Delay for chapter 3

I'm feeling under the weather and not at all up to exploring what's going on in the world of Clang. I'm expecting to work on it in the next few days.

Hounth

Waking up with a face full of bugs, an aching head, and burns on your forearms may spell a successful Friday night for some, but, somehow, I want to crawl into the street to see if there's enough humanity left in anyone passing by to run directly over my head and put me out of my misery. I brush the bugs off slowly because it feels like I'm jabbing forks into my eyes every time I move my head.

The dusty taste in my mouth indicates that I do not want to swallow right now, whatever happens. I spit everything I can out of my mouth. It comes down in a fine spray all over my face.

Slowly I sit up and evaluate the situation, thankfully, it's still night. I'd rather not think about the massive pounding in my head, but I know that the sun would only exacerbate the situation.  I don't know the exact time, but not more than two hours have passed since my Great Experiment Really Bad Idea.

I dig around in my pockets for my cigarettes. After a minute or so of fumbling, I pull the battered box from my pocket. Three lonely rumpled soldiers stand guard at the gates of my lungs. I put one in my mouth and light it. Sweet nicotine races into my bloodstream. For the first time in hours, I feel loved and warm.

It takes a while for the pounding in my head to go away, but, go away it does. I finally feel well enough to try standing. On standing, I discover that the ground is not moving quite as quickly as I had previously thought, so I challenge myself to a few steps and walk to the edge of the yard. I chuck the butt into the street and spit into the gutter.

"I need to do something with my life. This can not possibly be a reasonable way for an adult to behave."

I hear a droning from behind me. The zapper has seen better days, but still, I suppose if I could dust myself off and become whole again, I could at least do something to fix the old thing. Aside from that, I don't want to be responsible for a house fire.

The zapper, or, if you prefer, Zappy, (I'm not sure why you would prefer this), is just laying there emitting a buzz. Its cage is bent and there are insect parts smoldering on the bulb. I also spot a break in the power line, so I go inside to unplug it and find some electrical tape. It takes only a few minutes to repair the damage I'd caused. I do have to admit that I almost throw the damn thing into the street when it speaks to me.

"What?"

"Ψǽπk γσΰ. Ћάήχ λοη."

It's a sound like a hundred small children speaking almost in unison. I shake my head, and try to catch just one voice out of the many.

"Thank you, can you really understand me?"

"I think I can, but it hurts. It's like you're pushing a drill into my eardrum with a hot wire."

"I can tune my voice for you, I'm sorry that it is not pleasing to you."

"No, that's okay," I say, "going crazy is going to be a nice change of pace from the current shittiness of my life."

"You're not going crazy, but I can understand why you'd think so."

"Good, and because you understand, I'm sure you'll understand why I need to go and drink until I pass out."

"Yes, I think I do. Have fun, you will have the fruits of my gratitude soon enough."

"Goodbye," I say, waving, unsure if the zapper can even see what I'm doing.

I go back into the house, cleanse my wounds and change into something respectable. As I walk out the door, I notice bright red sparks running through the power lines, soft blue glows come from the fronts of running cars. Thin pink tracers run through the people I pass on the sidewalk. Every building is etched in glowing lines and, as I walk into the bar, the neon glows like a thousand suns.

Happy Towel Day

http://www.towelday.kojv.net/

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Teaser

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clang

 

By

 

Jason Brazeal

 

Tees

I'm looking up at a huge moth flapping against the moonlight through the crisp autumn air, reminding me of all the places I've never been. I want to be as free as that moth, feeling the coolness on my skin. I want to be the master of my own destiny. However, I'm not sure I would dive straight into the bug zapper.

I look down at my feet and kick a stone across the lawn. All those hours I worked today were for nothing. Every paycheck the government dips its hands into my pocket for one day's pay. Student loans are making me into an insane blind uncle of the State, every other week I can be certain I am missing its' birthday and shove fifty dollars into a scotch and tear-stained envelope so that it could go get its' hair done and then be clumsily groped by special interest groups.

As the moth's smoke trails away into the night, I wonder if I'm useful even as an amusement to someone else. I serve little to no purpose to anyone else other than myself, except in my capacity as a retail drone. Sure I'm great at finding books for people with little else but a title and vague description, but I'm slowly becoming more aware how hostile the general public can be to someone with no insurance, no girlfriend, a balding head, and a graying beard.

I speculate briefly if I could get high off of moth vapor. If that were true I could beg off going to James' party. I doubt anyone would want to be around someone depraved enough to get high off of a poor dying creature's smoking remains. Maybe I would become that moth, gain its' strength, and become powerful enough to rain down vengeance upon those who had mocked or betrayed me. Maybe I would just choke to death on the fumes.

Fuck it, you only live once, multiply that by whatever figure you're comfortable with if you're Hindi or some other religion with a basis in Karmic tradition. I take a look at the situation and decide that the best way to do it would be to remove the cover from the top of the zapper and hold it by the bottom so that I can get a good look at the little beasties as they kamikaze themselves on the divinely glowing blue light.

This is what I've been reduced to, attempting to get high on the vapor of creatures stupid enough to be killed by getting too close to what they want the most. The moment that pops into my head, I hold the thought closely to prevent the irony from escaping.

I question myself briefly about who would miss me if this were to end me. The list is very short. In fact, I can only come up with one person that would even bother to think about burying me; my mom.

What a life I've led, too poor to get high properly, too well off to qualify for government assistance. All the same, he who dares, wins, or dies choking from moth effluvia. I think if I can make this work, at least my pot budget can go towards something else.

I remove the top of the zapper and place it on the stoop and as I pick up the assembly I exhale everything in my body coughing and cursing at myself for twelve years of smoking. Here comes pay dirt, a fat juicy bug that's going to sizzle for minutes on end. Go time. As I bring my face closer to the cage I hear this buzzing drone I hadn't noticed before. That's the last thing I remember from that night.