Silly Daddy

I have the most silly daddy, but he's such a nice daddy.  He's always so nice to me.

This morning, my daddy said to me, "If you do all your chores today and listen to all I say and tell you to do, I will give you a big cookie at the end of the day!"

I was very excited and asked to see the cookie now.  He smiled and said, "Trust me, sweetie.  Just do everything right, and I'll give you the cookie."

Of course I trust my daddy, so I set out to do everything he asked me to do.  He asked me to put my clothes away, and I did!  He asked me to wash the dishes, and I started to, but washing dishes is hard, so towards the end, I just rinsed them off and left them in the sink.  I'm sure mommy will finish them later.

Then Daddy asked me to work on my homework for one hour.  I started and I tried, but my desk is right by the window and it was so shiny and happy outside.  Surely Daddy didn't really need me to work for the full hour.  It was so nice outside!  He's always telling me to go play outside instead of playing video games.  I was sure he would want me to go play outside instead of doing homework if he had only noticed how nice it was outside.  So I sneaked out into the backward after half an hour and played with my soccer ball.

When I came back inside, Daddy was sitting there reading a paper.  I felt a little guilty, but he looked at me and smiled and I smiled back and ran on up to my room.  I tidied up a bit more even though Daddy didn't ask me to!

Then Daddy asked me to help my little sister with the tower she was building.  My little sister is kind-of  a brat.  She's so little and frustrating and can't do much right.  But I was still feeling back about not quite doing what Daddy had asked before, so I went and tried to help.  But she is so annoying.  She'd ask me to help and then she'd get upset when I did.  Eventually, I go angry and knocked her stupid tower down and of course she cried and Daddy came to see what was wrong and I said the tower fell.  He looked at me a little bit like he wasn't so sure and I almost blurted out that I did it, but then he just said, "Well help her build it up again.  And be nice to her about it."

I was much nicer the second time.  And my sister didn't seem like quite such a brat.  But she is a real brat.

Then my Daddy asked me to help Mommy bring in the groceries for dinner.  I did that really good!  Mommy is nice and pretty.  After we unloaded the groceries, Mommy asked if I wanted to help make dinner and I said, "Okay!"  I love helping Mommy make dinner!

After I had finished helping, I went back out and watched some TV.  My daddy smiled at me.  He's such a nice daddy.  I had almost forgotten about what he promised me at the beginning of the day.  But then Mommy called us for dinner and I remembered!

"Eat all your peas," Daddy said.  I might have let a couple of them fall onto the floor when no one was looking, but I ate all the rest.

"Can you please pass the butter," Daddy said.  That was easy to do.  I did that and was very happy.

After dinner, Daddy pulled me aside.  "So," he said.  "How was your day?  Did you do everything I asked you to."

I beamed and nodded, thinking about the yummy cookie I was about to get.

Daddy had been holding the cookie behind his back, and now he held it out in front of him.  I got a big smile and I reached for it.

But Daddy pulled the cookie away.  "Hold on," he said.  "Are you sure you did EVERYTHING I asked you to do?"

"Yes Daddy, of course!" I said.

"Everything?  Just like I asked."

I frowned and my tummy felt all heavy and sad.  I had kind-of done what Daddy asked, but not quite.  Surely he knew that I had tried really hard.  That should be good enough!

"I tried really hard, Daddy!" I said.  "I tried really hard."

"But were you perfect?" he asked.

I looked down and shook my head no.  I felt the tears coming.  It was so sad and so mean.  That cookie could have been mine if I had just done everything Daddy said just like he said it.  But I didn't.  It was too hard.

I felt something under my chin and realized it was Daddy's hand and I looked up at Daddy.  "Sweetie," he said.  "You know this cookie is from me, right?"

"Yes," I muttered.

"It's my cookie," Daddy said.  "I could do whatever I'd like with it."

"Yes, Daddy," I muttered again.

Daddy looked right into my eyes.  "You know that you can't have this cookie unless I choose to give it to you, right?"

"Yes," I said, not quite so muttering.  I knew Daddy was right.  He's always right.

"Did you earn this cookie?" he asked.

"No," I admitted.

"Could I still give it to you if I wanted to?" he asked.

My face lit up.  "Yes!" I said.  "Oh yes, of course, Daddy!  You can still give me the cookie!  Please, Daddy!  I know I wasn't perfect, but I tried, and I will try harder tomorrow!"

He smiled at me.  "So you admit you didn't do it all perfectly?" he asked.  "And you're sorry and will try harder?"

"Yes of course!"  I was so excited.  I might get my cookie after all!

But he still didn't give it to me.  Not yet.

"And you understand that I'm the only one who can give you this cookie?" he said.  "And if you trust that I will give it to you, then I will give it to you?"

I was getting a little nervous.  I wasn't sure if Daddy was actually going to give me the cookie or not.  "You are saying you will give me the cookie?" I asked.

"Yes," Daddy said.  "You just have to trust me."

I was a little unsure.  I wasn't sure if he meant I was getting the cookie now or if I would get it later, but he seemed to be saying I would get it.  So I nodded.  "Yes, Daddy," I said.  "I trust you."

He smiled.  "Here you go, Sweetie," he said.  And he held out the cookie to me.

This time when I reached for it, he didn't pull it away!  I was so happy!  I didn't have to be perfect!  I just had to try really hard, and to trust Daddy.

I took a bite of the cookie, so happy, but then something bothered me.  "Daddy?" I asked after I had swallowed that first piece.  "What if I can never be perfect?" I asked.

He smiled and squeezed my shoulder.  "You don't have to be perfect," he said.  "You just have to trust your Daddy and say you're sorry when you do something wrong.  I know what's in your heart, Sweetie."

I smiled and marched happily away with my cookie.  My Daddy didn't seem to demand too much of me, but he was such a nice daddy.  I wanted to try to do what was right and make him happy anyway.

Let the Story End

People are always asking for what happens next.  It's not enough for them that I save the world and found the love of my life.  Maybe I just want to live a quiet, normal life now, with a nice home with my husband, maybe a couple of kids.  Sure, I was created to be a fighter, but I just want to be done fighting.  I just want to be left alone.

But that's not enough for people.  The first story was so interesting and intense and moving that they want more.  There was never intended to be a sequel.  My story was intended to have an open-ended but implied happy ending.  It was supposed to end in beauty and victory and hope.  And that was supposed to be the end.

But because so many couldn't accept it, because so many claimed to have loved me and wanted to hear more, my author felt forced to write a sequel.  I'm not sure his heart was in it.  He had done so well with the first story, how could he do better with the second?  He couldn't possibly write the happy, boring ending he originally wanted for me.  He had to do something amazing, drastic, moving, heart-breaking.

That's why he killed the love of my life and left me alone and angry and seeking revenge.  The entire sequel revolves around my descent into darkness and near insanity following the loss of the thing that mattered most to me.  Readers were forced to question their love for the character who was so brave and noble in the first book and wonder if I was really all they thought me to be.

Of course, at the end, there is still a glimmer of hope.  There has to be or else the fans would riot even more. It was just enough glimmer for them to think that it was all worth it.  They ended up enjoying the book in the end.  They applauded it as "not quite living up to the hype, but certainly living up to the original."

And at what cost?  They had demanded this second book, they had created the hype, they had forced my author to do something drastic in an attempt to fulfill it all.  But what about me?  What about my life, the life they ruined?  They forced my author to warp me into something I was not originally intended to be.  Sure, the second book is still about me, but it's more of a shadow or dark cloud of who I was in the first book.  I couldn't be the same as I was before.  Of course I had to be different.  Otherwise, the reviews would have pegged it as simply "a rehash of what had already been written" and my author certainly didn't want that.  They didn't want more of the same, they wanted MORE.  They demanded to see another side of me, and so that was what they got.

And in seeing that other side, they destroyed me.  I'm wreck of what I once was.  My happy life is gone, and I'm left worse off than at the beginning of the first book.  Hope, yeah, whatever.  Hope is nothing compared to actually having the life I had always dreamed of as a little girl.  I had my dream, my heaven, for a few short time suspended years before the sequel came out.  And then it was over.  Forever.

Fans are satisfied now, for some reason.  They must like my pain, because they don't seem to be begging for another book quite as much as they were before.  And so, it seems likely I will be stuck in this state forever, without my love, without my life, even without my friends being fully back on my side, but with this blasted glimmer of hope.

I have to hand it to him, he did leave it open for a third book, much more so than he did with the first, when he wasn't expected to be forced to write a sequel.  There would be a final story, maybe something that more closely mirrors the first.  Maybe he was expecting, hoping himself, that people would want a third book, that he could do a sandwich type thing, the two good slices of bread with the bad bologna in the middle.

But its all about the fans.  The "real" people.  What they want is what they get.  That's what happens when you become a little successful.  If you're not successful, you might as well do what you want.  If you're already super successful, you might as well do what you want.  If you're in the middle, like my author, you have to do what the fans demand.  The fans demanded my demise and he gave it to them.  Goody for them.  I hate them all.

You might just think that's my dark side coming out.  And I say, of course it is.  I wouldn't even have this dark side if it wasn't for all of you.  So thank you.  Thank you for loving me so much that you demanded more, more to a story that was already concluded, nicely wrapped up with a bow on top.  Thank you for wanting to see another side of me, the dark side that was never meant to exist.  Thanks for all of that.  I really appreciate it.  Of course, you don't really care.  You loved me so much, but I'm still just a character to you.  Someone who isn't real.  Someone who doesn't actually matter, just put here for your entertainment.  And wanting more entertainment, of course, you couldn't just let the story end.  Why couldn't you have just let the story end?

Life

Life is strange.  I'm just a collection of cells.  Why should a collection of cells have any sense of life or being?  Why is it important for me to be aware that I'm alive and that I one day must die?  Why not just live on instinct, with an innate sense of what I must do or not do to survive?  Why have all these emotions?  Why feel such intense pleasure and pain, sorrow and longing, hope and fear?  What good do all these feelings accomplish?  Fear may keep me alive, but it may also cripple me.  Pain is a warning, but also a torment.  And why would I ever deserve pleasure of any kind?  What is it's purpose?  Is it just a reward for good behavior?  Then why do I sometimes feel it even when I'm not on my best behavior, and then afterwards feel guilty?  What good does that accomplish?

I'm just a collection of cells, that somehow lives and breaths and walks about and talks and writes things such as this.  Why should I ever be anything more than just a creature, like any other creature, surviving on instinct and intuition, and one day dying alone to little account.  But somehow, I'm more.  What makes me more?  What makes man more?  I have something more.  What should I do with it?  What can I do?

I have this knowledge, this conscience, these feelings.  What am I supposed to do with them now?  Is there something greater than me?  Call it God or science or nature or humanity or whatever you want, there's something more at work here.  Why else should I feel the things I do, things that don't seem to be directly linked to my survival.  Why is there more to me than simply surviving?  Why is there more to any of us?  What are we doing with it?  What will I do with it, with this strange and truly unfathomable life I've been given?  What will you do?

Three

Three little pigs, all afraid of the big bad wolf, each trying to do what they can to be safe.

