I Am the Interloper
Feb. 25th, 2011 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolNot feeling the Torch today. Next Friday for sure.
The weeds were well over head-height in the narrow strip between the pond and the railway embankment, but there was a path that tunneled through it. The path was almost invisible from the air, the tall weeds curving overhead to make a little private corridor that led from the back of the convenience store parking lot to the place all the kids called the Landing Strip. It was just a patch of gravel and grass the size of a mobile home, but no roads led there, and any cops who wanted to bust some kids for making out or smoking a joint would have to come on foot. It was just a cool place to hang out.
Marcie rode on the front of Lusianne’s handlebars. Riding passenger on a bike was an undignified thing for a sixteen year old girl to be doing, doubly so since riding the path through the weeds meant getting whipped in the face every other minute, in between getting a mouth full of bugs courtesy of the pond. But biking beat walking in the summer heat. Besides, Marcie wanted the company.
Lusianne pulled onto the gravel of the Landing Strip and braked. Marcie hopped off the bike and brushed off her bare legs and shoulders, then fussed with her hair. Lusianne regarded her critically.
“You’re doing a lot of primping for a girl who’s about to break up with her boyfriend,” Lusianne observed drily.
“Oh, shut up,” said Marcie wearily. Lusianne was a good sister but sometimes she liked to run her yap.
Lusianne looked around the Landing Strip. The constant buzz of the cicadas kept the place from being perfectly quiet. The clearing was framed by the railway embankment on one side, the pond on another, and a dense stand of trees on the remaining two sides. It was possible that there could be somebody lurking in the wood, but then they’d have poison oak very badly. No, they were alone. There were plenty of old beer cans and bottles strewn about, and there was a black plastic trash bag concealing God-knows-what by the treeline, but whoever had been there recently had cleared out.
“You sure you don’t want for me to wait with you?” Lusianne asked. “I think this place is creepy when you’re all by yourself.”
“Nah, you get on home,” Marcie ordered. “Me and Gar need to have this out by ourselves.” She smiled. “Besides, I won’t be alone for long.”
As if on cue, there was a thrashing in the weeds where the trail opened onto the Landing Strip. Kenny came flailing into the clearing – a big boy, but curiously soft and strangely put together. He had a shock of straw-colored hair, eternally sunburned skin, big buck teeth and tiny, close-set eyes. The top of his head was a curious shape and size, which always led the people of Splendor Falls to wonder if Kenny was simple owing to a birth defect, or if he had been dropped on his head at some critical formative moment.
Huffing and puffing as if he had run all the way from the convenience store, which almost certainly he had done, Kenny didn’t acknowledge the sisters. He turned his back to them immediately and began to studiously pick at some of the weeds on the fringe of the Landing Strip. One of his shoes was untied. Lusianne stared at him with naked disgust.
“Talk about creepy,” she said. Kenny was now singing softly to himself, plucking leaves from a tall stand of marsh grass.
“Kenny’s okay,” Marcie said. “He just likes to go where I go. He doesn’t even want to talk with me; he’s too shy. But he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Don’t be mean to Kenny.” Kenny and Marcie had played together as little kids on the same block, but as his developmental issues became more severe, their worlds had drifted apart. But he still followed her around like a dog.
“Who said anything about being mean to Kenny?” Lusianne said defensively. “All right, I’m out of here. I’ll see you at home later.” She turned her bike around and stomped on the pedals, spraying gravel and
**
streaking away into the neon night. Adios, Handmaiden! Her steed is sleek and razor sharp; its slender hooves glide across the tarmac like a metal deer. Then the Handmaiden is gone, vanished into the streetlight forest, the lights hooting and nuzzling one another as they sidle together to close the gap of her passage.
The Angel-Queen remains behind to walk her watch. This is the Landing Strip! All who cross from Nightzone into the Blazing City must embark or debark here. The Angel-Queen bars the gate for the shadow demons while admitting the Friendly Giants and Talking Beasts. She is wise and good in all ways.
