Into The Land Of Never-Been

Hi, I am not going to be able to post a whole lot this week. I got some real work to do! Yay for the Internet, it makes it so very easy to have a semi-decent job from home. Not rich yet, but I'm happy with being content.

The first thing I have to do here is warn you. This is a random story. It has no depth, meaning, and the plot line is shaky. It is words strung together one night after cleaning my kitchen. I'm serious, so don't laugh. I know, see, you are laughing. Anyways, if there was a point to this, it is that people who have a tendancy towards overactive imaginations should not be cleaning thier kitchen at 4 am after a few glasses of wine, and more over, those people should not write about it. But I rather enjoyed it when I was sober and rested the next day, so mayhap you will too. I am not expecting a crituque because it is long, but if you want to, go for it, you cute cherry pie you.

So, I am going to leave you all with this wierd little tale I wrote a long time back. I know some of my endearing fans have read this and commented on it.

Before you read, be warned....some of the comments I have recieved were: "What the ---- is this lunacy?????? Second, have you ever even thought of publishing this piece of infectious brain-damaging hilarity? And where on earth would you send it? (Somebody needs to publish it, that's for sure.)" and fellow blogger LMA at http://littlemissattitude.blogspot.com/ said: "That is the most bizarre thing I've read in a good long while. And I mean that in an entirely complimentary way."

So my darlings, sit back and prepare to be wierded out.

Into The Land Of Never-Been

The Electric Chocolate was very tired today, having been thrust from one silver explosion to the next, his flimsy candy coated exterior cracking beneath the pressure. But he held, for creatures such as he always hold, though what they hold on to is a serious matter of debate. In fact, the Dead Virgin society was already debating this fact, even as Electric Chocolate filtered into the Home for Wayward Candies to refill his depleting energy source. It was getting tougher and tougher to find AA and AAA these days, since the Coalition for Non-Production ceased making batteries in favor of easier and more renewable energy sources, such as deer souls and ionic power.

All this, of course, was on Electric Chocolate's mind as he plunged hard through the soaking wet SeaTac Airport, where he would pay the Toll for a trek the hell out of here. He had just enough saved up, just enough to get one last battery powered refill and find his way to a place where old men could go and die peacefully.

"Peace?" The Obligatory Short Character said, filling in the summarily boring void. "There can be no Peace."

"Well of course their can be, Obligatory Character. There can always be Peace, but some, like my battery powered Electric Chocolate friend here, prefer Piece." Pie retorted with a wry grin, her soft arm entwined with Piece's.

Piece of course was what Electric Chocolate was after, but she would have none of him, none at all.

"If I pay thee not in gold?" Electric Chocolate had asked, his face wet with tears of the city.

"Then ye pay me not at all." Piece had retorted, laughing all the while in her lilting fairy-kin voice.

"So be it, Choco. I take credsticks." Pie rubbed her cherry covered arm in the center of his tootsie roll goodness, her crusty warmth invading him.

"Not here, not in the airport."

"Loch Ness Lockers then?"

Electric Chocolate smiled sadly, knowing that even now he should be with his own kin, fighting the Dead Virgins for their property and right to survive. Tomorrow may well be another history entirely, but for now he would follow Pie down, deeper than he should really go.

It mattered not in the Land of Decaffeinated, little mattered here.

Piece should have been happy that she would not deal with the ineffective bum, who spent his days dodging silver bullets for Mass Media in trade for a few creds and an occasional Supreme Taco shove. She should be even happier that her gold coffin was filled to the brim, and she could die easily now, perhaps even be reborn into the Caffeinated Society, away from the thrusting terror of the Dead Virgins. She was not, and as she warmed the curling iron against her broken skin, Piece wondered what else there was, if anything even existed beyond the hood rat trailers.

***

The Dead Virgins were in uproar tonight, their icy eyes and frozen fingers screaming with hypothermic pain.

"We must be rid of the battery kin, for they do nothing!" They shrieked, their superior voices ringing out across the empty hall. Empty save for one, one who would not tolerate their continuous blathering, even if he was the only one. "We must destroy them, for the old ways of the batteries have no hold on this earth, no say and no way!"

