A short story by Dominik

It was one of those nights – at least it appeared like that. If one would take a closer look though, he would come to a totally different conclusion. But let us stay focussed on things that are certain. It is very true, that that night, one of Megafox’ myrmidons had not only the guts, but the nerve to have a drink – in Reynard City. John Coltrane’s appearance was well thought through, though nobody would have gotten that by the first look at him, nor the second one.

Physically, he seemed to be a bit disadvantaged, at least in terms of looks. His body was like a visual definition of the word lanky, his hair was a thin, blonde rest of nothing special, the teeth appeared to be a bad joke and his skin was pale as sheet of paper.

Yet, there were his eyes. They looked like they would pop out of his skull anytime he blinked, but if one would look into his eyes with care, he could see cold anger. The type of anger that is more controlled, but yet not less dangerous than the anger of the common man. It was the anger of someone, who has become used to feel this very emotion. So his eyes could betray him, John knew that. And he knew just how to handle that problem.

There he was, one of the last links in the chain of commands which started with Megafox (at least as far as John knew), walking through his enemies city, wearing shades at night and a big brown hat in the middle of summer. He knew, he had to leave the streets soon.

Mr Bear by Ian Austin

It was a cold day in Swamptown, thought Mr. Bear, forced to live outside of his natural habitat by the sinister robots - who patrolled every hour, on the dot, with an exclamation mark for final emphasis, and a machine-gun-add on for purgatory allusions.

He had built the shack himself out of parts of a robot who had strayed too close one Autumn evening.

Mr. Bear did not want to, but survival was utmost in this world, and Bears had a natural predilection for survival, along with a rage that few other animals could match.

It had been 65 days since he had last spoke.

Chubby Little Secret by Ielle Palmer

“I’m sure to you, it seems so easy. What could possibly be hard about it, right? You dress, you walk, you wave and maybe, just maybe, they’ll ask a question. But it’s
hardly anything more complicated than, “how can you help the children of the world?” Trust me, it is a trick question.

What were you doing when you were seven? I’m sure it wasn’t cramming yourself into a hoop skirt dress with puff sleeves that could choke a giraffe. Probably no one
shuffled you past old men while you prayed the seams would hold for just ten more seconds. Just long enough to slip out of sight. Were you ever queued-up in order of
height and forced to smile into scorching lights while a posh voiced leisure suit Larry took his damn time cracking an envelope’s glue?

Yeah, I thought as much.

Mum had been quite the star. She had an entire closet dedicated to ‘those days’. I can remember waiting for her to slip outside then sneaking in just to feel them
against my face. Fountains of fabric dipping to the floor creating hundreds of silken curtains for me to hide in. She had fourteen titles you know. Oh, and one Miss
Congeniality award, but we never mention that. Her career spanned decades, and I’m not knocking that.

You can’t understand. It’s impossible for you… I’m making no sense. I’m sorry. It’s just that... I don’t think you’re too stupid to get it. I-I just met you. But, no
one can. No one from the outside anyways. But fourteen titles… it’s quite a feat. Recognition comes with that. You become… not a legend, you have to win something big
for that. But certainly well respected. And the second I stepped onto that stage sashaying my way towards the crowd, I knew. For me, it would not be the same.

I, I hate to ask this…. You’re not going to eat that, are you? It’s just… well I haven’t had much this week, which is a whole separate story. Lets just say I’m between
places right now. I just thought, well you’re letting it get cold. Do you mind, thanks.

Where was I? Oh right, pageants. Are you sure you want to hear about this, It’s rather dull. I mean, how do I look right now? Spoiled little beauty queen crying in her
coffee about how mommy didn’t love her enough. That’s not it. Mom loved me, ok? She did, or else she wouldn’t have pushed so… I’m sure of it.

Have you ever been to a pageant? I’m not talking those things they have in the malls. I’m talking about real honest to goodness professional pageants. Most everyone
only knows Miss Universe and all that rot. I’m not talking about that either, even mother failed to get that far. But still, these were respectable places. Hey, you have
to work your way up the circuit, you know?

Anyway just like Mum, my first time was at the Westchester Abbey Pageant. I’d been training for months. I know, you’re probably picturing me walking about the house
with a stack of books on my head, ‘the rain in Spain’ and everything and you’d be right. But there was also singing lessons, dress fittings and god help me,
choreography. Yet no matter how much work we had done, when it came time to face the real thing, all that work seemed worthless.

We arrived far later than the other mothers and daughters. Mum is one of those women who feel your entrance is important. While that might have been charming, even
impressive when she was twenty, it certainly had worn thin by this time.