Ah, my Angel-Queen, but you are innocent. You see only the rainbow colors reflecting off every surface of the Blazing City; you do not see the oilslick-blackness that lies beneath. You do not see the corrupting touch of the shadow demons, and behind them all the malevolent influence of the White Worm. All these things that mean you harm, you are simply too good to see.
But I see them. I’m more than half darkness already. I have spider eyes to see through evil; I have crab claws to catch it; I have a shining carapace that deflects bullets, a will of iron, and the razor jaws of vindication. I am the Interloper, and I straddle worlds to keep my Angel-Queen safe from harm.
The stars grin down from the eternal night; the Blazing City is a welcome sight for them compared to the blasted lifeless Nightzone. They reflect off the mirror-lake, where mirror-bergs skate about and mutter together darkly. The tangle of the Geodesic Forest lurks near at hand, where domes and trusses cluster impassably and pinpoint red eyes stare from tube-steel safety. I clack my fighting claws, and the eyes withdraw. I am the Interloper.
The Angel-Queen drifts close to me, borne on gossamer butterfly wings. She sings to me of ancient times, when she was an Angel-Girl and I was yet soft of shell, and we played together, racing down one-way streets and through shimmering tunnels of the cityscape. I do not reply, for I have taken my Vow of Silence, as the Interloper must do.
WITHDRAW, comes the whisper on the wind. My gleaming steel jaws clack and I assume my fighting stance. WITHDRAW, the very air seems to hiss. It is the White Worm, always calling from its secret lair far away. Behind every evil in the Nightzone, behind every piece of mischief that sneaks into the Blazing City, is the White Worm. It is very old and potent beyond measure. I know I am not its equal, but I am the brave one, the living shield. The White Worm knows I will confront it if it comes, dig my claws into its soft hide, chew great holes in its pulsing body even as it crushes me lifeless. It fears the sacrifice it must make when I sacrifice myself, and so it does not come, and the Angel-Queen remains safe. I am the Interloper.
The stars break formation, circle each other nervously, reform. Now there is a new shape in the sky and there comes the beating of black wings. Something journeys to the Landing Strip, something that flies. The Angel-Queen knows it is coming. I sense it in her stately bearing, her delicate jaw lifted to the sky, radiating resolve. She knows what comes, and she knows it is fell, but she knows no fear.
It is I who must fear for her. I am the Interloper.
It comes, a slick black angular thing, with landing hawk-claws and horrible moon eyes that blink like landing lights. There is a figure on its back, a thing with quivering tendrils and a face like a burnt-out lightbulb. I am familiar with this thing. The steed roars, and
**
Gar gunned the motor one last time before turning it off and sitting up on his bike. He removed his helmet and shook his hair out. He gave Marcie a grin; her arms still folded, she waved with one hand.
“Hey, baby,” he said, getting off his bike, a smart-looking Honda Raven. He unzipped his black leather jacket; it had fringes all up and down the lapels and shoulders. Gar loved that jacket, but Marcie always thought it made him look like gay Elvis.
Gar nodded his head in the general direction of Kenny. “Hey there,” he said. Kenny didn’t say anything, but he did lift his head, seeming to scan the sky while continuing to pluck leaves from the tall weeds. Gar said nothing. He was familiar with Kenny.
“How’s the cement company?” asked Marcie. Gar had graduated last year and helped out his uncle at the family business. Some day it was expected that he’d own the company, assuming he didn’t crash his bike or turn out to be a drunk like his dad.
Gar shrugged. His time at work was not an actual part of his life. Work was something that irritatingly occupied precious minutes of his existence that could be spent on actual living-type activities, things like drinking beer, or listening to good music, or chasing girls. Gar didn’t want to talk about work.
“How come you won’t send me no more texts?” That was Gar to a tee, getting right around to the point without bothering with annoying chit-chat. He was the same way with eating dinner, or cleaning his truck, or having sex with Marcie. Gar was very direct. The problem was, Marcie liked a little chit-chat.
“Gar,” said Marcie in an exasperated tone. She looked at the ground. This was the hard part.
“Dang it, I knew it,” growled Gar. He turned his head and spat. “You’re kickin’ me to the curb.”