"And who are ye to speak so?" Hero Sandwich cried out, dripping in Dijon mustard. He was not of the battered, no, he was warm and toasty goodness, but the dying words of his quizzical wheat bread mother haunted him, brining him to stand against the Dead Virgins at every interval. There could be no quarry while they rule, with their boiling blood and frozen hearts. Hero shoved the thoughts aside, staying to the task at hand. "Who are ye to decide what the Goddess allows or disallows? Even she does not know until the words are at her fingertips, yet ye presume to know her ways!"

The Dead Virgins screamed again, their multiuse banshee voices erupting from a thousand rotting throats, the sound of worms falling on decay. "We presume for she speaks only to us, child of man! And not too thee!" They pointed at him with black serpentine fingernails, and the room fell ominously silent.

"Ask the Oracle of Defilement then, if ye so dare!" Hero Sandwich retorted, standing against them in a rogue's manner, brave and strong and fearless.

"We will not! Even the Goddess has deemed the Oracle of Defilement unfit and unholy!"

"How do ye know such?" Hero stared them down, his Italian bread exterior crispy with mayonnaise anger. "How can ye presume to know such?"

"She just said it! Three Sentences past, and yet ye ignore her ultimate power!" Shrieks again, falling in the millions, tires screeching as Hot Wheels crashed into one another, their ninety-nine cent price tags ripped and dying in the aisles.

To this, of course, Hero Sandwich had no reply. The Goddess had written it, and what could he do now but clench his lettuce fists into balls of anger? He spat tomato seeds on the ground. "Wretched prude creatures, your hearts are as cold and moldy as your nether regions." Hero Sandwich said, and made his way from the Grand Hall of Randominity.

"FAG!" Dead Virgin's voices trailed behind him, and Hero Sandwich cried an American cheese tear. He was that, of course, and the word, as fleeting and meaningless as it was, still stung as much as the whippings of his father did. "It is done then. Hunt every battery operated down and destroy them. None will stand against us now." The Dead Virgin voices were shivers and whispers, carried away by their manacled laughter. "So is it, so is it."

***

"Are ye leaving then, Choco?" Pie the Whore asked, lighting a cigarette and letting it hang between her dripping cherry sauce lips.

"As soon as the sun rises, I am leaving for Whatefuk. You can come, too, if'n you'd like."

"I could, me fine hearty Choco, but I will not leave Piece, and she will not leave this, and so I am at the Goddess's mercy."

"To empty com with that worthless l337, all the Goddess thinks of nowadays is her own volatile words, poisoning us and all who cross her flippant forum. She has done nothing for me of late, other than create a Decaffeinated world of work and pain. Why doesn't she make something better? Why does everyone have to die?" He raised a sweaty fist in the air, looking towards the grey cement ceiling. "She is nothing but a whore who fancies herself important. You and Piece are more than she."

Pie was aghast, her crusty face began to tremble, and flakes of Betty Crocker goodness fell off in chunks. "Take it back, oh please, take it back."

"I will not." Electric Chocolate said, and licked her sweet tears. "Not in a life, never."

"Then you are doomed." Pie said, turning from him. They had melted against one another many times, and he had always paid her. Truth be told, Pie would have done it for free. There is nothing on this earth that compares to a Chocolate covered Pie, especially a Chocolate covered Cherry Filling. When the two were together, her world was complete, perfect, and most importantly, her world was real.

"Maybe, but what can this Goddess do now? She has no face and no name and certainly no grace, she can do not but destroy me. Erase me into the land of Never-Been, and I would be thankful for it."

"You do not know her, not the way I do. She whispers to me, she whispers to all of us, you simply have to listen."

Electric Chocolate snorted, and with it the smell of Cherry Pie filled his mouth, nose and eyes. "What does she say then?"

"That she dooms me for your failure. That she dooms me for your disbelief. Most of all that she wants to see you in pain, because that is her Tragedy. Because this is her Un-Real Tragedy, and you are messing with it."

Electric Chocolate leaned over to kiss Pie's face, extending his candy coated lips towards hers, but there were none there. Even as he leaned in to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her everything he knew he should say, Cherry Filled Pie was disappearing. She floated in and out of existence, for moments only. The red girl screamed, her golden face dissolving into inedible and grotesque chunks that became nothing more than oven charred snot.