Ask the first pig why he built his house of straw, and he will tell you that's what he could afford.  He had substantial funds once, just like his brothers, but his closest friend was sick and needed help and he gave away all he could, leaving him with very little in terms of seed money, just enough seed money to grow the straw needed to build his home which the big bad wolf then destroyed.  Ask the first pig how his anger flared at the wolf and he will tell you he is not angry, just sad.  The wolf was hungry and the first little pig was nothing more than food to him.  He wishes the wolf had just found someone else to eat.  Then maybe that wolf wouldn't have ended up as a stew himself.

Ask the second pig why he built his house of sticks and he will tell you that was in keeping with his desired level of income.  The second pig had actually made a great fortune, greater than either of his brothers, but he found it was destroying him.  He ignored both his friends and family and had more possessions than he knew what to do with.  Realizing the downward spiral he had thrown his life into, he gave away as much as he felt was reasonable, to the poor and needy and such, leaving himself with enough to build a modest home of sticks.  He thought it would be sufficiently safe and secure, until the wolf came a-knockin'.  For the first time in a long time, the second pig wished he had left a little more than himself, but as he and the first little pig fled together to the third and final brother's house, he looked around at the other homes surrounding him, the homes had helped his poor and downtrodden neighbors build, and he knew in his heart he had done the right thing.

Ask the third pig why he built his house of brick and he will tell you it was the best house his money could afford.  His brothers were fools for giving their money away to others, he will say.  Still, he loves them, and would never turn them down as they fled to him begging to be let into his wonderful home.  They were exhausted and out of breath, so he let them relax in the guest sitting room and had his butler bring them some tea.  And then the wolf came a-knockin'.  Foolish wolf.  Silly wolf.  Even if he managed to get in the front door, the alarms would sound and security would be here in a matter of seconds to drag him away.  But that didn't seem good enough to the third little pig.  Not sporting enough.  So he turned off his alarm system and let the wolf think he had a chance.

The first two pigs seemed afraid and even a little sad.  "Maybe we can just give him some bread and fruit," the first little pig suggested.  "He's just hungry.  I know he thinks he wants to eat us, but maybe we can show him there's a better way."

"Yes," the second little pig agreed.  "I have to admit, I'm not so sure it will work, but it's at least worth a try.  He's just hungry.  And maybe he doesn't even have a home of his own.  I've never seen him before.  He must have come a long way just to find something to eat.  It certainly shouldn't be us, but isn't there something we can give him?"

"No," the third little pig disagreed.  "I have earned all I have, just as the two of you did before you gave it all away, and I'm keeping it for myself, for us.  I'm not giving it away to some angry, cruel wolf who wants to eat my brothers and me.  This wolf will get what he deserves, which is nothing and worse."

The first little pig's eyes grew wide.  "What are you thinking of doing, brother?"

The third little pig lets a sly grin creep across his face.  "Tonight, boys," he says, "the wolf shall not feast on us, we shall feast on him."

And so, reluctantly, the first two pigs go along with the plan of their older brother.  They sadly help him taunt and tease the wolf until the wolf decides to climb down the chimney where the third little pig has a bot of boiling water and his finest chef waiting.  The third little pig's mouth begins to water as he watches his chef work.  Meanwhile, the first two little pigs huddle in a corner in the second guest bedroom with their hooves over their ears, trying to drown out the wolf's screams of agony.

When the third little pig calls his two brothers for dinner, they are reluctant to come.  They cannot think about how delicious wolf must be, as their brother is thinking, they can only think about the screams and the pain the wolf must have felt being boiled alive.  So as their third brother digs in, they push their food aside.  And sit in silence.  The third little pig looks up at them.  "What's wrong, brothers?" he asks.  "We had a great victory today.  Eat, eat!  If you are lamenting the lose of your homes, don't worry, you are welcome to stay with me as long as you wish!  I may even consider giving you loans to build new homes."  He sneers.  "As long as you choose not to just give it away."

At that the two little pigs glance at each other.  The second nods to the first.  "Good-bye, brother," the first says.  They stand, each pouring his wolf stew back into the pot.  The second takes the entire pot off from the table as they turn and walk away.  The first helps him as it is very large.

"Where are you going?" the third little pig cries out.  "Why are you taking my wolf?"

The first little pig turns back to him, a deep sadness in his voice, "This isn't your wolf," he said.  "He came to me first and I wish I had done the right thing."

"What?" the third pig shouts, "Let him eat you?"

The second pig sighs and shakes his head.  "Not let him be eaten," he replies.  "But what's done is done, and there seems only one right thing to do now."

And the two little pigs lug the giant pot out of the brick house, to the second pig's neighborhood where they distribute it to the poorest, most hungry families without telling them a thing about what's in it.  They considered dumping it out, but decided it would go to better use feeding those who were truly in need.  Perhaps two wrongs don't make a right, but at least the second wrong was more right than the first, they decided.  And done with more love.

After they are done, late that night, they return the pot to their brother's house, leaving it on his doorstep, not even bothering to knock or to ring the bell, and begin their journey far, far away.  They do not know any army of angry wolf relatives is off plotting revenge against them and their brother, knowing only where the third little pig lives.  They aren't trying to run and hide from the wolf mob.  They are trying to get away from their brother and his superiority complex.  They don't wish him harm, in fact they wish him well, as they vanish into the night.  Will their brother be eaten in a few days by a dozen angry wolves coming to seek their own revenge?  They do not know.  The possibility does not even occur to them.  They just want to get out, to be free once again, and to forget the horrible, blood-curdling screams of the "big bad" wolf, who was just trying to survive.

Playdough

So many colors and so many shapes to make.  Sitting there at your table alone or perhaps with your siblings or friends, you can make anything, do anything, be anything.  When you're young, you can mold your future into anything you want it to be.

And then you grow up.  Playdough is a fond memory, perhaps one you choose to pass onto your own children, but its not something for you anymore.  Your life is what you've made it.  The choices you've made when you were younger seem to shape who you are today.  You can still make tweaks, minor corrections, but the mold's already set.  The playdough's been left out for days, weeks, months, even years without an intervention.  It is what it is, and it feels like there's very little you can do about it now.

What if you want to start over, to begin again.  Is your only choice to give fresh dough to the future generation, to those who come after you.  Is your future really already hard and fast, determined by all that's led up to this point without much room for growth.

Maybe you want to go back to just playing with playdough again.  Maybe you want to crush what you are, start with a fresh ball, use a different color.  Maybe you want your future to once again be undecided, like when you were young, like when you were too young to worry about your future at all.  Can you do that?

It isn't fair really... when you're shaping your life, molding it into what it is to become, you don't really appreciate it, may not even realize what you've doing.  You've always been able to reshape it before, to recreate it, to try a different mold.  And then one day you realized you'd forgotten what you were doing.  You'd let it set out for those days or weeks or months or even years and its hardened.  Is there no going back?  Now that you actually realize what you've done, are you stuck with what you created back when you didn't even know what you were doing?

Watching the new children play gives you hope.  Can you pass onto them the lessons you didn't learn before it was too late?  Will they even listen?  Didn't the adults in your life try to do the same thing with you when you were young?  Did you listen?

Maybe you can start all over, maybe you can't, but there's always playdough out there somewhere, wanting to be formed into something beautiful, even if its not just your own.

Write Something

Too long have I found distraction in the lesser things of life, caught up in what I think matters, but doesn't really.  It's time to refocus on what truly matters, at least until tomorrow, when I fall back into my rut again.  Is there no breaking free?  I know I can't do it alone.  Who will help me?  Isn't that question the thing that really matters?

---

Nothing novel remains, especially the desire for novelty.

---

Dance, twirl, spin.
Fall, and get back up again.

A smile, a wink, a nudge.
How could anyone hold a grudge?

An anger grows in me,
trying mightily to break free.

Dance, twirl, spin.
Fall, and get back up again.

---

Out of words, nothing left to say.  Is it okay to steal thoughts from others at a time like this?  Will they even care?  Some do, some don't.  Do you want your words to be yours alone, or do you want them to truly live?

---

Hope.  It's more powerful than you think, no matter how powerful you think it is.  (And love is even better.)

Amber - Part 1

Amber's hair is black.  She just finished dying it to spite her parents for naming her in such a ridiculous manner.  Amber's parents are more than a little odd.  Before Amber, their only child, was born, they decided to make a concentrated effort to not think about any potential baby names ahead of time, opting to name their child the first thing they thought of when they saw him/her (also not knowing ahead of time the gender of their baby).  Amber supposes she should be grateful for that ugly tuft of orangish-red hair that showed up on her newborn head.  Otherwise, she might have had an even worse name like "Scream" or "Wrinkle".  Those are the things she associates with babies.

Amber doesn't really hate babies, though.  Mostly, she actually loves them, or at least once did, and is just bitter at her parents for never having another child.  Amber would have loved, she thought, to have a younger brother or sister.  Her parents decided she was wrong.  When Amber asked if she would ever have a sibling like the other kids in her fourth grade class (at that time it was just her and a very strange boy who still ate lots of paste who were only children), her parents smiled and said that they loved her too much for that.  In confusion, Amber said she wanted a younger brother or sister, but her parents patted her on the head and wandered off to make some weird organic dinner.  Turns out, they had decided that if they had another child, Amber would think they didn't love her enough.  Strangely, Amber decided they didn't love her enough because they ignored her request for them to at least consider giving her someone to play with other than the bratty girls at her school.

Amber's parents tend not to listen to anything she says.  Well, sometimes they listen, but then they promptly come up with a reason why Amber doesn't actually know what she wants.  They tell Amber that she is so good at art, particularly the darker variety (Amber has considered telling them it's because she channels her rage at them into her paintings), and that she should pursue that as a career.  Amber has decided that instead she will choose a subject she would like to be better at but did horribly in during high school.  For now, that seems to be Chemistry.  She's all signed up for the basic Chemistry course and another Chemistry elective in spite of technically being enrolled in the art school.

This is only Amber's second night away from home for college.  Her naturally blonde roommate is off whoring herself at some frat party that said roommate's older brother invited her to.  Amber's not bitter about not being invited along.  She would have said no anyway.  She's all too happy to sit her looking happily at her reflection as she reflects upon the fact that her parents would never let her do this.  She'd actually asked once before around her sophomore year of college and her parents forbid it saying that if she dyed her hair, she wouldn't be Amber anymore.  Amber is considering whether she should legally change her name to "Black" and claim she was just following their advice.  Amber is pretty sure 18 is old enough to get a legal name change.  Maybe after she's done with this smiling contentedly crap, she'll look that up on the internet.

Applications

My name is Sarah.  I'm a wife and mother of two.  I want to join the uprising because my entire life has been pointless and you are the only option I have left.  My husband doesn't love me and I've spent so much time trying to get him to love me again that I neglected my children to the point where they've become little brats that I can't stand to be around.  They are lost to me.  I've given up all hope of getting either them or my husband to love me again.  Even if my kids said they loved me, I would know it was a lie.  How could they love me after how I've treated them?  And even if they did love me I don't love them.  I think my whole family would be better off if I just disappeared.  And my career is a joke, too.  I worked for one year before I got pregnant and by now, my degree is so far outdated that I would be laughed out of any job interview.  Except this one.  I have nothing left to live for, and that's exactly what you need.  My past gives me no fond memories and my future gives me no hope.  All I can do is live in the now.  That's exactly what you need.  Also, I have a very generic face, as my husband has told me, so I can blend into any crowd without a problem.