The pageant events planner on us before the stage door had a chance to open. Ushering us through the mass of overdressed tots, he hurried me into my dress, taking time
only to comment that it seemed a bit tight. The other girls were already filtering through the runway’s silken curtains by the time I had managed to cram on my special
ordered glass slippers. You should have seen them. It’s breathtaking really. Hundred of miniature living dolls floating across the stage, smiles painted across their
wooden faces. At first glance them seem so regal. Cascades of curls, lined ruby lips.

I wonder how many people in the audience ever notice the eyes. I honestly think if they could, there would be no more pageants. If someone took the time to see the
hallow stares, the flatness which lay behind all that mascara. But you get distracted by all the glitz. The bodies smothered in silk. God, death by taffeta and tulle, I
bet that’s a very itchy way to go.

Sorry, I’m wandering again, aren’t I? Let’s just say standing there waiting for my turn, seeing all that, it was very intimidating. And time sort of skips. I know that
sounds ridiculous. But there you are, it was ridiculous. All of the sudden things just began to skip into fast forward. Hurry get in queue, hurry hold this ribbon, hurry
to your routine. Hurry, hurry… HURRY! And smile and wave… for God's sake smile and wave!

I didn’t even place. Maybe if I had at least made second runner-up, maybe things would have been different. Walking off that stage, not being allowed to glance back at
the winner as she took her victory walk, I felt my stomach growl. I didn’t care about the tiara, or the shower of roses being piled at Little Miss Westchester’s feet. I
just really wanted a hamburger.

Mum didn’t say much during the first car ride home. Her only words inside the car were to remind me of my seatbelt. When we did arrive home she merely stormed inside,
leaving me to get the passenger door myself. It was a relief actually, I felt that perhaps she now also recognized that this wasn’t me. She had to see it for herself and
now things were going to be better.

The next morning, I rose to find her fixing one of her special protein weight loss shakes. To my surprise she slid it across the table to me and simple said ‘we have
lots of work to do’

And we did, everyday for nearly fourteen years. A stronger person would have stopped, they would have spoke up. But I just kept going along, sometimes its just easier
and is it so wrong for a little girl to just want to make her mother proud? Not that I ever did.

Fourteen years, ten pageants. It’s a blur now. My whole childhood has been snuffed out, littered only with memories of bright lights and show tunes. When I was barely
out of school and I had already doubled the number of pageants my mother had by that age… but no wins.

Oh but there were plenty of runner-up prizes. And when it came to Miss Congeniality, I was your girl. Remember that wish I had about being a runner up as a child, come
to find out that was worse. At least when I hadn’t placed it was their fault, the judges. Mum would mutter away about it while stuffing my costumes into the boot. They
just couldn’t see, she would say. They didn’t understand a talent like mine (it was tumbling by the way). Someone like me just needed time to be discovered. But it
didn’t matter how many flips I did or the amazing speed at which I could perform them, it wasn’t marketable.

You can’t send your Little Miss Wareing County to the local fair and have her tumble in her nice tiara. Singing, that’s the real ticket. A pretty little voice will
carry you a long way.

Come loss number seven, mother’s ‘they just can’t see it yet’ speech began to fade. At first it was replaced by that silence which I had first received back in
Westchester. Then a new speech began to slip past her lips. It started small. Little things in the dressing rooms. Stuff about how pageant colors were horrible on me;
comments about how I managed to not inherit her tamable hair.

I wasn’t alone, soon the judges were at fault for asking me stupid questions. It seemed unfair that they should ask me that, when the girl before me had such an easy
answer.

‘Its obvious they didn’t want us to win’ she would say. Us. This switch began to distract her. She would go on about the gowns not being made right, she never noticed
how we had pizza every night for an entire week! She somehow overlooked the time I brought a sundae along for my dress fitting.

I’m sure you’re expecting me to tell you some giant story about how my last pageant was the one that did me in. It wasn’t, it was actually number nine. That was when I
made a decision. I was going to tell her that I wanted out.

Simple enough, right? As soon as the names were called and I lost, I would turn, politely exit stage left look my mother square in the eye (and in front of a crowd,
since I figured there was safety in numbers) and say ‘I’m done mum. It’s not fun anymore. It’s never been fun. Its time I find what I want to do and stop trying to be
you’ I practiced this speech a lot you, can you tell?

We actually got there early that day. I was amazed, I’d never seen the girls getting ready before, it was actually somewhat relaxing to see them hurrying as much as I
always had. Mum seemed calmer than usual. I secretly grew more and more convinced that she knew. She somehow had overheard me in front of the mirror practicing one
night. But that made no sense because I was always careful. My hair seemed to curl up on its own. She had barely touched them with the iron. Even my makeup seemed to do
wonders for me for once.