Marcie opened her mouth.
**
“Nay,” the Angel-Queen says, one hand held out in forbiddance. The Raven Knight cocks his head.
“But the White Worm offers gold,” he purrs, his oily voice dripping with false sincerity. “The riches of this Age, and the Age before that, before the world was a City, before the blocks and bridges were built. With the White Worm’s gold, the Blazing City can blaze bright once again.”
“The Blazing City does not blaze as once it did,” replies the Angel-Queen, “because the White Worm sends shadow demons against the lights, and snuffs as many of them as he can. We relight the lamps, we fix the grid, but the neons go dark; all shinings fade. The White Worm is not our friend.”
“Trust,” implores the Raven Knight, his tendrils curling and groping toward the Angel-Queen. “Trust in us. Reach out to bridge the gap between Nightzone and Blazing City. Believe that all shall be friends, where the color holds back the night.”
I do not trust. I do not believe. Let the Angel-Queen consider such high-minded matters. I am the Interloper and I serve only to ward the light from the darkness.
As Raven Knight and Angel-Queen palaver, I come about in a circle to examine the winged beast. It squats like a feathered toad and watches me approach. Its great moon-eyes are faceted like an insect’s. I lock my spider-eyes upon it, and it knows fear. My gaze widens, and I work my will upon its simple mind. Images open up like a kaleidoscopic flower.
I see the White Worm in its lair. It curls upon itself, and there is a bulge in its midsection. The bulge is faintly translucent, and within I see many silver balls. They are eggs, and soon it will be the time for the White Worm to lay them. I realize this is why the Raven Knight is here; they mean to fool the Angel-Queen into opening the way to the Blazing City so that the White Worm may lay them where the lights are brightest!
From within the mind of its servant, the White Worm notices me. It smiles slyly. “WITHDRAW,” it hisses.
I do not withdraw. I am the Interloper.
With a cry of rage, I seize the winged beast’s neck with my crushing claw. I salute ye, you who are about to die; you are a foot-soldier of the ultimate enemy, and if this war must come, I shall fight it on my terms. I bring my fighting claw down and smash the beast’s eye-lenses; it croaks, and its purple tongue flutters in a paroxysm of agony.
“WITHDRAW,” whispers the White Worm, but not from so very far away. It comes. At last it comes!
Then the world spins, and
**
Kenny fell the ground heavily and lay face down.
“No!” shouted Marcie, dropping to her knees and covering Kenny with her body. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Gar?!”
“Your damned ‘tard hit my bike!” he shouted hotly. He took off his jacket. “Get out the way; I’m gonna kick his ass!”
“Kenny didn’t hurt your bike and he doesn’t even know what he’s doing!” screamed Marcie back. “What kind of a man are you, pushing Kenny around like that?”
“He hit my bike! With a dang stick!” yelled Gar. But already the heat was draining out of him. There was absolutely no honor in beating on somebody like Kenny. Instead he kicked a rusty can half-buried in the dirt. It flew into the pond and startled some ducks.
A train whistle sounded faintly through the trees. “There, how do you like that?” Marcie said sarcastically, getting up off of Kenny. “The train just agitated him a little. And you had to act like a big man in one of those Mixed Martial Arts shows that you watch. Nice one, Gar.”
“Shit,” said Gar, spitting again. He watched Kenny pick himself up and shuffle away. He warred with himself over whether he should apologize or bash Kenny’s brains in with a rock. Ultimately he chose to say nothing.
“This is exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about, Gar,” said Marcie with venom. “I swear to God, it’s like you never think.”
The ground began to rumble as
**
the White Worm comes. Not content to await the result of my duel with the Raven Knight, it comes and comes now. The eggs in its belly must be laid, must be laid TONIGHT, where there are planes of light to hatch within, and creatures with good hearts to nourish the newborn larvae. It plows through the Geodesic Forest, its great lumpy body snapping and shattering tube-steel formations, the sound and force and STENCH of its passage creating a breeze. “WITHDRAW,” the White Worm moans, its mouth open in a perfect circle to reveal jagged teeth like daggers and a throat like the end of the world.