"Into the land of Never-Been." Electric Chocolate whispered, and turned from the sight. He held back his tears, for the battery powered always held, held stronger than any glue. Deep in his soul, he knew he had caused this. Turning away, Electric Chocolate wondered how he would explain this to Piece. Would he lie? He had never been good at lying, not like the Goddess. He could not lie, not to Piece. The thought of facing the fairy kin girl, with her smooth fine features and frosty skin made him tremble. Electric Chocolate turned a deaf ear to the erasing girl, never to come here again.

Behind him, Cherry Pie's screams echoed, infesting his dark goodness, infesting and rotting as dead meat in the sun. It was not a pretty smell.

***

Hero Sandwich stopped outside of the Oracle of Defilement. He could not go in there, not yet. He was not ready for this, and the alfalfa sprouts of his soul wriggled in fear. There were only hours now until sunrise, only hours until the Dead Virgin's released their death upon the battery operated, destroying the antiquated forever. Of course, the only power large enough to stop them was the Dept. of Non-Productivity. Hero Sandwich had thought of making the long walk there, but he knew his Turkey slices would rot in the sun before midday, and of course that would be too late. Even if he were able to transport himself there on the wings of a Red Bull commercial, the Dept. of Non-Productivity only heard Emergency filings on Tues., Wed. and Fri. from 9 A.M. to 10 A.M., unless the Emergency was due to a Domestic Pancake Batter dispute, in which case they would arrive immediately. Hero Sandwich could call in a fake Batter dispute, but that would only piss everyone off, especially the Domesticate Pancake Batterers.

As it was, Hero found himself sitting on his grand chariot of honey-barbeque sauce, waiting for the Oracle to open. The golden arches were together again, and beneath them the "ONE BIJILLIONTH CUSTOMERS SERVED IN LIES" sign twinkled and winked at him, smiling as if they knew he could not survive without their fatty goodness.

"Ah!" The red and yellow Clown of Defilement called out, his plastic face a toothy, sweaty grin. "You come for sit on my lap?"

"No, Ron." Hero said, almost sadly. "I am waiting for the Oracle."

"Ah! She is busy feeding the vultures right now, perhaps you come back later?" The mechanical laughter rang throughout the parking lot, and even the single-M golden arches jiggled in their neon happiness. "You no come here now, go home sub!"

Hero spit on the floor, a string of tomato limply falling from his mouth. "Bring her out, clown, and stop with your foolishness."

"Fine, you come sit inside?" The mechanical voice asked him, its smile bright and white against bloody red lips.

"No, thank you. I prefer my arteries to stay unclogged."

"Of course you do." Ron said snidely, as if this were a horrid decision. "Oracle come soon."

Hero nodded, a strip of alfalfa falling from his face and dying on the parking lots surface. "Hurry up then."

Oracle of Defilement came out, her hands stuffed with grease and fake meats, her face dripping with not-so-potato fries. "What you want?" She said, grinning with pretend safely commercialized Mac Flurry lips. "What you want ask Oracle? Goddess no speaks for hours yet."

Hero did not know what to say at first. He was not entirely sure of what needed to be answered, only that it would be wrong if all the battery powers were destroyed for the sake of an inefficient society. He told Oracle as much, and she spat blistering hot grease on his breaded skin.

"Of course, of course. Goddess says you no smart enough to stop her. Goddess say shut up or put up little turkey filled man."

Hero raised his onion eyebrow at that.

"Goddess says if you smart you fix yourself." With that, the Oracle slammed the glass door in his face, turning the key. She gave him no other word, and paid him no other mind, leaving the Hero in a world of confusion and condiments.

***

The Dead Virgins had gone on their rampage, Hero Sandwich knew that as soon as the sun was up. He could hear their banshee death calls echoing from the land of Java to the Spaghetti Monster hills, and worse still he could hear the death of the battery powered kin.

Dead Virgins raised their Deer Soul swords high in the air, the evil magic causing all but the strongest to die before the blackened blades laid on their candy coated skin. It was genocide, from hill to river the blood flowed unhindered. The Non-Production group heard this too, but could do nothing to stop it, being overfilled with meaningless paper work and even more meaningless social dinners, but such was their way. They could not have stopped the Dead Virgins anyways, for the Dead Virgins were uneducated and illiterate, their fury grew unchecked across the County of Once-Been, nestled in the land of the Decaffeinated.

