A Very Special Day
Steve stared slack-jawed at his geriatric jailer. Ethyl stared back with her chemical spill eyes. She calmly continued knitting a cozy for her kettle of cyanide or strangling mittens or whatever it was that elderly mass murderers knitted. Steve knew that Gyllis was balls to the wall insane, but this took it to another level.
“You’re telling me that unless I play president for a bunch of suit wearing lunatics, you’re going to poison me?”
The gill slits on Ethyl’s neck fluttered as her mouth melted into a manic grin.
“Of course not, kiddo. I already poisoned you and you never had a choice in the matter.”
Still gaping, Steve let Ethyl usher him out the door. A crowd of suits and sunglasses turned to meet him. They were an eclectic group, but had a shared seriousness that Steve thought he left behind in Octus. Ethyl had called them the “Special Committee” and there was no doubt that they were some kind of special. Perhaps a special kind of hell devised specifically with Steve in mind.
“Have fun at the park, Steve. Try not to get yourself killed”
Before Steve could ask what the actual fuck that meant, Ethyl into the creepy pink eyesore she called a house. Steve sighed. Maybe Octus hadn’t been so bad. Sure, he’d been stuck in a teeny tiny cubicle helping rich people dodge their taxes, but he didn’t have to deal with whatever the hell the Special Committee was. He glanced over at the sad gray cube of the Committee Committee building. A lone island of Octus’ order in the sea of Gyllis’ madness.
A short shark-toothed member of the Special Committee appeared in front of Steve. The rest of the lunatics formed a tight circle around Steve. Sure, this might as well happen.
“My Liege, Ethyl has informed us of our mission. We will get you to Mola Mola Park even if it kills us.”
“Oh- um good. Lead the way.”
The process inched forward towards the park. Stopping often for committee members to dart forward to scout ahead and only starting when they called ‘clear’. Steve didn’t know what they were clear of or if there was even anything to look for. It just seemed like grade A Gyllis nonsense to him.
Each time they encountered a passerby on the colorful street the committee puffed up like one of those lizards that makes itself bigger to ward off predators. Steve sent SOS signals with his eyes, but not a single person could get close enough to see. Each one warded off with a “Stand back, Ma’am” or a “That’s close enough, Sir”.
At long last, Steve could see an end in sight. The sign for Mola Mola Park proudly loomed in all its twisted metallic glory. Steve let out a sigh of relief. Soon he would be back in Ethyl’s chemically burned clutches and away from the stupid Special Committee. Steve never thought that he would look fondly on his time with Ethyl, but the insane “charm” of the Special Committee had made him reconsider. Naturally, when Steve finally had hope, he got shot.
Bullets rained down from unseen assailants on roof tops. Special Committee members were dropping left and right. Some with strange guns in their hands, others diving in front of bullets meant for him, green blood staining their suits.
Green blood? Wait a Shark God damned minute. Gyllis loves to fuck around and find out with genetic modification and whatever, but not to the point of green blood. Steve looked down. His clothes were stained with green. Fuck this. It was a fucking game. Of course it had to be a stupid ass game. Steve was stuck in Gyllis, land of unemployment and dumbass paintball bullshit.
Steve slumped further into his paint puddle. The entire Special Committee had gone down, but the assault didn’t end. The other committee, because it had to be another committee this is fucking Gyllis, found a new target. Some severe looking blonde woman who hurled insults and threats about time in “the Box” back at them.
Steve just had to become a serial killer didn’t he? He couldn’t have just stayed a stupid little accountant, in his stupid little cubical, and helped stupid fucking rich people commit tax fraud. No! He had to go on a murderous rampage that got him thrown in stupid fucking Gyllis. For the first time in his life, defeated in a puddle of paint while a woman shouted at some lunatics about boxes, Steve questioned his life choices.
“You’re telling me that unless I play president for a bunch of suit wearing lunatics, you’re going to poison me?”
The gill slits on Ethyl’s neck fluttered as her mouth melted into a manic grin.
“Of course not, kiddo. I already poisoned you and you never had a choice in the matter.”
