I wrote this while listening to music.
The jury rig exists outside of space and time. It’s comprised of thousands of chunks of non-paradoxical building materials from across the ages. It takes an immense galactic cataclysm to summon it, brought forth by dying stars and white holes. Used to house the corporeal forms of the gods, and the higher beings that are granted passage from our plane. Its inhabitants are not aware of each other, or of much else beyond themselves.
This story is about one of them.
But that’s later on.
A large brown insect crept across the landscape. Bigger then a man, and slightly more intelligent, it prowled about, carrying a haphazard combination of a backpack and bulletproof vest. Survivors of German panzer divisions, laid waste to by the allied forces, saw it and wept, for it was a formidable and horrible sight. Fire lit up the skies as war raged on above their heads, but the insect continued its journey. It was clearly not bred for speed, or anything; really, As it was not bred, but brought forth in order to run an errand for one of the old ones. The occasional landmine boomed beneath it, but its carapace was built to handle the movement of mountains. Indeed, creatures such as this were supposed to raze the opposite sides, but, indifferent to the lives of those below them, they crept about their caverns and lived the lives of the enlightened. Invincibility is one of the few things that the gods deemed too precarious for humanity, and gave it to those that would serve them best.
At last, the creature found its target. A nineteen year old man, blown apart by some explosive force. Not the man, but what he (had) carried on his back, a field telephone that had been battered useless, was the monster’s goal.
The Insect picked up the phone, dialing a random assortment of numbers in the same way a 5 year old child would.
The phone rang
And paused
And rang
And paused
And ra-
”Hello?”
“Greetings, Hank, guess who?” Chimed the insect.
There was an obvious attempt from the person at the other end to simultaneously make a run for it, hang up the phone, and clear his throat to pretend to be someone else, even though the phone, and his arm, were stuck in a very casual ‘phone conversation’ position.
“Huhuuugh…” Countered the recipient.
“Feeling well, I take it?” The beastly figure sang in the middle of a field full of corpses.
“BluurYEEENuh…” Described the increasingly anxious man.
“Shame. Well, let’s get started then.” Said a very tall, pointy and indestructible figure, now crouching in a room halfway round the world and several decades into the future in front of a shocked looking gentlemen who was stupidly clutching the phone that a giant insect had just stepped through, with a look on his face that said ‘Yes, I am afraid of this monstrosity, but I doubt that what just happened will happen again.’
It did. It did happen again. Calmly and casually, a small platoon of cockroachesque gentlemen made their way out of his phone. When the room got too full, they milled away into the hall.
“Muh…uuuh.” He observed.
“Sorry?” Inquired the horde of gangly invaders.
__________________
I see you jockin' me.
Last edited by Mac Sirloin; 04-15-2009 at 10:42 PM..
: communist faggot son of a bitch
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