Piece stood behind the Dead Virgins, though by now she should have been with her own fairy kin, safe in the refuse camps. She wanted to be where the action was, even more so, Piece wanted to be where the money and power was. Some of her own kin stood against the Dead Virgins in the early hours, but they were weak heart throbs who fluttered away beneath the glares and curses of their adversaries. Piece was the only fairy kin in the killing fields that afternoon, as the Oven Element Sun burned bright red, scarring the land beneath her feet. The fairy whore slaughtered more on that day than any Dead Virgin, her ferocious baking soda arrows fizzing the Vinegar Vultures to their deaths, her blistering Clorox Laser slicing through the heads of the battery kin, from elder to child, man to woman. An entire family of Country Spread Margarines, crying and holding one another, their buttery coolness melting into puddles of slippery yellow slime died beneath Piece's squealing attacks.

The Goddess turned, and saw the wretched violence her creation was releasing, even onto her own kind. The jerk of sadness the Goddess felt was quickly replaced by dry ice anger, and she breathed life into Cherry Pie one last time.

Piece was not watching her rear; everything behind her was dead or dying. She did not see Cherry Pie's dark grin, or the way Pie's eyes burned with a sickly green, like cherries not fully ripened. It was not until Piece herself was dragged under the firm sweet arm of Pie and pulled inside the girl's piping hot crust, did Piece finally realize what an evil thing she had done. By then, however, it was far too late.

Electric Chocolate was running hard, running away from the death and destruction. He thought he was running into salvation, but the heat of the rising oven elements had already begun their own damage, and too late he realized that leaving earlier would have been a very good idea.

Hero Sandwich was running too, as fast as his toasty sub feet would allow. He lost three slices of meat in that run, the pain doubling him over thrice. He ignored the pain, and ran to the dying. A child made of gingerbread reached out to him, calling for help.

"Please mister, please help me!" The gingerbread babe whimpered, even as a Dead Virgin ate his crunchy ginger-ness.

Hero Sandwich vomited mayo and mustard.

Electric Chocolate felt the noose tighten around his neck, the toll booth just beyond the next Peppermint Candy. He was on full speed now, even as Piece melted into the refrigerated forest behind him, screaming his name and cursing his being. She blamed him for Cherry Pie's erasure, and she was right.

Even with all this pain, Electric Chocolate was not ready to die. Not yet. He ran without seeing anything but the toll booth, ran until he slammed headfirst into the All-American Hero Sandwich.

The two beings, having never met before and never to meet again, were shattered by the sudden and fierce collision. Hero lost his condiments and his meats fell about him in scattered fear. His lettuce wilted the moment the oven element sun touched them, burned them.

Electric Chocolate was weak from the oven element sun, and his body splattered the moment it touched the Hero Sandwich, covering the crust with shattered pieces of his melted self.

Around the dying sandwich and candy coated chocolate, the Dead Virgins shouted with glee, their genocide continued unhindered. If there was a moral to this tale, it would certainly be to not fancy one's self a goddess, although more so it would be to never write while under the gripping influence of home grown greens and caffeine.

***

It would end there, however the Goddess thought, that perhaps, her Obligatory Short Character should have one last debacle across the empty clean white. Obligatory, being of neither battery kin, or of the fairy kin, and certainly he was no Hero and no Dead Virgin, slipped silently through the mass of melted plastic and charred foodstuffs. He had no real body, he was a thought, a short and fleeting thought to fill the voiceless void. Really, he should have melted away with the rest into the Land of Never-Been, finding his thoughtful self reminiscing beneath the slush pile of printed and formatted crap, waiting to be shredded or torn of the Goddess's frustration.

He was not waiting. The Obligatory Short Character refused to stand and wait for the Goddess to decide his fate, he gnawed at her mind and guts until she wrote his own story, and gave him a proper name. Obligatory, incessant and demanding, ended his thoughtful life, renamed Oby, as a transvestite vampire heroine, rescuing the Realm of Pretend from a thousand Floating Eyeballs. It was a good end, but the Goddess hides him still, waiting for the moment his voice screams against her soul, refusing to be silenced.

For all thoughts, words in the land of the Has-Been slush pile and the Never-Been delete button, leave their mark on the Goddess, the writer, the one who creates and destroys worlds with a flick of her tender and tired fingers.

Sometimes, they become more than what they were meant to be, and other times they become nothing as they should have been.