Thursday, June 27, 2013

Quantum Dissolve: Chapter Fourteen. (Jade Shade vs Mr. Sleepy Seeds)

Dustin Martin Irwin was awoken by the alarm clock.

Dustin hated being awake.
Sleep was better.

Sleep was where he could be The Jade Shade.

Awake was where he had to put on a stupid clip-on tie, sweaty dress socks, scratchy dress shoes, face morning traffic, and moron morning-zoo radio, and be a substitute teacher at Elisa Jack elementary school

Putting up with Kimber's sneering, and his children's "adorable precocious hijinks", wasn't a thrilling prospect either.

Oh, why couldn't he switch off like a lightbulb, and grab 10 more minutes of zs?
Just 10 more?
No dice, no matter how tired he was, awake was awake.

Every now and then, he found some extra change doubling as a party magician.

It was the last pitiful mangled scrap of his youthful dream that Kimber allowed him.
And that with a glare of shame burning at his back.

The childhood detective agency, the treasure hunting adventures?
Dead as Jackie Paper.

Adulthood was for being sensible, and responsible, and dependable.
All those "ible", words.
So Kimber kept telling him.

Many was the time during the miserable commute he asked himself "why am I alive, exactly? What keeps me breathing? What's the point to this?".

He sighed, went down to the kitchen, withstood the slings and arrows, drank the stanky coffee, and contemplated the loathsomeness of even that suburbanite ritual.

"Coffee isn't good. Everyone just drinks it. Everyone just gets on board, and does what everyone does, because "this is what we do", "you're a grownup, drink your coffee, imbibe your caffeine to face the daily horror"", Dustin gloomed.

He listened to his children, and tried to find something about them to...well, like.

Valueless little bastards.
All they wanted was stuff.
And what meaningless shit it all was.

Cell phones, to text their equally vapid friends, in meaningless jargon about meaningless things.

Mostly clothes.
And doodads.
Meaningless plastic doodads.
Ugly meaningless plastic doodads.

The girl preferred more doodads, and in vomitous pink.

They weren't even teenagers yet, and they were loathsome.
The corporate machine had refined its techniques, and sunk the tendrils in earlier, and earlier.
Making good little consumer robots.
And his wife had shat a fresh batch forth.
The American dream.

Soon, he was going to work to afford to shovel fuel into their furnaces.

"Kimber, what happened to her? What happened to her spirit?", Dustin thought, as he stared at that haggard face.
"She probably blames me for this, but, she was the one that wanted this crap. To fit in with her shitty snobby bitch friends".

He looked at the girl, and saw Kimber in her future.
"What happened to feminism? What happened to Astronaut Barbie? What happened to Wonder Woman? What the fuck happened?", he said to himself while glowering.

Kimber noticed the glowering, and glowered back.

All of this couldn't be more horrible if slime were oozing off the walls, and half-sleeping monsters were hissing.

Dustin could stand no more, he was on the verge of screaming, so, he shot out of his seat, and said "whelp, better hit the old dusty trail! Don't wanna be late!", with fake pep.

He kissed Kimber passionlessly on the way out.
"Because that's what we do".

On the commute, he saw that emaciated guy who looked like a younger Tim Burton.
"Who the fuck is that guy, and why does he look so damned familiar?", he always asked himself.

Traffic was jammed good and tight this morning.
He literally could get out and walk faster.

Dammit, this day was the limit.
He wanted an adventure.
He put the car in park, turned off the key, got out, and started walking toward Tim-Burton-Guy.

He was going to DEMAND to know who this asshole was.

"Excuse me, sir, do I know you?", Dustin asked.

Tim-Burton-Guy startled, as if he were the naked emperor just noticing his nakedness.

This only encouraged Dustin "well??".

Tim-Burton-Guy turned, ready to run.

Dustin was stricken by an inexplicable powerful impulse to tackle him.
He did so.

As they landed, reality flickered.

And in that flicker, he was The Jade Shade.

Mask, duster, gloves, the whole deal.
And it felt right.

It. Felt. RIGHT.

He grabbed Tim-Burton-Guy, by the shoulders, and slammed him against the macadam.

Reality flickered again, trace memories came back.

He bashed him again.

Another flicker.

Dustin/Jade-Shade threw a punch into his stomach.
Reality flickered again, and stayed in the JS reference frame a little longer.

Jade-Shade started pounding, and it all came back.

Tim-Burton-Guy was Mr. Sleepy Seeds, an alleged master of dreams.

JS knew that had to be bullshit.
Dreams are just a screensaver that runs while you defrag overnight.
There was no magic.
This had to be drugs.

It was.
A cocktail of DMT, LSD, and some other goodies.
Some hippie homeopathic herbal crap for good measure.

Mr. Sleepy Seeds whimpered "..don't always works on the others...everyone's dream...the hero always secretly yearns to be always works...".

JS grabbed his shirt, held him close, and growled, spraying spittle inside the mask.
"Aren't you stupid!!".
He said it again, punctuating each word with a stomach punch.
"Aren't! You! STUPID!!":.
Again. Harder.

Mr. Sleepy Seeds was a tiny guy.
The level of beating JS gave him was really unnecessary, he thought, as he looked back on it.
"Too bad, he actually pissed me off, he's lucky he's alive", JS fumed inwardly.
He'd laid a blanket of hurtings across him that would've hospitalized Mike Tyson.

Mr. Sleepy Seeds would be taking his meals intravenously for the next six months or so.

JS leaned against the nearest dumpster, waiting for the drugs to wear off.
It took forever.
It pissed him off even more that it took forever.

He dug around on Mr. Sleepy Seeds's person, found the drugs, and gave him all of it.
Every drop.

"Happy landings, motherfucker", he grumbled.

Mr. Sleepy Seeds was going to spend some time in a mental hospital in a cell next to Hadesburster to boot.

After a couple more hours, JS wandered off, he mostly had his senses back, but things were still trailing.

The next night, he was back on his favorite rooftop.

He'd faced his worst Hell, and come out stronger.

No doubt about it.
He was the Jade Shade, through and through.
No going back.
No regrets.

He went back to not dreaming.

Dreams are for people who aren't living them, he figured.
He most certainly was.

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