up.)

 

(He was being poked by a migrant worker with the staff of a hoe. It was October after all, and time to harvest the field of uppers, downers, sidewayers, and diagoners. Spoon got up, and was caked in soil from rolling about as he slept. He also had a slight buzz from just breathing the tainted air the plants were putting out.)

 

Migrant Worker: (speaks incomprehensible to Spoon and I Spanish. Sounds angry though.)

 

Spoon(terrified at the hailstorm of Spanish hurled at him): Ack! Babel collapsed again!

 

(This confused the worker, and Spoon used this moment to run away, through the field toward the road leading into Metropolis.)

 

(Gia wasn’t woken up by a migrant worker brandishing a hoe. She was woken up by her Grandpa Joe, who had arrived in Kansas City as she slept. At breakfast, they asked Grandpa Joe if anything interesting happened on his trip. He said that he almost hit a guy with his truck at a Gary, Indiana gas station, but little else of note happened. There was nothing to worry about, since he’d never see that nut again.)

 

(Hindsight is always 20/20.)

 

(Spoon got closer and closer to his hope for escape, the road into Metropolis, as the migrant worker closed in, swinging the hoe, destroying Mr. Spoon’s profits. Spoon saw the road, and burst out of the field with glee.)

 

Spoon(in operatic voice): Boooooooorrrrrrrnnnnn Free!!!

 

(Superstar Billy Hogan hadn’t gone back to the mansion in New York. He instead had decided to use his few days off to visit family in Detroit, Michigan. He flew there after Warpath and then, not wanting to be bothered by the now strict security at airports, decided he’d drive to Kansas City and presumably meet with Spoon there. He hadn’t spoken to Spoon since the night that Spoon decided to lose a match for himself by not only coming into the match late, but attacking his partner for reasons still unknown. He hadn’t seen Spoon on television either.)

 

(Hogan didn’t need television to see Spoon. Hogan almost hit him with his car outside of Metropolis. For some reason Spoon was covered in soil and running away from an angry Mexican. Spoon also had his arms spread skyward and was singing as he exited the field. Hogan barely avoided hitting him. He pulled over to the side of the road, and ran after Spoon, who was now fleeing from the car, another assassin. Hogan caught up with Spoon and tackled him after a brief chase. Hogan held Spoon down and placated the migrant worker with a $20 bill. Hogan told him to go buy a new house in his home country.)

 

Hogan(now helping Spoon to his feet): Where the hell have you been? What happened to your clothes? Why was the Mexican pissed?

 

Spoon: Too many questions! One at a time!

 

Hogan(shaking Spoon by the shoulders): Where have you been?

 

Spoon: Here.

 

Hogan: Where is “here?”

 

Spoon: Well, you’re here, why don’t you tell me?

 

Hogan: Dammit son, don’t you realize that you have a huge match this Sunday? You haven’t trained a lick at all, have you?

 

(Spoon was becoming annoyed at being called “son” constantly.)

 

Spoon: Not that I know of.

 

Hogan: Boy, I’m out a lot of money if you lose! So are you! Think of this in a rational way!

 

Spoon: No.

 

Hogan: What?

 

Spoon: I’m not going to think of this in a rational way.

 

Hogan: Why not????

 

Spoon: Because rational people are targets of killers.

 

Hogan: Are you all right?

 

Spoon: Being the only rational person left on this planet, everyone’s tried to kill me off, so there are no rational people left to show them how silly their ways are.

 

Hogan: I think I’m going to ask if you can be taken out of the match...

 

Spoon: No.

 

Hogan: You’re in no condition to compete, you’re mad!

 

Spoon: I’ve never felt better. Now, if you don’t mind, I am going to Kansas City. The world has decided to suspend their death warrant on me until then.

 

Hogan: Death warrant?

 

Spoon: Yes, I’m sure oodles of fantastic prizes are the spoils of whoever kills me and eradicates logic once and for all.

 

(He tried to walk toward Hogan’s car. Hogan would not allow it.)

 

Spoon: Let me past you, I must keep my appointment. Kansas City has the answer. Besides, I have an appointment at the pay-per-view to keep.

 

(He tried to pass Hogan again. Hogan did not allow it again.)

 

Hogan(holding his arms out, blocking Spoon‘s passing): Listen son, you’ll be making a huge mistake if you go there!