My name is Garret.  I think what you guys do is totally awesome and I am so totally on board.  I can't think of anything more sweet than the way you guys show the man what's what.  I can't even describe how excited I would be to join you.  Plus, I'm such a total screw up and so totally going no where with my life right now that I'm sure my parents would be thrilled to see me gone.

My name is Sam.  I am a shadow.  I am no one.  No one knows where I come from or where I go.  Unlike a shadow, I can be controlled, reigned in.  I want that.  I want to be controlled by you.  Use me.  I'm perfect.

My name is Roger.  I do not fear death.  I've already died twice, legally, and obviously been revived both times.  I used to be a daredevil when I was younger.  That's what got me killed, those two times.  I've had plenty of lovers, but no one I've ever connected with.  Love and attachments are not a concern.  I think I might even be incapable of love.  But I am not incapable of loyalty.  I was so loyal to my manager when I was a daredevil that I still listed him as my manager for five years after he was dead.  And speaking of being a daredevil, I have skills that you wouldn't believe.  I can twist myself, contort myself, throw myself, run over hot coals, jump an amazing distance, I can ride a motorcycle and drive a speed boat at speeds and angles you wouldn't believe were possible, I can also ski and snowboard, probably lots of other stuff I'm forgetting to list buy haven't forgotten how to do.  You need me, and I need to feel that thrill again.  Everything else has grown stale.  And I do not fear death.

My name is Charles, or Charlie if I like you.  I used to be in the army, active duty, so I'm smart enough to take orders and clever enough to improvise when needed.  I'm guessing that most of the applications you guys get are from desperate or crazy people.  People who have lost all hope.  People who want one last thrill in life, or don't even know what they want.  People who have illusions of grandeur but don't understand what they'd be fighting for.  I am none of those people.  I know what you really are, and I more than approve, I wish I had started it.  But since I didn't start it, all I can do now is join you.  Even if you don't accept me into your inner circle, I will do all I can to fight for you.  I know you try to keep it a secret, but I know that your cause is just and noble and something worth fighting for.  Most people come to you wanting to die, but I come to you wanting to live, and to give that life to others, others who won't even know what I did to help them.  I don't need you and maybe you don't even need me, but I want to be a part of what you are.  I want to help.  And I think that desire is something you won't get from anyone else you applies this way.

Untitled

The world will be ending soon.  Sometimes I wish I had been there at the start, to see that first spark, divine or otherwise, that started it all.  But then again, watching it all come apart could certainly be interesting as well.

It is strange how at the end, you look back on all the things you thought were so important and realize that they just don't matter at all.  I used to come up here to escape from it all, to be alone.  I was always feeling like I needed my space, needed to get away.  Now I realize, the last thing I really want when it all comes crashing down is to face it alone.

We are all in this together, in a sense.  I mean, we all know its coming.  I look out over the city.  I see the smoke rising already.  Turmoil and chaos.  It's not safe there anymore.  Everyone is trying to escape, get away somewhere.  This is my spot.  I don't think anyone else even knows its here.  They all loaded their husbands and children and dogs and as many worldly possessions as they could into their cars and are out there stuck somewhere on the interstates, trying to flee from one disaster zone to another.  Me, when I heard the news, I just packed a bag and started walking.

And now I'm here, alone.  Watching as the world burns.  And the apocalypse hasn't even started yet.  Wouldn't that be something?  If they came back and said, "Oh wait, never mind about that whole meteor thing.  We were wrong.  Mankind will go on after all", only to find it's too late and we've already destroyed ourselves?

I guess this is why I always shut other people out.  I always wanted to be the best at everything, and I only viewed other people as the ones I had to beat to get there.  That kind of attitude leaves you very lonely, and I thought that was what I wanted.  I thought surviving the loneliness was a strength, a victory in itself.

I own my own home.  At least I did.  Well, I guess I still do, it's just that I'm pretty certain it's destroyed by now.  Big screen TVs, computer, jewelry, the antique furniture they may not even realize is valuable, it's all there.  I have an alarm system, but I shut it off before I went.  I think part of me was waiting for this day, the day when all I had worked for would become meaningless to me and I would finally be free.

But am I free, really?  I'm up here all alone, having abandoned my old life of things and accomplishments, only to find I'm shackled by something else:  the very fact that I have escaped.

Perhaps part of me still wants to flaunt my victory.  Perhaps I don't want someone here with me now to comfort me so much as I want someone here I can triumph over.  I want someone to see my strength and perseverance and to see that I'm not afraid.

But I am afraid.  My God, how I am afraid.  And there's a thought:  God.  Where is he in all of this?  Is the end of the world something he's doing to us?  Was it always going to be this way?  I've heard of the people always predicting it and always being wrong.  I was desensitized.  But none of them predicted this end.  Maybe that means it's actually going to happen.  If God is real, will he let it end this way, or will he step in at the last minute and save the day?  That sounds like something I would choose to do, if I were God, let them all panic for a while and then step in to save them all, show them how much they need me.  I really am kind-of a mean person, at least I used to be.

But no, if God is really out there, I don't think that's what he'll do.  He let the world run wild for so long, doing whatever it wanted, this seems the natural way for it to end.  The threat of a meteor crashing into earth and destroying it all, the panic and destruction we reap upon ourselves as we wait for it to happen.  Not knowing what to do.  Helpless on our own.  I think God would just let that play out.  Helpless on our own.  Maybe that's the point of this all:  we're helpless on our own.

I guess all there is to do now is to sit and wait, and try my best not to panic.  When I think about it ending, really ending, I find it hard to breathe.  Maybe if I just lean back and close my eyes, when I open them again, this will all have been a bad dream.  But I doubt it.  I don't really want to close my eyes.  As scared as I am, I still want to be wide awake when it happens.

And I want someone to be here with me.  But who can I call?  Who would come out here who isn't already panicking?  There's no one.  No friends, no family.  No one will come.  And I'm pretty sure my cell phone reception is shot all to hell anyway.  Hell.  Is that where we'll all soon be?  I guess all we can do is wait and see.

Wait and see alone.

What was that?  In those bushes?  I thought I heard something.  Standing, looking, could it be I won't actually have to face this alone?

A man steps out.  He looks surprised to see me.  Business suit, torn; glasses, crocked; hair, disheveled; but a bit of a handsome look to him nonetheless.  He speaks.  "I didn't expect anyone to be out here."

I reply.  "Neither did I."

"This used to be my spot, when I was younger."

"It's my spot now."

He nods, seeming there's not much more to say.  I don't want to sound hostile.  I just don't know how to sound inviting.  My heart is pounding.  I don't want him to go, but even now my pride stops me from saying so.  I expect him to turn, but he doesn't, he comes closer until he is standing right beside me and then he sits down and stares out over the city.  I sit beside him.

"I never thought it would end this way."  It's him speaking, not me.

"How did you think it would end?"  That one's me.

He shrugs and reaches up to wipe some dirt from his face.  All he manages to do is smear it.  "Not in my lifetime, that's for sure.  I guess I never thought about how, just when.  The answer to when being 'Not in my lifetime.'"  I hope he isn't going to start rambling now.  Maybe I was wrong about not wanting to be alone.  He sighs and turns to look at me.  "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm just not sure how to deal with this."

"And you think I do?"

He looks down at his scuffed up shoes.  "Well, you certainly seem calm enough.  Your reaction to me coming through those bushes seemed more alarmed than the expression you're wearing now."

My turn to shrug.  "Not much I can do."

"There's always something you can do."

My head snaps towards him.  "If you really believed that, you wouldn't be up here with me right now."

He smiles.  Not sure how he can smile, but he does.  "I wasn't talking about me."

I shake my head and frown more deeply.  "Well, you can't be talking about me; you don't know me at all."

He, somehow, continues to smile.  "I thought I wanted to be alone," he says.  "I was wrong."

My heart skips a beat and I'm sure I must look surprised to hear him say that.  "Me, too," I say softly, almost in a whisper.

Still smiling, but more softly now, subtly.  It doesn't seem so out of place, somehow, to be smiling like he is now, within hours of the world being destroyed.  He holds out his hand to me.  "I'm Abram," he says.

I give him my own hand and shake firmly, but not too firm.  "Sarah," I say.

He lets out something between a snort and a chuckle.  "They're from the Bible, you know," he says as he releases my hand.

"Who?"

"Abraham and Sarah.  God gave them a son long after they were too old to have children."

I wrinkle up my nose a bit trying to understand his point.  "What does that have to do with anything?" I ask.

He shrugs and looks back at the city.  "Maybe nothing," he says.

In the silence, I decide to follow his gaze as well.  After a few more moments of this he says, "There is sort of a tragic beauty to it all."

I find myself nodding, though I don't know how I could agree that there is any beauty in any of this.

"If you could go back," he asks, turning back to look at me, "what would you have done differently?"

"I would have loved," I say without really thinking.

"You would have loved more?"

I shake my head.  "No.  I would have loved.  Period.  People, I mean, not possessions and accomplishments."

He nods and then sighs as he looks back towards the city again.  "I guess it doesn't matter anyway," he says.  "That's one thing we can't do is change the past."

"All we can do is come to peace with the present," I find myself saying.

His head jerks back to look at me again.  He seems somehow surprised that I would say that, but then he smiles, again, that same strange smile that somehow seems to fit despite the apocalypse.  And he holds out his hand again.  After a not so brief hesitation, I take it, and we sit there, holding hands in the grass, watching the smoke continue to rise.

"It used to be so peaceful up here," he says, "when I was a boy."

Silence.  I have nothing else to say.  I look up at the sky.  You can see the meteorite in the distance, just a bright red dot now, but it's coming closer.  Something like twelve more hours from now, I think it would be.  I have to admit, I've kind-of lost track of the time, since it's essentially meaningless now.

"So this is how the world ends," Abram mutters.

"I think that's a poem," I say, somehow feeling a little lighter.

"Huh," is all he says.

And we sit there, hand in hand, waiting for the world to end.

Vasuvius and Brock (Episode One, Part Four)

Rhonda:  Just wait here a minute.  [She goes off to her bedroom]

Vasuvius:  So, my young friend, what do you think of our hostess.

Brock [blushing slightly]:  She is pretty and kind.  I am glad we are here to help her, though I hope we will not need to.  I cannot believe two unrelated, unmarried women are living alone together without any need for protection.

Vasuvius:  Yes, yes, but you mean to say she no longer appears boyish to you?

Brock [blushing more]:  Master, such comments are not appropriate while we are taking shelter under her roof.

Vasuvius [smiling]:  I believe this roof belongs to many, but still, I will "cut you a break" as I think they say in this region.

Brock:  Huh?

Rhonda [returning with a laptop]:  Alright, boys, gather around.

Vasuvius:  Now what might this be?