There can be no withdrawal. This is my moment. This is the event for which I have waited, not one but two lifetimes, astraddle the worlds. I clack my claws and advance.
I stand now in the path of the White Worm. It bellows at me. “WITHDRAW,” it whispers in a hiss exactly like the brakes of a train.
“No,” I reply, breaking my vow. It doesn’t matter anymore. By the light of the neon night, I attack.
I am the Interloper.
**
Gar zipped up his jacket and got back on his bike. “Well, I guess this is it,” he said.
“Yep,” said Marcie, her arms folded again. There was an awkward silence broken only by the sound of the train going over the ties, click-clack, click-clack.
“I’m….I’m sorry it ended like this,” Marcie said lamely.
“That’s a heck of a thing to say, seeing how you ended it,” Gar snapped. “I guess now you’re free to love your ‘tard all you want.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Marcie said. “And you know that’s not how it is.” She looked around. “Where the hell did Kenny go, anyway?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Gar flung back, threw his helmet on, and zoomed away.
**
They never found Kenny, although his people looked for days. They searched the woods (and all got terrible poison oak), dragged the pond, mowed down the tall weeds, but there was no sign of the boy. It’s like he simply vanished. And, truth be told, I have no idea where he went.
But I do know that last night I dreamed of a neon city that shone brightly in the darkness, the colored lights too dazzling to look at directly. I dreamed of slick, rainbow-streaked surfaces, of sheer planes and coils of chrome, of living puddles and friendly giants and enormous spoked wheels that silently rolled themselves down the streets on mysterious errands. And when I awoke I found the dream wasn’t quite gone entirely, but superimposed on my life as I went about my mundane errands. I saw myself going to the bank, or shopping, or doing the dishes, but I would see a soapy claw holding the plates in the sink and think I was going crazy.
As I write this, I find myself possessed with a singular notion. Somewhere there is an Angel-Queen, bright and bold and delicate. I must find her, and ward her from evil as best I can, because that is who I am, and that is what I must do.
Kenny is gone. Now I am the Interloper.
The weeds were well over head-height in the narrow strip between the pond and the railway embankment, but there was a path that tunneled through it. The path was almost invisible from the air, the tall weeds curving overhead to make a little private corridor that led from the back of the convenience store parking lot to the place all the kids called the Landing Strip. It was just a patch of gravel and grass the size of a mobile home, but no roads led there, and any cops who wanted to bust some kids for making out or smoking a joint would have to come on foot. It was just a cool place to hang out.
Marcie rode on the front of Lusianne’s handlebars. Riding passenger on a bike was an undignified thing for a sixteen year old girl to be doing, doubly so since riding the path through the weeds meant getting whipped in the face every other minute, in between getting a mouth full of bugs courtesy of the pond. But biking beat walking in the summer heat. Besides, Marcie wanted the company.
Lusianne pulled onto the gravel of the Landing Strip and braked. Marcie hopped off the bike and brushed off her bare legs and shoulders, then fussed with her hair. Lusianne regarded her critically.
“You’re doing a lot of primping for a girl who’s about to break up with her boyfriend,” Lusianne observed drily.
“Oh, shut up,” said Marcie wearily. Lusianne was a good sister but sometimes she liked to run her yap.
Lusianne looked around the Landing Strip. The constant buzz of the cicadas kept the place from being perfectly quiet. The clearing was framed by the railway embankment on one side, the pond on another, and a dense stand of trees on the remaining two sides. It was possible that there could be somebody lurking in the wood, but then they’d have poison oak very badly. No, they were alone. There were plenty of old beer cans and bottles strewn about, and there was a black plastic trash bag concealing God-knows-what by the treeline, but whoever had been there recently had cleared out.
“You sure you don’t want for me to wait with you?” Lusianne asked. “I think this place is creepy when you’re all by yourself.”
“Nah, you get on home,” Marcie ordered. “Me and Gar need to have this out by ourselves.” She smiled. “Besides, I won’t be alone for long.”