 

(Spoon was now tired of being called “son.”)

 

(In that flash, he knew that Hogan had little more than his own best interests in mind. Now Spoon thought of the treatment that had attempted to change Spoon so very long ago. It was soon after he entered the GWF. It had made Spoon a very mean person. Hogan had put Spoon into a room and berated him for hours on end about how bad Spoon was at everything he did, how Hogan was, on a bad day, better than Spoon anytime. He then told Spoon malicious lies that no one cared about him, not even Gary Charles. He said that if Spoon ever slipped up and let his real self show, Hogan would kill him, rather than suffer the embarassment. Spoon thus acted irrationally for a long time, as he had tried to do for so many years before. He started this by saving bits of paper, which made no sense to him, but appeased his parents. They said he was investing in his future by saving today. This paper bought things, which made even less sense.)

 

(Irrationality equaled normalcy, and it was a bad thing to be abnormal. Abnormal people were killed or locked away.)

 

(Spoon had been acting irrationally ever since he was told that he shouldn’t rationally. No one ever told him that in those words, but everything that he did made so much sense and was so logical, he knew it had to be right. No one else thought so. He was beaten up at school for telling a boy that the rain was going to kill them all. Spoon knew about Acid Rain then, the only six year old of his class that did. He was always abused by people every time that he told them the truth, Spoon decided to stop telling the truth, a terribly irrational thing to do. It kept people happy though.)

 

(Spoon wanted to become a wrestler when he got out of college. The abuse of the ring made Spoon direct his mental efforts into wrestling more than acting irrationally to keep everyone happy. This made Hogan take Spoon into that small basement for the yelling session. A concussion in a match with Jimmy McPherson had erased all this programming by Hogan, and Spoon’s rationality came out. He began acting more and more what people called “crazy.” He didn’t think it was so bad, other than everyone wanting to kill him. Now Hogan wanted him to go back to being irrational yet again.)

 

(Spoon was not going to stand for this any longer. He would not be forced back into his old self.)

 

Spoon(bellowing): I’M NOT YOUR FUCKING SON!!!

 

(He then proceeded to sock Hogan in the face with his fist, which was the hand that had his class ring on it. It left a bloody divot in Hogan’s face, and busted several of his teeth out. Hogan staggered back, but lunged at Spoon. Spoon cupped his hands, and then slapped the sides of Hogan’s head, creating incredibly powerful vacuums and heavily damaging both of Hogan’s eardrums. He would hear from them again, but only after a month in the hospital. He now collapsed in pain, and then shock when he couldn’t hear his own cries of agony. Spoon kicked him in the ribs twice, and kneeled down to speak to him. Spoon remembered that Hogan couldn’t talk, so he pulled out a notepad and pen he had been given in his room at the motel on Thursday. Hogan watched him write something, then hold it up to show him what it was...)

 

Notepad: YOU CAN’T STOP LOGIC.

 

PS: DON’T BET ON EL KON THIS THURSDAY.

 

(Spoon drove away from the scene, leaving the notepad and pen with Hogan. He headed West, where Kansas City presumably was.)

 

(Hogan writhed in pain on the ground. The ring in his ears was driving him mad.)

 

***

 

(Gill’s Mom and Pop Clothing Store in Keota, Iowa was having a mundane day, but no one complained. No one complained much in this small wholesome town. They were, in all senses of the words, good God-fearing people. No one drank to excess, no one cheated, no one stole, no lies. The Police Chief had a dream job. The kids all brought apples for teacher, the older kids brought attentiveness and a will to learn, a rare commodity those days. This quiet town was interrupted by a visitor.)

 

(Spoon ranted and raved about the state of the world as he pushed the empty-tanked rental car of Hogan’s rental car to Keota’s only gas station, the only Full-Service station left in the whole State. He had money for a fillup, because Hogan had been nice enough to leave his wallet in the car. Spoon now had $135.67. He pushed the car over the bell line, and a spry 17 year old boy came out to serve the fifth customer of the day, even if it was 1 in the afternoon.)

 

Attendant: Howdy, sir! Jeepers, why’re you pushing your car?

 

Spoon: Because the old man I beat up to take it didn’t have a full enough tank to get me to Kansas City.