I honestly felt pretty. I-I don’t think I ever did before then. Mum unzipped the plastic clothes protector and pulled out my pink satin and tool strapless dress.
Holding in front of me she smiled, actually smiled, and said ‘this is our night’

I did it. My god I did. For once my stomach wasn’t fighting to escape as I passed through the curtains and drifted out behind my fellow contestants. For once, I was at
a pageant that had managed to hire a singer that didn’t sound as though he belonged in a darken lounge.

Something about his voice made my smile rise higher and wider. Turning, I crossed back through the curtains to find my mother still smiling. We hurried through the
swimsuit portion again, I felt as though she were right, this was it. My tumbling was the best I’ve ever seen it. Well, ok the best I’ve done in an enclosed area with
spectators. You should see me outdoors. The height I can get… it’s.. it’s like flying.

Anyway, sorry… you know even the questions seemed simple that night. I couldn’t tell you what it was today. It’s been too long, too much has happened since then. But I
know I nailed it. I did. And I went back out there queued and ready to finally, finally make it.

The girl who won nearly took my shoulder off in her rush to grab that holy piece of wire, tinsel and glitter. I didn’t feel it. I can just remember the girl beside me
having to hiss in my ear to get me to exit stage left. I looked. Dammit, that time I looked back. She was holding those flowers and waving, blowing kisses to the crowd
and I…I cried.

Mum was already mid-tirade when I emerged backstage. The events planner and two of his interns were trying to calm her down, but she simply took their headsets away and
threw them across the room. Even as the security guards ushered her away you could hear her shouting at the winner, ‘Who did you sleep with? You tell me now, you little
undeserving tramp!’

Around midnight that night in an empty diner, I managed to order everything on the menu, twice and eat it all. I have no idea how I didn’t get sick. But, something did
happen. I seemed to blow up like a balloon. Just blimp out. It was frightening, but somehow I felt satisfied. This felt right. I deserved it, so I just kept eating.

Compared to that night, pageant number ten was just par for the course. I actually had someone press their foot into my back as they yanked my dress’s zipper up. My
hair refused to stay up in the bee hive style which that particular pageant wanted, so instead the stylist chose to give me a 60s flip. He figured it was the right
decade, so it shouldn’t matter. However, it did look awkward wearing the wire bee headpiece without the hive shaped hairdo to accompany it.

I nearly missed the stage during my routine in a mad last second attempt to avoid hitting one of the stage lights with my foot. When I finally got to the question
answer portion, all of the color had drained from me. I couldn’t concentrate. I just didn’t want to be there. I suddenly didn’t care.

I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t even make the top five (something I almost always did after that first year). Mum said nothing to me as we packed away our things. She
had to be chaperoned by a security guard anyway, thanks to her new reputation. The car ride home reminded me of that first night in so many ways. Even the radio had been
left off. We pulled into our car park and she got out, again leaving me behind.

This was our relationship for the next two years. If I was in the room, she wasn’t. Two magnets pushing against each other, one always slipped away. She would spend
most of her time in her trophy room. Once in a while I’d peek in just to make sure she was still there. It was scary how she could just sit and stare. Once in a while
one of those tiaras or plaques would be lying on her lap. As for myself, when not looking in on her, I was either in the kitchen or watching the Food Network.

About a year, year and a half ago I decided I had enough with the silence. I tried to tell her that she shouldn’t have done that to a little child. I told her it wasn’t
right. I told her I was leaving. Ok, actually I just grabbed what I could carry and took off. But you know, I think she knows. I mean she must have known about my
wanting to quit that one time. She had to have.

Anyway, since then I’ve been looking for work, once in a while I’ll find something. At first I was staying with the few people I know… which sadly didn’t last long as
you can see, yourself. I-I’ve been starting to beg. A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do right? It’s just nice to see that there are people like you out here that are
willing to listen for a second and maybe help. Thanks, Guillermo.”

Clyde by Ian Austin

The morning was cold and dreary... rain slamming down in the wastelands located in the corner of no and where.

On the mud sat a turtle named Clyde, his age long forgotten, the rain soaking his shell and dripping off his craggy features. He has a story, same as most folk, but as he puts the silver gun in his mouth it takes on a new meaning.

With a click of the trigger, the laser shoots up through his brain. He's dead, and it's all over.

Somewhere the real Clyde laughs.

The Explorer Diaries by Rotecol Mechanique

Day 1

I wake up, coughing my lungs out. My wife has told me I should quit. No matter how well she hides them, I always find them. She has no idea what stress I'm under.

It's at 9.50am I get the phone call...

Rotecol Mechanique, this is The Chief. I'm emailing you an assignment I think you'll like...

I read through it carefully, knowing full well I'll have to destroy it. He wants me to design and build a warp vehicle to "right certain wrongs and to prevent a potential threat to our planet".

Day 5

I forgot to explain what "The Warp" actually is. The truth is in all the excitement of design I completely forgot to tell you what I'm dealing with.