As if on cue, there was a thrashing in the weeds where the trail opened onto the Landing Strip. Kenny came flailing into the clearing – a big boy, but curiously soft and strangely put together. He had a shock of straw-colored hair, eternally sunburned skin, big buck teeth and tiny, close-set eyes. The top of his head was a curious shape and size, which always led the people of Splendor Falls to wonder if Kenny was simple owing to a birth defect, or if he had been dropped on his head at some critical formative moment.
Huffing and puffing as if he had run all the way from the convenience store, which almost certainly he had done, Kenny didn’t acknowledge the sisters. He turned his back to them immediately and began to studiously pick at some of the weeds on the fringe of the Landing Strip. One of his shoes was untied. Lusianne stared at him with naked disgust.
“Talk about creepy,” she said. Kenny was now singing softly to himself, plucking leaves from a tall stand of marsh grass.
“Kenny’s okay,” Marcie said. “He just likes to go where I go. He doesn’t even want to talk with me; he’s too shy. But he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Don’t be mean to Kenny.” Kenny and Marcie had played together as little kids on the same block, but as his developmental issues became more severe, their worlds had drifted apart. But he still followed her around like a dog.
“Who said anything about being mean to Kenny?” Lusianne said defensively. “All right, I’m out of here. I’ll see you at home later.” She turned her bike around and stomped on the pedals, spraying gravel and
**
streaking away into the neon night. Adios, Handmaiden! Her steed is sleek and razor sharp; its slender hooves glide across the tarmac like a metal deer. Then the Handmaiden is gone, vanished into the streetlight forest, the lights hooting and nuzzling one another as they sidle together to close the gap of her passage.
The Angel-Queen remains behind to walk her watch. This is the Landing Strip! All who cross from Nightzone into the Blazing City must embark or debark here. The Angel-Queen bars the gate for the shadow demons while admitting the Friendly Giants and Talking Beasts. She is wise and good in all ways.
Ah, my Angel-Queen, but you are innocent. You see only the rainbow colors reflecting off every surface of the Blazing City; you do not see the oilslick-blackness that lies beneath. You do not see the corrupting touch of the shadow demons, and behind them all the malevolent influence of the White Worm. All these things that mean you harm, you are simply too good to see.
But I see them. I’m more than half darkness already. I have spider eyes to see through evil; I have crab claws to catch it; I have a shining carapace that deflects bullets, a will of iron, and the razor jaws of vindication. I am the Interloper, and I straddle worlds to keep my Angel-Queen safe from harm.
The stars grin down from the eternal night; the Blazing City is a welcome sight for them compared to the blasted lifeless Nightzone. They reflect off the mirror-lake, where mirror-bergs skate about and mutter together darkly. The tangle of the Geodesic Forest lurks near at hand, where domes and trusses cluster impassably and pinpoint red eyes stare from tube-steel safety. I clack my fighting claws, and the eyes withdraw. I am the Interloper.
The Angel-Queen drifts close to me, borne on gossamer butterfly wings. She sings to me of ancient times, when she was an Angel-Girl and I was yet soft of shell, and we played together, racing down one-way streets and through shimmering tunnels of the cityscape. I do not reply, for I have taken my Vow of Silence, as the Interloper must do.
WITHDRAW, comes the whisper on the wind. My gleaming steel jaws clack and I assume my fighting stance. WITHDRAW, the very air seems to hiss. It is the White Worm, always calling from its secret lair far away. Behind every evil in the Nightzone, behind every piece of mischief that sneaks into the Blazing City, is the White Worm. It is very old and potent beyond measure. I know I am not its equal, but I am the brave one, the living shield. The White Worm knows I will confront it if it comes, dig my claws into its soft hide, chew great holes in its pulsing body even as it crushes me lifeless. It fears the sacrifice it must make when I sacrifice myself, and so it does not come, and the Angel-Queen remains safe. I am the Interloper.
The stars break formation, circle each other nervously, reform. Now there is a new shape in the sky and there comes the beating of black wings. Something journeys to the Landing Strip, something that flies. The Angel-Queen knows it is coming. I sense it in her stately bearing, her delicate jaw lifted to the sky, radiating resolve. She knows what comes, and she knows it is fell, but she knows no fear.