Rhonda:  This is a computer.  [She sits it on the dining table nearby]

Vasuvius [walking over]:  Now I must admit, this is not something I have seen before.  [Rhonda opens the laptop and the screen lights up]  Oh my, it is like a more compact version of the television.

Rhonda:  Yes, except it is much more interactive.  [She puts her fingers on the keyboard to enter her password and then glances at the two who are now hovering over her shoulder.]  Don't watch this part.

Brock:  Why not?

Rhonda:  It's personal.

Brock:  My apologies.  [He glances away, as does Vasuvius, but Vasuvius glances back as Rhonda hits the enter key and her machine starts to load]

Rhonda:  Okay

Brock [turning back]:  There's a painting!  But what are all those things [he points at an icon on the desktop, nearly touching the screen]

Rhonda [pushing his hand away]:  Don't touch the screen, you would damage it.

Brock [blushing, yet again]:  My apologies.

Rhonda:  You want to know where the library is.  We can look it up here.  [She opens a web browser and types 'Public Library']

Vasuvius:  It's printing information right on the screen!  So you tell it what you want to know about and then what are all those things.

Rhonda:  Links, to websites.

Vasuvius:  I'm not familiar with this term.

Rhonda:  Well you were interested in books.  They're kind of like books stored inside the computer.

Vasuvius:  Books are stored inside there?  All books?

Rhonda [shaking her head]:  No, not all books.  And it's not always free or easy to get the books either.  But anyway, here's what we're looking for.  [She clicks on a link for a map giving the location of the main library.]  There it is.

Vasuvius:  I just need some coordinates, distances.  You measure things in miles?  That is a measure of distance?

Rhonda:  Yes.

Vasuvius:  I don't suppose you know how many collets that is?

Rhonda [shaking her head]:  Not a clue.

Vasuvius:  Hmm.  Well a collet is approximately the distance a man can walk on foot in one tenth-a-day.  Does that help?

Rhonda:  I find it unlikely that you measure days the same way we do.

Vasuvius:  Yes, I suppose you are right.  I had not anticipated this complication.  [Frowning]  Perhaps I will have to travel by foot after all.

Brock [perking up]  Or we could go in one of those horseless carriages again.  A bus was it called?

Vasuvius:  You and your horseless carriages.

Brock:  They are fascinating!  And so fast!

Vasuvius:  I find this device quite a lot more interesting myself [pointing to the laptop] but if you would like to come with and help me find the books I need, we can certainly go by bus.  [Looking at Rhonda]  Could you kindly direct us to a bus then, my lady?

Rhonda:  Well, I haven't let you two out of my sight yet...

Brock:  Other than when you went to fetch this device [pointing at laptop]

Vasuvius:  Or when I demonstrated my teleportation ability.

Rhonda [with a sigh]:  Yes, other than those.  My point was that I would be happy to accompany you.

Vasuvius:  That is quite generous of you, my Lady.  And as compensation, I will gladly pay for our passage this time [Holds our a fan of dollar bills he has conjured up]

Rhonda:  You know what?  What the heck.  If you two are offering to pay for stuff, I might as well take you up on it.

Vasuvius [bowing slightly]:  A wise decision, my Lady.

Rhonda [closing her laptop]:  You know, I think maybe I could get used to this 'my Lady' stuff.

Brock [smiling]:  Of course, my Lady.

[Rhonda glances at him with a look of mild amusement/annoyance at which point he looks away]

Rhonda:  Come on.  [She leads them out the door, grabbing her keys and locking up behind her on her way out.  They walk back to the bus station as Brock and Vasuvius whisper a bit and then Brock asks some random questions about things they see along the way.  They arrive at the bus station and Rhonda glances at her watch.]  We left before I thought to actually check the schedule or see if we needed to transfer to get closer to the library.  I guess I might as well check now.  [She pulls out her smartphone and then looks up to see Vasuvuis and Brock both staring at her.]  Let's just say it's magic.  [She does a search for the schedule while Vasuvius tries to look over her shoulder and Brock keeps a safe distance.]  This should be fine.  [She puts the phone away and Vasuvius backs up.]  Should be just a few minutes.

Vasuvuis:  Oh good.  Then perhaps I can determine the exact duration of a minute.

Rhonda:  I can show you that.  [She holds out her arm to show him her wrist watch].  You have these where you're from?

Brock [looking over as well]:  Looks like a pocket watch, but much smaller.

Rhonda:  It's a wrist watch.  Anyway, a minute is the time for this little thing [points to second hand] to go all the way around once.

Vasuvius:  Fascinating.

Brock [Looking over at him]:  Is this really that fascinating, Master.

Vasuvius [Looking up at him]:  Everything is fascinating, my boy, if you know how to approach it.

[They wait a while longer with Vasuvius staring a bit awkwardly at Rhonda's wrist watch while Brock glances at Rhonda from time to time and Rhonda looks first at Vasuvius, then at Brock, and then at the bus stop.]

Rhonda:  I still can't believe this is happening.

Brock:  Neither can we.

Vasuvius [looking up]:  Might that be the bus approaching?

Rhonda:  I believe it is.

[The bus arrives, they get on and pay their dues, sit near the back.]

Rhonda [in a whisper]:  I mean you guys are from another world, supposedly, and here we are riding a bus to the library.  Isn't that just mind-blowing?

Brock:  I don't think so.  What would you expect us to do?

Rhonda:  I don't know.

Vasuvius:  Brock just wants to get home.  This is currently our best approach to help him do so.

Brock:  It's not just me.  You want to get home, too.

Vasuvius:  Yes, eventually, but I wouldn't mind investigating this world a little more first.

Brock [glancing at Rhonda]:  Yes, I suppose I wouldn't mind that much myself.  [Rhonda laughs a little to herself and shakes her head as she smiles.]

[They ride the bus, mostly in silence, through several stops until Rhonda tells them the next stop is theirs.  They get off the bus, nodding politely to the driver on their way off, and start walking.]

Rhonda:  It's a few blocks to the library, but I figured that would be easier to walk than to catch another bus.

Brock:  I am quite good at walking.  It was our main means of transport back home.

Rhonda:  You didn't have a horse or something?

Brock:  Sometimes, but they were often more trouble than they were worth, with neither of us being particularly good at handling them and thieves trying to steal them.

Vasuvius:  They were quite valuable creatures.

Rhonda:  Couldn't you just conjure up money to buy a new one like you did here?

Vasuvius:  To some extent, but it was not necessary.

Rhonda:  Unlike now with your dollar bills?

Vasuvius:  Of course.

Rhonda:  Interesting morality.

Vasuvius [cocking his head a bit to the side]:  Is it?

Brock [stopping dead in his tracks and pointing]:  Master, look!

Vasuvius [looking where Brock is pointing to see a bag lady pushing a large shopping cart along]:  What is it you notice, lad?

Brock:  Don't you see?

Vasuvius [after looking in silence for a moment]:  But that's impossible.

Rhonda [looking as well]:  What?  It's just some homeless woman.

Vasuvius [shaking his head]:  Perhaps, but it doesn't appear to be so to us.

Rhonda:  What do you mean?  What does it appear to be to you?

Brock [in a completely serious voice]:  A witch.

Rhonda [instinctively laughing]:  A witch?  Like with a broomstick and warts and stuff?

Brock [looking at her with a confused look]:  I don't think so.  A witch is a magic user, like Vasuvius...

Vasuvius:  But quite unlike Vasuvius, she tends to use her powers for ill and harm.  Curses and such.  The presence of a witch could mean great danger, but it could also potentially mean a way home.  She had to have gotten here somehow.  Perhaps we can compel her to tell us how to get home.

Brock [reaching to his back where his sword has been hidden this whole time]:  I can be quite persuasive if needed, Master.

Vasuvius:  It might not come to that.  If we can get the jump on her, perhaps I can make use of a spell to convince her to tell us what she knows.

Brock:  But, Master, you haven't mastered the truth spell yet!  When you tried it on me last week, I was able to answer nearly half of your questions with lies.

Vasuvius [shrugging]:  Well, we need to do something.  She's getting away.

Brock:  Indeed.

Rhonda:  You two are crazy.

Brock [turning back to look at her]:  Maybe, but even apart from us trying to get home, a witch walking about on your streets could be a very bad situation for your fair city.  I recommend you get to safety while we track her.

Rhonda:  Yeah right.  What's the worst she's going to do to me?

Brock:  Let's hope we don't find out.  [He walks away after Vasuvius who has already started approaching the witch.]

Rhonda [walking after him, and speaking in a whisper as she catches up]:  Why don't you just cast some sort of spell on her?

Vasuvuis:  I intend to, but it has to be the right spell.  If I get too close to her, she'll surely detect me, and if I use a spell she's resistant to, all hell may break loose.  I need to figure out just what sort of witch she is.

Rhonda:  How?

Vasuvius:  By watching.  [He stops short and ducks behind a light pole as the woman stops pushing her cart to pick up a glass bottle.  She turns it around in her hands and then tosses it into her cart.]  She is interested in the glass bottle.  That is very revealing.

Rhonda:  It is?

Brock:  It means she likely specializes in distortions.

Rhonda:  Meaning what?

Brock [looking back at her]:  I really must insist that you wait here, my Lady.  Vasuvius will soon be making his move and I don't want you to be in danger.

Rhonda:  He won't be in danger?

Brock:  Of course, but he can handle it.

Vasuvius:  Brock, wait here with the lady.  I know what I must do.

Brock [nodding]:  Yes, Master.  [Vasuvius starts walking towards the woman very slowly.]

Rhonda:  But...

Brock [turning back and glaring at her angrily]:  Don't disrupt and don't disobey.

Rhonda [eyes growing wide in fear and taking a step back]:  Geeze.  I didn't mean to upset you so.

Brock [softening]:  I apologize, my Lady.  It's just that Vasuvius requires full concentration and I desire to keep you safe.

Rhonda [pointing]:  Well whatever he requires I think he thinks he's got it.

[Brock looks ahead to see Vasuvius approaching and just starting to take out his wand.  However, before he starts to cast whatever he was going to cast, the bag lady suddenly jerks her head and looks straight at him.  Making a noise that's a cross between a hiss and a screech, she knocks her shopping cart over, bottles spilling everywhere, grabs a wooden rod from beneath the cart, and lunges at him]

Brock [shouting]:  Master!

[The witch looks over at him instead, distracted just long enough for Vasuvius to cast his spell, which consists of a blue lightning like bolt emitting from his wand and hitting the witch squarely in the forehead.  She stumbles backwards, but doesn't quite fall down.]

Rhonda [looking around wildly but seeing no one]:  Geeze, what if someone sees?

Brock:  That depends on who wins.  [He draws his sword from his back and rushes forward as Rhonda takes more steps backwards and looks to be about to bolt, but then rushes forward to the light pole and watches in shock as Vasuvius and Brock case the witch down an ally, disappearing from sight.  She waits several beats and then runs after them.  As she approaches the ally, she sees it shrouded in darkness.  She stands at the edge of the darkness, not sure what to do, hearing no noise from inside]

Rhonda [after waiting a few seconds, speaking timidly and quietly]:  Brock?

[The instance she speaks, the bag lady witch lunges out of the ally, hissing at her and grabbing her around the throat.  Rhonda screams as boils erupt all over her face.  Brock then emerges from the darkness with his sword in front of him.]