The warp, as the name suggestions, is a contortion where light, space and time are all connected. As well as the means of travel, it can also be a fuel, amongst other things.

Essentially, because it is technically outside our existence, we can make it whatever we want it to be. Which basically means I can go a bit wild...

Day 12

I barely notice my wife, except for the ever presence of coffee in my favourite mug (the one with the photo of Shantyville on it). She has stopped lecturing me about smoking. Come to think of it, she hasn't spoken to me at all.

But this doesn't concern me as much as it should, since I've finally come up with a design.

This car is beautiful, combining a wonderful aesthetic form with pretty much any function you can imagine. I hesitate to call it a car, since (if what The Chief tells me is true) this car will provide the ultimate benefit for animalkind.

I think I'm in love with this car...now all I have to do is build her.

Day 21

My ears are full of the noise of building. I can't remember if I've slept or not, and eating has taken a back seat for some time now.

Day 26

Every time I finish something with this, I think of something else- Today I've put in an inflatable raft- one button push and this thing is seaworthy. Given this thing is
meant for multiple dimensions, I need to account for every eventuality.

Acid proofing, I need acid proofing!

Day 30

I got a shock today. First it was the sheer need to stop, even though my hands twitched like crazy.

But as I walked up the stairs, I saw unwashed dishes, dirty clothes, unopened bank statements and a pile of newspapers that could probably have had tramps hidden in it.

It was while looking through the latest statement I realised- two grand was missing, the amount my wife had in her account when we were first married.

Day 33

For three days, I've taken a break. I tried to call my wife, my kids, nothing. I cleaned up everywhere, made it look nice. But no, she didn't come back.

I sit, looking at the dirt hole I call my house. This is the best it's going to look, and I'd be ashamed if anyone saw it.

It's then it hits me- this machine has cost me my life- if I don't get it right, I'm jumping in the river.

Day 37

Ow, ow, ow. My body is in actual pain, given that I've been on my back for the past four days.

But this beaut is worth it. No pain, no gain and all that.

It's worth it, Rote. Keep telling yourself that.

Day 41

The kids came round today. They didn't have a lot of fun, since I didn't let them in the garage like I normally would. On top of that, all my other jobs have been cancelled for this, so there is no more money.

I really don't want another day where I tell my kids I can't afford ice cream. Then again...No, I can't do that. I can't change the fabric of time and space just to impress my kids.

Day 44

Ah, the final touch. After all the nuts and bolts, I can be a bit creative. A little Cadillac-style fin would be cool.

Have pondered painting it black, but that's a bit too cliche for my liking. Decide on silver- classy!

Day 45

The Chief called and said the finest words to me- Rotecol, we need you to test drive the car. And since you've worked so hard,we'd be honoured if you named it.

The name has been in my head since we've started, to the point where I even made headed notepaper with it.

The Explorer goes on its first ride tomorrow

Day 46

I wave the kids goodbye as I rev up. The engine purrs like I dreamed it would, the paintwork glistening, the sunlight bouncing off to form the perfect glare.

In case you hadn't figured it out, this car feels pretty darn good to drive. Was it worth the collapse of my marriage? At this point in time, not thinking about it, yes.

Day 47

I am in shock. I have just stopped myself from suffocating myself. What I saw yesterday nobody should have to see.

As the warp engine blasted through, as I charged through the portal I saw it.

There, a man in a purple suit turned what looked like a frog into a pineapple and wore him as a hat.

He then picked up what (I guessed was a phone) and said something truly chilling

You want them to know? Seriously MF, you know you could destory this planet in your sleep. Oh...so they told you about the girl?

Don't ask me how I heard this. The warp was not the wonderful place I imagined. It hit me hard- someone out there was using it for a far darker purpose...

Day 49

YOU DID WHAT?!

The Chief's yell rings through my ears. I tell him again, as calmy as possible.

"I wrecked it chief. It's destroyed and I'm not fixing it."

Rotecol, do you have any idea what danger you've put us in?

"Chief, believe me, if Rodriguez got his hands on this..."

Rodriguez is dead, Rotecol. His son is missing. Our scientests found traces of an unknown metal and his last words were "Mega Fox"

It then hits me even harder, like a kangaroo punch to the gut.

"Chief, our planet is in danger. We need to find..."

The girl, Rotecol, I know. Her name is Veronica Hannah McAllister. And we need to find her before...

"Don't worry chief, I'll find her."

Day 53

The house is sold, as well as the scrap parts that were once my pride and enjoy. I have enough to get me to Shantyville.

After all I've seen, I still find it hard to believe one girl can have super strength, speed, the ability to steal energy, project shields from her mind...It all sounds insane.

But then, at last, if I find her and protect her, my life will have a purpose once again...