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.