Brock:  Arrghh!  [He stabs the witch through the back.  Her eyes grow wide and she releases Rhonda, falling to the ground in a pile]

Vasuvius [exiting from the shadows as they fade around him]:  What did you do?!

Brock:  I'm sorry master, I had to stop her [he points to Rhonda]

Vasuvius:  Oh my.

Rhonda [looking at her boil covered arms and crying]:  What did she do to me.

Brock [putting away his sword and kneeling beside her]:  It will be okay.  It's only a spell.  Now that she's dead, Vasuvius should be able to easily dispel it [Looking up to Vasuvius]  Right, Vasuvius?

Vasuvius:  Yes, don't worry, my Lady.  It's all going to be okay.

Rhonda [tears still streaming down her boil ridden face as Vasuvius waves his wand about her]:  How can it be okay?  You really killed her.

Brock [Taking her hand as the boils fade from it]:  I had to.  She would have killed you if I didn't act quickly.

Rhonda [Still in a daze]:  Killed me?

Brock [dropping her hand as the remaining boils fade from her body]:  Perhaps now is not the best time to explain.  [Glancing up at Vasuvius]  What do we do now, Master?

Vasuvius [shaking his head]:  I'm not quite sure.  I have to admit he presence of a witch certainly changes things quite a lot.  I just wish I had been able to interrogate her.

Brock [resolutely]:  It could not be avoided.

Vasuvius [nodding]:  Yes I suppose it could not.  [He waves his wand around the woman's body and it slowly fades away until just a pile of rags is left.]

Rhonda [still sobbing a bit, and trying to wipe the tears from her face]:  I think I'd like to go back home now.

Vasuvius:  Yes, of course.

Brock [taking Rhonda's hand to help her up]:  I'm so sorry, my Lady.  I failed to protect you.

Rhonda [wiping the last of her tears away with her free hand and forcing a smile]:  No, I ought to thank you. I mean, if aliens are coming to my city, at least I have the two of you on my side.

Vasuvius [staring at the former witch pile]:  Indeed.  Perhaps it was not just some random mistake that landed us here after all.

Brock:  Master?

Vasuvius [looking straight at him]:  Perhaps we were summoned here by someone seeking our help against things such as this [gesturing to the witch pile].

Brock:  Then why weren't they waiting for us?  [He starts to walk, guiding Rhonda along.]

Vasuvius [walking as well]:  It's not an exact science, so to speak.  Perhaps they weren't sure exactly who they were summoning or where they would land.

Brock:  Well then we have to find them and help them.

Vasuvius:  Yes, just as soon as we get this fair Lady safely home.

Brock:  Of course.

Rhonda:  I'm helping.

Brock:  I don't think so, my Lady.  You saw what just happened.

Rhonda:  Yes, and I don't want it to happen to anyone else.  Ever.

Brock:  Very well then.  It's decided.  [Forcing a weak smile.]  Vasuvius, Brock, and Rhonda, to the rescue.

Vasuvius [nodding]:  For as long as it takes.

[They walk down the street back towards the bus stop as the sun shines brightly behind them illuminating them such that they nearly glow.  A dog runs oinking across the street behind them and out of sight.]

Vasuvius and Brock (Episode One, Part Three)

[The walk a few blocks down the street and Rhonda cautiously opens the door with her key, glancing at her two companions to make sure they aren't doing something particularly odd.  Then she leads them up two flights of stairs to her apartment.]

Rhonda [as she unlocks the door]:  Sarah, we have guests, you'd better put your clothes on.  [Opening the door and glancing around]  She must not be here, her key is gone [pointing to one of the hooks on the wall by the door and then placing her key chain on the other hook].  Well, make yourselves at home, I guess.  What to wizards from other lands like to eat?

Brock:  Pigs mostly [glancing at Vasuvius who glares at him a bit]

Rhonda:  Don't let Sarah hear you say that.  In addition to her obvious strange behavior, she's also a vegetarian.

Brock [sitting on the couch and giving a surprised look at its softness]:  Vegetarian?

Rhonda:  Yeah, she doesn't eat any meat.  Ever.

Brock:  How strange.

Rhonda:  Something we agree on at least.  I mean, not eating meat isn't always that strange, but Sarah makes it strange, and sometimes awkward.

Brock:  Why do you live here with her if you do not like her?

Rhonda:  I didn't say I didn't like her.  She's just different.  Like you two.

[Brock nods a little and then looks ahead of him.  His eyes grow wide as he notices the large flat screen television on the wall]

Brock:  What is the purpose of that giant black box?

Rhonda:  Wow you guys are either really good actors or you really aren't from this planet.  That's a television.

[Vasuvius approaches and looks at the edge of the television, poking it just a little with his wand]

Vasuvius:  The paintings I have seen of this device are quite different.

Rhonda:  You've seen paintings of televisions?  I'm not even sure I've seen paintings of televisions.

Vasuvius:  Yes, in some of the books I've seen about your planet.  The televisions were much more cubical.

Rhonda:  Those books are out of date then.  This is a flat screen.

Brock:  A screen?  Like netting?  A screen?

Rhonda [smiling a little]:  Not quite.  [She picks up the remote and turns the television on.  Brock nearly falls of the couch in shock.  Vasuvius takes a couple steps back and seems mildly surprised.]

Brock:  What kind of magic is this?  There are people and animals trapped inside!

Rhonda:  Electricity.

Brock:  I do not understand.

Vasuvius [walking over to the couch]:  It's like the horseless carriages, Brock.  Really if you want to think of it like magic, perhaps that would help.  I believe in this world they would call it science, but the two are really not so different.  [Sitting down]  Oh, comfy.

Rhonda [walking over to where she can look at Vasuvius]:  What do you mean they're not that different?  That crap you did to me outside sure wasn't science.

Vasuvius:  Not as you know it, but it still follows certain rules, and one must study it for many years to truly master and understand it.  The more you understand of magic, the better you will be at performing it.

Brock:  That's probably I'm so bad at it.  I understand very little about any of this.

Rhonda:  So you can't do any of the things he can do [pointing to Vasuvius].

Brock:  Oh, I can do few things.  Parlor tricks.  [He snaps his fingers and a tiny flame appears hovering above them.  Rhonda jumps back a step or two.]

Rhonda:  Now don't burn my apartment down.

Brock:  Oh I doubt I could if I tried.  [He shakes his hand and the flame vanishes].  Vasuvius on the other hand...

Rhonda [glancing at Vasuvius]:  That's certainly reassuring.

Vasuvius:  We mean you no harm, my Lady.  I suspect Brock only means to inform you that I am more than capable of protecting you from danger.

Rhonda:  What danger though?  I'm not even sure why you're here in my apartment, other than the fact that I couldn't imagine just letting you go on your way after what I saw and heard down on the street.  I mean, I'm still not even sure this is all really happening.  But what is it you imagine you'll protect me from.  A dragon or something?

Brock [eyes lighting up even more than when she turned on the TV] There are dragons in this city?

Rhonda [laughing nervously]  Not that I'm aware of.  But that's my point.  You seem to come from a land of dungeons and dragons and adventure.  Sure this is a big city, but there's no danger like what you're apparently used to.

Brock:  I've never seen a dragon before in my life.  They are the stuff of legends and fables much like, well, I suppose, this place.

Rhonda [smiling more sincerely]:  Well I'm glad you're impressed, I suppose, but still, what are you going to do for me besides show me some tricks.

Brock [pointing to the television]:  Well if you don't need any assistance, what about them.

Rhonda:  Oh I can free them quite easily [she turns off the television]

Brock [standing up]:  Free them?!  Where did they go?  To some other plane?

Rhonda:  No.  They were never there to begin with.

Brock:  I don't understand any of this.

Rhonda:  Imagine how I feel.

Brock:  You live here.  Surely it makes sense to you.

Vasuvius:  I think she was referring to her encounter of us.

Brock:  Oh.

Vasuvius:  But as for that device [pointing to TV] if I recall correctly, it's some sort of image transmitter or amplified, perhaps like a telescope, except that it also splits the image so that many people in many different places can view it at once.  It sounded rather fascinating and I must admit it is even more impressive to see one in person.  But basically, if I understand correctly, there are no people in the device itself, but rather the image of them is taken down somehow, much as one would paint a painting or write down a spell, and transferred through some sort of tubes to the screen, as Rhonda called it.

Rhonda:  I couldn't have described it better.  At least not in a way you would understand.

Brock:  I suppose it makes a little sense.  At least as much as magic does.

Vasuvius:  I must admit, I had not given sufficient thought to all there is to learn of this world.  I do find it all quite fascinating.  Though I'm still not sure that this gathering of knowledge will serve in accomplishing much of anything unless we can find a way home.

Rhonda:  You mean you can't be back to where you came from?

Vasuvius:  Indeed.  We have suffered a bit of a mishap from a back-firing spell.

Brock:  That's an understatement.

Vasuvius [looking at Rhonda]:  Yes, but if anyone can help us, I think it might be you.

Rhonda:  Me?

Vasuvius:  Yes.  You've seen a taste of what we can do, and yet you are still here, welcoming us into your home even, something that is unheard of for a woman who lives alone to do where we are from.

Brock:  That's because most women who live alone where we are from do so because they are grotesquely ugly.  That's certainly not the case here.

Rhonda:  I'll bet you say that to all the girls.

Vasuvius:  Anyway, if you are able to trust us in your home, I feel you may also be willing to help us get back to ours.

Rhonda:  I'm listening, but suggest I do something inappropriate and you're back out on the street.

Vasuvius [looking mildly confused]:  I do not think it is inappropriate.  I was only wondering if you know where I could find a library.  Preferably one with very, very old books.

Rhonda:  A library?  Is that really all you need?  Sure, I think there's a small one about a mile from here and a big one in the heart of downtown, maybe seven miles away?

Vasuvius:  Wonderful.  If you could give me more precise directions, I'm sure I can manage to find my way.

Rhonda:  Are you sure about that, other worldly adventurer?

Vasuvius:  Oh, quite sure. [He snaps his fingers and vanishes]

Rhonda:  Holy!  [She spins a circle and then looks back at Brock]  I think your friend may have gone home without you!

Brock [smiling a little]  Oh I doubt that.  [There is a knock at the door]  I'll bet that's him now.

[Rhonda opens the door to find Vasuvius waving and smiling at her]

Vasuvius:  If I have precise coordinates within a certain distance, I am able to teleport quite readily.  I believe your seven miles is just on the edge of the distance I can travel.

Rhonda [glancing up and down the hall]  But what if someone had seen you?

Vasuvius:  I can see where I'm going before I arrive.  If anyone had been there, I would have simply returned here.  [He walks back over to the couch and sits down again]

Rhonda:  But then would you even have vanished at all?  Wouldn't you have just snapped your fingers and stayed there or something?

Vasuvius:  Teleportation isn't instantaneous.  Much faster than traveling by foot, naturally, but it still takes time for the soul and body to travel to the intended location.

Rhonda:  It does?