It is I who must fear for her. I am the Interloper.
It comes, a slick black angular thing, with landing hawk-claws and horrible moon eyes that blink like landing lights. There is a figure on its back, a thing with quivering tendrils and a face like a burnt-out lightbulb. I am familiar with this thing. The steed roars, and
**
Gar gunned the motor one last time before turning it off and sitting up on his bike. He removed his helmet and shook his hair out. He gave Marcie a grin; her arms still folded, she waved with one hand.
“Hey, baby,” he said, getting off his bike, a smart-looking Honda Raven. He unzipped his black leather jacket; it had fringes all up and down the lapels and shoulders. Gar loved that jacket, but Marcie always thought it made him look like gay Elvis.
Gar nodded his head in the general direction of Kenny. “Hey there,” he said. Kenny didn’t say anything, but he did lift his head, seeming to scan the sky while continuing to pluck leaves from the tall weeds. Gar said nothing. He was familiar with Kenny.
“How’s the cement company?” asked Marcie. Gar had graduated last year and helped out his uncle at the family business. Some day it was expected that he’d own the company, assuming he didn’t crash his bike or turn out to be a drunk like his dad.
Gar shrugged. His time at work was not an actual part of his life. Work was something that irritatingly occupied precious minutes of his existence that could be spent on actual living-type activities, things like drinking beer, or listening to good music, or chasing girls. Gar didn’t want to talk about work.
“How come you won’t send me no more texts?” That was Gar to a tee, getting right around to the point without bothering with annoying chit-chat. He was the same way with eating dinner, or cleaning his truck, or having sex with Marcie. Gar was very direct. The problem was, Marcie liked a little chit-chat.
“Gar,” said Marcie in an exasperated tone. She looked at the ground. This was the hard part.
“Dang it, I knew it,” growled Gar. He turned his head and spat. “You’re kickin’ me to the curb.”
Marcie opened her mouth.
**
“Nay,” the Angel-Queen says, one hand held out in forbiddance. The Raven Knight cocks his head.
“But the White Worm offers gold,” he purrs, his oily voice dripping with false sincerity. “The riches of this Age, and the Age before that, before the world was a City, before the blocks and bridges were built. With the White Worm’s gold, the Blazing City can blaze bright once again.”
“The Blazing City does not blaze as once it did,” replies the Angel-Queen, “because the White Worm sends shadow demons against the lights, and snuffs as many of them as he can. We relight the lamps, we fix the grid, but the neons go dark; all shinings fade. The White Worm is not our friend.”
“Trust,” implores the Raven Knight, his tendrils curling and groping toward the Angel-Queen. “Trust in us. Reach out to bridge the gap between Nightzone and Blazing City. Believe that all shall be friends, where the color holds back the night.”
I do not trust. I do not believe. Let the Angel-Queen consider such high-minded matters. I am the Interloper and I serve only to ward the light from the darkness.
As Raven Knight and Angel-Queen palaver, I come about in a circle to examine the winged beast. It squats like a feathered toad and watches me approach. Its great moon-eyes are faceted like an insect’s. I lock my spider-eyes upon it, and it knows fear. My gaze widens, and I work my will upon its simple mind. Images open up like a kaleidoscopic flower.
I see the White Worm in its lair. It curls upon itself, and there is a bulge in its midsection. The bulge is faintly translucent, and within I see many silver balls. They are eggs, and soon it will be the time for the White Worm to lay them. I realize this is why the Raven Knight is here; they mean to fool the Angel-Queen into opening the way to the Blazing City so that the White Worm may lay them where the lights are brightest!
From within the mind of its servant, the White Worm notices me. It smiles slyly. “WITHDRAW,” it hisses.
I do not withdraw. I am the Interloper.
With a cry of rage, I seize the winged beast’s neck with my crushing claw. I salute ye, you who are about to die; you are a foot-soldier of the ultimate enemy, and if this war must come, I shall fight it on my terms. I bring my fighting claw down and smash the beast’s eye-lenses; it croaks, and its purple tongue flutters in a paroxysm of agony.