Still gaping, Steve let Ethyl usher him out the door. A crowd of suits and sunglasses turned to meet him. They were an eclectic group, but had a shared seriousness that Steve thought he left behind in Octus. Ethyl had called them the “Special Committee” and there was no doubt that they were some kind of special. Perhaps a special kind of hell devised specifically with Steve in mind.
“Have fun at the park, Steve. Try not to get yourself killed”
Before Steve could ask what the actual fuck that meant, Ethyl into the creepy pink eyesore she called a house. Steve sighed. Maybe Octus hadn’t been so bad. Sure, he’d been stuck in a teeny tiny cubicle helping rich people dodge their taxes, but he didn’t have to deal with whatever the hell the Special Committee was. He glanced over at the sad gray cube of the Committee Committee building. A lone island of Octus’ order in the sea of Gyllis’ madness.
A short shark-toothed member of the Special Committee appeared in front of Steve. The rest of the lunatics formed a tight circle around Steve. Sure, this might as well happen.
“My Liege, Ethyl has informed us of our mission. We will get you to Mola Mola Park even if it kills us.”
“Oh- um good. Lead the way.”
The process inched forward towards the park. Stopping often for committee members to dart forward to scout ahead and only starting when they called ‘clear’. Steve didn’t know what they were clear of or if there was even anything to look for. It just seemed like grade A Gyllis nonsense to him.
Each time they encountered a passerby on the colorful street the committee puffed up like one of those lizards that makes itself bigger to ward off predators. Steve sent SOS signals with his eyes, but not a single person could get close enough to see. Each one warded off with a “Stand back, Ma’am” or a “That’s close enough, Sir”.
At long last, Steve could see an end in sight. The sign for Mola Mola Park proudly loomed in all its twisted metallic glory. Steve let out a sigh of relief. Soon he would be back in Ethyl’s chemically burned clutches and away from the stupid Special Committee. Steve never thought that he would look fondly on his time with Ethyl, but the insane “charm” of the Special Committee had made him reconsider. Naturally, when Steve finally had hope, he got shot.
Bullets rained down from unseen assailants on roof tops. Special Committee members were dropping left and right. Some with strange guns in their hands, others diving in front of bullets meant for him, green blood staining their suits.
Green blood? Wait a Shark God damned minute. Gyllis loves to fuck around and find out with genetic modification and whatever, but not to the point of green blood. Steve looked down. His clothes were stained with green. Fuck this. It was a fucking game. Of course it had to be a stupid ass game. Steve was stuck in Gyllis, land of unemployment and dumbass paintball bullshit.
Steve slumped further into his paint puddle. The entire Special Committee had gone down, but the assault didn’t end. The other committee, because it had to be another committee this is fucking Gyllis, found a new target. Some severe looking blonde woman who hurled insults and threats about time in “the Box” back at them.
Steve just had to become a serial killer didn’t he? He couldn’t have just stayed a stupid little accountant, in his stupid little cubical, and helped stupid fucking rich people commit tax fraud. No! He had to go on a murderous rampage that got him thrown in stupid fucking Gyllis. For the first time in his life, defeated in a puddle of paint while a woman shouted at some lunatics about boxes, Steve questioned his life choices.
I know you the writer are very familiar with this world you and the others built above for weeks, but you have to take in mind how much the viewer consumed before reading this. And even if they did, this kind of reading as if you’re telling us everything instead of showing us what’s happening. It lacked details to place you into the world and people, really just threw you in there. The story ended before it even started, and I don’t even know what happened in the span of 1000 or so words. It was very internal thoughts and ranting heavy, and could’ve used more descriptive sentences and paragraphs dedicated to building up suspense along with some more dialogue. That or this idea could’ve been more simplified or expanded on far pass the minimum word requirement so the story flowed better. From what I read about this world before, it’s a great premise, and I’m sure better stories can come out of it with more time. That’s not to say this isn’t good, it has potential trust. The whole pink and green blood stuff was interesting and all the inclusion of aquatic terms. Also, I’m all for cussing and a more mature tone, however this was just a bit much personally. I couldn’t even tell when it was a thought from the protagonist or from an outside perspective. I tried understanding the last paragraph several times, but it just felt hushed to give some of a conclusion for the person. Not sure if you’ll ever come back to this, but if you do, I hope you can finish this story to your own satisfaction level.