Vasuvius:  Yes, of course.  Though it does fascinate me that you would think otherwise.  You seemed to have no opinions on our other "magic tricks" as I believe you had wanted to call them.

Rhonda:  Yeah, well, teleportation is one I actually know.  At least from movies and such.  Stuff that was just made up.  But I've always seen it portrayed as basically instantaneous.

Vasuvius:  Fascinating.  Another oddity of your world that might be worth investigating.  But first to the library, if you could just show me on a map where we are and where I am going.

Rhonda:  Yeah, sure, just let me pull it up on my computer.

Brock:  Computer?  Why would one who computes have a map?  To measure distances?

Rhonda [smiling]:  Oh are you in for a surprise on this one, magic boy.

Vasuvius and Brock: Episode One (Part Two)

[Vasuvius and Brock follow Rhonda onto the bus.  She pays her fare and starts to walk towards a seat while Brock and Vasuvius stand there.]

Brock:  What are we supposed to do?

Vasuvius [looking down at the machine that took Rhonda's money]:  I think she put those bills in there.

Brock [takes out one of the dollars, stares at it, stares at the machine, then holds the bill out towards the machine]:  Nothing happens.

Rhonda [coming back over]:  Here, you have to put it in the slot like this [guides the bill into the machine's slot]

Brock [jumping back a little]: Woah.  It just disappeared like... [He puts his next bill in the slot and a ticket comes out another slot.  He looks at Rhonda]

Rhonda [smirking a little as she takes the ticket and hands it to him]  Like magic, huh?

Brock [turning back to Vasuvius in surprise]:  You made it sound like they don't have magic here.

Vasuvius:  They don't, not like you know it.  [He takes out his dollar bills, stares at the first one one last time and nods]  I think I can part with this now.  [He slides in his bills and takes a ticket]

Rhonda [as she leads them to the back of the bus]:  So are you two magicians or something?

Brock [glancing back at Vasuvius to see he is staring at a small stack of papers in his hands and not paying any attention]:  You mean like people who do magic?

Rhonda:  Yeah, I guess that's what magicians are.  I'd call it more tricks than magic though.

Brock:  Vasuvius practices magic, but I'm not very good.  [Then in more hushed tones]  He told me we wouldn't be able to find many books of magic here.

Rhonda [sitting in the back and motioning for Brock to sit beside her.  He does and Vasuvius sits beside Brock, though he still isn't paying attention]:  You mean like books on different tricks?  I don't know, I assume those exist, but if your Uncle is already a magician, he probably doesn't need books or knows where to find the ones he does need.  Did he just mean there aren't other magicians here in the city?  Because I know that's not true.

Brock:  Really, you know others like him?

Rhonda:  Well not personally, but I'm sure they exist, at the very lease street performers and such.  I don't understand why you two were acting all strange before, though.  If you're just magicians looking for work, you should really already know what you're doing.  And why did I have to pay you anyway?  And where is your luggage?

Brock:  You gave us that, money, I guess, because we didn't have any and apparently we need it to ride on this carriage.  We don't have luggage because it didn't come with it when we were transported here.

Rhonda:  And see, why do you talk like that, if you don't mind me asking?  You speak English just fine and look like you're from here, but why call the bus a carriage or say things like you were transported here.  You sound foreign.

Brock:  Well, we aren't from here.

Rhonda:  Where are you from then?  Where are you from that you are so unfamiliar with a big city or with any city, apparently.

Brock:  That's the part I don't think I can tell you.  [Glances at Vasuvius, who has a bigger pile of papers now and is still very focused and not paying attention to Brock at all.]

Rhonda:  Of course you can.  Are you a refugee or something?

Brock:  I don't think so.

Rhonda:  A criminal?  Someone who means to do people harm?

Brock:  Certainly not!

Rhonda:  Then it doesn't matter where you're from.

Brock:  I think in this case it might.

Rhonda:  Not to me.

Brock:  Then why do you want to know so badly?

Rhonda [smiling]:  Fair enough.  [pauses]  You're no fool, not stupid, but why don't you seem to understand things?  It's a mystery to me.

Brock:  Perhaps it's better if it stays that way.

Rhonda:  Well perhaps this bus ride was all for nothing then.  I wasted four dollars trying to learn what was so odd about you and now I'll never know.  Maybe magicians and their assistants are just strange.

Brock:  Yes perhaps.

Rhonda:  So where will you stay tonight?  And what will you do without all your luggage?

Brock:  I'm not sure.  I'm sure Vasuvius will figure out something.  [Glancing around]  This is a very strange carriage.  And the others in it are a bit odd.

Rhonda:  Some of them just ride it all day.  They have not much better to do.

Brock [as the bus makes its third stop since they've started talking]:  It stops so often, too.  Don't people have greater distances to go?

Rhonda:  Some do.

Brock:  Why don't the others just walk.

Rhonda [laughing a little]:  People are lazy.  I'm lazy.  I guess I could have walked to my apartment.  It's only three miles.  But that seems like such a long way.

Brock:  Your apartment?

Rhonda:  Yes, where I live?

Brock:  Oh, with your husband or with your father, if you don't mind me asking?

Rhonda [laughing]:  Neither.  I'm not one of those dependents who still lives at home, and you don't see a ring on this finger do you?  [holds up ring finger]

Brock:  No?

Rhonda:  See, that's another example.  That is a strange thing to ask.  It's probably a bit rude of me to point that out so bluntly, but I suspect you won't care.

Brock:  I value honesty.

Rhonda:  And yet you won't be honest with me.

Brock:  I have good reasons for that.  [pauses]  So who is there to protect you if you don't have a husband and your father doesn't live with you?

Rhonda:  Geeze, I can't tell if you're hitting on me or being rude or you're really just that clueless!  I do fine on my own without a man, thank you.  I do have a roommate though.  Sarah.  She's a bit odd.  Not odd like you.  Odd like walking around the apartment without any clothes on.

Brock:  She walks about in the nude?

Rhonda:  See, I knew that would get your attention.  All men think the same way, no matter how strange they are or what far off land they might be from.

Brock [blushing]:  I did not intend to insult you or your sister.

Rhonda:  You didn't insult me.  I expect that kind of reaction.  And she's not my sister.  She's just my roommate.  She lives with me but we're not related.

Brock:  This is a strange world.

Rhonda:  Do women not live apart from their families where you are from?

Brock:  Not often.

Rhonda:  Then I'd say you're world's the strange one, whatever world that may be.  [The bus pulls to a stop]  Well the next one after this is my stop.  It was a pleasure meeting you Brock.  I'm sure we'll never cross paths again, but if we do, I'd like my two dollars back.  [She smiles and stands.]

Vasuvius [jumping up and looking at her]:  Wait!

Rhonda [looking back at him]:  I don't really have more time.  I did what I could to try to help you guys, which isn't much considering how little you can tell me about what you're after.

Vasuvius:  What we need is a place to stay, and it sounded like you are lacking in protection.

Rhonda:  You, too?  I was telling Brock...

Vasuvius:  Perhaps an arrangement can be made.  When can stay with you in your apartment in return for protection.

Rhonda:  I don't need...

Vasuvius [holding out the papers that were in his hands]:  We can pay.

Rhonda [looking at the ream of bills]:  Holy!  [The bus pulls to a stop and they both nearly fall over]  But these are all singles.

Vasuvius:  They are the bills you showed me.  I admit I am not keenly aware of their value, but I trust this is enough.

Rhonda [looking through them]:  For one night maybe, but I don't know you two, and [pauses]  wait, these all have the same serial number.

Brock [standing to look now too]:  The same what.

Rhonda:  The same serial number.  Why would you try [The bus starts moving again.]  Damn.  That was my stop.  I guess I'll have to walk back a few blocks after all.  I have to ask you, though, where did you get all that fake money?  Did someone give it to you or are you really trying to scam me?

Vasuvius:  This isn't fake.  It's as real as what you showed me

Rhonda:  No, it isn't.  See these numbers?  They're all the same.  Each bill should have a different one.

Vasuvius:  Bah.  If I had examined both bills instead of just the one, I would have noticed that.

Rhonda:  So you're counterfeiters now?

Brock:  He's a magician, like you said.

Vasuvius [looking straight at Rhonda]:  You know magicians?

Rhonda:  Not personally.  Who are you guys?

Brock [looking at Vasuvius]:  We really should just tell her.  I think she'll understand.  She understands magicians.

Vasuvius [holding out the money]:  But she doesn't understand this.

[The bus stops again]

Rhonda:  Well if you're going to explain anything, you'd better do it fast because I'm not missing this stop.  [She starts to walk away.  Brock follows after her and Vasuvius follows behind more slowly.  Rhonda and Brock get out of the bus and Vasuvius smiles at the bus driver as he feeds two of his conjured bills into the machine and takes the ticket it spits out before nodding and exiting the bus.]

Brock:  We're not bad people.  We're just not from here.

Vasuvius [holding the ticket up to Rhonda]:  See, my bills are perfectly fine.  I got another ticket from them.

Rhonda:  You fed those into the machine?  Those aren't real.  They're counterfeit!

Vasuvius:  They are real.

Rhonda:  You're crazy!  [Starts to walk away.]

Brock:  Wait!  [She turns back looked frustrated, but still with a hint of curiosity]  [To Vasuvius:]  We have to show her something more dramatic.

Vasuvius [glancing about]:  With all these people around?

Brock [to Rhonda]:  Can we go somewhere more private?

Rhonda:  I don't think so.  I'm not going somewhere private with two crazy men I don't know so they can supposedly prove they aren't crazy.

Vasuvius:  Well, that's that then.  If you won't let us stay with you at your abode...

Brock:  No wait!  What about a Circle of Time?

Vasuvius:  Oh you know, Brock, that might just be what we need here.  Good thought.

Rhonda:  You two have about two seconds to convince me you aren't dangerous or I'm leaving.

Vasuvius:  That's fine.  That's all we need, just come back over here for one minute.

Rhonda [glances around at the other people]:  well, okay [clutching her purse tightly, she walks over to them]  I suppose if you were going to mug me in public, you would have done that by now, and I really don't have much on me anyway, so...  [Vasuvius takes out his wand and starts to spin it in a circle above their heads while he mumbles something]  What the?  Is that part of your act or something?

[Vasuvius finishes speaking and flicks his wand up and instantly the world around them freezes.]

Rhonda [looking around in shock]:  What the crap did you do to me?  [She turns to leave] I'm getting out of -

Brock:  No!  Don't step out of - [she steps out of the circle] the circle.

[Rhonda is frozen in place as she tries to leave.  Brock, with a sigh, pulls her back in.]

Rhonda:  -here.  What just happened?

Brock:  You can't leave a circle of time.  Time only passes inside of it.  If you try to leave, you get frozen in place.

Rhonda [gasping a little]:  This is the kind of magic you guys do?  This is incredible!  Is this for real?  [She sticks her hand outside the circle and freezes again]

Brock [smiling mischeviously, moves to the other side of her and pulls her hand back in]:  It's for real.

Rhonda jumps in fright when she sees he's moved, instantly in her mind.

Rhonda:  How the heck...

Vasuvius [sounding a bit annoyed]:  He told you, it's a circle of time.  Time freezes if you exit it.  [Turning to Brock]  I told you she wouldn't understand.