 

Attendant: Golly, Kansas City is south of here, did someone give you bad directions?

 

Spoon: I may have given myself bad directions, yes.

 

Attendant: Well, after I fill ‘er up and wash your windshield and check your air pressure in your tires, I’ll give you directions too!

 

Spoon(loudly): Samaritan! A good one too!

 

(He said this with a finger pointing in the air and a fist on his hip. He walked into the general store that accompanied this gas station, where some older gentlemen were shooting the breeze at the counter with the owner of the store while a pair of them played a game of checkers. Spoon pretended to browse the magazines while he listened in on what they were talking about.)

 

Man #1: So Ed, what’s the plan for tonight?

 

Ed: Well, after I close the place up, I’m going home, having a nice dinner, reading the evening paper, and try and get some sleep. What about you, Elmer?

 

Elmer(formerly Man #1): Yeah, sleep is hard these days. I’ll be doing the same thing too probably.

 

Ed: Ever since those Gantries moved in, this town’s been a lot different.

 

(This piqued Spoon’s interest, and mine too. I thought I had created this town with no problems. Seems one manufactured itself.)

 

Elmer: That kid they have, with the blue hair? Terrible!

 

Ed: And the daughter dresses scandalously! She’s only 17!

 

Elmer: Does the father even have a job?

 

Ed: Nope, his wife works one of them Internet companies out of their house.

 

Elmer: That ain’t right! The man is supposed to earn the keep of the house!

 

(At this point, Spoon interjected himself.)

 

Spoon: If you don’t mind me asking, why is the man supposed to earn the keep of the house?

 

Ed: Because the wife’s gotta cook and clean!

 

Spoon: Who said the man can’t do it?

 

Elmer: Because he isn’t supposed to!

 

Spoon: Who said he isn’t supposed to?

 

Ed: Umm..... it’s just that way!

 

Elmer: I knew he was trouble when he came in here, these outsiders think they’re so much better than us because we live a life of virtue!

 

Spoon: Virtue? You’re living in the 1800s still!

 

Ed: How dare you! We’re plenty modern! We just got a stoplight two years ago!

 

Spoon: You’re serious??

 

Elmer: When Harry died, someone had to take over, and it was cheaper to have the stoplight than hire someone.

 

Ed: Boy, Abner was disappointed, but we got him a better job.

 

Spoon: And that was?

 

Ed: He’s now Keota’s single IHP!

 

Spoon: IHP?

 

Ed: Iowa Highway Patrolman!

 

Spoon: So you have mastered the motorcycle, I’m glad you’ve advanced that far.

 

Elmer: I think you’re a little bit too big for your britches, son.

 

Spoon: Please don’t call me “son.”

 

(Yeah, for real. Only Uncle Michael can be called that.)

 

Ed: Listen up boy, we live a nice peaceful life here. We didn’t ask for you to start any trouble.

 

Spoon: How long have you been married?

 

Ed: What?

 

Spoon: It’s a simple question.

 

Ed: Well, 35 years.

 

Spoon: Ever thought about other women?

 

Ed: Not really. Priscilla and I are very happy, and have been for 37 years.

 

Spoon: I thought it was 35?

 

Ed: Well, I courted her for two.

 

Spoon: Courted?

 

Ed: Yes, when we got married, I bought her one of those new cars.

 

Spoon: New cars?

 

Elmer: Boy, it was a nice one too!

 

Ed: It sure was.

 

Spoon: Who did you have before her?

 

Ed: What do you mean?

 

Spoon: How many women did it take for you to find the one right for you?

 

Ed: Oh, well, she was my first and only.

 

Spoon: Um.

 

Elmer: Every male in Keota marries his first female acquaintance after courting her for two years.

 

Spoon: Do you know how behind the times you people are?

 

Ed: Being good people is behind the times?

 

Spoon: Not really, I’m a good person. I don’t drink or smoke to excess, I am a law-abiding citizen, I never lie, cheat, or steal.

 

Elmer: Yeah right.

 

Spoon: Excuse me?

 

Elmer: You’re just like those Gantries. You’re from some big city where the people live in sin and Baali.

 

Spoon: I have no Baalis.

 

Ed: Well at least we all got something in common.

