Chapter 3 part 2
Johnathan did not need to think about that one. “Yes.” He
stepped through the door. The door did not look to him like a real door;
rather, it felt like a portal through which he was passed hand to hand between
two gods at large who both wanted to keep his soul intact. Both were kept
intact. Both of his souls. How did he know? He didn’t. He just wanted to
understand what was happening to him.
Why was he doing this? What kind of energy did it take to
send his body into an alternate dimension? He didn’t know. He still didn’t
know. He knew nothing. Nothing at all about where he was going. Land, fire,
water, trees, big rocks and boulders and a river with a waterfall attached to
its end, flowing over the pebbles and the rocks that made up the body of the
streambed with which he was having sex right now. That’s it. It was all a metaphor for sex. Everything was a metaphor
for sex. Sex, sex, sex, it was all sex. Was that what was leading him astray?
Perhaps. Indeed. It was. Sex was the fault with which humanity was given its
last chance to prove that it was not indeed like any of the other species what
with the flies and the fruits and such as did not matter to him who looked at
them.
He lit them on fire. He lit all of it on fire. With a flick
of his wrist. All gone. All gone and dead. The streambed had disappeared and in
its place was a massive crater the size of two men together having sex with each
other without protection—was that even a bad thing? Johnathan didn’t know shit
about any of it. He didn’t want to know shit. No shit was his policy. He didn’t
take any shit. No shit at all, neither did he take crap or fuckery or any of
those other four-letter words which implied weakness in both the speaker and
the listener with which he was about to engage amidst the crime of hallucination.
Because that’s all it was. Hallucination. Hallucination, Hallucination,
Hallucination. Definite hallucination. That’s all it really, really, really,
really, really, really, really, really, really was. All a hallucination. All of
it. Then why was he here. Why am I here?
He asked that question of himself. Had he really destroyed anything with his
powers? Had he really done anything magnificent like he had been told he would
do? What were his powers like? What were they? Whose were they? They weren’t
his—they weren’t his! Where did they come from?! Italics. He liked to think of
it in terms of italics. Why did he think that way? He didn’t know. What were
italics, anyways? Something to show that a sentence was imaginary? All in his
head? Whose italics were they?
And then they spoke to him. “We are here for you to enjoy.
We are your presence.” His eyes were opened. It really was a waterfall. A
beautiful waterfall. Rainbows. There was no crater. He had imagined it. Where
was he now? He didn’t care. Not at all. In no way, no way, no way, no way, no
way, no way, no way, no way, no way was he going to believe any of it—but he
did. It was all in his mind where he kept the rest of the stuff.
And there he had it. The perfect peace. White space. White
space everywhere. He was clean.
He decided to take a bath in the river. It was cold. Sharply
cold. Deathly cold. Did he die? He hoped not. Perhaps he did. Perhaps. But for
now he looked out at the world as it was and saw nothing—or did he see—
“You!” An arrow struck a rock behind his head and bounced
off, hitting his skull, giving him sharp pain. The voice came from the
underbrush in front of him. It was all underbrush but in a specific place was
what was—was it?—it was—a duck blind. But not a duck blind in the modern sense.
An old fashioned one. Arrows. Of course there would be arrows. He knew where he
was now. Krackotoa. The realm of the beast, the sword, the magic, the system
and the happiness with which he was blessed. Krackotoa. The land of the fighter
and the dreamer, where good and evil came together to join forces against the
power of boredom.
So, what was his mission? His mission was simple. Become king.
And how would he do that?
By making friends. He lifted up his hand. “Hello there!”
The voice behind the bush responded. “You, there. You move
and we shoot.”
Johnathan didn’t move. The voice spoke again.
“You there. Come out of the river. Slowly so that we can
watch you. Don’t dress yourself. Come with us and we’ll promise to not shoot.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said. He climbed out of the river—it
was cold outside—and stopped in front of the bush. A man’s head popped out of
the blind. He was grizzled, old, but not too old, perhaps aged by the sun
rather than by time. Johnathan’s guess put him at late forties. An old, wise
late forties. Perhaps this man really was a kind man at heart. He seemed it.
Johnathan held out his hand. The man stared at it. Stared at it some more. Two
more men stepped out from behind trees. But they weren’t men.
Elves? They were elves? With the pointy ears—their ears were
pointy! Pointy ears! Holy shit! Johnathan’s eyes went wide. Very wide. Wide
enough so that he could see what he missed. The river wasn’t regular water. It
was holy water! Where had he gone to get something like that?! He put his hands
on top of his head. “Take me where you will. I will accompany you.”
The chief elf guy stood all the way up. He was tall. Very
tall. Like a mushroom had been ingested at some point and then never faded away
into oblivion. A Mario mushroom, of course. Except this one stretched the main
elf guy up into the stratosphere. Though, not really. All Johnathan had to do
to look into his eyes was tilt his head a little bit. Upwards. Tilt his head
upwards.
“Six feet four inches,” said Johnathan. “You’re six feet
four inches.”
The main elf dude narrowed his vision. His eyelids scrunched
up together at the bridge of his nose. In a strange way. Did elves have
sideways eyelids? It seems as though they did. Hm, thought Johnathan. Interesting.
He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
The main elf dude narrowed his vision some more. “Who are
you,” he said. “And what do you want with me?” Johnathan shrugged and then
shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked at his hand. There was a ring. The
one ring to rule them all, of course. But it wasn’t. Was it gold? It was gold.
Real gold. So he had bought the real stuff indeed. The elf man dude snarled as
he caught sight of what Johnathan had on his pinky finger. The ring. Always worn
there because the size had been too small but the ring had been so beautiful.
That is why he had bought it. Because it was pretty. Pretty for Emile. Too
pretty for her apparently.
“You,” said the elf. “Take that ring off.” Johnathan sensed
danger. So he took it off and handed it to the elf dude man. The elf dude man
examined it in his palm like it was a hot coal. And perhaps as if his hands
were covered in asbestos. Perhaps.
Johnathan—he smiled, a lot, big—he liked to smile like that.
Well, now he did. He didn’t know if he had before. Perhaps he had at one point
before he met Emile. His grin was stupid silly and he knew it. The elf dude man
was on guard. Johnathan could see it. The elf dude man was very much suspicious
of him.
Why was he suspicious? Johnathan didn’t know. He didn’t know
at all whether or not to trust this man. He wasn’t a man, though. He was an
elf. With sideways eyelids. And maybe even two layers. Like a cat squid. Evil
but not evil. True neutral. That’s what these elves were. True neutral. So
perhaps they would respond to objective truth.
Johnathan said: “Take my ring and give it to your queen.” He
then reached into the river and washed his hands. He said: “I now wash my hands
of the responsibility of taking care of that piece of metal.”
The elf dude man sighed, closed his hands around the ring,
and turned to his followers. “Let him get dressed,” he said. “We’re going to
take him to Galadriel.” Which meant that he really was in the Tolkien universe.
Very interesting. Very interesting
indeed. Johnathan rubbed his hands together. Very, very interesting.
Interesting indeed.