Brock:  No, Master, she will.  Just give her time.

Vasuvius [throwing his arms up and gesturing around them]:  I have!  I can only do so much!  You know as well as I that casting another spell breaks the circle [looking over at Rhonda] And she made it clear she doesn't trust us enough to go somewhere private where I can show her what I'm really capable of.

Rhonda:  Really capable of?  [Turning back to Brock]  I thought the two of you were just simple magicians, or that he was at least [pointing back as Vasuvius].  I've never been part of a magic trick before, just this just seems so... How can you do this?

Brock:  It's magic, just like you say, but it's not a trick.  I think your world's magic must be very different from our own.

Rhonda:  You keep saying world.  Where are you from?

Brock:  [takes a deep breath]  The realm of Brangardia.

Rhonda:  Where on earth is that?

Brock:  No where.

Rhonda:  What?

Vasuvius:  The boy is just trying to be clever.  [He sighs and looks at Rhonda.]  I must apologize for being so rude and impatient, my lady.  It is frustrating to be trapped in this world and feel so powerless, but I think Brock is right.  I think you are capable of understanding and perhaps even accepting our plight.  Brangardia exists on the planet of Roz in what we call the galaxy of Solaria.  You probably have a different name for it here, if you have a name for it at all.  I do not believe it is the same galaxy as your own.

Rhonda:  So you're trying to say you really are aliens?  Like from another planet aliens?  I'd say you were crazy, but well [Gestures around them.]  You look like people, though, and you speak English.

Vasuvius:  That can be remedied.

Rhonda [glancing about nervously]  The looking like people part or the speaking English part.

[Vasuvius smiles and takes out his wand again.  Rhonda looks to Brock.]

Rhonda [as Vasuvuis casts another spell]:  I don't know how I feel about all of this.  Aliens?  You aren't going to want to probe me or something are you?  I just can't believe... I mean this can't be happening; it can't be real.  You've probably drugged me and I'm actually laying in a ditch somewhere, I mean [Vasuvius finishes his spell; the world around them unfreezes; and Rhonda continues speaking in Vasuvius and Brock's native tongue] this can't possibly be real.  Holy crap what just came out of my mouth?  What did you do!?  This isn't English or French, but I can understand it.  [People look at her funny as they pass by.  She smiles nervously and waves]  Hello there.  [Back to Vasuvius]  What did you do?

Vasuvius [also in his native tongue]:  This is our native language.  I cast a spell earlier so we could speak yours.  I cast it again so we could all speak ours.

Brock:  I understand your shock.  I didn't know he could do this either.  I was telling him he should have used it with the ogre we met.

Rhonda:  Ogre!?

Vasuvius:  Brock, I think the ogre might be a bit too much for her to take in right now.

Rhonda:  Oh no, I think a healthy belief in ogres would be much easier to cultivate right now that whatever is actually happening to me right now.

Brock:  It's okay, trust me.  It's just a harmless spell.  If Vasuvius wanted to kill you, you'd be dead, well, at least if I let him kill you.

Rhonda:  Oh that's reassuring.

Brock:  All I meant was that we don't mean to harm you.  Vasuvius is a good wizard, and I'm sworn to protect not only him but fair damsels such as yourself.

Rhonda:  Geeze your planet is sexist.

Brock:  I'm not quite sure I know what that means, but we look out for women in need if that's what you mean.

Rhonda:  Well I'm not in need, and I'm starting to wonder if my curiosity has finally gotten the best of me.  Whatever this is you did, it's just too weird.  Can we please go back to speaking English.

Vasuvius:  As you wish, but we'll have to be more discrete then if you wish to continue in public.

Rhonda:  Fine, just switch us back.

[Vasuvius waves his wand about discretely and nods.]

Rhonda [in English]:  Are we back now?  Okay good.  I just I really need to go, but how can you just walk away if you've met aliens, and seemingly friendly aliens at that, but if this is a trick.  Arg.  [staring at Brock]  Why did you have to come talk to me anyway?

Brock [pointing at Vasuvius]  It was his idea.

Vasuvius:  Not exactly.  It was Brock here who thought...

Brock:  Okay then!  Well it was nice meeting you Lady Rhonda, I guess we'll be going now then after all.

Rhonda:  No, wait.  [Sighs]  This is such a giant mess.  Just a giant confusing mess.  But if I'm actually dead in a ditch somewhere or up in your flying saucer, I guess what I do here isn't going to change that.  Come on, let me show you my apartment.

Brock [smiling]:  You mean you're going to accept Vasuvius's offer from before?

Rhonda:  Sure, let's go with that.  As long as he can conjure up some money that doesn't have those same serial numbers on it.

Vasuvius [holding out some fresh bills, only about 5 so far]:  Will this do.

Rhonda [laughing nervously]:  About 100 times that many should do nicely [gestures for them to follow her]  Come on, my apartment's this way.  Letting you in is either going to be the best or stupidest thing I do, possibly in my life, but I suppose you only live once and my curiosity really does get the best of me.

Vasuvius and Brock: Episode One (Part One)

Once upon a time there lived a powerful wizard named Vasuvius who roamed the land acquiring knowledge, learning new spells, and occasionally helping those in need, accompanied by his brave young companion and body guard, Brock.  Brock was not quite as gifted in the arts of magic as wise Vasuvius, but he was skilled in combat and carried a shiny and rather pointy sword with him.

One day, Vasuvius and Brock had stopped for their midday meal when Vasuvius decided to practice a new summoning spell he had been reading about and attempted to summon a pig for Brock to butcher and cook for them.  However, something with this simple spell went terribly wrong, and as the puff of smoke cleared, Vasuvius and Brock found that not only did they have no pig standing before them ready to be eaten, but they had been transported to a strange world, the likes of which they had never seen before.

As the smoke clears...

Speaking in their native tongue:

Brock [waving his hand in front of him to dispatch the last of the smoke]: *Cough cough*  What happened, master?  Where is the pig?  [Pauses to look around]  And where are we?

Vasuvius [glancing about at the grass and trees and then at the pavement, metal benches, bikers, runners, and tall buildings in the distance]  I'm not sure but this is certainly not what I intended.  [He looks around some more and then cautious approaches the path ahead of them.  Waving to a passing jogger, he calls out]  Excuse me, my lady.

Jogger [in English]:  Excuse me?

Vasuvius [in his native tongue]:  Could you tell me what place this might be?

Jogger [in English]:  Sorry, I only speak English.  [Jogs away.]

Vasuvius [with a sigh, walking back to Brock who has decided to hid behind a bush]:  Just as I feared.  Don't worry, I can fix this.  [Ducks behind the bush with Brock and takes out his wand.]

Brock:  Are you sure you want to be doing that right now.

[Vasuvius ignores him, mutters something under his breath, and waves the wand around himself and Brock.]

Brock:  [in his native tongue]  Okay if you're really sure [Vasuvius finishes his waving and Brock continues in English] you know what you're doing.  Woah!  What was that?  What is this?  What did you do?

Vasuvius [in English]:  I cast a spell on us so we can now speak and understand the language of this land.  I have a feeling we might be here a while, so we might as well practice getting rid of our accents now.

Brock:  You can do that?

Vasuvius:  Get rid of an accent?  Well, it helps to practice speaking in the foreign tongue of course...

Brock:  No, I mean, cast a spell that lets you speak another language.

Vasuvius:  And understand as well.

Brock:  And you learned this recently?

Vasuvius:  No, of course not.  A simple spell like this, I probably learned in my first of second year of college.

Brock:  Then why didn't you use it three weeks ago when we encountered that Ogre neither of us could understand?!

Vasuvius [smiling slyly]:  Well now what would the fun have been in that.

Brock [throwing his hands up in the air]:  For one thing, he may not have tried to eat me!

Vasuvius:  Oh, I'm quite sure that Ogre would have tried to eat you even if we did speak his language.  Besides, you hadn't had a chance to truly use your sword in so long, I'm quite sure you enjoyed it.  Speaking of which, your sword is well concealed, yes?

Brock [after a sigh]:  Of course, Master.  Just like always.

Vasuvius:  Good.  If I'm not mistaken, the people of this land are not so keen on having others run about with swords strapped to their backs.

Brock:  And what land might this be anyway?

Vasuvius:  If I am not mistaken, we find ourselves on the land of earth.

Brock [scoops up some dirt in his hand and lets it run through his fingers]:  Yes, obviously, but what is it called?

Vasuvius:  Earth.  We have landed here on the planet called Earth.

Brock:  Planet?  You mean plane, right?

Vasuvius [shaking his head]:  No, my young and loyal friend, I'm afraid I have transported us to an entirely different planet, somehow.  A feat which, in fact, wizards much greater than I still cannot accomplish.  Planes are easy.  Planets, not so much.  Which unfortunately means getting back home will be quite the challenge as well.

Brock:  I like how you emphasized the word loyal there.

Vasuvius [continuing to shake his head]:  This is no time for jokes, Brock.  Even if I could access the proper tomes, which I am quite certain this planet does not possess, it would take me years to adequately study them to the point where I could safely transport us back home.

Brock:  So we're just stuck here then.

Vasuvius:  Unless you have some sort of plan.

Brock:  Why not just cast the spell you were trying to cast before?  It brought us here.  Maybe it will bring us back home.

Vasuvius:  Or it could transport us to yet another planet, even less hospitable than this one.

Brock:  How many planets can there possibly be?

Vasuvius:  Millions.  Perhaps even billions.  But I suppose trying to cast the spell again is the best option we have.  If it does transport us to the wrong planet, perhaps I could combine it with some sort of time lapse spell to cast it at least another million times before we die of old age.  [He shrugs.]  Oh well here goes nothing!

Vasuvius proceeds to wave his hands about and whisper magical words under his breath, slowly speaking more and more loudly until he finally lets out a shout when a cloud of smoke envelops them and when it clears...

There are Vasuvius and Brock, still standing behind the bush with a few confused joggers and bikers glancing back at them and a pot-belly pig at their feet, oinking and sniffing about as Brock's sandals.

Vasuvius:  Well, at least we know we won't have to starve to death, and my magic does still work on this planet!

Brock:  Better than on our own, apparently.

[A few minutes later:  Brock and Vasuvius are walking down the hiker/biker trail, after Vasuvius has cast a spell to disguise his robes as a business suit and the pot-belly pig that is following them as a puppy.]

Brock:  How come I don't get weird looking clothes?

Vasuvius:  Because yours are weird looking enough already.  You fit into this world just fine.

Brock:  No one on this trail is wearing clothes like the ones you've conjured up.

Vasuvius:  Oh we're bound to run into one of them eventually.  See!  [He points across the park to a man sitting on a park bench and reading a newspaper, wearing a suit much like his own.]

Brock:  Okay fine, but why does the pig have to look like a dog?  I though we were going to just eat him.

Vasuvius:  Brock, if we butcher a pig in the middle of this park, people will think we are savages.

Brock:  I'm savagely hungry.  We're just going to let this pig dog follow us around everywhere?