 

Spoon: But irrational people are supposed to have Baalis, because, due to their irrationality, they do not realize that they can only have that which is accessible to them at that immediate moment, and that whatever they have is good enough, because they’re doing just fine.

 

(Silence filled the store.)

 

(Silence overcame me also. Spoon had put it perfectly.)

 

Me: Wow.

 

Spoon: I came here from a city dominated by Baalis and irrational people. The place was a mess. This place is desireless, but irrational anyway. You have Baalis, you must.

 

Ed: Well, I do want a new coat of paint on my house.

 

Elmer: And I want the Gantries to move out.

 

Ed: Me too.

 

Spoon: See, Baalis are bad to have. Baalis cloud your vision. Your collective sight is narrow enough as it is. To achieve perfection, you must rid yourself of Baali and embrace life for what it is. Doesn’t your God say something about that?

 

Ed: Well, He says it’s healthy to want things, just not too much.

 

Spoon: Whatever. I’m leaving. How much do I owe you people?

 

Ed: $35.00 even.

 

($100.67.)

 

(Spoon thanked the men for the hospitality of keeping him in the habit of talking and walked out. He tipped the attendant with a $5 bill. $95.67.)

 

(Gia had Baalis, but that would change soon, thanks to Spoon.)

 

(Expounding his philosophies helped Spoon calm his mind and make it less turbulent. He was right this time. It really did help him think straight to just tell people what he thought, rather than hold it in as he had been for the past 17 years.)

 

(Gia’s family began the preparations for the reunion. Spoon left the gas station in Keota, Iowa. Andrew was being beaten by the workers of the new Collectivist Steel Company in Gary, Indiana after trying to negotiate control of the plant back. The muralist was finishing the “YOU ARE NOW LEAVING METROPOLIS, HOME OF SUPERROOSTER” sign. El Kon’s handler was being asked by Hogan about the cockfights on Thursday. Gary Charles was being hurled into a landfill somewhere near Fort Wayne, Indiana. Mr. Spoon was leaving a rose at Mrs. Spoon’s grave in a small east Chicago cemetery. Ed, Elmer, and the Attendant discussed the odd man that had just passed through town, and thought he was crazy. The migrant worker was spending his $20 given to him by Hogan to pay for the damages he caused by tearing the crop up when he thrashed through it.)

 

(I was thinking of how this was all going to end. I had a pretty good idea. I only had $5.73 left. Fear not, I was not robbed.)

 

(We’re all up to speed now, yes?)

 

(Yes, this would all end pretty well.)

 

(Gia and Spoon would be meeting soon, and the Answer would be revealed. Neither of them knew this yet.)

 

***

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

(Gia was a rational person too. She was aware of this, but no one else was. She had learned at an early age, when she was three to be exact, that rational, logical people were not readily accepted into this world, and people who told the truth were called cynics. Knowing this, she acted illogical like the rest of society, and no one suspected a thing. She led a normal life, had non-Gary Charles friends, and was going to be graduating from the University of Indiana with a Philosophy degree soon. She would end up teaching this, as well as Theology. She picked Philosophy because it was there that she could act as she truly was and no one notice, just tell her she had way out ideas. Despite finding her niche here, she was convinced that she was the only rational, logical person on the planet. She was wrong.)

 

(The one other rational person on the planet was advancing toward her position at 75 miles per hour in a rental car rented from the Detroit Airport by one William Bollea, known to the wrestling world as Superstar Billy Hogan. The driver was not Hogan, it was really Patrick Spoon, known simply as The Spoon to the wrestling world.)

 

(Gia wasn’t known to the wrestling world at all.)

 

Spoon(fiddling with the radio dial): Dammit, don’t these people have any funk stations???

 

(“Pick Up the Pieces” began playing on one station.)

 

Spoon: That’s more like it!

 

(He danced as he drove and spoke out loud to himself. Odd, I had planned for him to just drive to Kansas City in silence.)

 

Spoon: Wondering why things are going so unexpectedly? Well, aren’t you?

 

(Spoon knew who he was addressing. I didn’t.)

 

Spoon: I know you hear me, just answer my question. You had no idea that everything was going to fall together so nicely. I knew I’d get to Kansas City somehow, even though you had planned for me to end up stuck in Gary, Indiana until my match.