“WITHDRAW,” whispers the White Worm, but not from so very far away. It comes. At last it comes!
Then the world spins, and
**
Kenny fell the ground heavily and lay face down.
“No!” shouted Marcie, dropping to her knees and covering Kenny with her body. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Gar?!”
“Your damned ‘tard hit my bike!” he shouted hotly. He took off his jacket. “Get out the way; I’m gonna kick his ass!”
“Kenny didn’t hurt your bike and he doesn’t even know what he’s doing!” screamed Marcie back. “What kind of a man are you, pushing Kenny around like that?”
“He hit my bike! With a dang stick!” yelled Gar. But already the heat was draining out of him. There was absolutely no honor in beating on somebody like Kenny. Instead he kicked a rusty can half-buried in the dirt. It flew into the pond and startled some ducks.
A train whistle sounded faintly through the trees. “There, how do you like that?” Marcie said sarcastically, getting up off of Kenny. “The train just agitated him a little. And you had to act like a big man in one of those Mixed Martial Arts shows that you watch. Nice one, Gar.”
“Shit,” said Gar, spitting again. He watched Kenny pick himself up and shuffle away. He warred with himself over whether he should apologize or bash Kenny’s brains in with a rock. Ultimately he chose to say nothing.
“This is exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about, Gar,” said Marcie with venom. “I swear to God, it’s like you never think.”
The ground began to rumble as
**
the White Worm comes. Not content to await the result of my duel with the Raven Knight, it comes and comes now. The eggs in its belly must be laid, must be laid TONIGHT, where there are planes of light to hatch within, and creatures with good hearts to nourish the newborn larvae. It plows through the Geodesic Forest, its great lumpy body snapping and shattering tube-steel formations, the sound and force and STENCH of its passage creating a breeze. “WITHDRAW,” the White Worm moans, its mouth open in a perfect circle to reveal jagged teeth like daggers and a throat like the end of the world.
There can be no withdrawal. This is my moment. This is the event for which I have waited, not one but two lifetimes, astraddle the worlds. I clack my claws and advance.
I stand now in the path of the White Worm. It bellows at me. “WITHDRAW,” it whispers in a hiss exactly like the brakes of a train.
“No,” I reply, breaking my vow. It doesn’t matter anymore. By the light of the neon night, I attack.
I am the Interloper.
**
Gar zipped up his jacket and got back on his bike. “Well, I guess this is it,” he said.
“Yep,” said Marcie, her arms folded again. There was an awkward silence broken only by the sound of the train going over the ties, click-clack, click-clack.
“I’m….I’m sorry it ended like this,” Marcie said lamely.
“That’s a heck of a thing to say, seeing how you ended it,” Gar snapped. “I guess now you’re free to love your ‘tard all you want.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Marcie said. “And you know that’s not how it is.” She looked around. “Where the hell did Kenny go, anyway?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Gar flung back, threw his helmet on, and zoomed away.
**
They never found Kenny, although his people looked for days. They searched the woods (and all got terrible poison oak), dragged the pond, mowed down the tall weeds, but there was no sign of the boy. It’s like he simply vanished. And, truth be told, I have no idea where he went.
But I do know that last night I dreamed of a neon city that shone brightly in the darkness, the colored lights too dazzling to look at directly. I dreamed of slick, rainbow-streaked surfaces, of sheer planes and coils of chrome, of living puddles and friendly giants and enormous spoked wheels that silently rolled themselves down the streets on mysterious errands. And when I awoke I found the dream wasn’t quite gone entirely, but superimposed on my life as I went about my mundane errands. I saw myself going to the bank, or shopping, or doing the dishes, but I would see a soapy claw holding the plates in the sink and think I was going crazy.
As I write this, I find myself possessed with a singular notion. Somewhere there is an Angel-Queen, bright and bold and delicate. I must find her, and ward her from evil as best I can, because that is who I am, and that is what I must do.
Kenny is gone. Now I am the Interloper.