Vasuvius:  I don't see why not.  He's not hurting anything, and there's no need to eat him when we can just walk into any pub in this fine city and order up some delicious new food.  If I remember my reading about Earth, and specifically about the country we seem to be in, people do love their food here, even more than the people of our world.

Brock:  Well that's certainly good because I could eat an entire cow.

Vasuvius:  I am certainly glad, then, that we didn't land in the middle-western part of this country.

[Vasuvius and Brock continue to walk a ways longer, Vasuvius staring at every passerby and smiling and nodding when they look uncomfortable while Brock himself just looks sullen but does his best to keep an alert eye for danger as he always does.  The pig discussed as a dog continues to trot merrily behind them, making oinking noises that Vasuvius's spell failed to cover up.]

Brock:  That oinking is really making me hungry.

Vasuvius:  Patience, my friend, I believe we are nearing the end of this  maze.  Ah yes, here is the exit.  [They walk out of the park and Brock is about to step into the street when Vasuvius grabs his shoulder as a car zooms by.]

Brock:  By the gods!  What was that contraption?

Vasuvius:  I believe that is what they call a car.

Brock:  I think there was a person in it.  It's like a carriage but without a horse.

Vasuvius:  Yes, it runs all on its own.

Brock:  You made it sound like these people don't know magic, but I've never seen you cast a spell to do something like that.

Vasuvius:  It's not a spell.  I think it's called combustion or something like that.  They burn something inside the device, I think in some sort of engine, and it makes it run.

Brock:  Sounds like magic to me.

Vasuvius:  Not to me.  Magic makes sense to me.  I'm sorry to say this world does not.  But at least they still have establishments were one can buy a meal and a bed.  Let's go find one.

[They walk down the block a ways and discover crosswalks by watching other pedestrians.  Brock glances back to notice the pig-dog sniffing a fire hydrant.]

Brock:  Is our backup plan meal going to be okay on his own?

Vasuvius:  Oh I'm sure he'll be fine.  Though he still maintains his essential pig nature, he is basically a dog, so worse case, some happy child finds him and takes him home as a pet.

Brock:  And there goes dinner.

Vasuvius:  No, here comes dinner.  [He points up ahead to a coffee and sandwich shop.]

Brock:  Excellent.

[They walk in and the cashier glances at Brock by smiles pleasantly at Vasuvius.]

Cashier:  Welcome!  Today's sandwich special is turkey on rye.  What can I get for you?

Brock:  Do you serve mutton here?

Cashier [frowning]:  No, I'm afraid not.

Vasuvius [smiling]:  Please excuse my nephew, he's only joking.  I will try the turkey on rye you recommended and my friend will take the roast beef on wheat bread.

Cashier [smiling again]:  Okay, I've got a turkey on rye and a roast beef on wheat.  Anything to drink.

Vasuvius:  No thank you.  We have plenty of clean water.

Cashier [looking a little uncomforable]:  Okay then, you total comes to 11.75.

Vasuvius [patting the pockets of his jacket]:  Um, do you take credit.

Cashier:  Of course we do.

Vasuvius [turning away to face Brock]:  Brock, my boy, could I borrow your credit card?

Brock:  My what?

Vasuvius [hushed, under his breath]:  Just hand me one of those slips of parchment you take notes on sometimes.

Brock, blushing slightly because those notes are more like a diary, takes out his notebook and tears off a piece of blank paper.  Meanwhile, the cashier is glancing over at the food case, tapping her foot, and Vasuvius discreetly points his wand behind him at her and mutters something Brock can't quite hear.  Immediately the cashier snaps to attention, staring straight ahead.  Vasuvius takes the paper from Brock, puts a finger to his lips to motion for the lad to remain quiet, and turns to the cashier.

Vasuvius [rather proudly]:  Here is my credit card, madam.

Cashier [smiling more brightly than she has yet]:  Yes thank you.  [She takes the paper, doesn't even look at it and then hands it back to Vasuvius.]  I'll have your food right out to you.

Vasuvius:  Thank you.  Come now, Brock.

They walk away and sit down at a table.

Brock:  Suggestion spell?

Vasuvius [nods]:  Yes.  It should wear off within a minute.

Brock:  Let's just hope no one comes in and asks her to do something embarrassing.

Vasuvius:  Why do you think I shushed you?

Brock:  Hey now, I am a perfect gentleman.

Vasuvius:  Let's just hope you stay that way when you see how some of the women here dress.

Brock:  I already saw them wearing those strange garments in that park.  Looked like undergarments to me.

Vasuvius:  Essentially.

Brock:  You see, and I remained perfectly calm.

Vasuvius:  I suppose I might be proud of you yet.

Brock [leaning back and smiling]:  You can't fool me "uncle".  You're already proud.

Brock and Vasuvius happily enjoy their meal and then leave the shop as the cashier smiles and tells them to have a nice day.  They exit onto the side walk and start walking again.

Brock:  That was actually quite delicious, master.

Vasuvius:  Yes, I suppose being trapped here might not be entirely bad.

Brock:  Well, it's still a long way from home.

Vasuvius:  Yes, and we probably should figure out where we are staying for the night.  I do not think this is the sort of place that would just let one sleep out in the open.

Brock:  What, are there dangerous creatures that come out at night or something?

Vasuvius:  Calm yourself, boy.  Nothing of the sort you are thinking.  Just ordinary men, much less fearsome than you, but probably not deserving to die at the point of your sword.  It would likely be best if we find an inn or other similar establishment at which to spend the night.

Brock:  And what, use your suggestion spell again to convince the proprietor that we've paid?

Vasuvius:  I agree that would not be the most noble way to proceed, but until I can actually view the money they use here, I have no way to duplicate it, and even then its no sure thing.

Brock:  Well if all you need is a look at the money I'm sure someone has some coins they could spare, someone who would respect and listen to two fine and fearsome fellows such as ourselves.  Look right over there [pointing towards a figure standing at a bus stop and facing away from them] there's a young lad who would probably do just as you say without any suggestion spell being necessary.

Vasuvius [smiling and chuckling a bit]:  I don't think that's a lad, Brock.

Brock:  What do you mean?

Vasuvius:  I think that's a lady.

Brock:  You must be joking.  With that short hair?  She must have greatly displeased her father or husband to have to cut her hair that short.  [The figure turns and looks their way, then back towards the street.]  Oh.  I guess, well, I mean...

Vasuvius:  It's okay, Brock.  If you're wondering, I don't think the short hair means anything here.  I think it's just a style.

Brock:  A style?  But what young lady would ever want to cut her hair short like that?

Vasuvius:  Well, perhaps you should ask her.  [Walking towards the bus stop and waving his arm]  Excuse me, miss.

[Brock looks nervously about and blushes a bit, but reluctantly follows.]

Woman:  Yes?

Vasuvius:  I was wondering if you could help my nephew and I.  [Brock waves nervously.]  We're new here, well, just visiting really, and we're looking for a place to stay.

Woman:  A place to stay?

Brock:  Yes, like an inn.

Woman:  I think there's a Comfort Inn down the street... [She glances around at them]  If you don't mind me asking, if you're visiting and haven't found a hotel to stay in yet, where is your luggage?

Vasuvius:  Oh, uh...

Brock:  That's a good question, Uncle Vasuvius, where is our luggage?

Vasuvius [glaring at Brock]:  This is no time to get snippy.

Woman [pointing at Vasuvius]:  Wait, your name is Vasuvius?  Isn't there a mountain named Vasuvius?

Vasuvius:  Maybe?  I don't quite remember that part.

Woman:  Remember it from where?

Vasuvius:  Nevermind, thank you for your time, miss.

Vasuvius turns and walks away, Brock opens his mouth as if to say something but then turns and walks away as well.

Woman:  Wait!  [They turn back.]  [She speaks more quietly]  Listen, if the two of you are homeless and just not very good at it yet, there's a shelter about a mile north of here.  If you don't want to walk, I can even give you money for bus fair.

Brock:  That's quite nice of you but...

Vasuvius:  We accept.

[Brock glares at Vasuvius, but then Vasuvius widens his eyes and nods at Brock to remind him of their whole purpose in talking to this woman to begin with.]

Brock:  Oh right, money for bus fare.  That would be very kind of you, my lady.

Woman [laughing a bit]:  My lady.  Did you get fired from a Ren Faire or something.  [Brock struggles for words and she just shakes her head.]  Nevermind.  Here's your bus fare.  [She opens up her purse and hands them each two one-dollar bills.]

Vasuvius [staring at the money]:  Yes, this is a good start.

Woman:  Now wait a minute, maybe you aren't so bad at being bums, except for that little slip up.

Brock:  Pardon me, but I don't think calling my friend and I bums is very polite.  [Turning to Vasuvius]  Is it?

Vasuvius [looking up from the dollar bills]:  Oh no, not at all.

Woman:  You two are the strangest people I've met today.  Sadly, still not the strangest ever.  [Looking just at Brock]  What's your name anyway?  Everest?

Brock [wrinkling his brow in confusing]:  No, it's Brock.

Woman [laughing]:  Of course it is.  You do look the tough guy type.

[Silence for a bit as Vasuvius wanders a few steps away and continues to study the money intently.  The woman glances at him and then back at Brock, then down at her watch and then back at Brock.]

Woman:  Okay, my bus still has a couple more minutes before it gets here.  What's your story, really?  I don't care about the money.  It was just a few dollars.

Brock:  I don't understand what you mean.

Woman:  You and your friend.  Are you [and then in hushed tones] are you high on something?

Brock:  I still don't [turning towards Vasuvius]  Vasuvius?

Vasuvius:  A moment, boy, I need to concentrate.

Brock [sighing, not unfamiliar with Vasuvius's moods when he's trying to concentrate]:  Listen, based on what I've seen so far of this world, you would not believe me if I told you the truth.

Woman:  This world?  Do you think you're an alien or something?

Brock:  No?  I think no is accurate.

Woman:  Okay, let's start over.  [She holds out her hand for Brock to shake.]  Hello, my name is Rhonda.  What brings you to the city?

Brock [pausing uncomfortably for a moment, but then, after taking a deep breath, taking her hand, kissing the back of it, and bowing slightly]:  It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rhonda.  I am here with my mentor, Vasuvius who has only begun to tell me what he knows of your land and so I must apologize for my apparent constant confusion.

Rhonda [staring up at him in shock, but not yet pulling her hand away.  He lets go of it for her.]:  You really aren't from around here, are you?

Vasuvius [walking back over]:  Okay, Brock, I think I got what I need.  Let's not take any more of this young lady's time.

Rhonda:  No, I'm intrigued now.  I think I had the two of you figured all wrong, twice in fact.  [She glances over her shoulder as her bus approaches.  Vasuvius is motioning to Brock that they should go, but Brock shoos him away, as intrigued with Rhonda as she seems to be with him.]  Hop on this bus with me.  I want to hear more about this mysterious "world" where men bow and kiss the hands of "ladies" these days.

Vasuvius:  I'm not sure about that.  We really ought to be going.  A comfortable inn just down the street you said?

Brock:  Come on, Vasuvius, you've faced much worse than this.  [Then in a whisper, trying to keep Rhonda from hearing]  Besides, I'd rather like to ride in one of these self-driving carriage things.