 

(It was true, I had scrapped this idea in favor for what had been happening so far.)

 

Spoon: You’re irrational also. I always said that I was the only logical person on this planet.

 

(This threw me for a loop. How did he know all this? I was a logical person, what were the grounds for him calling me anything but rational?)

 

Spoon: You were silly enough to think that you could stop logic or control it.

 

(Uh oh. I was afraid this would happen.)

 

Spoon: That’s right, Patrick. I’ve taken control of what I do. You may control all of these other characters, but I am free to do as I please.

 

(I knew I shouldn’t have given him a little bit of free will and thought.)

 

Spoon: A little free thought can be a dangerous thing. It allowed me to figure out how to break free from you. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone else. It wouldn’t matter anyway, none of them have logic.

 

(Meanwhile, Gia got an odd feeling in her stomach.)

 

Spoon: Unfortunately, I can’t see what you have planned, so I have no idea what’s waiting for me in Kansas City, other than a wrestling match. That Answer had better be there.

 

(It would be.)

 

Spoon: It had better. In the meantime, I’m going to just relinquish control of myself. For me to do as I wanted right now would destroy this story.

 

(It sure would.)

 

Spoon: I will do as your plans have dictated, because although everyone is trying to kill me, none of them will be successful. I may be crazy, but I can read an outline.

 

(I decided to delete the outline I had made for this story and make a new one on paper.)

 

Spoon(dejectedly): You would do that.

 

(Now he had to do what I had planned, he didn’t have any choice. I made the outline as the story had progressed so far, up until this sudden empowerment by someone that I had created. Things changed almost instantly.)

 

Spoon(singing off-key to a song on the radio): Well you can tell by the way I use my walk I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk!

 

(I got rid of his memory of this exchange also. That was a close one. Control having been restored by me, I returned to what I was going to write.)

 

Spoon: I love that song... ooh! A sign!

 

Sign: KANSAS CITY: 25

 

Spoon: All right! 25 miles until I find the Answer! I sure made good time, it’s only Friday afternoon. Mr. Hogan sure was being mean to me.

 

(Gia’s family was done preparing for the reunion, and the various family members, all from different parts of the country, began arriving. The reunion went off without a hitch, and everyone had a wonderful time. As Spoon went to sleep in a small motel outside of Kansas City($35.67 left), the final family members said their goodbyes.)

 

(Gia had enjoyed herself, but felt as if something big was going to happen, or had to happen. Her life was better than she could have asked for it to be, but something was missing. Some void. It was lonely being the only rational person on the planet. She decided to go to one of her favorite parks on the river to think. It was a chilly night, and clear as crystal.)

 

(Spoon awoke with a start at the same time. He had been wrestling some nobody at a house show, but then the place went dark, and a lone figure appeared at the entrance to the arena. It was completely black, save for a question mark on its face. Spoon asked it what it was doing here, but it turned away and walked off, showing the word “THE ANSWER” on its back. Spoon ran after it, but was cut off by a wall of bars coming out of the ground in front of him, then behind him, then on his sides. He was trapped. Various shapeless forms laughed at him in his cage, and they were all labeled by a single word. CONFUSION, INSANITY, PARANOIA, MISGUIDANCE, and so on. THE ANSWER returned to him, this time with weapons, and said for Spoon to take its hand and eradicate the laughing specters. Spoon reached out for the Answer...)

 

(And woke up, as I have already said. He saw it was about 1 am when he looked at the clock.)

 

Spoon(in the dark, loudly): To sleep, perchance to nightmare!

 

(He decided to drive around the city for a bit, get his bearings back, and return to the motel to rest. He could sleep in the next day, since he didn’t have to be anywhere until Sunday anyway.)

 

(Gia had been looking for some sort of Answer herself also. She was at the park now, sitting on what she called her rock. It was one she sat on every time she had a lot of thinking to do. She knew it was a matter of time before she was revealed to be a logical person. Either she had to find someone else to talk to and release her real self with, or just go live somewhere she was safe from illogical people, like in Montana, or the Appalachian mountains. Maybe just a small town in Iowa. It was quiet in that park, with only the noise of the flowing river and rustle of fallen leaves in the wind. The full moon cast a lightest of blues pall over the park.)

 

(Spoon drove along that river, feeling very alone. He was in Kansas City, so where was the flipping answer? It was supposed to be here!)

 

Spoon: Hide and Seek!

 

(He saw a tranquil looking park, and a single car parked there. Must have been someone who couldn’t find parking closer to what they were attending. Spoon saw the well-maintained park as a nice place to figure out his course of action to find his answer, now that he was in the right place. He was tired of living in fear of being alone. He just had to find its exact location now.)

 

(It was about 100 yards away on a rock.)

 

(Gia didn’t hear the car pull up, and didn’t detect the door closing either. She was too engrossed in her thoughts of how authors wrote metaphors just to make themselves sound smart and how the world would probably dispose of her when she blew her own cover by telling the truth one day. She needed to find the Answer to all of her problems with the world so she could no longer live in fear of being alone. She could no longer feel as if she didn’t belong.)

 

(It was about 100 yards behind her, and walking towards her position.)

 

(Spoon saw a girl sitting on a rock, staring into the river and the night, deep in inner reflection. Should he bother her and ask her what she’s thinking about? She suddenly spoke aloud:)

 

Girl(loudly): A stranger in a strange land!

 

(Gia did this from time to time. She never did it unless she was alone. She would shout a fitting phrase or line for a particular moment.)

 

(Spoon did this too.)

 

(Gia felt a tapping on her shoulder. She turned to see a guy standing there, wearing a khaki trench coat and white shirt and black tie. He had black glasses. He had a peaceful look about him, almost saintly. He had disheveled brown hair, and dark green eyes.)

 

(Spoon saw the girl as she turned around. She had the reddest of red hair. Her eyes captivated him, almost paralyzing in their depth. Her moist lips shone slightly in the pale moonlight.)

 

(He was beautiful.)

 

(She was beautiful.)

 

Both(in unison): Hello, sure is a nice turned-away-from-the-sun cycle, isn’t it?

 

(Both of their faces lit up. It was love at first sight.)

 

Gia: Are you...?

 

Spoon: Are you...?

 

Both(in unison): The Answer!

 

(A truly magical moment it was, when those two logical people, the only two on the planet, met each other finally. Some things still had to be explained, but for now they hugged each other tightly, glad to find someone else on that desolate planet.)

 

(Spoon had no use for money anymore. He had his Answer.)

 

($Infinity.Infinity left.)

 

***

 

(Gia and Spoon spoke all night, about all sorts of things, all over the spectrum of humanity. They spoke on philosophy, and agreed totally. Spoon told Gia to rid herself of Baalis. She said she already had, because it was something the crazy people had, and the crazy people are weak. They discussed Theology, and while they encountered some differences, it was healthier this way.)

 

(We wouldn’t want things to go TOO well, would we?)

 

(Gia took Spoon back to meet her family. Grandpa Joe was still at her parent’s house. I will spare the details, but Grandpa Joe found it hard to believe that a sociopath was his little granddaughter’s soul mate right before he fainted.)

 

(Gia said she’d attend Spoon’s match, and then, at Spoon’s behest, return to college and graduate. Of course, this wasn’t to say that she was going to not see him until then. Anytime he had the opportunity; he would go and visit her at college. He would also write her constantly, and she would write him constantly as well.)

 

(What about the other people?)

 

(Gia’s grandfather sustained no injuries, except for a lump on his head, from hitting a coffee table while fainting.)

 

(Andrew would eventually get his factory back, and his company returned to prosperity. Gary, Indiana managed to rid itself of its boxing and wrestling ventures and decided to stick with what it knew, low-grade Steel.)

 

(The man Spoon spoke to outside of the factory to spur the revolt was incarcerated for five days after the reclamation of the factory by Andrew Carnegie IV. He was released when the town realized that his insurgence was a good thing, not a bad thing.)

 

(The reporters contracted skin Anthrax, but recovered.)

 

(The bouncer got his degree in Philosophy. He teaches at the University of Michigan now.)

 

(Gary Charles was recycled. I am typing on a keyboard made from recycled Gary Charles. I type really hard, pounding the keys with every stroke. Gary has no complaints still.)

 

(Graham Manning recovered from his car accident. He now tours the Midwest as a motivational speaker. He’s still The Spoon’s biggest fan.)

 

(The Tollbooth Operator stayed at that same position for 30 more years before retiring with a nice pension.)

 

(John Lennon died 21 years before this was written, despite giving the Answer many times to Spoon in musical form.)

 

(The muralist died of a bleeding ulcer, as well as psoriasis of the liver.)

 

(On the bright side, Metropolis now has some of the best schools in its area and a superb fire department. The pothole is filled.)

 

(El Kon’s handler would be run out of Metropolis when new people migrated to the city for the first time in 100 years. He settled somewhere in Minnesota.)

 

(The Migrant Worker would come to own and operate his own landscaping business, and it tends to all public grass areas in and around Metropolis. The city can afford to pay them now.)

 

(The Gas Station Attendant would be arrested for statutory rape after a date with the Gantry girl. He was 18. She was 17.)

 

(The Gantries would move to Peoria soon after this episode.)

 

(Ed kept the Gas Station/General Store going until his death at the ripe old age of 89.)

 

(Elmer would be financially ruined by a suit against the Elmer Glue company, claiming they had stolen his name, and the visage of his cow, for their product. This madness was prompted by Ed dying, leaving Elmer no one to talk to.)

 

(Keota, Iowa, would be descended upon by 400,000 hippies for the last great love-in the country would ever have two years after these events. The town became a tourist Mecca for those who wanted to get the experience of living in the 1910s while not using Gary Charles as a result of this.)

 

(Superstar Billy Hogan would open up a wrestling school in Aurora, Illinois with money bet on Gaia. He still conducts it to this day, producing the GWF stars of the future.)

 

(Mr. Spoon got out of the drug dealing business after a coalition of small-time dealers threatened to hit him with an anti-trust suit. Mr. Spoon would visit Spoon Jr. at his mansion three months after Spoon’s match in Kansas City. It would be the first time they had seen each other in five years, since Spoon left for college. Mr. Spoon would come clean about the history of his life, minus who Spoon’s father really was. He still thought that he was.)

 

(Gia would graduate from Indiana and go on to teach Philosophy at Syracuse. She saw this as a way to make sure logical people proliferated. She was successful, and eventually became a well-respected professor.)

 

(Spoon would stay in the GWF for a while still. He moved to Syracuse to accommodate for Gia’s occupation. They were not married, rather they co-existed in Spoon’s new Eastern New York mansion. Spoon had ideas of proposing one day though. After his wrestling career was over, Spoon went on to become a History professor at Syracuse himself. He became head of the College of Social Sciences after not too long.)

 

(And me? Well, I stopped typing, allowing the lives of these characters to take on paths of their own. They seemed happier when I wasn’t making them do things, even though they were unaware that I had stopped controlling them. My experiment in control failed miserably, as my theory was rebuked. I had always said the world was a big place, yet with more connections than I could possibly hope to illustrate. Turns out no such thing exists. The more connections the world has, the smaller it is. The world I had created spanned four states, not large by any standards. I was wrong.)

 

(All roads lead to Kansas City, said I, Patrick Spoon, the author. There I will see if I was made of as good of stuff as I thought I was. I think I accomplished that task rather well.)

 

Me: The End.

 

I'll answer any questions anyone has now.

[Guest Agent of Oblivion]

[Your Paragon of Virtue 0]

My thoughts exactly.

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

Er... what?

[Guest TheCynicalHateMongerFromHell]

Gay.

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

Gee, thanks for the advice and critques, guys.

[Guest The Superstar]

I actually enjoyed it. Very in-depth, detailed, and entertaining.

 

But do other e-feds really make you write that much??

 

I'm glad I'm in the right fed

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

Oh, it wasn't like I HAD to write that much. I just wrote as much as I felt was needed for each thread. Roleplays could be any length, but people generally wrote them that long. I just wrote ten installments because it was a big match.

[Guest Agent of Oblivion]

I wasn't meaning anything with that picture, to be honest, I didn't read it. But it's nothing personal, I just stopped when I saw "e-fed," as I detest e-fedding greatly.

 

But ain't that a great picture?

[Guest Sassquatch]

You are creative when you try Kotz which I'll give you.

 

But sometimes less is better you know?

 

Otherwise (and yes I did in fact read your posts) you did a nice job of laying everything out which takes some dedication for some people.

[Guest Angle-plex]

w00ps